The Distant Chase

by Cap Daniels

  I couldn’t decide if he was asking me to come up with a plan, or if he was justifying running deeper into the largest country on Earth.

  “If your math is any good,” he said, “we’ve got enough diesel to keep running for days, but we’ve got to get someplace a little friendlier than Mother Russia.”

  I kicked myself for not knowing everything there was to know about European geography. The GPS wasn’t much help, but it did paint of rough picture of what lay ahead.

  I studied the screen. “We’ll hit the Oka River if we keep going. It looks about seventy miles, straight-line distance.”

  “It has to be twice that far on the river, so that’s six or seven hours, best case.”

  “Which direction does the Oka flow?”

  He glared at me. “Downhill.” Recognition flashed in his eyes. “Wait a minute! See if you can find the city of Ryazan.”

  I scanned the tiny screen.

  Clark tapped his foot and bit at his bottom lip. Those two ticks, when combined, meant he was trying to recall something important.

  “Got it!” I found Ryazan fifty miles southeast of the convergence of the Moscow and the Oka Rivers. I handed him the GPS and pointed toward the town.

  “That’s it,” he said. “There’s a military aviation museum just southwest of there, but I can’t remember the name of the airport.”

  I leaned in, hoping he was about to announce a brilliant plan to get us anywhere other than Russia, but he kept tapping his foot and biting his lip.

  “It doesn’t matter what the name of the airport is. Just tell me what you’ve got in mind.”

  “I’ve got Ginger in mind,” he said.

  I had the sat-phone burning up prepaid minutes in no time, and Skipper’s anxiety poured through the earpiece. “Is everything okay? Are you both okay? Did he get Anya out? Where are you?”

  “We’re fine,” I said, “but the mission has gone all to hell. Listen to me. Find an airport southwest of a town called Ryazan. There’s an aviation museum there. We can be there inside of twelve hours if everything goes well. See what you can do to get us out of there, and call me back.”

  I hung up, not wanting to answer any more questions or explain what had gone wrong. None of that mattered unless we could get out of Dodge.

  Forty minutes later, Ginger’s voice came through the sat-phone. “I’ve got an operator who’s willing to trade places with you. He’ll bring you a flying machine. I don’t know what kind yet, but it doesn’t matter. All you have to do is trade passports with him. You’ve still got the Canadian passports, right?”

  “Ginger, I love you! You’re brilliant. That’s how we’ll get Anya out of the Black Dolphin.”

  “Chase, what are you talking about? I’m talking about getting you—not Anya—out of Russia.”

  “I know, but now I know how to do both. Get your guy headed to Ryazan, and we’ll be there as soon as we can. I’ll call with updates every three hours.”

  Clark glared at me. “What was all that about?”

  “I just figured out how we’re going to get Anya out of that prison, but we’ll need some more firepower and a little white lie.”

  Chapter 23

  The Ukrainian Express

  The convergence of the Moscow and Oka River came into sight just as the morning sun broke through the overcast. The sun was a godsend, but the silhouettes of the two gunboats bearing on us from the east were quite unnerving.

  “That can’t be good,” I said.

  Clark shifted his eyes between the boats. “Ditch the pistols over the stern. They’re going to stop us, and it’ll be impossible for two Canadian tourists to explain having pistols that smell like they were used to kill an old communist.”

  He shoved his holstered pistol into my palm, and I pulled mine from my waistband. I watched them hit the white, foamy wake behind our boat and disappear instantly.

  A glance at the depth-sounder showed eleven feet under the keel.

  “Someone might find those someday, and I’d love to be a fly on the wall when they do.”

  Clark was clearly more focused on the problem at hand. “What do we tell those guys when they ask us what the hell we’re doing?”

  “Maybe they’ll want to debate who has the better hockey team.”

  Clark shook his head. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s what they’ll want to discuss.”

  In the States, Coast Guard regulations say boats should pass port to port just as if they were cars passing on the street, but those were the rules several thousand miles west of where we were that day. The gunboats kept coming in their staggered formation about fifty feet apart, clearly oblivious to the U.S. Coast Guard regulations.

