The Mystery of the Russian Ransom

  Text copyright © 2014 by Roy MacGregor

  Published in Canada by Tundra Books, a division of Random House of Canada Limited, One Toronto Street, Suite 300, Toronto, Ontario M5C 2V6

  Published in the United States by Tundra Books of Northern New York,

  P.O. Box 1030, Plattsburgh, New York 12901

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2013940759

  All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the publisher – or, in case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency – is an infringement of the copyright law.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  MacGregor, Roy, 1948-, author

  The mystery of the Russian ransom / by Roy MacGregor.

  (Screech Owls)

  ISBN 978-1-77049-420-6 (pbk.). – ISBN 978-1-77049-425-1 (epub)

  I. Title. II. Series: MacGregor, Roy, 1948-. Screech Owls series.

  PS8575.G84M99 2014 jC813′.54 C2013-903542-7

  C2013-903543-5

  Designed by Jennifer Lum

  www.tundrabooks.com

  v3.1

  For Craig “Flash” Gordon, the King of Monday Night Hockey.

  Teammate, friend, lover of family, and the Detroit Red Wings.

  May he skate forever.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  About the Author

  1

  My name is Sarah Cuthbertson. I am twelve years old. I have no idea where I am or what is going to happen to me. I am frightened.

  I do not know how long I can write this without being caught. I do not know if I can even get this message out to anyone. In fact, I know nothing at all about what is going on or what this is all about. I am really, really scared.

  We were on our way back to the hotel from the rink in Ufa. My hockey team, the Screech Owls, had just finished their very first practice in Russia. We didn’t have the greatest workout – Muck said we were all suffering from jet lag and we should get back to our rooms and get some rest. I’m sharing with Jenny Staples, our backup goaltender, and Samantha Bennett – Sam – who is one of my two best friends on the team.

  But I wasn’t tired. Nor was Travis, who is my other best friend as well as the captain of the Owls. It was a beautiful day outside. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the sun was so bright it was sparkling on the fresh snow. Travis said we should walk back to the hotel while the others took the bus. He asked me if I would show him how to do this silly move I’ve been practicing. I just discovered it in practice last week when we went onto the ice right after a fresh flood. The pucks were still kind of wet, so I put the back of my stick blade on the puck, pushing down hard, and then quickly twirled the blade up so that it lifted the puck off the ice and left it sitting on top of the blade. Then I flipped the puck in the air and batted it straight into the net! A total fluke, but some of the Owls saw it and went crazy, banging their sticks on the ice.

  Apart from that, Travis, as team captain (I’m assistant), wanted to talk about how we could make sure Nish (the other assistant captain) didn’t get one of his insane ideas, like mooning the crowd or replacing the Russian flag at the rink with his stupid boxer shorts, and get the whole team in trouble. We are in a country where we don’t even speak the language (except for Dmitri Yakushev, of course, who lived in Russia before his family moved, and who plays right wing on the same line as me and Travis), and so we better assume that people might not appreciate a nut bar like Nish.

  It wasn’t a long walk, just through Yakutova Park across ulitsa Lenina – which Dmitri says means “Lenin Street” – turn left on ulitsa Karla Marksa and keep on going for several blocks until you reach the Hotel Astoria, where the team is staying.

  Muck said he had no problem with us walking. So Travis and I went off across the street at the light and headed in through the high arch that leads into the park.

  We were just starting to talk about how to keep Nish under control when we got to this eternal flame that burns in the center of the park. There was a high stone monument there with names carved into it, but because Travis and I couldn’t even figure out the alphabet, let alone the language, we had no idea what it meant.

  I was taking a picture of Trav standing next to it when he suddenly shouted for me to run.

  I turned just in time to see three large men coming fast toward us. All three were wearing dark tracksuits and had black balaclavas covering their entire heads except for the eyes. I could see the eyes staring straight at us.

  I thought there must be some mistake and they were going to run right past us, but before I could even take a step, they were on top of us.

  One of the men knocked Travis down and pushed him hard into a snowbank that had been shoveled next to the monument.

  The other two grabbed me. One of them pulled a dark cloth bag over my head.

  After that, I could see nothing but darkness.

  I screamed, but it sounded muffled, like I’d fallen into a well or something.

  I heard Travis screaming for help, but that was muffled, too, and then I heard nothing.

  I knew they were carrying me fast – I was bouncing on someone’s shoulder and it hurt. I struggled, but he was way too strong for me and it only made him squeeze tighter.

  They threw me into a car or a van. I could feel leather seats and they were warm – the vehicle must have been waiting for them, its engine already running.

  A door slammed hard behind me. Then another door and another, and then all I could hear was the tires spinning in the snow as the vehicle pulled away.

  I have no idea where it took me. And no idea what will happen to me.

