by Rik Stone
He would have to widen the last part or go back to where the tunnels diverged. If he were to retrace his steps to the other tunnel, it would put him back on the route the bats had used. He did not want to go there, but with his fingers a mass of open wounds, he couldn’t scrape out the earth as he had in the collapsed tunnel. Painfully, he rummaged through his pockets and his hand found the bone handle of Mayakovski’s flick knife. He swished out the four-inch blade.
Thick ice covered the opening. He hacked at it and it chipped away easily, but getting halfway through the task he heard voices and stopped – soldiers. They might be checking out the noise. He pushed himself into the widened channel, inched forward and, closing his eyes, made slits in the final barrier. There shone a bright threshold, blocked by snow wedged into thorny bushing. The blade twisted a hole in the soft snow and he peered out. The intensity of the outside light was strong and pain needled his brain.
Slowly accustoming his eyes to the glare, he scanned the area. Three soldiers were at one side of the hole, mumbling incoherently. To Jez’s relief, they were taking a smoke break. All the same, the time they’d taken to make sure he’d been terminated was another indicator of Mitrokhin’s presence. They wore snowsuits, so he couldn’t determine their unit, but a regular army squad wouldn’t have hung around this long.
Before he could continue his journey he needed to kill time, to let the soldiers wrap up their break. His ushanka hat had fallen in battle, and now the freezing cold had his ears ready to chip off, but he still had the hood on his ski jacket. He eased his way back into the tunnel, pulled the covering over his head, tightened the drawstrings and pulled the flaps across his face. Carefully and quietly, he curled into a ball and, too exhausted for further thought, went to sleep almost instantly.
Chapter 47
The light of a bright morning sky, magnified through the snow, pierced his eyelids and mustered him from a comatose sleep. Every part of his body ached. His spirit had worn thin and he wondered why he bothered. Even if he succeeded in killing Mitrokhin, it wouldn’t bring back Viktor or Anna.
He took a deep breath and the cold air snapped at his sinuses, but at least it lifted him from the doldrums. He pushed outwards and the final confines of the narrowed tunnel fell away. But someone may have been left on watch, sheltering from the cold and out of sight, so he had to be careful. He scraped his knife gently to widen the last part of the exit, slithered out and scanned the area. Only the sound of silence accosted him, so he surged out from what had threatened to be his unmarked tomb.
A light wind whispered and tugged at the branches strewn to one side of the hole. He cut a bundle of twigs and cautiously skirted the hill to observe the plains. No signs of life, but the devastation they’d left had scarred the earth’s bitter crust. The sun glared, but the formerly white mass was now only rust-colored stubble.
He built a fire in one of the craters. He knew he should clean the dried sweat from his body to ward off skin infection, so he stripped naked and embarked on the task. It wasn’t so bad, but he wasn’t unhappy when it was over.
Water, he would need water on the journey, but he couldn’t eat snow in its raw form for fear of hypothermia. Melted snow would be okay and, with an abundance of the stuff, wherever he could build a fire he would have enough.
He also had to be clear of his intentions before moving on, but the only thing that was truly clear was that Mitrokhin had to go through the same fear and loss he’d endured. As with any mission, method and patience would be the key. In the end, Mitrokhin would face death, and before that happened, he would understand what it felt like to be without hope.
*
For the first 50 kilometers or so he travelled commando style, confident that his silhouette couldn’t be made out above the line of the local terrain. The openings of his clothes had tufts of grass stuck in them to change his human shape, and he travelled with the contours of the landscape. Slowly, he moved by night and rested by day. Even then he went around objects rather than over them. Every action was carried out true to the soldier Petrichova had created. And he didn’t need to worry about Mitrokhin second-guessing his moves this time. After yesterday’s attack, he would believe him dead for sure.
The wind blew, and with it Anna’s voice whistled through the trees. He listened. The branches rustled. She whispered his name and declared her love. The grief was overpowering, but he let himself be drawn into the charade. It gave him a cruel comfort. He knew he shouldn’t, he knew he should be stronger, but for now he luxuriated in her companionship.
