by Dave Edlund
“I understand. It’s a long flight.”
“Dad, you remember Gary Porter I think?” Peter gestured to his friend and Ian extended his hand.
“Of course I do! Good to see you again Gary.”
Professor Savage squeezed between the two men, arms outstretched and a huge grin across his face at the sight of his grandchildren. Ethan and Jo each wrapped an arm around the elder Savage in a three-way hug.
“Hi Pops!” Jo greeted. Professor Savage preferred not to be called grandpa or granddad—he said it made him feel too old. The nickname Pops suited him better.
“It’s good to see you,” Ian said, his eyes sparkling as his gaze shifted from Jo to Ethan.
Standing in the office was another man, rather rotund in stature and with black hair, streaked with silver. His large round nose was covered in a web of tiny red lines, suggesting years of heavy drinking and eating. He was clean-shaven and his cheeks were ruddy. Although similar in age to Ian, they were polar opposites in appearance. With his white hair and beard, and lean physique, Professor Ian Savage had the stereotypical appearance for his profession.
Ian turned, drawing his family’s attention to his colleague. “Here, I want to introduce you to my friend, Dmitri Kaspar. He is a professor in the Department of Chemistry.” Ian Savage was on sabbatical from his tenured post in the Department of Chemical Engineering at Oregon State University; Ian and Dmitri were investigating new theories of abiogenic oil formation.
Dmitri stepped forward and shook Peter’s hand. “Welcome, Peter!” he said with a booming, cheerful voice that seemed to naturally fit his appearance. “Please, come in.” Dmitri led everyone into the spacious office. Besides the well-worn desk, furnishings included two narrow upholstered chairs and a low-back sofa. If it hadn’t been covered with a thin blue slip cover, the stains and thread-worn cushions would have betrayed the furniture’s true age. Along one wall was a large bookcase, the shelves overflowing with journals and texts, many in English.
Peter noticed a framed photo of a woman, a few years younger than Dmitri, on his desk next to the computer monitor. She had worn a pink blouse for the portrait, with a simple strand of pearls high around her neck. Her face was lean with pronounced cheekbones and sky-blue eyes. Time had faded her hair to gray. It was the only photo in the office.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dmitri,” Peter said. “My father has mentioned you often. I understand you have been very generous in making Dad welcome here at the university.”
Dmitri waved his hand dismissively. “It was nothing. Besides, what are friends for?”
Ian smiled at Dmitri’s modesty. “Well, I’ll say this. I arrived in Minsk a stranger, not knowing anyone, not really. Dmitri met me at the airport and took me into his home.”
“I thought you and Dmitri have been colleagues for close to two years,” Peter said.
“Yes, of course. That’s why I wanted to take my sabbatical here, so we could work together. But our exchanges had been limited to professional conversations, a few phone calls, but mostly email. I didn’t actually meet Dmitri until I arrived at the Minsk airport.”
“My house has plenty of room,” Dmitri explained. “Nowadays, it is mostly empty, so it made no sense that Ian should rent an apartment.”
Ian turned to Dmitri and clasped his shoulder. “You have been a most gracious and generous host, my friend—a true ambassador of good will for your country.”
“Ah, it is nothing. I know what it is like to be an outsider, a stranger, if you will. Besides, I am honored that you should choose to collaborate with me.”
“You have traveled a lot?” Peter asked.
Dmitri shook his head. “No, not so much. Our funding is limited, and our government leaders would prefer that we do not visit Western countries.”
Peter interpreted ‘we’ to mean the scientific staff at the university.
“Your travel was fine?” Dmitri asked to no one in particular.
Gary nodded. “Yes, uneventful and on schedule,” Peter added. “We walked around Independence Square before coming here; had lunch outside at a nice restaurant.”
“And the hotel? You are staying at the Crowne Plaza—it is okay?”
“Dmitri made the hotel reservations for all of you,” Ian said.
“So it is you I have to thank. Yes, the hotel is wonderful and the staff are very friendly, thank you.”
