The River of Bones v5

by Tom Hron

  “The damn fool should have kept his mouth shut because the district guard kept the bills for themselves, and his honesty cost him thirty thousand rubles, a lifetime of work for him.” He leaned back, laughing and shaking his head.

  Zorkin waited. Now it was a matter of suggesting the right plan, meanwhile persuading Kozlov that it was his own idea. One had to be careful around military officers—the armed forces always protected its own. If he fucked up, he’d be left facing the commandant’s men all alone, and they wouldn’t give a damn that he’d once been the Second Chief Directorate of the KGB. That alone might be reason enough for them to kill him. Chekists had never been liked very much by anyone.

  “Commandant, your grid plan undoubtedly would be the best deployment for you to make, and your soldiers have said you are the best at establishing listening posts. You and I could wait at my old base camp until one of them radios he’s seen the Americans.”

  The general blinked, then smiled. “Why . . . I’m surprised my men feel that way. Yes, we could pick out ten good men, like you said before, and assign each several square kilometers, letting us guard a large area.”

  “What helicopters should we take?” asked Zorkin. “We need a Hip . . . but what if the Americans start shooting at us? Maybe we should take along a gunship. You have any in your wing?”

  “Nyet. . . . Though, I know where to get one, the best. Your newspaper reminded me there’s a Werewolf based in Ulan Ude. We keep it there to watch the border.” He looked at the paper again. “You know . . . maybe the Chinese did come across and steal the Antonov. Now that their market economy is so strong, they’re getting very bold, and gasoline is valuable on the black market in Ulaan Baator, the capitol of the People’s Republic of Mongolia. Did you know Ulaan Baator means Red Hero?” The general stared at the ceiling again.

  Zorkin gritted his teeth because the man was such an idiot. “Excuse me, how can you commandeer a Werewolf for the summer? Won’t Moscow disapprove?”

  “Not if I supply the fuel. My pilots are desperate for practice and have fallen way behind in their combat readiness. Our trip to the Sakha Republic can be disguised as a training mission. No one need know . . .” Then a long sigh mixed with his voice. “Now I remember I haven’t any fuel, and no money, either. Maybe I can find enough for one helicopter, but not two. We’re in trouble already.”

  “I have money in a secret account at the Irkomsotsbank in Irkutsk. We can use that to buy fuel.”

  Kozlov’s eyebrows lifted and he quickly leaned forward. “Tell me how near you think the diamonds are to the old crash site. Wait, wait, let me have my sergeant bring us a map so we can draw our grid lines.”

  Zorkin smiled. Show some happiness, build his confidence, make him think they were best friends, bent on a common purpose. Wait for the right moment and kiss him on both cheeks the good old Russian way. Thing were finally coming together.

  But . . . something else seemed out of place, not quite right with the world. What person was brave enough to stand half out of an Antonov, firing two submachine guns at another airplane? He could see the spectacle in his mind.

  The downed pilot had said he’d banked almost perpendicular to stay on the tail of the Antonov he was chasing. The gunman must have been very strong to overcome all the G-forces. And what an awesome sight that must have been, set against snow-white mountains, not a level place in sight. For some reason it reminded him of a spy he’d once hunted in the same area, the secret agent who had driven the KGB wild for years. They had finally named him the Snowman, or Yeti, after the Abominable Snowman of Tibetan folklore, and they might as well have hunted the mythical man-bear of Tibet. No one had ever come close to catching him, and he had always slipped away at the last moment.

  “What are you daydreaming about, Zorkin?” Kozlov’s voice broke the silence. “I’m beginning to worry about you again.”

  “Have you ever heard of the Snowman?”

  “Da . . . the spy you were never smart enough to catch.” The Commandant grinned. “Whatever happened to him?”

  Zorkin slowly shook his head. “The Central Intelligence Agency repatriated him after he made a fool out of me. His greatest stunt ruined my chance of becoming a member of the Politburo. Just when my name was being mentioned in all the right places in the Kremlin, he fucked me good.

