“He’s gone. The bear swiped at Milanovich before he knew what was happening, ripping him open with those huge paws. He dropped the gun, and I snatched it out of the snow. That beast then took a run at me. I shot him twice, but he still got his licks in.”
“Looks like he got in more than just a few licks,” Maddux said, glancing at Dex’s bloodied body.
“Eyes behind us,” Dex said. “I don’t know if I got him or not.”
Maddux looked over his shoulder and saw the bear barreling over the ridge and heading straight toward them.
“Keep going,” Maddux said. “I’ve got this.”
“Take these,” Dex said, giving Maddux a handful of cartridges. Dex then stumbled forward toward the raft.
Maddux knelt in the snow and checked the magazine. He loaded a few more cartridges to ensure that he could fend off the polar bear, which was still charging full speed toward him. But as Maddux set up to take a shot, the bear suddenly skidded to a stop and galloped back to the brush.
What the—
Maddux turned around to find several husky teams mushing toward him from the east. All the men standing on their sled’s runners were armed with rifles and were dragging additional supplies behind them.
Without hesitating, Maddux flagged the men down. A couple of them came to a halt a few meters away. Maddux watched Dex collapse in the snow and rushed over to him, hurriedly waving the mushers over.
“What happened?” one of the men asked in Russian.
Maddux noticed the Arktikogul logo branded into the side of one of the boxes the men were transporting.
“Polar bear attack,” Maddux answered in Russian. “Our guide, Milanovich, is still over there.”
“Your friend needs to get to a doctor quickly before it’s too late,” one of the men said. “We’re on our way to Longyearbyen now. We can take him.”
“We know Milanovich, but we won’t attempt to retrieve his body now,” the other man warned. “That polar bear would like nothing more than to add you to its menu.”
Maddux nodded knowingly then thanked the men and asked if he could join them.
Dex, who had remained silent while being helped onto one of the sled’s front basket, reached for Maddux’s hand and gave it a squeeze.
“You have to make the delivery,” Dex said. “I can manage. I’ll still be there when you get back.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Maddux said. “You could die. Besides, you’re the one who’s supposed to handle the most important part. I couldn’t possibly—”
“It’s the same as what you did in Bali,” Dex said in a hushed voice. “It’s just in much colder water.”
Maddux sighed and shook his head.“I don’t know about this.”
“I do,” Dex said, nodding confidently. “You’ll do just fine. Just make that delivery before it gets too late.”
“We could take you,” one of the men suggested. “It just might weigh us down if we have to add your supplies to our load.”
“I think I’ll just finish my delivery,” Maddux said before asking the men how much farther it was to Barentsburg.
“On foot, maybe an hour and a half. If you’re carrying supplies, maybe two hours.”
“But you better hurry,” one of the other men said. “That polar bear on that ridge is satisfied for now, but he won’t hesitate to come after you.”
“And there’s another storm blowing this way,” another musher said.
Maddux handed the men a wad of cash.“Please, take good care of him. I will give you more when I return from making my delivery.”
“Mush!” yelled one of the men.
The dogs took off, jerking the sled across the snow. The other sled followed suit, and Maddux watched until they disappeared over the hill. Entrusting an injured Dex with strangers—Russian strangers, no less—wasn’t ideal. However, Dex was right: the urgency of the mission superseded usual protocol.
Maddux used rope from the raft and threaded all of his supplies together, forming a makeshift harness. Satisfied that he had everything he needed to complete the mission, he struck off east toward Barentsburg, using Isfjorden as his guide.
The Russian mining settlement was built just off the water along a hillside. It was little more than a few boarding houses with a small mercantile and a pub. Without any roads, Barentsburg resembled more of a commune than an actual village.
Losing Milanovich was a tragedy in and of itself. Maddux figured it must’ve been the guide’s day to die. Narrowly surviving a shipwreck led Maddux to believe that perhaps it wasn’t Milanovich’s time, but then came a vicious polar bear attack. Maddux only hoped there wasn’t more danger lurking around the corner for him before he arrived in Barentsburg.
