3. Chapter

 

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3. Chapter

 

Greg had to wait until Monday afternoon than Martin Brooks came into his office, armed with a thick folder.

"Hi Greg, do you have a minute?"  "Hi, Martin. Sure."

"That's good. I have something for you."

Greg stood up, pushed a chair toward Martin, and made room on his desk for the papers. "I would have come to you, too. Why didn't you call?" Greg pointed to the folder, "Looks like work."

Martin nodded, then asked, "But before I sort all this stuff out for you piece by piece, I want to know if you want to take the job or not?"

Greg grinned at him. "No way, Martin! Get the facts on the table! Then I'll tell you if I'm going to the Russians."

It turned out to be a long afternoon. Martin's secretary brought them some sandwiches for supper, and by the time Greg got home it was almost midnight.

He packed the whole stack of papers on the coffee table and grabbed a beer from the fridge. He had asked for a night to think it all over, but he was actually pretty fired up about the job in Siberia right now.

It was a project with big advantages: free hand, loose cooperation with a Russian engineer, and money played no role at all in this game, because the oligarch, who among other things also owned the pipeline maintenance company, wanted a nice, presentable environmental protection prestige project. International cooperation was a good idea, and the investments were gladly accepted, because they could be perfectly used as publicity.

The sentence Martin had repeated more than once was: "Cost is not a limiting factor! You get everything you need!" That's what Martin had been told, and that's how the planning was going to turn out: Generous! Of course, the reality still looked different. Greg knew that and Martin knew that too. But it was an interesting job. Economically anyway, but also a real technical challenge of a special kind. Greg had dreamed of projects like this in his engineering courses at the University. The climate, the landscape, the labour they had to recruit for it, and the complete logistics for materials, storage, transportation, and the construction of each work section, including housing for the men, all had to be considered, organized, and put into an ongoing process of revisions and repairs. Close cooperation of the various professional groups, and good communication were necessary for this. The distances in Russia and the climatic conditions were very similar to those in Alaska. They didn't know much about the geographic conditions yet, nor did they know much about the current condition of the pipeline and pumps. Martin had been working with Greg all evening on a somewhat rough but meaningful concept. Greg already had a great, efficient maintenance team in his mind's eye, and it excited him immensely to get this up and running. Their teams on the Trans-Alaska Pipeline were well trained and well equipped as well, but with a little more money, it would be a little easier. And it would also be more attractive for the welders and fitters to live in containers for several weeks a year and work in the wilderness, far from their families.

When he finally lay in bed, Greg looked forward to the new challenge. He blanked out the politics in Russia. Moscow was as far from Siberia as Anchorage was from Washington. And Martin was probably right when he said that people all over the world are much more alike than one thinks.

Greg and Martin spent the next few days organizing their work on the Alaska Pipeline for the coming weeks. The summer was short and needed to be used to the max.

He was not the only engineer at ALPISECCOM. Richard Meyers and Peter Price weren't thrilled about having to work overtime, but they didn't envy Greg being sent to the old nemesis either. Greg briefed them on his coming work tasks, and along the way the formalities for his stay in Russia were sorted out. He needed a passport, a visa, a work permit, an account at a Russian bank, health insurance, a cell phone for private use, a new laptop without any ALPISECCOM's company data and what not!

Martin's secretary Janet whined every day about her exhausting experiences with some authorities. At first it seemed very long to Gregory when Martin told him that he had estimated a whole month for preparations, but then he hardly found the time to pack his own personal belongings and prepare his house for his long absence. His mother would occasionally air and dust. Mail was diverted to his neighbours. Anne and Bob, his closest neighbours, were used to that. This time, however, Greg would be gone longer than usual.

Martin had told him that they were expected in Moscow on Friday evening at the Ararat Park Hyatt hotel, a luxurious five-star hotel, just across the famous Bolshoi theatre.

It was planned that they would spend about one week on planning work there. After that, Martin would fly back to Anchorage and Greg would leave for Siberia.