Although he saw people on his journey, none caught sight of him. But then distant thunder rumbled on the horizon and white mist blankets floated over the meadows: a break in the weather could be imminent. If it brought rain, he would need dry shelter.
From atop a small hill, he watched a farmhouse. Several hours passed and the weather remained unchanged, but then the temperature lifted. A thaw loomed and thawing and refreezing makes for damp conditions. He kept surveillance on the farmer’s movements and, at last, decided to take a chance and go down.
Outside the cabin two dogs barked, and as he closed in on them they snarled and took bites at the air around his feet. A man came out and pulled them back, but held them by the scruff of the neck ready to let them go again.
He stared solemnly. “You seem to be a little off course, stranger. Where are you headed?”
The farmer’s face was one of distrust. The dogs continued to snarl, and Jez took a step back, unsure of the situation. “I need sustenance, Comrade. The temperatures have lifted. I could end up wet and I need a place to rest my head. I seem to have wandered off course and I saw your cabin from the far hill.” He pointed back from where he’d come. “I’d hoped you might see it in your heart to help me out.”
The man’s face softened. “Enough,” he yelled at the dogs and let go his hold on them. They slunk off, ears down. Under the steps at the front of the cabin they settled side by side, yellow eyes forming slits as they continued to stare warily at Jez.
“Come, we’ve just set out a meal. Scant, but you’re welcome to share.”
The cabin was small, so the farmer gave him shelter in the wood store. The logs were depleted after a bitter cold winter, so there was plenty of room. A dry cover, more or less windproof; protection enough, in fact a lot more than he’d had of late.
The next day he left, but not before he found their money in an old rusted tin, a few coins, probably their life savings. He added a small bankroll to the tin to put a little extra food on the table. A berakhah, Poppa would call it.
Chapter 48
In a hurry to get to Moscow, Jez had no time to live off the land. So he turned to a life of crime. He stole eggs from chicken coops and potatoes from barns, and then moved up in the criminal world and took whole chickens – Comrade Big. The plunder rarely went unnoticed. No matter how he tried to evade detection someone always saw him, and he wondered why Soviet forces hadn’t used these people in training.
Wearied from travel, he came to the turning that he and Viktor had mistakenly driven past on that fateful day. With each step, he relived the final hours he’d spent with his friend. But now the warm glow the cabin had given him on that first visit was no more than a chilling reminder.
Rula Korbet’s small lumber house came into view beyond the last snowdrift. He got to the door, but Rula’s mother came from behind the cabin before he could knock. She stared long and hard at him and then smiled.
“Lieutenant Kornfeld, this is a surprise.”
“You… you remember who I am?”
“Yes, I’m very good with faces, and while you have changed appearance, your face is far too pretty for a man. How could I forget it?” She giggled.
He brushed the comment aside and beseeched her. “Comrade Korbet, do you think I could come in and talk with Rula?”
“Yes, of course. She’s not back from town, but come and have tea.”
*
Jez shared their evening meal
and then spent the night there. Now, he mopped up breakfast. “I know food is scarce, so I’m most grateful for your hospitality. This will sustain me on my journey.”
He got up from the table, but Adelaida Korbet lifted a hand to halt him. “And where do you think you’re off to?” she asked.
“I don’t wish to impose any further. After I’ve spoken with Rula, I will be on my way.”
“You don’t look in any fit state to travel for a while. Stay, you can work for your keep. Help with the chores and build yourself up at the same time.”
Work for his keep! And he could do with some time to develop the ideas he’d had on the journey here. “Thank you, you’re most kind… I could do with a couple of days.”
“Good, no more to be said then.”
Rula came in, face still asleep and shoulders slumped. She thudded onto a chair across the table from him.
He greeted her with a grin and said, “I came to your cabin to find out if you’d heard from or seen Vasili.”
“No, there’s been no sign of him since I was taken.”