“It was nothing. The Crowne Plaza is usually where international guests of the university stay.”
“I understand your campus tour is tomorrow?” Ian asked, looking at Ethan.
Ethan nodded. “I’m supposed to meet at the administration building at 9:00 am.”
“Oh, that’s very close,” Dmitri said. “Are you planning to apply as an exchange student?”
“Yes sir. I’m studying chemistry at the University of Oregon.”
Dmitri beamed with pride. “You know, this is the best university in Belarus, and it’s in the top ten of all universities in Europe. And Minsk is a lovely city, with something for everyone.”
“The architecture is beautiful,” Jo said. “The city has preserved so many older buildings.”
“You know, some of the oldest structures date to the invasion of Napoleon’s Grand Army. We are fortunate that the Nazis didn’t destroy everything during the War. Much of the rebuilding was done by the Soviets when they took their turn occupying my homeland.” Dmitri’s cheerful tone faded when he referenced the Nazis and Soviets.
“There aren’t many students on campus now,” Ian explained. “Summer break.”
Ethan nodded.
“Your grandfather,” Dmitri said, “speaks very highly of your academic achievements. I would be pleased to put in a good word for you with the department chairman. We have been colleagues for more than 20 years.”
“Thank you,” Ethan replied, feeling a tinge of embarrassment at being the focus of attention.
Sensing his discomfort, Peter shifted the conversation to Jo. “My daughter is interested in seeing some of the art treasures here in Minsk.”
“You won’t be disappointed, my dear. Please, allow me to serve as your guide at the National Art Museum. Tomorrow morning, after breakfast? It is forecast to rain lightly tomorrow, so carry an umbrella if you have one.” Dmitri’s charm was irresistible and Jo smiled.
“That would be wonderful,” she said.
“Are you also here on vacation, Gary?” Professor Savage asked.
“Not really. My company was recently hired by the university to review their IT security. When Peter mentioned he was coming here for a few days, it seemed like a good time to tag along and conduct a site audit. But I should be able to squeeze out a day of sightseeing.”
“Only one day? But there is so much to see,” Dmitri objected.
“I’m sure there is. I suspect I’ll be back to review recommendations to enhance security and reduce successful attacks on the servers,” Gary replied, not wanting to offend his new friend. “Hopefully then I’ll have more time to enjoy the city.”
The small talk wound down, and following a pregnant pause, Peter looked at his father. “How is the work going, Dad? You haven’t said much about it.”
Dmitri cast a sideways glance at Ian, unsure if there was something more to the question.
“We’ve made some progress, but lately the results have been… discouraging.” Ian looked at his son, an austere expression on his face.
“Come now, Ian. You make it sound as if we have nothing worth reporting,” Dmitri scoffed.
Ian faced his friend. “No, of course that’s not the case. But you have to agree, the data over the past month has not been positive.”
“Perhaps…” Dmitri shrugged. “However, negative results also provide valuable knowledge. I am reminded of a statement by a very famous American inventor, Thomas Edison. You know, he tested over a thousand different materials before he finally found a carbon thread that would serve as the filament of his electric lightbulb. When a reporter a
sked about all his failures, he replied that those experiments were not failures, rather he had succeeded in identifying a thousand materials that were not suitable for his invention.”
Ian frowned. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Sometimes I’m too impatient, I know that. Not necessarily a good trait for a scientist.” He forced a smile, and Dmitri returned a huge grin.
“Forgive me,” said Dmitri, “I am being a poor host. Allow me to show you our laboratories. Our facilities are first rate, including an advanced electron microscopy lab. After the tour we will enjoy some wine at the faculty club. Of course, you will be my guests for dinner. I know a delightful restaurant that serves wonderful Belarusian cuisine.”
“That sounds marvelous, Dmitri. Thank you. I hope your wife will join us also,” Peter said. He assumed the woman in the photo was Dmitri’s wife.
For a second, the gleam left Dmitri’s eyes, and his smile—which had been almost constant since they met—faded. “No, she will not.”