Greg admired the hotel on the Internet. It was absolute posh and he decided to make a last-minute trip to Anchorage to shop for wardrobe. He was equipped for the cold in Siberia, but not for a top hotel in the capital. And he certainly didn't want to appear like a country bumpkin in Moscow.

As he tried on suits and shoes, he suddenly realized that he might be gone for months. In a foreign country, but also in the land of his ancestors. This was exciting and thrilling. He pushed aside the upcoming fears.

 

On Wednesday evening his parents throw big farewell party for Greg. Emily had not let him miss it and Greg was very touched that all his siblings with their families and many of his friends and work colleagues joined it. He had just finished his first beer when the doorbell rang again.

Gregory answered the door and looked directly into Doug's face. Douglas looked a little unsettled, as if he wasn't sure he was welcome.

"Hi, I just wanted to wish you good luck."

"Come on in."

Douglas Hames was known to all. He sat down and Emily provided him with bread and chili con carne like one of her own sons. The mood was good, and the conversation turned to many topics. Greg sat across from Douglas and tried to figure out his feelings for him. Doug was his friend. Otherwise, he wouldn't have come today. Greg hadn't invited him, but he was glad to see him anyway. Much later, as they said goodbye, they hugged briefly and Doug said, "Please come back healthy and in one piece."

Greg gave Douglas a quick hug and confessed, "Glad you came by."

Doug looked down at the ground. "Take care Greg. And keep in touch, okay?"

That was a phrase as Douglas hadn't contacted Greg in the last few weeks either. Douglas had made up his mind and he wasn't known for inconsistency. One of his good qualities.

Later Gregory said goodbye to his parents and when they were already at the door, his father ran off again to get something. He returned a few minutes later with a small book bound in brown leather. "It's my mother's diary. I kept it all the time, but I can't read it. She wrote in Cyrillic. Maybe you will find out what you want to know. Come back soon my son."

Harold hugged Gregory and Greg tried to sound confident. "Don't you worry about a thing. I'll be back soon."

His mother wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "You'll call me, yeah!"

"Yes, I will. I promise! Love you mom! And thank you for the party. That was very sweet of you."

***

Moscow in June was sensationally beautiful, impressive, and very different from what Greg and Martin had imagined.

They were immediately captured by the many historic buildings they saw on the drive from the airport to the hotel and the vibrant life on the city streets. Greg knew Anchorage and he had studied in Seattle, but he hadn't seen a city quite like this. And although he was not at all a city person, he took it upon himself to see as much of it as possible.
In the taxi Martin asked: "What was taking so long for you at the customs?"

"Nothing in particular. They were just checking my work visa and my luggage. After all, you're here as a tourist, but I carry around three suitcases ..."

Gregory tried hard to sound calm, but this first encounter with the Russian authorities had already made him a little nervous. There was no reason for it, as it soon turned out. The officials were friendly and polite. Greg answered the questions about why and where to as precisely as he could and that was the end of the procedure. The driver stopped in front of the hotel and helped them with their luggage. Martin Brooks and Gregory Burton were already expected.

A very young and very beautiful red-haired woman was waiting for them in the lobby of the hotel. The incredibly high black pumps she wore almost took Martin's breath away. Her blouse was well filled, and Greg could literally see his boss being captivated by the sensual movement of her hips as the lady approached them. "Welcome to Moscow! Mr. Brooks, Mr. Burton. My name is Galina Ochotskaya. I am your translator and will take care of you during your stay here in Moscow."

Galina's smile was open and warm. Greg liked her, but Martin was paralyzed. His voice sounded foreign as he shook her hand and replied, "Thank you, Mrs. Ochot... Excuse me, may I just say Galina?"

"Of course, Mr. Brooks. My family name is hard to pronounce."

She rolled her ‘r’ and spoke slowly and controlled, but her English was very good. Gregory shook her hand as well and said with a broad smile, "Hello, I'm Gregory Burton. So just Greg."