  I’m scared.

  2

  Wake up! Wake up! WAKE UP!

  Travis Lindsay was running through the park, and as he ran he tried to force himself awake. His boots were slipping on the ice, the fresh-fallen snow spilling in over the tops and sliding, cold and wet, down around his ankles.

  If I can feel that, he told himself, this must be real.

  But it couldn’t be real! It had to be a nightmare! It made no more sense than those dreams he would have as a little kid where green witches were chasing him and his feet sank into mud so he couldn’t run.

  But he was running now. He could feel his feet slipping, his heart pounding, and his chest burning. He could hear his own breath, rasping and crying at the same time. He knew there were tears in his eyes. When he blinked, he could feel them freezing along his temples and down each cheek.

  What else could it be but a nightmare? He had seen three men running toward him and Sarah. He had felt one of them crash into him with the hardest check he had ever felt off the ice. He
had lain there moaning as he tried to catch his breath, and seen the two other men grab Sarah, pull a dark cloth bag over her head, and race off with her back behind the bushes where they had been hiding.

  When he got to his feet to go and help her, the man who had hit him struck him again. This time Travis spun and crashed face-first into the snowbank. Everything went black, then cold, as the snow slithered down his neck.

  By the time Travis pulled free and shook the snow out of his eyes, the men were gone. He could hear car doors slamming and the whine of tires trying to get a grip on the snow and ice.

  And then there was nothing. No Sarah. No men wearing tracksuits and balaclavas. Nothing.

  It had to be a nightmare.

  But there was no waking up from this dream. He had never been so wide awake in his life. Travis knew this was real and that something horrible had just happened.

  He ran through the park toward Karl Marx Street. He had to get to the hotel. He had to tell Muck what had happened.

  Travis was running and crying, his feet trying to move so fast that twice he slipped and went down on the icy path. He ran past the little amusement park – closed up for the winter – and through the gates, slipping again as his boots sought traction.

  A man saw Travis fall and hurried over to help, but Travis was already on his feet and yelling. “I need help! Someone has kidnapped my friend! Can you please help me?”

  The man just stared at Travis, baffled. He said something, but Travis had no idea what the man was saying.

  Travis had no way of explaining. Hand signals might work for food and directions, but what hand signal could possibly say three men wearing balaclavas had just taken a twelve-year-old girl in broad daylight and made off with her?

  Travis knocked snow off his leg and started running again. The man who had stopped to help stared after him as if the youngster were some sort of madman.

  Down the streets, Travis ran, slipping and sliding, sometimes falling. He was forced to slow down where the sidewalks had yet to be shoveled and the snow was high. Whenever he saw a break in the cars, he moved out onto the road and ran along the side of the plowed street.

  He could see the hotel. His chest was burning with pain. His eyes were stinging. How was he going to explain? What were they going to do?

  3

  I am trying to figure out what is going on here. I am in a sort of cell. It’s not a jail cell. I have a bed and a dresser. It is hardly a dungeon – the bedclothes are fresh and even pretty: red flowers on a pale yellow background. There is a picture on the wall, a nice winter scene with kids skating on an outdoor pond. The room is actually quite comfortable, almost like a hotel room, with a washroom and a shower off to the side. But there are no windows.

  And the door is locked.

  So far, I have seen only a woman. Or at least that’s the only face I have seen. The men who took me here in the car kept their faces hidden. I have no idea what they look like. But the woman hid nothing. She had on sort of a nurse uniform. She never smiled when she set me up in this room. Never smiled once. But she wasn’t mean or anything, just never smiled.

  She went through my backpack. I think she was looking for a cell phone, but I don’t have one. She left my diary. She left the book I am reading. She left the deck of cards we used on the flight over to play Fish. She left my mirror and toothbrush and toothpaste and the little scissors I carry for my nails. I guess they aren’t worried about me trying to fight my way out of here!

  Someone is coming.

  It was the woman again. She was pushing a cart, and now I have a meal in front of me. I’m not as terrified as I was when the men grabbed me, and I’m not as scared as I was when they put me in this room. That doesn’t mean I’m not worried – I still get frightened when I think about it. But I don’t think they plan to poison me – or starve me. In fact, the food smells good, though I really don’t feel like eating.

  The soup is called borscht, she said. It is red and has cabbage in it and it’s delicious. The other plate is meatballs and spaghetti, and it’s delicious, too. They gave me pop to drink – a sweet orange pop. I’d rather have juice.

  But that’s a silly complaint when I think about it. Would I rather be dead in a snowbank in the middle of nowhere or drinking pop that’s too sweet? I’ll take the pop, thanks.

  I think there is a one-way window in the door. There’s frosted glass there, and I can’t see out. But I think they can see in – otherwise, why have the window? But if someone is watching me, they know I’m writing in my diary, and no one has tried to stop me.