  “I’d spent years trying to find out why Washington always seemed to know more about us than their SR-71 Blackbirds could possibly photograph from the stratosphere. A provodnik stumbled across the answer in a freight car. The Yeti had been shipping spy devices back and forth across Siberia for several years, hidden inside a container holding Japanese porcelain.

  “The only reason the stupid attendant discovered the scheme was he’d snuck away from his work station to screw some provodnitsa from another rail car. They began wondering why a shipment of precious glass should make noises. His lyoobohnik and he could see the dishes through the ventilation holes in the container and wondered why they should need to breath. They felt like someone was watching them, too.

  “I flew to Irkutsk to investigate and almost threw up when I saw all the space-age sniffers, cameras, and transmitters that had been beaming top-secret intelligence into space. The CIA must have laughed their heads off when they saw the provodnik and provodnitsa humping away alongside their self operating research laboratory, despite losing it to me later. In the end I was the subject of all the spy jokes around Moscow.”

  The Commandant wrinkled his face. “I’d wondered what had happened to your rise to fame, but what the hell has this got to do with us?”

  Zorkin shrugged. “Maybe the Yeti has come back to haunt me. My luck has been so bad I never know what’s going to happen next. That’s why I want to get out of here when I get rich.”

  Kozlov’s eyes narrowed. “Things are going to get much worse if you ever forget to say the word we again. Just when I thought I could trust you, you have reminded me not to trust you at all. I’ll fly the Werewolf myself and let you ride in the Hip, just so there won’t be any misunderstandings. My favorite saying is that when two people dislike a deal equally and one has a Werewolf and the other was once a spookmaster for the KGB, it must be fair. I doubt that you’ll fool around if you know I can shoot a missile up your ass any time I want.”

  “Please forgive my mistake, Commandant,” said Zorkin. “I only meant after you and I divide the diamonds. Look at the one in your hand and think how much a pocket full must be worth. You’ll want to leave Siberia yourself. I was only reminiscing about the old days. Now look what’s happened—we don’t trust each other. Things were much better when the Soviets ruled so long ago, like you said before. We communists knew how to work together.” He leaned over the desk. “Let me show you where Pavlov and the old Evenki disappeared last fall. My campsite was only thirty kilometers away.”

  He had almost blown it. Now, rather than waiting until Kozlov turned his back, he’d have to watch his own. Somehow he had to keep him from getting trigger-happy, because his life depended on it.

  “There’s one more thing we should plan,” he added. “It’s important that we capture Sasha Pavlov alive. She may know the exact location of the diamonds, and the Americans will undoubtedly bring her along. How can we catch them without hurting her? . . .”

  He must get his hands on the missile systems of the Werewolf and disarm them. Now his happiness over having the use of a gunship with a minuscule radar signature and integrated infrared, laser, and television components had suddenly changed to total fear. The general had the upper hand. It would be all over for him if Kozlov got mad and pushed the little red button . . . all except for a sizzling sound.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE BARGUZIN MOUNTAINS

  Jake watched the nighttime breakers on Lake Baikal lift the boat and let it roll on the sidelong swells. Spreading his legs, he braced himself and focused his binoculars on the peninsula off port. Ghostly light lay all around him, beamed by the white moon overhead and the midnight s
un swinging along the Barguzin Mountains off starboard. Shadows covered the shoreline, cast by the silhouettes of the trees and high terrain. He kept his balance and glassed the beachfront. After a minute he lowered his glasses, looked at the old fisherman who owned the boat, and decided the drumming of the diesel running below decks would drown out his voice, preventing him from being overheard.

  “Simon, walk aft and tell him to anchor here, then we’ll lower the dinghy and row ashore. The place looks dead, but I suppose it should this late at night. Make sure he waits for us.”

  “Don’t worry, he will. He won’t let two hundred bucks slip through his fingers. He can’t make that much fishing all summer.”

  “Do you think they’re up there?”

  “Knowing Molly, I’m sure they are. That woman scares the crap out of me, and she hasn’t even faced any real danger yet. I wonder what she’ll do if we ever get into bad trouble. I’m scared to give her a gun because Lord knows what she might do.

