by Greig Beck
“They operate where they want to operate,” Dmitry said. “They usually just want arenda, rent. To keep things all good.”
Marcus groaned. “Protection money.”
The men nodded solemnly.
“Just great.” Marcus sighed and held his glass out to Yuri who splashed some more vodka in it.
Yuri refilled his own glass. “You make a cake, there is always someone who wants a slice.”
“For free,” Marcus added. He sighed; he’d heard of them, and knew how despicable and unrelenting they could be.
Thinking of them made his mind turn to his only relative, his older brother, Carter. Marcus stared at his cup as his vision was turned inward. Carter was the proverbial black sheep of the family. He’d done a tour of Afghanistan in the Special Forces. He never spoke about it, but he came back a little screwy. Then one night he ended up hurting two guys real bad in a bar fight. One of them was connected to the police chief, and Carter ended up doing time.
When he got out, he just withdrew, from everything, and now he ran a small bar somewhere in the Midwest. But that wasn’t the whole story. The thing was, Carter was dating Sara before Marcus was. They both loved her, but Carter was gone so long, and one thing led to another, and the next thing he knew, it was him dating her and then eventually won her hand.
Marcus felt like shit and felt he also deserved a beating. But the worst aspect was his brother never complained. He seemed to realize he could never be there for Sara like Marcus could and just wanted her to be happy—both of them to be happy, and he was glad they had found each other.
And that made Marcus feel like the asshole from hell, which caused an eternal awkwardness between all three of them. To this day, he never knew if his relationship with Sara was the real reason Carter vanished.
Marcus sighed and leaned back. Thing was, he could have used his brother’s help now as he knew some parts of Russia were still like the Wild West, and Carter was a fearsome individual, having the skills to back it up.
He shifted in his seat; maybe he could think of a way to employ him and also some of his old team buddies for security.
As he mulled over the logistics, he raised his own red flags; the problem with Carter was that he was like an elemental force. Sometimes you pointed him at a problem and he could obliterate it, or he could make it worse. He was just as smart as Marcus was, but tended to solve things with his fists rather than his head.
Marcus sucked in a deep breath and lifted his head, sighting on Dmitry. “Anything else?” he asked.
Leonid bobbed his head for a moment.
“Okay, what?” Marcus sat forward.
“The lights,” Leonid said softly out of one side of his mouth while holding his pipe in the other.
“Lights?” Marcus’ brows rose.
“The lights,” Leonid repeated. “Under the water.”
“Submarines? Divers?” Yuri asked.
“I don’t think there are any submarines working the lake anymore.” Marcus had done his research on the lake. “There was a team of scientists in 2008 or maybe 2009 who tried to reach the lake bottom in a pair of mini-subs, and stayed down for five hours, half of that the descent and return. But they didn’t make it; didn’t get deep enough. They never tried again.”
“Something frightened them down there?” Leonid nodded.
“No, I think it just wasn’t enough preparation,” Marcus replied.
“They fell short by about 500 feet,” added Nikolay.
Marcus sat back. “No one down there now; not that I know of.”
“I don’t think these are submarine or diver’s lights,” Leonid said. “My father told me he had seen them himself when he was a boy. One night, when it was very dark and he was out late on the lake fishing with my grandfather. He said that down deep, there was something glowing, green… and moving. Submarines not here then.”
Yuri tilted his head as he turned to Marcus. “What about those fish with lights on their head. Is deep and dark enough down there.”
“No, there’s no bioluminescent fish in Baikal’s depths that I know of,” Marcus replied. “In fact, it’s something that has puzzled scientists for years—why exactly bioluminescence hasn’t evolved in freshwater.”
“Because the ocean is far older,” Nikolay added. “This specialty must take a long time to evolve.”
“I think so too,” Marcus said, impressed with the young man. “And good answer.”
“So, no sub, no diver, no fish with lights on their head.” Yuri bobbed his head. “Then can only have been one thing.”