Galina smiled back. "Gregory, is very nice."

The way she pronounced his name sounded very Russian. 

Galina escorted them to their rooms on the third floor. Before Greg could look at his room, Galina gave them a brief explanation of the evenings schedule, along with a detailed folder of the planned program for the coming week.

"So, now I will leave you alone and let you unpack. I will see you tonight at six at the bar for an aperitif before dinner. Oh yes, just one more detail: The owner of PETROL SIBERIK, Mr. János Liberov, is coming in person tonight to dine with you."

Martin had found his voice again. "Very kind of you to bring this to our attention."

She said goodbye with a bright smile and stalked away, hips swaying. Greg didn't know what to make of that last sentence. "What was that supposed to mean now?"

"Evening dress, I think. Apparently, the owner of the company himself is honoring us. If you thought this was going to be a casual meeting at the kitchen table, you were wrong."

Greg growled, "Don't be scared! I can eat with a knife and fork. My Russian grandma taught me that."
They both laughed, and Greg went across the hall to his own room to unpack his suitcase. The one he had packed for Moscow. The others could just stand there.

The room was very tastefully decorated and offered every comfort, right down to the coffee maker that ran a wonderful Italian espresso at the push of a button. The windows reached to the floor and the view of the Bolshoi theatre across the street was terrific. Gregory ran water in the tub and flipped through the hotel's brochure. He had already seen on the Internet that there was a swimming pool and a fitness centre. That would have to wait until tomorrow. It was four-thirty. Still an hour and a half to relax a little bit after the long travel. He took a short bath and dressed up for the evening.
The program he had received from Galina was meaningful. All the conference participants were described with pictures and functions. Martin had some commercial appointments. He himself was in the group for technical details. His direct interlocutor was Sergei Volkov. The man's picture looked as if it was taken decades ago, just like his own. Where had Martin gotten this gruesome picture? From his personnel file, or so it seemed.

Martin wasn't in his room when Greg knocked at the door, just before six.

He found him in the bar, flirting fiercely with the beautiful Galina. Martin was tall and broad-shouldered, and his black hair, with just a very little silver at the temples, usually worked on women. Greg had known Martin long enough to know that he liked to flirt and more when the opportunity arose. Debby, his wife, would lynch him for that, if she knew, but that was none of Greg's business. He nodded to Galina, and she immediately got up to meet him. Just a few minutes later, the other conferees arrived, and Galina had to interpret. She introduced everyone and they had a drink together. There were more participants than Greg had expected.

The only one who had come alone was Sergei Volkov, the engineer from Siberia.

A Russian bear. Tall, dark, broad, heavy, and strong, bearded, quiet, and certainly ten years older than Greg. The man looked as out of place here as Gregory Burton and seemed very uncomfortable in the suit into which he had squeezed his broad shoulders.

Both quickly sensed that they were on the same wavelength and realized that Sergei’s English was as good as Greg's Russian and that at least verbal communication would not be a very big obstacle. Sergei didn't speak very much, but he had an extremely pleasant, deep voice. He also rolled the ‘r’ in Gregory's name, as did Galina. It sounded even better coming out of his mouth.

Greg and Martin sat next to each other at the highly official dinner. Sergei sat across from them, as did Igor Tomaczinsky, the project's commercial director. He was a short man with sharp features and thinning hair. The accountant was immediately apparent to him. Greg let the long speeches and wordy greetings wash over him. At the beginning he had tried to understand something, but quickly gave up. Galina translated the important parts into English. Martin hung on her lips and Greg calmly looked at everyone present. Sergei was watching him. Greg was scanned by his black eyes so intense that he finally felt it. Their gazes bored into each other briefly, then Sergei smiled and indicated a friendly nod.

Greg noticed the deep trace of a wedding ring on his hand, and suddenly, he realized that he couldn't just be himself here.

