It was an unspoken agreement among the people who travelled Russia’s vast landscape that they would help each other get where they needed to go, and not ask questions along the way. Valera didn’t ask the driver why he was taking the long way to Leningrad, choosing the old country roads that meandered their way across Karelia instead of the modern highway that linked it directly to Petrozavodsk, the regional capital on the western side of Lake Onega. And he didn’t ask why she was filthy, why she never let go of the small backpack she clung to her chest, or why she shrank down in her seat whenever they passed another vehicle.

They travelled for a few hours in silence on the old road that wound through forests and tundra, skirted small lakes, or crossed them on rickety bridges, and passed through the decayed remains of several abandoned villages.

Karelia’s history was both long and bloody. Its vast network of interconnected lakes linked the Gulf of Finland and the White Sea, which meant whoever controlled Karelia controlled access to the Baltic and the Arctic. The region straddled the border between Finland and Russia, and twenty years ago, after centuries of tussling, the Soviet Union annexed most of it. The inhabitants of the area who wouldn’t or couldn’t flee west were moved out of their farms and villages, which were left to rot, and into internment camps. Povenets B had originally been one of those camps.

Valera barely registered the tundra, the lakes, or the empty villages as they drove on. Her mind was still trying to process what had happened. It was only when the sun started to stream through the truck’s windscreen that she realised the road had turned south. She was running on instinct but she knew she couldn’t risk going all the way to Leningrad. As soon as the GRU worked out she wasn’t in Povenets B, they’d go hunting for her, and Leningrad would be the first place they’d look. So with a few quiet words she said goodbye to the truck driver, and continued her journey on foot.

She hiked through two more villages in quick succession. The first had been remarkably well preserved. Buildings were still standing and small flowers bloomed in overgrown gardens. It was like everyone had just gone on a long summer holiday. The second village she almost missed entirely. It must have been the site of a major battle in one of Karelia’s many conflicts. A few broken walls were all that was left. There were no little flowers or any signs of life at all. And after that, there was just more tundra.