Everyone turned to him, and Yuri began to grin slowly as he lifted the vodka bottle and shook it. Marcus chuckled, but no one else did.
“My father was sober,” Leonid said levelly. “He never drank while he fished.”
“I have heard the stories too,” Pavel added. “About the lights, and the people not coming back. But I think mainly when ice is gone. Perhaps sometimes the ice traps… them.”
“Them?” Marcus was becoming a little exasperated. “Has anyone here seen the lights? I mean personally. When they were out on the water or even from the land?”
Leonid looked up. “No one goes out fishing on the darkest nights. Maybe no one wants to see them.”
“Well, I’m sure there are boats out there on those darkest nights. If you’re not out there, you just don’t see them,” Marcus replied.
“I don’t think so,” Leonid said. “Even the seals stay out of the water. And sometimes the colonies move off their rock perches to travel into the forest for a few days.”
“There are bears and wolves in the forest.” Yuri frowned. “That’s stupid.”
“Perhaps they think this is less of a threat than what is in the water on those nights.” Leonid lifted his chin. “They know more than us.”
“Good grief.” Marcus ran both hands up through his hair, before fronting the men again. “There is nothing that can’t be explained by science… eventually.”
Leonid waggled a finger at him. “Not these legends.”
“Legends; we all have them,” Yuri added softly.
“You know about this?” Marcus asked his manager. “Tell me everything.”
Yuri opened his arms wide. “People go missing.” He leaned forward. “They used to call this place the haunted mill.” He threw his head back and laughed. “But, of course, just superstitious people in Soviet-era times.”
“But not now, huh?” Marcus saw that none of the Yakut Russians agreed with him. “Look, the water is freezing here, plus there’s snags, and the lake is so big that it has tides and currents. Anyone falls into it, especially at night, then they have about 30 seconds to get out, or…” Marcus shrugged. “They go missing.”
“Except people go missing when walking along the shoreline. Not canoeing, not swimming, or even fishing.” Nikolay leaned forward. “Mr. Stenson, did you know that just a few years after the mill commenced operation, everyone vanished?” He nodded slowly. “Everyone; the workers, the managers, even the boat owners.”
Marcus groaned. “Yes, I read about that. They were having problems, industrial, and the story goes they all just walked off the job.”
Nikolay slowly shook his head. “That was just for the public. They never got home. They vanished. I think they never even tried to get home. Or they tried but couldn’t.”
Marcus sighed. “I see.”
He knew all large bodies of water had their secrets, and most were promulgated by superstitious locals, or for the benefit of gullible tourists. There were the lake monsters, the fish men, the things that rose from the stygian depths on a full moon, no moon, or half-moon, and even of the things that couldn’t be seen at all, that just left tracks behind.
“The lake knows; it has memory.” Leonid kept his eyes on the fire.
“Ozero pomnit,” Pavel intoned softly.
“The lake remembers.” Leonid’s brows came together. “What does that mean?”
No one answered.
> Marcus sighed and got to his feet. “On that note, gentlemen, I’m turning in. We can all talk more tomorrow. Goodnight.”
Marcus headed for the main house and climbed the few steps to the front veranda. It was a large wooden two-story cottage, and on the top step, he turned and looked out over the frozen lake. Out here, there was little background light save from the stars and the current crescent-shaped moon. Right now, it looked like an endless plain of frozen ink.
Marcus let his eyes travel slowly over its surface for many minutes. As he expected, there was nothing out there.
He pushed open the front door and stepped inside. He had a lot of work to do, and he wasn’t going to let ridiculous old village stories about the local bogeyman get in his way.
“Tomorrow’s another day,” he said and kicked the door shut behind him.
CHAPTER 05
The Mill House Compound, Lake Baikal—first morning
Marcus woke just on dawn to a silence that was so unnerving it felt unnatural. He lay there, just staring up at the ceiling. Back home at Madeira Beach, there would have been gulls greeting the approaching sunrise, the sound of surf breaking on golden sand, and if he was lucky, maybe Sara up and about already making coffee.