“Oh… not even from the girls you know in town?”
“No, the only contact we’ve had with anyone about the abduction was when General Petrichova came here with Lieutenant Puchinsky.”
He shifted against the back of the chair. “What?”
“Yes, they came for verification that you and Sergeant Sharansky had worked together.”
“And did you confirm it?” She nodded. “Did they say anything else?”
“Yes, the general said that if you turn up on our doorstep, you should be treated as a friend.”
The questions he’d wanted to ask Rula fizzled out. None of this made sense. Why had Anna told him she hadn’t been here? Why would the general think he might return to the Korbet cabin? And even more puzzling, why had he ended up there? How could Petrichova have drawn such conclusions?
…That conversation with Rula had been more than six weeks ago. His plan to enter Moscow seemed to become ever more pointless. He needed Vasili before he could proceed with his preparation. Unable to determine his next steps, he made himself useful around the cabin. And if the Korbets needed stuff in town, he went. It gave him an opportunity to roam the main streets and alleyways with the lame hope of a chance encounter with his prey. It never happened.
He’d never seen Vasili, but the description Rula had given was enough to make him stand out. On the seventh week at the cabin, Rula went into town with her mother. Apparently, it wasn’t right that a man should go for what they needed. On their return, Rula ran up the path.
“Jez, it hardly seems possible,” she said, and caught her breath, “but I’ve seen him in town – Vasili.” Her voice shook.
“Wha… where?” he asked, and stuttered as he did.
“Just strolling up the main road with a young girl. I didn’t know her, but she looked like… well, similar to me, I suppose.”
Jez panicked. He couldn’t afford to lose Vasili. This might be his only chance.
Rula stared at him as though she’d read his mind. “I don’t think you’ll lose him, Jez,” she assured. “When he worked his charms on me, he took his time. And I could see he was in no hurry with this girl. And he never caught sight of us.”
She was right. He couldn’t allow himself to blow it because of over-enthusiasm – not again. He calmed down. “Of course, you’re right, but I must go into town on the off-chance. If he’s still there I’ll follow him. He must have a bolt hole if he can spare so much time in the area.”
By the time he got to town, a fair amount of time had lapsed since Rula had seen Vasili, so it was unlikely he’d catch up with him, but he was still disappointed not to do so. He returned the next day, with the hope his quarry would show. He didn’t. In fact, no one even close to Rula’s outline appeared. His gut twisted. And things didn’t improve: Vasili wasn’t there for any of the several days that followed. But Jez continued to loiter, ever hopeful.
And then, one late afternoon, his heart lifted. A man that fitted Vasili’s description swaggered onto the main street. It had to be him: tall, slender, thick black hair slicked back, and clothes too expensive for the peasant community of which he took advantage. His good looks would never be contended: big brown eyes, a straight nose flaring slightly at the nostrils, a strong face set with a square jaw, mouth wide and lips artistically lined. But it wasn’t even that. Self-belief radiated from this man.
No room for doubt, this was Vasili. He walked through and out of town. Jez followed. After 4 kilometers through the suburbs, he turned off onto a narrow path to a farmhouse. He went indoors without knocking and Jez carried on up the lane. No need to follow for the moment. Not now he knew Vasili’s safe haven.
Chapter 49
Vasili Samprov made his way up the main street. He hadn’t used Ostrov since that bitch Rula escaped, but the time had come and he had another girl in the pipeline. He’d only just finished with two peasants: one from Slobada, the other from Kartino. His people picked them up yesterday and they should have reached The Red Lite ready for shipment to Turkey by now – or had he told them the Bolshoi in Europe? He laughed, “Easy meat.”
His latest conquest lived on the southern outskirts of Ostrov, which was why he walked through the main street now – to meet her. He hadn’t even applied his charms for a day on this one. It was all so easy for him. A blonde with blue eyes, the girl’s name was Hella, granddaughter of a couple who’d come down from Finland and settled – God knows why they would do that. Finnish, Russian, didn’t matter, they all fell for his silver tongue at some point, “Like I said – easy meat.” He laughed out loud.
