He saw at once that something was wrong.
Her face was tight, stiff, paler than ever.
She sat at a table with a pile of papers, her medical case open. A sheet had been spread on another table and a pillow placed on it. She was writing.
‘Well? Any medical problems?’
‘I’ve pulled a muscle, Doctor. Here, in my back.’
‘All right. Let’s see. Take your top clothing off.’
He did so, and she shook her head at him as he opened his mouth. ‘Yes. I can feel it. I’ll give you an injection, and a preparation to be rubbed in. Guard!’
The guard outside the door looked in.
‘Send my driver in.’
The guard looked at her, and shook his head.
‘Can’t do that, Doctor. If there’s something you want, I’ll send for it.’
‘Yes, very well. It’s the diethylamine salicylate solution, camphorated, and quickly, please.’
‘The – what was that?’
‘The diethylamine sal – Just a minute.’ She irritably shook her head and wrote swiftly on a slip of paper. ‘It’s in the fixed brown compartment, left upper quadrant. And I want a spare 100-millilitre bottle. And funnel. Lift your arm,’ she said to her patient.
‘Fixed brown compartment, hundred millilitres, upper quadrant and a funnel,’ the guard said and went bemusedly out of the room with the slip of paper. This he gave to the guard outside the barrack door, who went with the instructions to the bobik. He returned presently and conferred with the surgery guard, who tapped on the door and put his face in again.
‘He doesn’t know what you mean,’ he said.
‘Doesn’t know what – How many patients are out there?’
The guard had a look.
‘Three,’ he said.
‘Still three? Send that driver in!’ she said, with fury.
‘Doctor, I – Well, for a moment,’ he said, seeing her mouth open again; and in a minute or two the driver was lounging in, with his fancy balaclava and his fine hat, chewing gum. ‘Sorry, Doctor, I couldn’t make out –’
‘God above! … Just a minute – you! Leave the room!’ she said abruptly, noticing that the guard had come in with the man.
‘Doctor, he can’t come in here unaccompanied.’
‘And you can’t come in when I have a patient!’ The patient was now bent over the sheeted table with his shirt up, and she was bent over him. ‘Get out at once!’
The guard hastily vacated the room, and the medical officer slammed the door on him, and stood against it, while the two remaining occupants swiftly changed places, and clothes. Papers, too, passed.
‘A bottle, a funnel, and solution from the brown case!’ her voice rang out. ‘Here, written in the largest letters. Does it take so long to understand a simple –’
It didn’t take so long, and the driver was soon out again with the paper, ruefully shaking his head. He was not allowed to remain unaccompanied for long. The surgery guard accompanied him outside. The barrack guard accompanied him to the bobik. And the bobik guard watched closely as he unlocked the rear of the vehicle. The rear was now stacked with cases of empty jars and drums, but the fixed compartment was accessible and it took him no time to pick out the large jar of liniment, with an empty medicine bottle and a funnel.
These he was not allowed to take back in himself, so he returned to the driving seat; from which, less than ten minutes later, he hopped out to open the passenger door for Medical Officer Komarova. She was leaning on her stick and carrying the file of medical papers, one guard holding her medical case and another the liniment jar and the funnel.
Major Militsky, forewarned, hurried out of his office.
‘I can’t tempt you to stay for a bite, Medical Officer?’
‘No, thank you, Major. I must get on – the weather is very threatening.’ She handed over the file. ‘And thank you for facilitating the matter of the baby’s name. The Evenks are happy about it. It means a great deal to them.’
‘We must respect their traditions. It was a pleasure.’
‘Very good. Is everything ready here?’
Everything was ready. The funnel and the liniment were back in the fixed compartment; the rear shut; the escorting jeep waiting.
‘Goodbye, Medical Officer.’ Major Militsky handed her gallantly into the bobik, and snapped off a most happy salute.
‘Goodbye, Major.’
‘Until next time … Off you go, Sergeant.’
And off they went, through the two sets of gates and down the icy path.
‘Something’s wrong,’ he said.
‘Yes. I’ll tell you later. I feel sick.’
He slowly followed the jeep down. They halted at the lower checkpost to be signed out, were saluted off the premises, and entered the creek.
‘What is it?’ he said.
She had heard the news this morning at a settlement where she and the driver had spent the night – both nights had been spent at European settlements: the man unknown at either. Her secretary had telephoned to say that Tchersky militia wanted the Chukchee driver, Khodyan. Why? The secretary didn’t know, but they had asked for the medical officer to call them.
This she had done immediately.
The militia chief was an old patient, and he had told her that a small matter had cropped up: an inquiry late last night from Batumi on the Black Sea. A man called Ponomarenko was being held there, and Tchersky had been asked to find out who was at present occupying his apartment. He had told them it was Khodyan and they’d asked for him to be held and his papers checked. From the transport company he had learned that Komarova had him for a few days. Was she coming back now?
Yes, some time today. Was this man a criminal?