As Maddux trudged along, he went over how he would handle the dive. Plunging into the warm waters near Bali was a stark difference to the rough, frigid seas of the Arctic. And that was all without sneaking beneath the surface and attaching charges to the Soviet sub. But it was of utmost importance, perhaps even the last opportunity for the U.S. to thwart such an imminent attack.
Maddux found the mushers’ estimate of two hours to reach Barentsburg incredibly accurate. The time was nearly 4:00 p.m., and the sun had already dipped behind the island’s western mountain range. If Maddux had delayed any longer, he would’ve slogged into town after dark.
Nevertheless, Maddux was quite visible—and stood out like the foreigner that he was. His unceremonious yet jarring entry into the community resulted in a greeting party of five men that was more suspicious than welcoming.
“Can we help you?” the obvious leader of the group asked.
Maddux wanted to put the men at ease quickly before they had the opportunity to suspect anything.
“I’m here to make a delivery for some mining equipment to Arktikogul,” Maddux said.
The furrowed brows vanished in place of warm smiles.
“In that case,” the man replied, “let me buy you a drink.”
Maddux relaxed for a moment and flashed a quick grin.“I was heard this was the best place on the island to get some vodka.”
The men all broke into a hearty laugh before a pair of armed Soviet guards hustled down the steps toward the impromptu meeting.
“Papers, please,” the guard demanded, holding out his hand.
Maddux dug into his coat pockets for all the proper documents, but he couldn’t find them. That’s when he realized he had stored them inside one of the boxes of supplies—but he couldn’t remember which one.
“Give me a minute,” Maddux said.
He knelt next to the crate that contained the parts he was scheduled to deliver. Wedging open the top, he sifted through the straw and said a quick prayer that all his papers were there. But they weren’t—and he wasn’t about to open the other crate, the one with all the gear, in front of the soldiers.
“I’m not sure where they are,” Maddux said. “We’ve had quite an adventure getting here.”
“We?” one of the soldiers said.
“Well, our guide didn’t make it,” Maddux said. “He was mauled to death by a polar bear. And my other comrade was also injured in the attack and taken back to Longyearbyen to be treated by a doctor.”
“We could’ve treated him,” the guard said.
“I’m sure you could have, but we lost our boat on the rough seas earlier, and I had no way of traveling here other than on foot. I couldn’t carry everything plus my friend. It was the only way.”
“Those must be pretty important supplies,” the guard said. “We’re going to need to take a look.”
Maddux swallowed hard and said a little prayer under his breath.
Chapter XVII
MADDUX WATCHED THE soldier pry the box open. He sifted through the packing material that kept everything secure and safe. After a few seconds, he came across a pair of gun cases.
“This is interesting,” the soldier said as he picked up one of them and inspected it. “You always carry multiple weapons with you?”
“That’s exactly the reason why we have the laws that we do. You can’t go exploring this island without some form of protection. That rifle would’ve surely been more helpful had it been in his hand than stuffed inside a box.”
Maddux nodded. “It was unfortunate, though the guide who had a gun is the one who ended up dead. Having a weapon isn’t a foolproof plan.”
“But it sure does help.”
The soldier continued rooting through the box while Maddux prayed that the man didn’t come across the drysuit. However, before he did, a man dressed in general’s attire stumbled out of the pub and descended the steps. He forced his way through the small circle of men that had formed around the guard and Maddux.
“This is John Roe,” the general proclaimed. “Am I not right?”
“You are correct, sir,” Maddux said, the tension already lifting from the confrontation. “And you are?”
“Admiral Volkov,” he said, offering his hand. “I’m in charge of all shipments that enter Barentsburg, serving as a special liaison between Arktikogul and the Soviet command post here.”
“I wasn’t aware that my delivery would be inspected by a member of the Soviet military.”
