Colleen Gleason

by Siberian Treasure

  “No.”

  Marina closed her laptop as she explained, shoving it into its case, coiling the power cord to follow. “A scientific theory based on that concept that the earth is one living organism—that it’s actually alive. And every part of it contributes, or detracts, from its health as a whole. The theory touts that Gaia, the earth, will correct itself as a bio-entity if it gets thrown out of balance; if something begins to skew its homeostasis.”

  “I can see why I haven’t heard of that theory. It sounds like someone would have been laughed off the podium if they’d presented that theory at a lecture.”

  “Actually, there is some scientific evidence that supports the hypothesis. For example, the fact that plankton in the ocean has the ability to affect the temperature of the earth by producing clouds. When it’s sunny, the plankton grow faster, producing the chemicals that create clouds—which, in turn, help block the heat from the sun … thus lowering the temperature. In other words, the organism is correcting extremes by itself.”

  “You sound more like a scientist than a historian,” MacNeil commented, but she noticed he looked thoughtful. “So … do the Skaladeskas actually worship the earth? Like a religion?”

  “I’d say, from what I remember—and this is from years ago, you have to understand—that it was more of a respectful relationship, rather than a worship. But, again, my memory is fuzzy because my father … after I was about nine or ten, we didn’t talk much about it.” Because he always had his face in the bottle.

  MacNeil tucked the card into his inner jacket pocket. “Do you have your things together? I’d like to get up north to L’Anse tonight. The sooner you can look over your father’s house, the warmer the trail of his disappearance will be.”

  “Yes. But I want Boris to come too.”

  “All right. I won’t argue with that. Is he trained as an attack dog?”

  “Boris is just over a year old, and I’ve begun Schutzhund training for him—a combination of tracking, obedience and protection-—“

  “I’m familiar with Schutzhund,” he interrupted. “He’s just a year old?”

  “Yes, he’s still young, but he’s doing very well.”

  “And you’re working on rescue training as well?” He slung up her suitcase and she grabbed up her duffel and laptop case.

  Marina locked her door, although what good that would do she wasn’t sure. “I’ll need to get someone over here to fix this,” she commented, gesturing to the smashed sidelight. “And, to answer your question, yes the rescue training is just an expansion of the tracking in Schutzhund. Boris is going to be very good at it.”

  They walked down the sidewalk and stowed her luggage in the trunk.

  Marina looked at her house, shaded by the trees that had saved her life earlier that day, and felt a sudden sense of loss.

  As if something brutal had changed.

  * * *

  Being in the company of an elite team of CIA officers had its benefits when traveling, Marina learned. Of course, they could also put a damper on travel plans as well; but since she was cooperating for the time, it wasn’t an issue.

  A Cessna Skyplane transported herself, Bergstrom, MacNeil, and Boris to the airport just outside Marquette, Michigan, late Friday night. And early the next morning, they reassembled from outside their hotel rooms to climb into the large and comfortable Explorer, in deference to Boris.

  His tongue hanging to his collar, shaking and surging with excitement, Boris steamed up the windows as he looked outside from the cargo area in the back. Slender in the flanks, but wide across the shoulders, he was a perfect specimen of the German-bred German Shepherd.

  In fact, his parents had been born and raised in Germany, and brought to the US where Marina had picked from their first litter on this side of the Atlantic Ocean. She’d continued the tradition by teaching him his commands in both German and English, with an emphasis on the former.

  He had the saddle-like markings on his back of a true Shepherd, and his coloring was black, tan, and a shiny copper color—brighter than Marina’s own dark auburn swag. And with his gleaming brown eyes and dark swatches of black over their lids that looked like eyebrows, he had a humanly, expressive face.

  “At Dad’s house, I’ll be looking for anything that might give an indication of where he’s been taken … or anything that appears to be out of the ordinary. Not a small task, considering that I haven’t been there for over seven years.” She had to speak loudly, because the two men were in the front, and she was near Boris.

  MacNeil, who Bergstrom had asked to drive so he could work, wheeled the SUV onto the curved, paved road. It would take them forty miles into the little town of L’Anse, ten miles south of where Victor’s cabin was built onto the east shore of Keewenaw Bay. “Why is that? Too busy?”

  Even the CIA wouldn’t be able to understand all of the nuances of her relationship with Dad. Marina sure as hell didn’t. And she preferred not to try.

  “Let’s just say that we’re not close. I talk to him occasionally on the phone—Father’s Day was the last time I spoke with him, as I mentioned to you. I didn’t have any reason to visit and he traveled so much, he rarely had time to visit me.” Time to change the subject. “So how’d you get into the CIA? I suppose you were a big James Bond fan.”

  “Oh, yeah. All those women walking out of oceans in bikinis. That did it for me.”

  “So was it Barbara Bach or Ursula Andress who clinched it for you?” Marina asked as the pine trees flew by on either side of the road.