The food was very exclusive, very exotic, and delicate decorated. Greg didn't really get full. Sergei certainly didn't. They looked at each other, both sensing what the other man was thinking, and Greg guessed that this could be the beginning of a good working relationship. Much later, over a nightcap: vodka for Sergei and bourbon without ice for Greg, they had a long conversation about America and Russia, pipelines, and heavy engineering. Sergei had managed a department in a machine-building factory. He had no experience of working outside, but he had experience of making spare parts and load-bearing elements, and of transport machinery. One could clearly feel his great love for his Siberian homeland and pride in his work.

As Greg lay in bed, he was content. These days of paperwork and planning would soon be over and then things would really get started. However, he took it upon himself to see as much of Moscow as possible. Already tomorrow evening a performance was planned at the Bolshoi. Some ballet. Greg didn't know anything about it. He would let it come to him. Just like everything else. With that thought, he fell asleep.

The days flew by and there wasn't much time for tourist activities.

Greg wasn't particularly thrilled when it turned out that the PETROL SIBERIK wanted to sign him up for a full year. This also meant living like a monk for a whole year! He had a long and heated discussion with Martin about it.

In the end, however, the numbers that Igor Tomaczinsky wrote into the employment contract were so big that the beautiful piece of land on White Mountain Lake that Greg had long dreamed of was suddenly within his grasp.

Everything in life comes with a price tag.

He signed for one year and that evening, during their workout together in the hotel's weight room, Sergei said, "What's a year, Gregory? We're just starting out, and you'll have to leave because it's already over. And you'll cry when you must leave Siberia! Remember what I said when the day comes!”

Greg couldn’t imagine now, how much truth there was in this sentence.

On Martin's last evening, the four of them went out. Greg and Sergei, Martin, and Galina. She had promised to take them on a little tour around the Red Square. They saw the Kremlin, the Lenin Mausoleum, and the tombs in the Kremlin wall. In the beautiful, gorgeous, colourful St. Basil's Cathedral, they happened to be able to listen to the men's choir rehearsing for a concert for a while. The Orthodox chants especially pleased Sergei. He was from Irkutsk and was in Moscow for the first time.

Galina had fallen in love with Martin, as he had with her, and Greg could hardly bear to watch the two of them enjoying every glance and seemingly casual touch.

Sergei was no different. Before they walked back to the hotel, which was just a few steps from the Red Square, he said quietly to Greg, "I'm still hungry. Shall we go out for a bite to eat? And leave the two love birds alone?"

Greg agreed with him, and Martin was downright grateful that the two men said goodbye and let Galina and him enjoy their last evening.
The Russian woman with the red hair and always perfect makeup was so different from his wife. Cuddly, tender, and soft. She hung on his lips when he spoke and tried so hard to please him that it was hard to bear to disappoint her. Which he undoubtedly would do tomorrow. But for now, they would both enjoy the night and tomorrow was another day.

"Women!" growled Sergei when he was able to speak again. A big McDonald's menu had suited them both just fine, after days of enjoying far too fine meals. Greg shoved a couple of fries into his mouth and nodded.

"Martin has a wife and kids at home. But he's powerless against pumps and tits!"

Sergei grinned broadly. "Just don't think she doesn't know that for sure! When someone like her aims at you, no man stands a chance! Martin can't help it at all!"

He grinned broadly and Greg replied without thinking, "I don't care. I'm not into pumps and tits."

"I almost thought so. You're more into something solid, aren't you? What's your wife like?"

"I'm single."

Sergei looked him in the eye.

"Oh, I am, too. Again. We broke up six months ago."

He lowered his eyes and looked at his food.

Greg was glad to be able to skirt the cliff without outright lying. He didn't know Sergei well enough for the whole truth yet.

"Kids?"

"A boy and a little girl."

"Do you see them?"

Sergei sounded sad. "Too rarely, but yes, I see them."

"What happened?"

"The usual thing. I've been working too much. She's a healthy woman. She's found someone who has more time for her."

Sergei shrugged, and Greg changed the subject.

"How long will the flight to Irkutsk take?"