Not as far as the police chief knew – probably just needed to confirm some aspect of Ponomarenko’s story. They’d be sending him more information on it. Anyway, get him to look into the station with his papers when they returned.
They drove for some minutes in silence.
‘You can’t go back to Green Cape,’ she said.
‘No.’
He kept silence and she looked at him.
He was like an animal, scenting.
‘If they’re inquiring who’s in his apartment,’ he said at last, ‘that’s a funny inquiry. Why should anybody be in it? Why should they want to know? He’s told them. He’s told them how he was fixed. I’m blown.’
He stopped the car suddenly.
‘You spoke to this policeman soon after nine? Now it’s two. Call your office. See if he’s been in touch again.’
She switched on, got the crackling, and called in.
No. Nothing. No messages.
‘You may be delayed,’ he told her, softly. ‘You want to know if the militia call.’
‘Irina, I may be delayed a little. Let me know if there’s anything – or if the militia call again, right?’
‘Right, Medical Officer.’
He lit a cigarette.
‘Soon they’ll have photographs,’ he mused. ‘Of Khodyan. They won’t match mine.’
‘Things don’t happen so fast here.’
‘Faxes happen fast. They’ll transmit them … Why didn’t they get in touch with Tcherny Vodi? They knew you were going.’
‘They can’t get in touch with Tcherny Vodi. Only the medical office can do that, and on medical business. It’s a sealed line, teleprinter. The commandant can make calls out, the militia certainly can’t call in.’
He nodded, thinking.
‘The inquiry came late last night, from the Black Sea?’
‘That’s what the Chief said.’
‘Then, there it must have been earlier. They’re some hours back, surely – four, five?’
‘Eight, I think.’
‘Eight. Then the inquiry was made during the day. And now it will be, what, six in the morning there? Maybe nothing happened in the night. After all, they’d have to get hold of photos, probably from other regions. We could still
have a couple of hours.’
‘For you to catch a plane?’
‘A plane to where? No, no. If Ponomarenko told them who fixed him, maybe they have the agent. I don’t know how much he knew, but I can’t risk … I have to think this out. Well run into Tchersky – to the outskirts, and you’ll call, again. I’ll think it out as we go.’
He started the car again and they proceeded in blackness along the creek. He stopped before the end and took the pouches out of the body belt and gave them to her.
‘What are they?’
‘I’ll tell you later. If I don’t get the chance, hide them. Don’t try to open them, they will be destroyed. They aren’t any danger to you. But keep them safely,’ he said.
She handled the tiny pouches uncertainly. ‘What do I do with them?’
‘For now, put them in your bra. They’re no danger to you,’ he repeated, and got the car moving again.
Outside Tchersky she called in once more. It was now after three o’clock.
Nothing. And also no concern expressed. He listened carefully to the voice on the radio.
‘You’re calling because you want the car unloaded right away,’ he told her, quietly. ‘You’ll be in soon.’
This message she passed; and now he told her what they would do.
Lights were on in all windows of the administrative building in Tchersky, and he drove once round the square looking for any sign of unusual activity.
There was none, so he drove through the gates at the rear to the packing bay of the medical centre. His own bobik was still standing there, and a rubbish truck, and that was all, the dimly lit yard with its stamped snow quite deserted. He helped her out and went in through the swing doors of the packing room. The two packers there expected him and came cheerfully out to unload the van.
‘Kolya, remember the militia,’ she said, as they did so. ‘And don’t forget your papers.’
‘I’ll do it when I’m through.’
‘You don’t have to unload – they can do it themselves.’
‘It’s all pretty light now. I’ll just help finish.’
And this he did, carrying in the very last drums.
‘That’s the lot. See you again, boys.’
‘Sure. And thanks, Kolya.’
He went out and found her in the dim light fiddling with the car keys at the open rear doors. He swiftly entered the back of the bobik, and she locked the doors and went into the building.
It was almost four o’clock, and she didn’t stay long.
The expected headache, she said, after a three-day trip … She glanced over the new paperwork, inquired into a few cases, saw that everything was under control, and left.
Back in the bobik she drove the short journey home. She parked in the shed, and let him out of the back; and he waited there until she had unlocked the front door. She didn’t switch the light on but returned to close the shed, and in the dark he went ahead of her into the house.
47
The militia telephoned at six o’clock, and fifteen minutes later were ringing at the doorbell. The lieutenant and a sergeant found her in her dressing gown.
‘I’m sorry, Medical Officer. A few things the Chief couldn’t go into on the phone. There’s something funny about this fellow who was driving you.’
‘Good God, Lieutenant, you haven’t woken me for that? I’ve been travelling three hard days – I need some sleep!’
‘We can’t find him. He didn’t go home.’
‘Maybe he went to a friend’s.’
‘Not to any we know about. And his bobik is still at the medical centre. He left it there.’
‘Well – he knew he had to go and report with his papers. I think I even reminded him.’
‘You did. The packers at the medical centre remembered it.’
‘Then – probably he found a bottle, and is sitting over it somewhere. You know how it is with them.’