But by the lake, it was like the inside of a tomb. He blinked a few times and felt the cold on his nose. The house wasn’t properly heated yet, and he dragged back the covers and threw his legs over the side of the bed.
“Oof.” He lifted his feet back off the ground and wished he could crawl back under the covers. Even better, crawl back under them with Sara; he missed her terribly already. He had tried to call again last night but had no phone reception as the signal had vanished once again. It was a weird feature of the area that whited-out radio, satellite, and probably even smoke signals.
He placed his feet carefully on the floor again, stood, and padded to the window that looked out over the lake—it was like an iron-grey desert that was as calm and serene as a sheet of dirty glass. Small wisps of cold vapor hung over it, and from here, it was easy to see why early explorers had thought that when it was thawed, it was a sea, as there was no shoreline visible on the other side. Marcus thought it was as vast and endless as any ocean he’d ever been on.
As he watched he saw two men—Pavel and his son Nikolay, he suspected—moving across the grounds, gathering firewood. Both had hoods up over their heads and their breath steamed like a pair of racehorses in the still air.
Marcus’ vision turned inward as he tried to think through the enormous amount of tasks he needed to accomplish, and now that he was here, it was time to expand and prioritize them. The cleanup, renovation, and lab setup were a priority—he needed his facilities to be in top shape before the Federal Agency for Fisheries and Conservation released the fish. And before they did that, they’d want to pay him a visit.
He kept thinking he had this deal won, but there were several hurdles along the way, and if he stumbled on any one of them, the entire project could be delayed, penalized, or even canceled. He doubted very much there’d be any compensation for funds expended if that happened.
“Not much riding on that.” He snorted. “Just, everything.”
From one end of the mill compound, he heard chopping wood, and as he doubted it was Yuri, he bet it was another of the local Russians. He decided to offer the men ongoing employment—perhaps a three-month probation to really feel them out to begin with.
After all, he could certainly use them, and even after just a few hours, he felt they were trustworthy and quite likeable, even though a little superstitious.
Besides, he could throw them straight into the rebuild jobs from today. Yuri could organize further professional tradespeople for the more complex work as and when they needed them. He’d also need to bring in specialists for the lab setup… another thing on his “urgent” list.
Marcus blinked crusty eyes, urging himself to get on with the day, so he crossed back to his bed where there was a dish of water and a small towel waiting for him. He stood looking down into it for several seconds, before finally dipping his fingers in, scooping up a double handful of freezing water and splashing it on his face—it was as cold as he expected and it quickly jolted him into full wakefulness. He dried his face, feeling refreshed, but still couldn’t bring himself to wash his body with the water, and instead just dragged on a thick pullover.
Marcus jogged down the steps to the front hall, whistling, and pulled open the door to be immediately assailed with wood smoke, biting morning air, and the sound of branches being broken up for a fire.
He stepped out onto the wooden porch and tugged his collar up a little higher. In the early morning light, he looked over the grounds. The mill house compound gardens had withered away to spindly dead trees, grasses like hay, and everything else covered over in snow. But he was sure that Yuri could source some fruit trees, and as his wife wasn’t arriving until late spring, their blossoms might even be out in time to add some color and perfume to the air.
Then came the butterflies and birds—our Russian Garden of Eden, he thought and smiled again. Sara would love it. If there was wildlife, then Sara the nature lover was at home.
Marcus paused to smile at a memory. He remembered when she found a small green bird that had stunned itself after hitting one of their windows back home. She opened her cupped hands and it sat there, looking at each of them, and then it simply nestled down as though content in her warm, safe hands. She was nature’s friend, all right, he thought.
He saw there must have been more snow overnight as everything had a layer of gleaming white powder. Further down, he could see trenches, ankle-deep, that had been pressed into the snow by the Russians going to and fro on their morning tasks.