“Do you have a problem with that, Mr. Roe?”
Maddux shook his head. “Quite the contrary. I find it a great honor to be welcomed by you in this manner. It lets me know that I wasn’t a fool for making this special delivery from Opel and volunteering to help install this new machinery.”
“Well, I’m glad you do because this shipment isn’t entirely about the Arktikogul mines,” Volkov said.
Maddux’s eyebrows arched slightly upward.
“Is that so?”
Volkov nodded. “Why don’t you come inside and have a drink with me? I’ll have my men collect your supplies and place them in one of our barracks. You’ll be treated like a king for an evening—and you’ll have all the vodka you can handle.”
Maddux’s mind whirred as he considered how he could diplomatically refuse the offer, especially since he was told that Arktikogul was going to make plans for his sleeping arrangements.
“I appreciate the sentiment, sir, but that won’t be necessary.”
“Do you have reservations elsewhere?” Volkov said with a wry grin.
“No, sir, I just thought—”
“That settles it,” Volkov said. “You’ll come with me. Just leave your belongings there. My men will place it near your guest bunk in our barracks.”
Maddux forced a smile. “Well, thank you. I guess I don’t have much of an option, do I?”
“Not unless you want to sleep in the cold and forego the greatest Russian tradition of all time—sharing a bottle of vodka with another.”
Volkov gestured for Maddux to move first in the direction of a small shack designated as the Barentsburg pub. He obliged and strode up the steps, stealing a quick glance back at his things before opening the door. Maddux tried to stay calm.
“Don’t worry,” Volkov said. “They will be careful with your belongings.”
Maddux entered the pub and considered how his situation had become much more complicated. Staying in the soldiers’ barracks created another difficult obstacle for him regarding the secrecy of his mission. With one seemingly innocent invitation, Volkov endangered everything.
Maddux took a seat across the table from his gracious host. Without even gesturing for service, a bottle of vodka was placed between them by an alert bartender.
“This is Yuri,” Volkov said, looking at Maddux as he slapped the bartender on the back. “He’s the best in all of Barentsburg.”
“I’m also the only server in this village,” Yuri said.
The comment was met with uproarious laughter. Maddux joined in but also wondered if remaining in such a remote part of the world made one lose a sense of humor. When the hilarity subsided, Maddux took his first shot.
Perhaps the vodka will make things seem funnier.
Like everything else in this situation, Maddux had to walk a fine line between remaining polite and staying sober. He wasn’t sure if he could do both, but he also knew he wouldn’t function well early in the morning after a night of heavy drinking. And between shots and jokes, Maddux pondered how he might be able to successfully navigate such a conundrum. After a few minutes, he excused himself for the restroom.
Upon finishing his business, he stopped by the bar and slid a wad of cash to Yuri.
“This is for bringing me a bottle of vodka filled with water,” Maddux whispered.
Yuri winked and took the money with a faint grin.“I will take care of you, comrade. Go have a seat.”
A few seconds after Maddux sat down, Yuri marched up to the table and placed a bottle in the center.
“Admiral, I want you to know that this man is an impostor,” Yuri said.
Maddux swallowed hard, his eyes bouncing back and forth between Yuri and Volkov.
“Is that so, Yuri?”
Yuri nodded as he narrowed his eyes.“He wanted me to slip a bottle of water onto the table for him, disguised as vodka. Now, I don’t know about you, but I don’t know any real man who would say such a thing.”
“Perhaps he is a woman,” Volkov said, breaking into a guffaw.
The other soldiers nearby joined in the mockery of Maddux, who forced a smile along with a subtle exhale. If that was the most serious accusation levied against him during his time in Barentsburg, Maddux figured he would make it out alive. But he’d barely been in the settlement for an hour and already felt like he was sitting on a powder keg just waiting for a match to be struck.
Just stay calm.
The admiral asked Yuri to bring over the weakest bottle of vodka.