  State Highway 43 from Marquette to L’Anse was two-laned, curved then straight in long stretches, and cut through the deep Hiawatha State Forest. No one ever traveled the speed limit of 65, except for the semi-trucks that the locals deplored getting behind, and MacNeil seemed to be just as comfortable managing the SUV along the road as a local would. His wrist rested casually on the top of the steering wheel, and the corner of his mouth quirked with humor.

  “Neither, actually. I graduated with a degree in art—It was those nude models in Drawing 102 that got me hooked on art classes. After I graduated, I started with the Agency in the Disguise and Documents Division, making fake passports and other documents, and designing disguises for our officers and agents.” He looked into the rearview mirror and his easy grin disappeared. “Hang tight.”

  The Explorer leapt forward. MacNeil kept his eyes focused on the view behind him, his mouth a tense line. “I think we’ve got company.”

  Marina craned her neck to look around as Bergstrom shifted in the front seat. She saw the flash of cold, black metal in his hand, then turned her attention to the large rear window. A black Cherokee raced along behind them on the two-lane, S-curved road.

  MacNeil slowed the Explorer and made a quick turn down an even narrower County Road that headed off into a thickly-forested area. The black SUV screeched around behind them, barreling in their wake on the tree-canopied road.

  “Sonofabitch.” MacNeil’s knee disappeared as he jammed his foot onto the accelerator. The SUV cranked up faster, bumping along the road and jolting Boris to the floor. He whined, and tried to pull to his feet, but the racing truck kept him off balance.

  Marina tightened her seatbelt and stared into the side view mirror as the Cherokee roared closer behind them. The asphalt road curved wickedly, and, covered with towering trees whose branches reached across it, was more like a tunnel than a road. The early morning sun was fairly blotted out, leaving a cold, dark, eeriness surrounding them.

  “Hang on.” Gabe’s voice spat, tense, like the fingers Marina had clutching the door handle. “I’m going to try something.”

  She listened to him, bracing herself, and was glad she did … but sorry for poor Boris, who was slammed against the side of the cargo area as MacNeil wheeled the truck around a sharp bend, then swerved around off the road so the truck careened to one side, up onto two tires, then slammed back down to the ground as he finished a 180º turn. Marina realized for the first time how top-heavy
SUVs were. It was a miracle that they hadn’t crashed to the ground.

  The truck blazing behind them came along the black-topped road, pealing and spitting rocks under its wheels. Marina caught sight of the driver’s intense face as they blared past, then registered the stopped vehicle.

  While Gabe accelerated, sending the Explorer leaping back onto the road in the same direction they’d come from, the other vehicle careened backward, in reverse, as the driver spun the wheel. Marina watched behind them in fascination as the pursuing Cherokee rose up on one side just as they had, hung balanced in the air for a moment, then crashed to its side.

  “They’re over!” Bergstrom said in a calm voice. “Let’s go.”

  To Marina’s shock, MacNeil slammed on the brakes and jammed the SUV into neutral. “Stay here with Boris,” he snapped, and suddenly had a weapon in his hand. He didn’t need to tell her to lock the doors, or to move to the driver’s seat.

  The two men vaulted from the vehicle and dashed toward the fallen truck as Marina watched out the rear window. Her heart jammed in her chest, and the pathetic whines of Boris, who had struggled to his feet, set her nerves on edge.

  “Boris, platz,” she told the dog, the only command that made sense and meant “everything’s all right.” She wanted to be able to hear gunshots if there were any. But once Boris settled down into his supine pose, there was nothing to hear.

  Marina watched out the window, itching to know what was happening. The last she’d seen of MacNeil and Bergstrom, they’d slipped into some brush, melding with the shadows of the deep forest. It was silent and dark and cool.

  Boris, who was too well-trained to do anything but obey, had lain down, but his head still cocked up and his ears snapped to attention. He sensed something happening, but remained in his position, quivering with interest.

  Marina itched to open the door and peer out of the truck, but she knew it would be a foolhardy move. She was unarmed and had no idea where MacNeil and Bergstrom were, and what they were doing. Still, the feeling of being helpless, and waiting, did not appeal to her. It was not in her nature to sit and do nothing.

  Then a huge rolling boom erupted from the upended vehicle and made it impossible for her to sit.

  Marina wrenched the key in the ignition, grinding the engine, and slammed the truck into reverse. Whipping the wheel around, she floored the accelerator and blasted toward the billowing inky smoke. The stench told her it was a gas fire. The tipped Cherokee had somehow ignited.

  Her only thought was to find MacNeil and Bergstrom, praying that what she would find was not charred remains. Only a few meters from where she’d been parked, around the corner, was the tipped, blackened truck with flames shooting everywhere and the fogging smoke turning the already-dark road into a hot, smothering mess.

  Marina threw the truck door open and called for Boris. He bounded out in her tracks as she dashed toward the choking smoke, calling for her companions.

  As she drew in a deep breath to yell again, the nasty black air clogged her lungs, sending her into coughing spasms. Still, she ran around to the other side of the burning vehicle, staggering in the smoke and tripping over roots and bushes as she searched for Bergstrom and MacNeil. There was no sign of any humans in the area, and Marina was beginning to fear they’d all gone up in smoke when Boris gave a sharp yip.