  Clark turned the wheel slightly to the right, demonstrating our willingness to surrender the center of the river to them, and I hoped they’d make some similar move and drift slightly toward the opposite bank. But I knew it wouldn’t be that simple. Instead of veering to the right, the two boats turned directly toward us, narrowing their opening. They were only a few feet apart and coming our way.

  “I’m starting to regret throwing the guns overboard,” I said.

  “With only two pistols, we’ll never win a gunfight with those guys. Do you think we should stop?”

  “I’m thinking we should maintain course and speed until a collision is imminent, and then give way.”

  Clark raised his eyebrows. “That imminent collision part is coming sooner than you think.”

  The massive gunboats plowed through the water with their bows high and their deck guns trained on us. They showed no indication of slowing down.

  “I’m not risking it.” Clark pulled the throttles to idle. Our heavy boat settled in the water and continued drifting forward in a slow deceleration.

  “Try not to look guilty,” I said as the boats drew closer.

  “I’m not guilty. You’re the one who shot Norikov. I was busy dancing around like a jackass and trying not to bleed to death.”

  “Yeah, but you’re the one who ate half the food in the man’s refrigerator.”

  He smirked. “Okay, so I’m a little guilty.”

  The gunboats plowed through the water until they were just off our bow, and then they split and roared down each side of our boat. The machine gunners kept their weapons trained on our hull. As they passed, the enormous wakes rocked us around like a cork. Clark eased the throttles forward to keep enough speed to maintain steerage, but he was careful to show no signs of trying to run away.

  I watched the gunboats as they each turned aggressively toward the other, crossing each other’s wake behind us. Rolling out of the turn, they roared past us again, missing us by only a few feet. The crew of each boat laughed hysterically at the pair of frightened idiots in the workboat. It obviously hadn’t been reported stolen yet, and Clark gave them the universal single-finger salute as the Russian boat crews accelerated back toward the Oka.

  “That was way too close,” I said.

  “You’re telling me. That could have been an international cluster—”

  “Yeah, it could’ve been,” I said, “but it wasn’t…this time.”

  We turned northeast into the Oka River and erupted in nervous laughter.

  Clark wiped imaginary sweat from his brow. “Let’s not do that again. What do you say?”

  “I couldn’t agree more. Let’s check in with the girls.”

  Skipper’s cheerful voice had a way of making everything better. “Good morning. I see you’ve made good progress.”

  The state-of-the-art tracking software on Ginger’s laptop allowed them to see our current position and track our motion in real time. It was powerful and reassuring.

  “Yeah, we’re in the Oka now and headed for Ryazan. Do you have any more information on the swap?”

  “I do,” she said. “You won’t be going to the Muzey Dal’ney Aviatsii. That would be stupid. There’s way too much that can go wrong there. We have a much better plan.”

  I could hear her shuffling pape
r. “Write down fifty-four degrees, fifty-three point seven-five minutes north, by thirty-nine degrees, thirty-one point three minutes east.”

  “Okay, I got it,” I said. “Where is that, and what are we likely to find when we get there?”

  “The Ukrainian Express.”

  “The Ukrainian border is over three hundred miles from here,” I protested.

  “Oh, I know where Ukraine is. I’ve been studying. Those coordinates won’t put you in the country, but they will put you at the spot where a seaplane is going to splash down just before dark, and I happen to know the pilot of that plane would love to trade it for a nice Russian riverboat.”

  “You’re amazing.”

  “You keep telling me that. Can’t you come up with something better than amazing?”

  I laughed. “I’ll see what I can do. Thanks for the good news.”

  “Don’t forget to check in every three hours. All of this is fluid.”

  “You got it,” I said.

  Clark glanced up from the helm. “Well, that sounded positive.”

  “It was. We’re trading up. Skipper gave me coordinates where we supposed to meet a seaplane just before dark. She says that Muzey Dal’ney Aviatsii is too dangerous.”