He squinted down at the snow right in front of his house—there were more tracks, but weird ones that he didn’t recognize at all.
Marcus stepped down a few of the front steps and saw that they came right up to the landing where he stood now. He wasn’t much of an outdoorsman but they sure looked like nothing he’d ever seen before. They were about two to three feet apart, and in twin lines, as though the legs on each side of the creature were spread wide. And they must have been sharply pointed, making him think they were more like those of an insect or crustacean than a land mammal.
Marcus tried to think what it could be but knew classification was always going to elude him. He scratched his chin. Tiny hooves or paws on skinny legs, he wondered. Or maybe something like a stork, which he immediately rejected, as it was the wrong time of year.
He didn’t mind the wildlife venturing into their compound, as long as it wasn’t bears, wolves, or something he couldn’t verify as being non-dangerous. He gave up trying to work it out and made a mental note to ask Yuri about it later.
Smoke billowed across the open compound and he could see the big Russian placing a grill over the open fire, edging a metal pot of coffee onto its center. They’d brought some stores with them and for now had plenty of eggs, bacon, and some bread for toast, and he was looking forward to a hearty breakfast.
Yuri had also brought a tank of diesel fuel for the generator, and one of his tasks was to get the thing up and running so they had power. If the generator worked, he’d still order a backup one. If not, he’d have to order two—it was already built into the budget, and it was something that was an absolute necessity. If he was to have a viable and reliable laboratory, the one thing he couldn’t abide from a risk-management perspective was the power going out—if it did, then all his samples, eggs, sprats, and anything else he needed to keep at a controlled and constant temperature would be destroyed.
He headed toward the fire and Yuri looked up and grinned.
“Dobroye utro.”
“Same to you, big guy,” Marcus replied.
Yuri pushed more logs into the fire, causing the pot to quickly boil, filling the air with the delicious smell of dark, strong Russian coffee.
He hoped Yuri would wait until the flames died down a bit b
efore trying to cook anything with the cast iron skillet, but coffee was always the first order of business.
The smell also attracted the other men, and from around the grounds, Dmitry, Pavel, and his son Nikolay, plus Leonid, waved and approached.
With a coffee each, they sat around the fire, and Marcus proceeded to hand out the day’s jobs—Yuri would check the generator, the men would see what work needed to be done to the cabins, and Leonid would be tasked with clearing more of the mill house compound’s grounds.
In another 10 minutes, Yuri was pushing the steel pans onto the fire, cracking eggs and nudging bacon around the pan in speckled duck fat. Marcus didn’t know if it was the bracing air or not, but the smell was intoxicating and made his mouth water.
Bread was poked onto sticks and held close to the fire to toast, and Dmitry pulled out a large jar of amber honey that he had collected himself in the summer from a local hive. In it floated honeycomb, twigs, and what looked like the remains of bees that had been a little too slow to escape his collecting prowess.
Breakfast went on longer than expected, and Marcus found he really liked the group of men who would be working with him. All seemed to have experience, a sense of humor, plus good connections with the local Yakut community—valuable, as he needed to be on good terms with all his neighbors.
One thing Marcus had wanted to do while the weather was still with them was walk to the prominent rocky hills a few miles further up the coast. He planned on scaling it and getting a bird’s eye view of the lake, and maybe conclude some options for pen sites—what he’d be looking for was somewhere close in and sheltered. Then he and Yuri could take to the ice, cut into it, and verify the depth with cameras and aqua-topology mapping.
In another 20 minutes, breakfast was finally over, tasks set for his team, and so Marcus loaded up a pack and prepared to set off. Yuri stopped him.
“Please, let me come with you.” He bobbed his head and lifted his coat, showing the revolver on his hip. “Bears.”
“Thanks, but I’ll be fine. Besides, priority one is to get our generator working… and that’s on you, mister.” He went to turn away, but felt the big Russian’s hand alight on his shoulder.