The Siberian Dilemma
Page 18
He heard her yell, once, twice, and another voice shout back at her.
“Yes,” she said. “Cape Ryty. Oh, Arkady, please…”
“Brace,” he said. “Head, legs, and arms in the brace position. You hear me?”
“Yes.”
“And close your eyes when you hit. You don’t want fuel in them.”
As the line went dead, Bolot was already pulling at the wheel. The car drifted in a long, wide skid. The ice boomed beneath them as Bolot drove. He had a compass on the dashboard, but he didn’t look at it, not once. Arkady saw that it was spinning this way and that, even though, as far as he could make out, they were heading straight ahead.
Bolot’s knuckles were white on the wheel.
“Only for you would I do this,” said Bolot. He scanned the ice ahead, reading it, knowing instinctively where it was safe and where it was not. The ice beneath them was solid. “Hold on,” he said.
Arkady watched a crack spread across their path as far as he could see in both directions.
“That’s about a meter wide,” Bolot said.
“How do you know?” Arkady couldn’t possibly have judged it from this far away.
“I know those cracks. And this one, by the look of it, extends probably forty meters.”
“So how do we get around it?”
“We don’t.”
“You’re going to jump it?”
“You have a better idea?”
Arkady conceded that he didn’t.
“Put your hand on the door handle,” Bolot said.
“Why?”
“So you can get out fast if I don’t make the jump.”
The handle was on Arkady’s right, so he had to twist his body to use his left hand.
Bolot pressed the accelerator to the floor, not all in one go but gradually so as not to spin the wheels and lose traction. Arkady had the curious sensation of floating.
As the crack neared, Arkady checked that his seat belt was undone and braced his feet against the floor.
There was a slight ridge on the near side of the crack. Arkady felt the car lift as it crested the ridge and then they were flying, not far but far enough. The thump as they landed jolted him abruptly from his seat and he smacked his head on the roof. The steering wheel bucked in Bolot’s hands. Rather than fight it, he held it lightly, steering into the skid until he had the car under control. He gently corrected back to the course they had been on before.
“There,” Bolot said.
“Where?”
Bolot pointed toward the horizon. “There.”
“I don’t see it.”
“I do,” Bolot said.
Half a minute later Arkady saw it too. The helicopter was on its side like a stricken bird, half in and half out of the water where the impact had cracked ice.
How long had it been down? How hard had they hit? How deep had it gone?
Bolot rolled to a halt as near as he dared.
“Watch your footing,” he said. “The ice will be weak where it’s hit. You go under, you’re not coming back up again.”
Arkady nodded but he was already half out of the car. That Tatiana was still alive was the first thing he saw. She was still alive, and she was in the part of the cabin that was still above the waterline.
Her face was streaked with blood. Arkady could smell hydraulic fluid and gasoline. Kuznetsov was next to her, only just conscious. They had been in the back of the cabin, and the helicopter had gone into the lake nose first. Under the water, Arkady could see the bodies of those who had been farther forward. The crew and bodyguards were slumped, lifeless, and covered with blood.
Tatiana could not get out by herself.
Bolot was next to Arkady. He pointed to the ice between them and the helicopter. It was broken and slushy.
“Spread your weight,” he said. “Walk like a crab.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be behind you but at a distance. I don’t want to put too much weight on the ice.”
Arkady took a step toward the helicopter. His feet were frozen and numb. The ice moved beneath him.
“Wider,” Bolot yelled. “Feet wider.”
Arkady did so.
“Better.”
“It feels wrong.”
“Trust me.”
Another step, legs so wide apart that Arkady could feel the strain on the insides of his thighs. And another.
“Left,” Bolot said. “Take a step to your left.”
“Why?”
“The ice in front of you isn’t safe.”
To Arkady, the two pieces looked alike, but he knew that when it came to ice, Bolot could see what he could not. He stepped to the left.
“Now straight ahead to the helicopter,” Bolot said. “Slowly.”