  “She and Ginger haven’t led us astray yet, so I trust them. Where are the coordinates?”

  I typed the lat and long into the GPS and waited for it to plot the position on the screen.

  “I like it,” I said. “It’s just twenty-five miles.”

  “More like fifty on the river, but I like it, too.”

  We pushed the boat a little harder than we normally would have, but the encounter with the patrol boats reminded us not to spend more time than necessary on the open water. If we could find a place to hide near the coordinates, we could take turns getting some sleep while we waited for the seaplane.

  * * *

  There had never been a finer stretch of water on which to land a seaplane. The river was dead straight for almost five miles, and nearly two thousand feet wide. A small peninsula jutted into the river from the south bank and gave us the perfect place to take cover. We were able to maneuver the boat out of sight and tie her to a tree. It was still bone-chilling cold, but we were tucked away nicely and waiting for what Skipper had called the “Ukrainian Express.”

  I phoned home, and Skipper wasted no time on pleasantries. “Are you there yet?”

  “Yes, we just arrived and got ourselves dug in.”

  “Great,” she said. “The weather window is closing, so we’re moving up the timetable. There’s another snowstorm coming late tonight, and we need you in Kyiv before that happens. Our guy is in the air now and should be arriving in less than ninety minutes. Will that work for you?”

  “You bet it will. The sooner I can get where nobody wants me dead, the better. As far as I know, I’ve never pissed anybody off in Ukraine.”

  “Great,” she said. “I’ll pass the word along, and I’ll call you just before he should be landing. What else do you need?”

  “Put me on speaker with you and Ginger. We’ve got a change of plans, and I’m going to need a lot of help.”

  The phone clicked.

  “Hey, Chase. What’s up?”

  “Hey, Ginger. We need some serious support here. I have a plan, but you’re not going to like it.”

  “Okay, let’s hear it.”

  “Everything fell apart last night. Norikov took some shots at us, and we had to put him down. He’s no longer a factor in this.”

  “Are you both okay?”

  “Yes, we’re fine,” I said, “but now we have to come up with another way to get Anya out of the Black Dolphin. That’s where you come in. I need detailed maps of the interior and exterior of the prison, as well as your best guess as to where she’s being held. I need to know yard schedules—if she ever gets to see the sky—and I need topo maps of the surrounding terrain.”

  “You don’t want much, do you?” she said.

  “I’m not finished. I also need two tickets to Riga from Kyiv, and then some way to get into Kazakhstan, but I don’t know where yet. We’ll figure that out from Riga. I’ll also need you to get a message to the Frenchman. Tell him to stop feeding Norikova.”

  “What?” she protested. “He can’t starve her.”

  “Oh, yes, he can,” I argued, “and he’s going to. I need her hungry, dirty, and generally miserable. Oh yeah, and I need some cold-weather gear for her—boots, gloves, thermals, hat, everything. Can you do that?”

  “Sure I can, but what are you planning?”

  “Don’t worry about that right now. It’ll all make sense in time. Just get me what I need, and make that call to Pierre, okay?”

  “Okay. Anything else?”

  “Yeah, there’s a lot more, but that’s it for now. Call me when the plane is fifteen minutes out.”

  Clark was sitting on an overturned bucket, shaking his head. “You’re insane. You know that, right?”

  “Yeah, I know, but do you have a better idea?”

  “Ha! Hell yeah, I’ve got a better idea. We catch a red-eye to Bangkok from Kyiv, party like rock stars for a week, and then fly home.”

  “That sounds like a good idea, too” I admitted, “but I have to get Anya out first.”

  “What are you going to do with her when you get out? If you get her out.”

  “I’m going to hand her a pistol and a check for two million bucks, pat her on the butt, and wish her luck.”

  “The most dangerous part is what Penny will do to you when she finds out you patted that girl on her little Russian butt.”

  I smiled. “Okay, maybe I’ll forego the Russian butt patting, but I have to get her out. I owe that to Dr. Richter…and to Anya.”