Peter immediately sensed the awkwardness of the moment, and regretted the question. “Dad tells me your labs are very well equipped,” he said, deliberately selecting a safe subject for conversation.
“Yes, we are rightfully proud of our facilities,” Dmitri said, cheerful once again. “Shall we start?”
With pride and purpose to his step, Dmitri turned right into the hallway with his guests one step behind. After passing a half dozen offices, he spoke over his shoulder. “The laboratories are in the basement so if there is any spill of water or reagents it cannot leak into the offices or conference rooms. Just ahead, we will take the stairs.”
Suddenly a voice boomed down the hallway from behind the group. “Ostanovis!” Dmitri planted his feet and turned, expecting to see a colleague or administrator who had issued the command to stop. Instead, he saw three men dressed in military uniforms. The lead man had thick salt and pepper hair and a bulky, muscular build. Although he appeared to be around 50 years of age, his physique was fit, lacking the belly bulge so often plaguing middle-aged Americans and Europeans. He had a rifle slung over his shoulder but the two following him were holding their rifles with both hands, still casually pointing downward.
Ethan and Jo hadn’t noticed Dmitri’s concerned expression and, failing to understand Russian, did not interpret the order to stop. They continued walking toward the stairs, speaking softly to each other. In contrast, Gary, Peter, and Ian had turned when Dmitri did and immediately recognized that something was wrong.
The trio of soldiers approached quickly, and seeing that the young man and woman had not halted, the leader issued his order again. “Stop where you are!”
This time Jo and Ethan noticed and turned to face the commotion. They were only two steps from the double doors at the entrance to the stairwell.
The leader was now standing within arm’s reach of Dmitri and his American friends. Peter’s head spun toward Ethan and Jo. “Go! Run!”
Ethan bounded for the doors, yanking one open. His sister right behind, they dashed through and sprinted down the stairs two at a time.
Crack!! The gunshot echoed in the hard confines of the hallway, obscuring the sound of the bullet shattering the glass door as it automatically swung back toward the closed position. Peter launched himself into the soldier still recovering from the recoil after firing his AK-74. He ducked his head, planting his shoulder in the man’s belly, slamming him into the wall. Still holding the rifle with both hands, the soldier slammed it down across Peter’s back, but Peter refused to release his grip around the man’s midsection.
Gary was poised to spring forward, frozen only a few feet from the muzzle of the second AK-74. The leader appraised Dmitri and Ian with discerning eyes, unconcerned with the scuffle. Without averting his gaze, he pulled a pistol from the holster at his side, point the gun to the ceiling, and fired.
Reluctantly, Peter released his grip, his back deeply bruised from the beating. He knew he could not win, but was satisfied Ethan and Jo were not being pursued. Peter stood upright, easily three inches taller than his adversary who still clutched his rifle, the barrel pointed at his chest. Before Peter stepped away the soldier swung the rifle butt connecting with Peter at the belt line, doubling him over.
“Nyet!” Dmitri shouted and Ian rushed to his son’s aid.
Cocking his head to the side, the leader announced, “You are my prisoners. Raise your hands and do not move, or you will be shot.”
Chapter 6
Minsk
WITH ONE HAND ON his holstered pistol, still standing in the hallway, the leader spoke to Dmitri in Russian, receiving short replies to his questions. Perspiration began to appear as glistening beads on the face and neck of the Belarusian scholar. He addressed his friends. “This is General Gorev. He is in charge of the pro-Russian militia—”
“You are Americans?” Gorev interrupted. “Yes?” He paused, scrutinizing Ian and Peter while waiting for their reply.
“Yes, American,” Ian said. He raised his head and looked Gorev directly in the eyes as he replied. “I am working here with Professor Kaspar as a guest of Belarus. I’m on sabbatical.”
As he listened, the corners of Gorev’s mouth twitch and his eyes narrowed. He held out his hand. “Passports.”
Reluctantly Ian removed his passport from his pocket and handed it over to General Gorev. Gary followed suit. Peter stared at the officer, not uttering a word, hands still raised.