Sergei thought for a moment. "About five or six hours I think."

"Wow, your country is big!"

"Yes, and beautiful! Beautiful! You'll see it tomorrow. And that's just a small part."

Martin's goodbye the next morning was short and painless.

Greg, Sergei, and Igor Tomaczinsky flew together to Irkutsk in eastern Siberia. The city has about
600 000 citizens and is located right at the famous Lake Baikal.

Between Irkutsk and Omsk runs a pipeline of about 2500 km. It was old but was to become a part of the newly planned Eastern Siberia-Pacific Ocean Oil Pipeline in the future, which would run all the way to China one day. The old pipeline between the two industrial centres would keep the newly created maintenance teams busy for years. This could already be seen from the airplane.
Between Omsk and Irkutsk, the landscape was sparsely populated, if at all. Endless forests stretched out to the right and left of the only connecting road.

 

 

A large factory building, a simple apartment, an off-road vehicle, the canteen, which was two blocks away from the PETROL SIBERIK hall, and the office, which Greg shared with Sergei and Igor, formed Greg’s world for his first weeks in Siberia. Work, eat, sleep, repeat.

Then, at some point, the time finally came for Greg and Sergei to set out for the first time to take a closer look at several kilometres of the tube.

Revision and inventory. Hard work combined with primitive living conditions outside in nature. Greg was the consultant. Sergei quickly sensed the responsibility that would soon rest on his shoulders alone.

He tried more than once to persuade Greg to stay for longer. And Greg was tempted more than once to come out to him.

He didn't.

The common opinion that being gay was a contagious disease and that gays and pedophiles were lumped together did not stop at Sergei, Igor and the locksmiths and welders. Mean jokes were made and 'gay', or rather 'pedik' which also means paedophile, was used as an insult. Sergei was not a bad guy, and it was obvious that he liked Greg, but he was as homophobic as the legislation in Russia.

Greg had committed himself for a whole year. And that could get damn long if you had to run gauntlets day in and day out because of your sexuality.

So, he decided against any outing. In his rare free time, he withdrew more and more. He felt alone and lonely, although the work was fun and challenged him. Of course, he kept in touch with his family and with Martin Brooks, but he kept his feelings and fears to himself. When he was working, he didn't think about it.

But when his mood became worse and worse even towards the others, Sergei invited him to a bar one Saturday night to have a serious word with Greg. He sensed that his American friend was unhappy, and he thought he knew what the reason was.

At first, they drank and kept silent. Sergei was good at silence, and he was patient. Vodka was a good lubricant for rusted tongues. You just must let it work its magic for a little while.

Greg didn't want to talk. He couldn't talk about his feelings. Not with Sergei or anyone else here. Then again, he didn't dare look for any kind of gay scene that might exist in this big city. He longed for a little looseness, for flirting and joking, for fun and for sex. Every bare torso of a welder, every tight ass, every pretty face, made him sick with longing. And it didn't get any better from the fact that he wasn't allowed. Sergei's deep voice snapped Greg out of his dull thoughts. "Gregory, my friend, what's the matter with you? Are you homesick for your family? Or are you feeling lonely? Hey, you're a young man. It's no good alone! You might need a woman. You know, I see Tatiana. She pretends to love only me, and I pretend to give her the money out of love. She warms my bed and my heart. It's better than having a wife at home who's always fighting because you're working. Don't you want a Tatiana? Or shall I help you find one to warm your bed? Winter is going to be long and cold."

Greg looked up and would have liked to scream: No! I don't want a Tatiana! I want a horny Tartar! With black hair, a tight ass, angular features and sharp as his dagger ...!

He would never have said that aloud, but he didn't get to answer a single word, because suddenly a disturbing bustle broke out at the entrance of the bar!

Bright lights, noise, shouting and barked orders. Sergei realized a little faster than Greg that it was a drug raid. He quietly said to Gregory, "Just do what the officers say and stay calm."

 

***

tbc

 

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With Love! Reg Dixon