  “Fass!” Marina commanded, knowing that the bark was one of recognition and releasing Boris to go find them.

  He dashed off through the woods and Marina started to follow, picking her way through the brush.

  Suddenly, something dropped to the ground behind her with a heavy thud. Before she could whirl, strong arms grabbed her, clapping over her mouth and wrenching her arms up behind her back. Marina barely registered that her assailant had taken a page from her book and used the trees above as an escape route; then she was yanked toward the SUV which sat, key in the ignition, motor running, just as she’d left it.

  Knowing that MacNeil and/or Bergstrom had to be nearby, since Boris had recognized them, Marina struggled with every bit of energy she had. Once she was in the truck, she’d be cooked.

  Feigning a trip, she lurched to one side to throw her attacker off-balance and simultaneously hooked a foot around his leg behind her. With a smooth movement, she wrenched and turned and extricated herself from his grip. As he fell, he pulled her with him, and they tumbled to the rough ground, smashing into a sturdy bush.

  Now they were face to face, and Marina got a close look at him as he whipped her around, slamming her back onto the ground under his considerable weight. It was not the same man who’d invaded her home, and in the midst of their tussle, Marina felt a stab of renewed anger that there was yet another man who wished her harm.

  He had her wrists and slammed them to the ground, then twisted expertly so that she rolled to the side and he had her hands imprisoned at the base of her waist.

  Marina heard Boris before he leaped, bounding through the brush, and felt his weight as he landed on the back of her assailant. The man shrieked and released her immediately, turning to attempt to fend off the dog, which had turned from a docile, happy pooch to a feral, red-eyed, snarling mass of anger.

  As she scrambled to her feet, Marina heard the shouts from MacNeil and Bergstrom as they crashed back through the underbrush. “Boris, aus!” She commanded him to release the man while readying a heavy stick in her grip … just in case he tried to dash away.

  “Marina!” MacNeil limped up, then stomped to a halt between her and her attacker. He brandished his weapon, but one look at Boris crouching and snarling over the bloodied assailant, and his stance relaxed. “Well, I guess you’ve got everything under control.” His glance brushed over her, certainly noticing the leaves and twigs that clung to her clothing and hair, and the scratches along the side of her face, but he made no further comment.

  Bergstrom, who was obviously not as used to being on field operations, arrived in MacNeil’s wake, and pulled a pair of handcuffs from the glove compartment of the Explorer. He started toward the dog and his prey, but stopped when Boris whipped his face up to glare at him. Just one corner of his lip lifted, but that was enough.

  “Boris, hier,” Marina commanded, and the Shepherd immediately trotted to her side, leaving Bergstrom free to restrain the assailant. She crouched to lather affection and praise on her dog, realizing yet again the value in having him with her.

  Bergstrom recognized it as well, and, moments later, commented as he slid into the passenger’s seat. “One of them got away, but thanks to Boris, we’ve got one—and you’re still in one piece. Good call on bringing him along.”

  Marina throbbed all along her left side, where she’d thudded to the ground, the soft side of her abdomen landing squarely over a protruding tree root. She was going to have black and blue all along there; worse than the time she’d become twisted in a tight passageway in a remote cave in North Carolina and had had to be pulled out. “Boris will get a special treat tonight.”

  “We’ll drop our friend here off at the local police station, and then continue our way to your father’s home in Pointe Abbeye. He may be able to wring some information out of him before we return.”

  Marina rather doubted that, but she kept her opinion to herself. “How did they know we were coming along here?” she asked, more interested in preventing another attack. Two in less than twenty-four hours, thanks to her father and the CIA.

  “Logic, I suppose. When you foiled your visitor’s attempts to kidnap you yesterday, they probably figured our next move would be a return to the scene of the other crime. Yesterday. They’re pretty blasted determined. You’ve already been attacked twice—in less than twenty-four hours.”

  “Yes, I’m quite aware of that. I’d like to thank you once again for dragging me into this.”

  At that, Bergstrom turned to look back at her. “You’re wrong. If it weren’t for us, Dr. Alexander, you’d have no idea what was going on and you’d probably have opened the door to that guy yesterd
ay.”

  “I have better instincts than that. I do know one thing. If it weren’t for the CIA, I’d still be in Ann Arbor packing for my trip.” She settled back in her seat, folding her arms over her middle. Took a deep breath. She’d be on a plane to Mandalay in less than twelve hours. “And why are you so sure they were after kidnapping me and not plugging me with a bullet?”

  “Rubber bullets.” MacNeil glanced at her in the rearview mirro. “I checked out the ones outside your house. They weren’t meant to kill you; just slow you down a little.”

  “I feel so much better now.”

  Marina felt the tension that had gathered in the back of her shoulders and neck and wished for the hundredth time she’d already been on her way to the Far East before the CIA found her.

  Was even Myanmar far enough away?