Gorev opened the passport and glanced quickly at the photo of Ian Savage, reading his name and city the passport was issued from. He then placed the document in his breast pocket. He repeated the process with the second passport.
“Mister Porter,” Gorev said.
“Yeah, that’s me. You have no right holding us at gunpoint—“
“Silence!”
Gary’s eyes burned into Gorev, but the general absorbed every bit of the anger and outrage without a flinch. Shifting his gaze to Peter, he repeated his demand.
Peter shook his head slowly. “I don’t have it. I left it at the hotel.”
Gorev issued a short order and the two soldiers quickly frisked Peter. All they found was some local currency and a street map.
“Which hotel?” Gorev asked.
“The Holiday Inn.” Peter’s lips were drawn tight, his eyes hard and fixed on the general.
Gorev took a moment to measure the three Americans, looking them over from head to toe. The older one certainly fit his image of a professor, wearing khaki slacks and a light-blue long-sleeve shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. His hair was whiter than snow, thinning on the top, and his goatee beard matched the pure white hair color perfectly.
The other two Americans were troublesome. The one named Gary Porter definitely had an attitude, but had so far been easy to intimidate and control. The other man, though, he was different. His defiance was obvious, having already attacked one of the militiamen, and there was a recklessness in the way he responded to questioning, as if he was looking for a fight. He stood slightly taller than the older man—a little more than the general’s own height of 1.8 meters. His thick brown hair was cut short, but not a military haircut. His frame was slender but fit; there did not appear to be an ounce of fat. General Gorev scrutinized his face again, focusing on the steel blue eyes, reading defiance and determination.
“Are you also a visiting scholar?” Gorev said.
“I’m just passing through. Was lost and asked these nice men for directions.”
Gorev’s mouth pulled back in a smile that was not reflected by the remainder of his features. “You are a funny man. How do you say it… a comedian, yes?”
“Yeah, I’m a comedian.” Peter paused for a moment before adding, “I’ll be going now.” He lowered his hands and was immediately jabbed in the back by a rifle barrel. He raised his hands over his head again.
“What is your name, funny man?” Gorev said.
“Peter.”
Gorev frowned. “Peter? That is all, just Peter?”
<
br /> “Peter Savage.”
“Ahh,” Gorev said, his eyebrows raised. “You are related to Professor Ian Savage. His son, maybe?”
“That’s right.”
“I see.” Gorev paused, looking over the three men. Dmitri was sweating profusely now, and his eyes were wide in fear. In contrast, the Americans appeared to be in better control over their emotions.
The doors to the stairwell opened and five more militiamen emerged from behind Peter, Gary, and Ian. General Gorev, speaking in Russian, asked if they captured the young man and woman who fled down the stairs minutes earlier.
Two of the militiamen exchange a confused glanced. Peter did not understand what was said, but suspected it was related to Ethan and Jo. He leaned toward Dmitri. “What are they saying?” he asked in a whisper.
“Your children, they escaped.”
Inwardly Peter smiled. Thank God, they made it.
General Gorev shifted his stare to Peter. “No matter. My men will find them before they leave the campus and hold them with the other students and staff.” Then in Russian, he issued a command to the militiamen, and they moved swiftly down the hallway searching every office. If the door was locked, they kicked it in. Four of Dmitri’s colleagues were found hiding in their offices and were herded down the stairs with Dmitri and the three Americans.
Chapter 7
Minsk
A TOTAL OF 36 FACULTY PLUS Peter, Ian, Gary, and Dmitri were corralled on the ground floor in the large main conference room just off the spacious lobby and principle entrance. Two sets of double doors connected the lobby to the conference room. A large oval table was centered in the room surrounded by standard black office chairs, sufficient in number for the hostages, while additional padded chairs lined two of the walls. Overhead fluorescent tubes provided illumination, emitting a constant, soft buzz. Blackout draperies were pulled closed, preventing any view of the campus through the large picture windows. Off in a corner, General Gorev sat at a small, utilitarian metal desk, conversing with two militiamen.