  “She walked up to a crap table when we were in Las Vegas and bet a thousand dollars on the hard eight, just as the dice were coming out. I thought the pit bosses were going to shit they were so surprised, but they took the bet and it cost them big. She stood there and never blinked an eye. One moment she acts like a kindergarten teacher from East Overshoes, Iowa, and the next she’s hard as steel. Drives me crazy.”

  Jake glanced at his friend. He had often wondered why Simon had acted so moonstruck after his trip to Nevada. Apparently, Molly had made a big impression. Then he wondered how much money she’d won on the hard-way bet. Didn’t the hard eight pay forty to one?

  “What did she do with all the money?” he asked.

  “Tried to give me half, but I wouldn’t take it. Finally, she agreed to hold it for me in case of a rainy day.”

  “Tell the fisherman we’ll be gone a couple hours,” said Jake, smiling. “Then we need to sail back to Davsha. With any luck, we’ll be heading north in a few days.”

  “Sounds great to me. Let’s get this show on the road and get out of here. Eventually, someone will find out we’re in the country and then all hell will break loose.”

  Glassing off port again, Jake heard Simon’s footsteps fade away, then wondered what they would do if Molly and Sasha hadn’t waited for them. Had they seen his simple-minded message and guessed its meaning? Were both watching the boat now? . . . He doubted it. Both were relatively safe so long as they kept a low profile, just the same as Simon and he had once they’d gotten back to Coldfoot with their stolen AN-2 full of fuel.

  The same day Simon and he had gotten back to their hideout they’d hangered the Antonov and struck out for Kurumkan once again, but this time cutting short, climbing the Barguzins, and dropping into the rough-and-tumble fishing village of Davsha. They had hired a fisherman for the voyage across Lake Baikal to the rocky point where the dacha stood.

  Now he knew the reason the locals worshiped the lake, since the abundance and beauty of its waters were amazing. Fur seals called nerpa had played beside the boat and great schools of fish, clearly visible in the crystalline water, had swum just below the bow. Even Simon’s stories of the howling Sarmas and battering seas that raged over Baikal in the summertime had fascinated him. Once again Lake Superior had come to mind and that someday he’d like to go back and see it, although he wondered if it might be in a coffin. Their long journey had gotten really dicey and the Russian authorities were likely searching for them by now.

  Simon’s returning footsteps reminded him that it was time to go ashore. He stowed his glasses, lowered the boat’s dinghy, and, just as the swells slapped its bottom, held fast to its bow rope and loosened the rigging used to haul it aboard. He watched Simon drop over the side and hold it amidships, then stepped down himself and sat in the middle and pushed off. The night darkened as they rowed toward the pebbly beach below the dacha. A few minutes later Simon stepped out and tied the dinghy to a boulder.

  “Think we should yell?” he asked. “Maybe we shouldn’t surprise them.”

  Jake paused. What if someone had set up an ambush?

  “Let’s wait and look around a little,” he said. “You never know . . .” He crept up the steep footpath that led to the dacha, hearing Simon following close behind him.

  When he reached the top of the lakeshore, he stopped between two bushy pines and studied the shadows. What was the red speck in the dacha’s front window?

  “Get down—somebody’s aiming at us.” He dove headlong into the underbrush beside the trees and heard Simon belly-flop nearby.

  “What in hell did you see? You scared the crap out of me.”

  “Someone’s inside with a laser sight, and I saw it reflect off the window when they were trying to get a bead on us.” Jake reached inside his jacket and pulled out his Uzi, feeling the soreness where he’d fallen on it. Seconds later, he heard Simon speak again.

  “What now? The old man will sail off the moment he hears any gunfire, and I can’t blame him. I’d run off as well.”

  “I’m not sure. We’ll break our necks if we try making a run for it down to the lake, and whoever’s hiding inside will have plenty of time to pick us off. We’re in big trouble.”

  Simon groaned. “Why do we do this? Someday we’re going to get ourselves killed.”

  “That’s beside the point. What do you think?”

  “Ten to one it’s Molly. You’re the one who told her to take shooting lessons.”

  Jake wondered. . . . In fact, he had asked her to take firearm training. Still, they had to find out without starting a big shootout. More than a few good friends had shot each other to death while believing the enemy was hiding nearby. They had to be careful.