‘Yes, it’s what I think myself,’ the lieutenant said. ‘And he’ll turn up with a sore head in the morning. The thing is, they’re worrying us at Irkutsk for a report. They don’t understand how things are here. Can we sit down?’
‘Of course. I’m sorry. Help yourself to a drink.’ She got a couple of glasses. ‘Irkutsk?’ she said, puzzled.
‘Counter-intelligence,’ the sergeant contributed. ‘They run about looking for spies there. It keeps them happy. Your good health, Doctor. The leg’s improving?’
‘Yes. It’s nothing. A Chukchee spy?’ she asked in surprise.
‘I know, it’s crazy,’ the lieutenant agreed, raising his glass. ‘But this fellow isn’t who he says he is. They sent in some pictures, from Magadan, where he was supposed to have worked. It’s a different man. The chances are, this one stole Khodyan’s papers. It’s how he got in here. The papers are okay – the Transport Company checked them in with us, of course, when he started – but he’d changed the photo. No way we could tell that. A Chukchee’s a Chukchee.’
‘Why would he want to do that?’
‘Who knows? Trouble with a wife, a paternity suit? He must have met Khodyan on the Black Sea. What he’s doing with Ponomarenko’s apartment is a puzzle. They’ve told us nothing yet. To them it’s espionage, of course, so they’re giving nothing away. What these people can think up – a spy from Chukotka!’ he said, drinking, and wiped his mouth. ‘Anyway, if you’ll just give a statement, the sergeant will take it down.’
‘What else is there I can tell you?’
She watched as the sergeant took his book out.
‘Maybe his reaction – when he heard we wanted him.’
‘Well – he was irritated. He thought people were picking on him because he was a Chukchee. I’d had to take him off long-distance journeys, you know – his medical record showed he had a heart murmur.’
‘Yes. He was due for hospital tests next week, I understand.’
‘Cardiological. For the murmur. That annoyed him too.’
‘He didn’t want it?’
‘Well, he wasn’t too happy about it.’
‘Ahah. Did he talk about that?’
‘A little. He understood I had no choice – from his record. I couldn’t risk allowing him on long journeys, whatever they’d allowed in Chukotka. They asked me to arrange a hospital test for him, and I did. He accepted that.’
‘He did, eh? Well, they think a bit slow, you know, these natives, but they’re very crafty. I guess he’d have skipped, even without this inquiry. Still, it must have worried him, being called in. You say he was just irritated?’
‘Well. He cursed.’
‘He cursed,’ the lieutenant told the sergeant. ‘And what then? He asked questions?’
‘He asked what I thought it was about. I said it was a routine check of his papers.’
‘Did he want you to find out more?’
‘Well, I called the office for any messages.’
‘Did he ask you to do that?’
She thought. ‘Maybe. I’d have done it, anyway.’
‘How many times did he ask?’
‘Oh now, Lieutenant, I don’t know how many times.’
The Lieutenant had leaned over and was turning back a page of the sergeant’s book.
‘You called in at two o’clock,’ he said. ‘And again at five past three. Did he ask you both those times?’
‘Lieutenant, I’ve got a splitting headache, and I can’t remember what he asked me or how many times.’
‘I’m sorry, Medical Officer. But with these natives – if a problem isn’t so serious, they’ll wait for it to happen. I’m wondering how serious he thought it was … This last time, now, you must have been pretty near Tchersky, and he’s driving you in. He knows he’s on false papers and will have to produce them … Didn’t he seem nervous at all?’
‘Well … not that I could tell. He just drove into the yard and went in to get the packers, and helped unload the van. Then he came out and asked if there was anything else I wanted, and I said no, and he went.’
‘Out of the yard, I suppose.’
‘And left his bobik standing there?’
‘What would he want with the bobik? The militia station is almost next door.’
‘He didn’t go to it. Where the devil could he have gone on foot?’
‘Look, Lieutenant, I’m tired. Probably he’s drinking somewhere now, wondering what to do.’
The lieutenant nodded. ‘He’ll be in Tchersky, anyway. He won’t have walked four kilometres to Green Cape. He could have hitched a lift, of course … Still, thanks for your help. If he calls in – which he might, when he’s had a few – find out where he is and calm him down. Let us know.’
‘All right.’
She waited till the noise of the car had receded and went and opened the cellar door.
This was Friday night.
They left at nine o’clock when traffic had ceased and it was silent outside. He was certain that a house-to-house search would begin and knew he had to be off immediately.
She had three ten-litre jerricans of petrol in the shed. These he put in the back of the bobik, with a small extra one of kerosene for the stove. He packed some clothing in a grip, took a sleeping-bag and food, and the remainder of a bottle of vodka.
The route to Anyuysk she knew, and he stayed under a blanket in the back while she drove. But once they were off the river and on to the made track he took over the wheel.
The dark was intense and in the featureless country the headlights showed no sign of the turnoff to Provodnoye. He had clocked it at nine kilometres, and at the eighth he slowed so that she would see. Next time she would be doing it on her own.
Kolymsky Heights Page 31