  He nodded slowly. “You don’t owe either of them anything, but what you’re doing is a noble thing, and nobility has to come before Bangkok…this time.”

  We rummaged through the lockers and found nothing to eat. I was starving, and we were still several hours away from any possibility of a meal.

  “So, just hypothetically, if you were to freeze to death, would you mind if I ate part of you?”

  He pointed his finger at me. “Oh, I can think of a part of me you can bite, but you’re not eating me, College Boy.”

  The sat-phone put an end to our banter.

  “Chase here.”

  “Your trade-a-plane should be arriving any minute, and you’re booked on the eight a.m. Lufthansa flight from Kyiv to Riga with a layover in Frankfurt. I’ve even booked you a hotel in Kyiv tonight. I figured you could use a hot shower and a soft bed.”

  “Did you call Pierre?”

  “Yes, we called him, and there will be no feeding time at the zoo. I’m still working on the cold-weather gear, but we’ll have it arranged for you by the time you get to Riga.”

  “Thank you, Skipper. You’re…phenomenal.”

  She giggled. “Okay, I’ll take that. Call me from Kyiv.”

  “You got it.”

  “Things are looking up,” I said. “Our ride out of here should splash down any minute, and Skipper booked us a hotel in Kyiv. We’re on the plane to Riga tomorrow morning.”

  * * *

  The PBY Catalina came in low over the treetops and skimmed the glassy surface of the river, settling into the water in just a few hundred feet. The plane wore a French registration and looked like it just came from a warzone.

  The engines went silent, and a thirty-something guy about my size stuck his head and shoulders through the hatch.

  We motored alongside and tossed a line to the man. He hastily tied it off to a pad eye and threw down a pair of worn, green seabags. I sidestepped the falling bags and let them land with a thud on the deck of the workboat.

  The man stepped from the seaplane onto the rail of our boat. “Permission to come aboard?”

  “Of course,” I said, as if any other response would’ve made a difference. He hopped to the deck, and I stuck out my hand. “Chase Fulton.”

&
nbsp; He looked at my hand, then at Clark. “Don’t care. Plane’s full of gas. Here’s your new passport. Where’s mine?”

  I stuck my Canadian passport in his hand. He quickly thumbed through the pages and then pointed toward the southwest. “Ukraine is that way.” He pointed southeast. “Kazakhstan is over there.” He pointed north. “Well, you already know what’s up there.”

  I shouldered my backpack and climbed aboard the Catalina with Clark right behind me. Before we had the hatch closed, the man had already tossed the line from the boat into the water and motored away.

  “Who was that guy?” I asked, watching him head back toward Moscow.

  “Don’t care.” Clark pointed to the southwest. “Ukraine is over there.”

  I laughed and secured the hatch. We settled into the cockpit and started familiarizing ourselves with the instrumentation and controls. It was nice to see English on an instrument panel. Clark dug out a checklist, and we soon had both engines purring like kittens—very big, very noisy kittens. In no time, the Ukrainian Express was pointed toward Kyiv.

  Chapter 24

  To Be Somebody

  I don’t know what felt better—the shower, the bed, or the food. Any one of the three would’ve qualified as a temporary heaven, but the combination was all we could’ve wanted. The human body still functions when dirty, but the lack of sleep and calories tend to leave us less than optimum.

  We were finally able to properly clean and bandage Clark’s gunshot wound, which looked remarkably healthy already. He’d fallen asleep within minutes of hitting the sack, but I still had a lot on my mind and decided I’d make a call home.

  “Nice job on the hotel,” I said when Skipper answered.

  “Thank you. I’m glad you approve. Are you doing okay?”

  Sometimes she still sounded like the teenage girl I’d known a decade before, but she was quickly becoming an astonishing young woman, a brilliant analyst, and an integral part of the team.

  “We’re tired, battle-weary, and still shaking off the cold, but it’s nice to be back in civilization. How about the cold-weather gear for Norikova?”

  “You’re all business, aren’t you?”