  “Call out in Russian. Maybe Sasha will answer.”

  “What if Molly starts shooting when she hears Russian?” asked Simon. “Wouldn’t English be better?”

  “Yes . . . unless it’s some Russian who’s waiting for us. Then these bushes will get riddled with bullets. Take your pick.”

  He heard mumbling and the silky click of a gun safety, and then the darkness shook with Simon’s voice. “Molly, is that you? Put away the damn gun before you hurt someone.”

  Silence. . . . Then Jake heard the sounds of women crying. He stood and walked ahead, saw a match flare, next the soft light of a kerosene lamp shining in the window. The instant he opened the door Molly and Sasha ran to him, both hugging him at once, almost knocking him off his feet. Simon stepped in and they rushed to him next.

  What was wrong, and why were they acting so afraid? Then he saw a Glock semiautomatic lying beside the lamp. “Why on earth do you have a gun?” he asked. “What happened—” He picked up the pistol, examined its chamber, and smelled the barrel. It was fully loaded and had been fired several times.

  Sasha turned, wiping away tears with her hands. “Molly shot the nose off the godfather of Siberia in Akademgorodok and rescued me from him in Krasnoyarsk and shot at him again and run him off the road and almost killed him.”

  Simon’s breath burst from his mouth, and its sound filled the room.

  Jake felt his own astonishment forcing him to exhale. “For Christ’s sake,” he said, “slow down and tell us what happened.”

  “Molly shot the boss of the Mafiya and he’s looking for us,” Sasha answered.

  Didn’t they have enough to worry about, he thought, without a Russian godfather hunting them, too? It never took long for the mob to learn where their victims were hiding, and no wonder they’d armed themselves.

  “Molly, how long ago did this happen?” he asked.

  “Almost a month, and we’ve waited for you ever since. The moment we saw your old cap we knew you must be coming back, but the constant worry made our lives terrible. We could only hope that you would find us first.”

  He had nailed his Caterpillar cap to the living room wall when Simon and he had left the dacha weeks before, the baseball cap that hadn’t been so lucky at first, since the polar bear, power lines, and Yakut had almos
t killed him. Nevertheless, they’d believed Molly would guess the subtle meaning of its CAT emblem, remember it was his favorite headgear, and he’d likely come back and get it.

  Simon’s voice startled him. “Damnit, we got to get out of here. It’s bad enough the military’s searching for us, but now we’ve got the Mafiya after us, too. Molly, you’re going to be the death of us.”

  Tears welled up in Molly’s eyes. Then Jake saw Sasha, her eyes hot, face Simon. “Shut up—I’d be dead without her. The godfather wants the diamonds as well. Why else would he chase us halfway across Siberia?”

  Simon frowned. “Well, I’d chase you guys, too, if you shot off my nose. That was a really dumb thing to do, and he’ll hunt Molly and you for the rest of your lives.”

  Jake stepped into the middle of the room. “Stop it, you guys. Everyone’s nerves are on end and arguing is just going to make things worse. Let’s get back to the boat and get some sleep. Molly—Sasha, go pack your things because we’ve got a long way to go. We need to get back to Coldfoot as soon as we can.”

  Blinking, Sasha asked, “Coldfoot?”

  Simon smiled. “It’s our very own ghost town. Come on, I’ll help you pack, and I’m sorry I bitched at you guys. It’s only because I worried so much about you.”

  Jake watched all three leave the room, happy again about their reunion. But . . . Simon was right to worry about Molly’s shootout with the crime boss. She had made an enemy for life, and if the U.S. was any example, a bounty had been placed on her head, and the Mafiya wouldn’t rest until they collected it.

  He picked up the Glock and looked at it again, thinking the heft and balance was perfect. No wonder she had learned to shoot so well. A moment later all three came marching back, still smiling. He handed the Glock to Molly.

  “Listen. Make sure no one says anything in English while we’re on the boat, and let’s stay in the bow as well. The seas are running low so everyone can get some sleep. Simon and I’ll find enough blankets to keep us warm, and don’t worry about waking early because we won’t reach Davsha till late tomorrow. Get lots of rest, because we have a long walk coming up.