If it went wrong now, Arkady knew, he would go under. In these temperatures, that would be it. Worse, Tatiana would have no chance.
As he made it to the helicopter, the ice groaned. It rocked and settled.
Tatiana was near him, with Kuznetsov on the far side of her. She had her seat belt off. Arkady would have to use his bad arm as well as his good one to reach in and get her out. He moved to put his foot onto the sill of the helicopter for extra purchase.
“No!” Bolot yelled.
“Tatiana,” Arkady said, “get yourself to me.” They were a meter apart, no more. She was wedged between her seat and the one in front, which had become detached from its mounting. “Can you do that?”
“I don’t know. It hurts.”
“I know it does. But you have to.”
She pushed feebly against the seat back and cried in pain. “I can’t.”
Again a slight shift in the helicopter’s position.
“You can do this,” he said softly.
He saw the agony etched on her face as she summoned resolve. She twisted herself to get one leg free, and even in such cold she was sweating.
Arkady smiled, encouraging, reaching out to her. Tatiana pulled at her other leg. It didn’t move. Arkady looked closer.
“Twist your foot,” he said. “It’s stuck against the seat strut.”
Tatiana looked down, as though her foot were an alien entity. She twisted it and this time her other leg came free.
The helicopter lurched. A movement of half a meter, maybe more. Frigid water splashed against Arkady’s shins.
It was about to go, Arkady knew. Lusud Khan was about to pull its prey all the way down.
Tatiana faced him.
“Jump,” Arkady said. “Tatiana, jump to me.”
Tatiana’s eyes focused with fear and determination. Arkady held his arms out and she jumped.
There was a great rush as the helicopter finally lost its balance and plunged fully into the lake with Kuznetsov still in his seat.
Arkady lay flat on the ice with Tatiana on top of him. Bolot pulled them both away from the gaping, swirling hole made by helicopter’s descent.
Arkady looked back.
Kuznetsov was beneath the surface, looking up through ice and water. He moved suddenly, striking hard for the surface. He broke into open air with a gasp as loud as a scream. His hands scrabbled for a solid edge in the ice. His head went under once more as he dunked to give himself momentum, and then he was up and out and standing on the ice. His face was flushed with pride and resignation, defiance and acceptance, and that was how they watched him die.
42
Saying good-bye to Saran was like saying good-bye to a child.
“Can we sit over there?” Arkady pointed to the couch in the corner.
Saran moved from behind her desk.
She looked at his travel bag. “Will you ever come back?”
“Yes, but not for a while.”
“That means never, right?”
“No, it doesn’t mean never. Would you ever leave your mother’s mahjong parlor and come to Moscow?”
“I think I’d rather go to Paris,” she said wistfully. “Anyway, you’re already taken.”
/> “That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”
“Yes it does.”
“We can talk on the phone and you can send me stories you write.”
“Maybe.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. She touched the scar on his forehead as if to capture it before it faded. “I wish you could slay a dragon for me.”
“I would if I could.”
She hugged him tightly and then broke away.
* * *
Bolot was waiting outside the hotel to take Arkady to the airport where Tatiana would meet him.
“I thought Aba was coming with us,” Arkady said.
“No, he’s staying a little longer. He’s in the middle of an epic poem. On the scale of Pushkin, he says.”
“Why not?”
Arkady didn’t know how he was going to say good-bye to his friend and factotum, a man who had saved his life more than once.
“I’m too useful,” Bolot said. “You need someone like me to keep you out of trouble, especially if you meet a bear.”
“On the streets of Moscow, that’s usually not a problem,” Arkady said.
“What about the prosecutor? What kind of reception will he give you in Moscow?” Bolot asked.
“He wouldn’t dare reprimand me. After all, I know about his Cuban mistress.”
Bolot cackled. “You wouldn’t use that against him again.”
“No, but he doesn’t know that.”
* * *
Arkady would miss his factotum, but he imagined them climbing Olkhon Island again. They would pick up at the exact point they’d left off. Arkady could almost hear the murmur of the drums.