  What is it they want with me?

  Someone is coming again.

  That was weird! It was the woman again, but this time she smiled. I thought the smile looked fake, like she was trying to pretend everything was all right, when obviously it isn’t. I didn’t smile back.

  She speaks very good English. She has a strong accent, but I can understand her fine. “I have something for you, Sarah,” she said when she came in.

  She knew my name! How could that possibly be? She didn’t take my wallet from my pack when she went through it. And my name isn’t anywhere on the pack.

  But she knows my name. She used it twice.

  “Sarah, we want you to change into these,” she said.

  She was carrying a bag. She opened it up and pulled out a bunch of athletic stuff. Underclothes and a tracksuit. She laid it all out on the bed, smiled, and left the room. I heard the lock click behind her as she left.

  I sat for the longest time. I didn’t know what to do. But then – curious, I guess – I held the clothes up to me to see if they would fit. It looked like they would.

  I went into the washroom so I’d have a little privacy and put the clothes on. They were all brand-new and smelled fresh. And everything fit perfectly!

  I looked in the mirror and actually liked what I saw. The tracksuit is bright red but has a small emblem over the heart. It’s golden and looks like a two-headed eagle or something. I know I have seen it somewhere before.

  But why a tracksuit? Do they expect me to work out in this little room?

  Someone is coming again.

  4

  “Okay, Travis,” Muck said very carefully. “Slow it down, young man – and let’s start again at the very beginning.”

  Travis closed his eyes and took several deep, long breaths. He brushed his light brown hair back from his forehead. It was soaking wet from his run. He felt his heart slowing down. It was still racing but no longer pounded in his chest.

  The beginning, yes. But even before the incident in the park, there was the trip to Russia. Even before Sarah was kidnapped, it was already the most incredible, bizarre trip the Screech Owls had ever undertaken.

  It began with Dmitri Yakushev’s uncle. Dmitri’s family came from Leningrad, Russia – which used to be called Saint Petersburg, and now is called Saint Petersburg again. Travis and the rest of the Owls soon learned that nothing is simple in Russia.

  Coach Muck Munro, who is a history nut, told the Screech Owls’ parents that some guy named Winston Churchill once said, “Russia is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.” That made Travis’s mom and dad nod with approval, and there were murmurs of agreement all around the room where the Owls’ parents had gathered to talk about maybe going to Russia.

  Travis looked back at Nish, who was sitting just behind with his mom. Nish’s face was beet red and so twisted that it looked like someone with huge hands had just tried to wring his neck. Nish could never sit still. Travis thought they shouldn’t even try making him.

  Travis knew exactly what his best friend was thinking: What the heck does that mean? Travis knew what a riddle was. And he knew, of course, what a mystery was. His grandmother was a great fan of Agatha Christie, who must have written more than a hundred mysteries, and Travis loved the Sherlock Holmes mysteries on television. But an enigma?

  Maybe Muck was talking about this man who had approached the Owls about coming to Russia. The m
an knew Dmitri’s uncle. The Yakushev family had a connection right back to the famous 1972 Summit Series, when Paul Henderson had scored the most famous goal in hockey history. The best player and top scorer on the Soviet Union team had been Alexander Yakushev, a relative.

  Dmitri’s father had talked to the parents about how different the Russia of today was from the Soviet Union of 1972. Back then, Russia was seen as the enemy. There was only one political party, the Communist Party, and whoever was head of the party was a dictator. The people had no power and no say. They were very poor, because most of the country’s money went into military operations and spying on countries like the United States and Great Britain. The Soviets and Americans were so often on the verge of fighting each other that it was called the Cold War.

  “In Russia today, people have the vote, just like here,” Dmitri’s father told the parents. “And communism has been replaced by American-style capitalism to the point where there are bigger malls than anything we have here. Everyone wears fur,” he said, maybe exaggerating a little, “and, just like us, everyone drives a Japanese car.”

  Anyway, Dmitri’s uncle had contacted Dmitri’s father with an idea. The Screech Owls would be invited to Russia by the City of Ufa and this man called Ivan Petrov. Ufa was a city of more than a million people, but none of the Owls’ parents knew anything about it except that it was the site of the 2013 World Junior Hockey Championship, which the United States had won over Sweden. Canada and Russia had played for the bronze medal and Russia had won that game, leaving Canada in fourth place.

  Ufa, however, was where a lot of oil came from. Dmitri’s father said it was a bit like Calgary or Dallas – a place with enormous wealth.

  And this was where Mr. Petrov came into the picture. He was a billionaire – “That’s like being a millionaire a thousand times over,” explained Data – and was so rich that even if he did nothing but hand his money out, he couldn’t spend all of it. He had made his money in oil, but his big passion was hockey.