Halfway up the street, a pretty-boy stared directly at him, giving him a big smile. Vasili kept his glance cool, didn’t allow his expression to change, but he did flicker his eyes. He thumbed at the side of his hair. With such fatal good looks, it seemed none of them could resist, not even the boys. He smiled again.
*
Since first light, Jez had waited on the corner of the main street. He worried. What if Vasili didn’t turn up? What if he’d just been tying up loose ends? What if… stop! Even if the worries had foundation, there was always the farmhouse.
What time was it anyway? The watch revealed half the problem – it was still only nine. No self-respecting pimp would be out and about at such a time.
Patience paid off. At around midday, Vasili’s tall lean figure strutted up the main street. He walked by and Jez smiled. Vasili’s dark brown eyes flashed a twinkle in return. Jez watched him turn the corner into a side street and followed. A brisk walk took them to the outskirts of the south side of town. Vasili took a path to a wooden house and was met halfway by a girl who’d run down to meet him. Excitedly, she threw her arms round his neck. Vasili responded demurely, probably because an older lady watched from the doorway.
The couple left and Jez spent the afternoon trailing after them. Vasili had his fun, unable to keep his hands off the girl. He acted out the job well, and if Jez hadn’t known better, he could well have believed this man was in love with the girl. But he had known better.
By mid-afternoon they returned to the house. The girl’s pleasure had turned sour and she clearly didn’t want him to leave. Vasili must’ve just about finished his job and it wouldn’t be too long before she’d be picked up and shipped off.
Jez thought about the set-up and realized that Vasili hadn’t just worked Ostrov from the farmhouse. He’d centered himself there to cover all the surrounding areas, probably half a dozen towns at the same time. That’s why he hadn’t seen him around on those days, because he was plying his trade elsewhere.
Jez left the couple and made his way to a quiet country lane equidistant between farmhouse and town. Vasili would have to use that road to get home. He readied his mind for a long wait.
The blue sky faded to a blackness sprinkled with white light. The chill in the air lowered and he shivered. But then, at last, Vasili made his way up the lane. As he approached, his
facial muscles twitched, his brow furrowed and his dark brown eyes blackened. Jez nodded as he had earlier, but this time Vasili shrugged and walked on.
Jez let him get a few steps past. “Are you Vasili?” he asked, and the excitement of the chase gained momentum.
Vasili kept his back to him but lifted an arm and took something from his jacket. He spun a half-circle and his attractive features dissolved into an ugly emission of hatred. He swished open a knife that had a long, straight blade.
“Who the fuck are you and what do you want? If you’re looking for trouble you’ve come to the right place. I advise you to fuck off now or suffer.”
A single slash cut the empty space between them. Though the bigger of the two, every word he uttered gave Jez the impression he’d caught his man flat-footed and fear had taken charge. But Jez lifted his hands and opened his palms submissively.
“No, no, you’ve got it wrong, Comrade. I don’t want trouble. I’m a friend of Rula Korbet. She saw you in town a few days ago and asked me to find out why you hadn’t been to see her since her return.”
Instantly, Vasili’s demeanor changed. His shoulders relaxed, a grin spread across his face and aggression softened. “Rula Korbet, huh, she still wants to see me? Do these bitches never learn?” He put the knife away and turned his stare to Jez with the practiced look of a desperado. “Look, you little shit, she was a mistake. Go back to your plough or whatever is you do and save your pretty face from my knife. Go – fuck off!”
Vasili walked away. Jez withdrew the sound-suppressed PB 6P9 and fired a single shot. The empty case ejected to the right, hit the ground and burnt its way through the already melting snow. The bullet it had embraced smacked into Vasili’s heel. He yelped out in pain, jumped and landed on his undamaged foot. Jez fired a shot into the good foot and Vasili hit the floor as if his legs had been swiped from under him.