43
Back at their apartment in Moscow, Arkady found a note from Zhenya saying that he and Sosi would come back later that afternoon. He had left pastries on the kitchen table for Arkady and Tatiana. They made tea and sat across the table from each other. She reached for his hand and traced the lines on his palm.
“Do you believe in this sort of thing?” she asked.
“More all the time.”
“I wish I could remember which line will tell me if you still love me.”
“I couldn’t stop even when I wanted to. I never will stop.”
“It’s hard to believe after all I put you through.”
“I’m incorrigible.”
He walked around the table, lifted her up, and wrapped his arms around her. He kissed her mouth, her cheek, and forehead. He kissed her again in the warm well of her neck and set her back down in her chair. She sat dazed.
Finally she said, “We need to visit Obolensky and drop off the article.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“I promised him I would.”
* * *
They walked along the Moscow River as swallows darted around the crenellations of the Kremlin wall.
“Did you finish reading the article?” Tatiana asked.
“I thought it was good. It reminded me of Monsters of the Deep, one of Saran’s books.”
“Other than that,” she said.
“I would say that your prose floated as softly as blini.”
“Don’t tease.”
“Okay, then I have to say it was excellent and will get you in a great deal of trouble. You’re going to need a bodyguard.”
“That means it is good.”
“Yes.”
They stopped on the Moscow Bridge to watch ice break and grind in the water below. At the far end of the bridge, protesters gathered with party horns and paper crowns in an ironic tribute to the latest coronation. With a fourth term secured, Putin now reigned longer than any ruler since Stalin.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am a lucky man surrounded by friends. The kind of work I do is exhausting and, without the help of these friends, impossible. My thanks go to Nell and Nelson Branco, who were willing to read my manuscript again and again; to Luisa Smith, my invaluable travel companion with a magic camera; to Don Sanders for his help in making the Siberian trip happen; and to Sam Smith for his great moral support.
Where do these people come from? Arkady Persov from Irkutsk generously entertained us while showing us his city and the natural wonders of Lake Baikal. Sean Manning, my editor at Simon & Schuster, came up with excellent ideas for the book and patiently encouraged me to take the time I needed. Lyuba Vinogradova has been my brilliant translator and research assistant for more than twenty years. She traveled from Mozambique to Siberia to be part of the team. Finally, there is Andrew Nurnberg, my loyal friend and agent for almost forty years. He has traveled with me on research trips to Siberia, Moscow, Tver, Berlin, and Havana and always kept his sense of humor.
These friends buoy me up and keep me on my feet.
More from this Series
Gorky Park
Book 1
Wolves Eat Dogs
Book 5
Stalin's Ghost
Book 6
Three Stations
Book 7
More from the Author
Nightwing
Canto for a Gypsy
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
© DOUGH MENUEZ
MARTIN CRUZ SMITH’s novels include Gorky Park, Stallion Gate, Nightwing, Polar Star, Stalin’s Ghost, Rose, December 6, Tatiana, and The Girl from Venice. He is a two-time winner of the Hammett Prize, a recipient of the Mystery Writers of America’s Grand Master Award and Britain’s Gold Dagger award, and a winner of the Premio Piemonte Giallo Internazionale. He lives in California.
SimonandSchuster.com
www.SimonandSchuster.com/Authors/Martin-Cruz-Smith
@simonbooks
ALSO BY MARTIN CRUZ SMITH
THE ARKADY RENKO NOVELS
Gorky Park
Polar Star
Red Square
Havana Bay
Wolves Eat Dogs
Stalin’s Ghost
Three Stations
Tatiana
OTHER FICTION
December 6
Rose
Stallion Gate
Night Wing
Gypsy in Amber
Canto for a Gypsy
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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PHOT
O CREDITS:
Baturina Yuliya: viii–1. Nuttawut Uttamaharad: 72–73. alex_aladdin: 270–271.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.
ISBN 978-1-4391-4025-3
ISBN 978-1-4391-5320-8 (ebook)