“Our new friend may not have the stomach for true indoctrination into Russian life,” Volkov said. “So, if he wants us to take it easy on him, we will. After all, we are leaving tomorrow for the biggest mission of our lives, and we should at least be somewhat sober when we leave port.”
Maddux cocked his head to one side.
“You’re leaving tomorrow?” he asked.
“We’re going on a long journey, comrade, and I doubt you’ll be here when we return. However, I hope you will still think of us fondly.”
“I guess that depends upon what kind of headache I have in the morning,” Maddux quipped.
“You’re definitely not a Russian. We don’t get headaches.”
More laughter from the men sitting within earshot of Volkov and Maddux filled the room.
The banter and drinking continued for another hour and a half before the men headed toward the mess hall for dinner. Maddux told Volkov if he wanted the delivery installed before he left, that would require some time. Volkov said such immediacy wasn’t necessary and that he had capable mechanics who could handle the task. All Volkov wanted to know was which crate contained the parts. Maddux told him the identifying marks, and the discussion ended with Volkov ushering Maddux to the dining hall.
Upon taking his seat, Maddux noticed an even mix of soldiers and miners among everyone sitting at the long tables. The plates were all the same, except for a few officers who received extra portions of meat.
For the meal, Maddux relinquished his special treatment, sitting with several soldiers and miners instead of the admiral. Volkov seemed comfortable inviting Maddux into the Barentsburg way of life. While certainly foreign to Maddux, he was surprised at how normal everything seemed to the men. Living in such close quarters in isolation must’ve had a way of bringing everyone together unlike any other experience. And in the morning, the submarine crew from the Soviet navy planned to shove off on a mission to start a nuclear world war. Maddux found the men affable, even likeable on many levels. The whole situation seemed surreal, literally eating with the enemy, a room full of men’s lives he would gladly take if it mean squelching a violent world confli
ct. He wondered how many of them even knew what their impending mission entailed.
After the meal, Volkov approached Maddux.
“We turn in rather early around here,” Volkov said.
Maddux glanced at his watch. It was just past 8:00 p.m.
“Given the day I had, I won’t mind the extra rest.”
“I’m glad to hear that, especially since there isn’t really a choice,” Volkov said before a slight pause. “Well, I guess there is. You could sleep in the snow if you wanted to stay up, but the cold would kill you.”Volkov broke into a hearty laugh and then slapped Maddux on the back.“You take our joking well, John Roe,” Volkov said. “Maybe I will make you an honorary Russian, even though you didn’t drink much of the real vodka.”
Maddux smiled, surprised at how genuine it felt. He presumed Volkov was being sincere, though Maddux couldn’t be sure. After all, this was the same man who was planning on launching nuclear weapons at the eastern seaboard of the United States.
After bidding the admiral a good evening, Maddux was escorted to his bunk in the barracks. He was disappointed to see that it was all the way in the back, the farthest distance from the door. Based on the plan he and Dex had discussed, they determined the best time to strike was in the early morning, setting the charges on the submarine well before dawn. Maddux still thought that was the best time to take action. However, it would require a little more stealth than he’d initially imagined.
Piling on several layers on the advice of the soldier sleeping in the bunk above him Maddux slipped into some comfortable warm clothes. He noticed that the crate containing the parts from Opel was now missing.
Given ten minutes before lights were out, Maddux sifted through the belongings still remaining and pieced together all of the supplies he needed. Unzipping the gun case, he eased the oxygen tanks and the drysuit to the top, making the process of escaping into the early morning hours as quiet as possible. After setting the lid loosely on top, Maddux climbed under the covers. Moments later, an officer entered the room and barked out final instructions for the morning before turning off the lights.
Maddux peered into the darkness, amazed at how black everything was. No street lamps. No ambient light. The occasional glow of the aurora borealis provided the only nighttime illumination in the village.
The Man from Leningrad Page 9