by Greig Beck
She typed in her search string and leaned forward to read. She blew air from between her pressed lips. “Good God.”
She knew the lake was old, but didn’t know just how old… and big. Lake Baikal was a mile deep and formed by the Earth’s crust literally being pulled apart to create a giant tear in its surface around 30 million years ago.
Sara scoffed softly as she read of the many myths and legends—there were pages and pages of them. Of course they had their own Nessie they called the Baikal Water Devil. Sonar readings from over the past 100 years had indicated something large down there in the depths, but as recently as 2016, fishermen were complaining of having their nets torn to shreds by something in the lake.
She sat back, feeling she wasn’t learning anything particularly useful, when she saw the last story on the page, and a fairly recent one. It also dovetailed in with something Yuri had mentioned to her. Lights, he had once told her. Coming from deep below the water. She leaned in, squinting at the article in the Siberian Times. She read quickly.
In 1977, a deep-water submersible called Paysis was undertaking a scientific research dive in Lake Baikal. The surface crew reported that they lost contact with the vessel and it was only later that they found out why.
The submersible was traveling at just 3 knots at a depth of 3,800 feet down in the dark and crushing waters when the crew reported that suddenly they lost all power and also their external spotlights, leaving them lifeless and slowly sinking in a blackness that was absolute.
But only for a moment because a green light shone on their submersible from an external source.
The lights again, Sara thought, as she scrolled the page.
The crew reported that the light reportedly remained fixed on the submersible for several seconds, making them feel slightly dizzy with a tingling in their bellies, before it suddenly vanished to once again leave them in the stygian blackness. In another second, all their power was restored.
There was nothing on their sonar and to this day, there had never been a satisfactory explanation for what the source of the light was. Given the lake’s size, depth, and remoteness, much of it, even to this day, remained unexplored.
Sara felt a slight tingle run up her spine and folded her arms. “What the hell am I getting myself into? Already gotten myself into,” she corrected.
*****
Three sturgeon pen sites were finally chosen and the netting was set to be laid. It was a huge, labor-intensive and expensive job.
In addition, Nikolay managed to find a newly graduated biology major named Stefan Koloshev who could help him in the lab. After a quick interview with Sara who liked his credentials, he was approved on probation and in no time, the pair was streamlining operations and had everything ready for acceptance of the fish and eggs.
Yuri, Carter, with the help of Dmitry, Pavel, and Leonid’s boats, laid the cable netting that was strung from the water’s surface all the way to the lake bottom. The buoys were designed to hang a few inches below the surface, and the floats were made from synthesized polymer that was tough, retained its buoyancy, and wasn’t troubled by extreme cold and even freezing. In addition, along the mesh line were banks of sensors, some allowing the teams to locate the pens even when they were below the ice.
Sara worked with Stefan and Nikolay and together they not only managed to bring the laboratory and hatchery online, but just a week later, she also managed to convince the Russian administrators at the Federal Agency for Fisheries and Conservation to release the adult fish, plus the first batch of fertilized Beluga sturgeon eggs to them.
In no time, they had several huge tanks filled with tadpole-sized sturgeon fishlets that’d grow quickly to about eight inches and then be ready for release into the first fine-mesh nursery pens.
The adults came in individual tanks that were loaded with ice to slow down their metabolism and keep them calm. Carter had helped them guide them in as they were lowered by helicopter and then wheeled into the mill house labs.
He and Sara had marveled at the huge fish as they stared down at one specimen—it was close to 20 feet long, and along its back in three rows were the raised scutes, sharp bone-like knobs that were also present on alligators and some dinosaurs. The tiny eyes and upturned snout with dangling feelers added to the prehistoric appearance.
They’d both reached in and ran a hand down the flanks of one of the fish. The water was freezing, but the skin was slick and taut with muscle.
“You’ll like it here,” she said to it.
“Or we’ll eat you,” Carter added, to which Sara scowled.
The fish arriving meant Carter and Yuri would then have the daily chore of checking the water quality—everything from natural to synthetic contaminants would be monitored. Carter had no doubt that the bratva would show up again, and if they decided to seriously poison the water, then there was little chance of doing anything—you couldn’t exactly move pens quickly that were anchored to the bottom.
Carter would also be patrolling the bank, but as the huge length of wilderness shoreline had to be traversed on foot, he knew he’d need extra eyes and ears soon. And he would ensure those eyes and ears came with some serious muscle.
CHAPTER 19
Moscow—Bratva, work-in-progress meeting
Arkady Tushino had been called to Moscow for a meeting along with other local bratva lieutenants to discuss their business ventures and opportunities in their regions. Their boss-of-bosses and chairman was Gennardy Zyuganov, and he terrified every single one of them.
Zyuganov was six-four and weighed in at 300 pounds if he was an ounce. In his prime, he was a wrestler and weight lifter. Rumor had it that once in a bar fight, he had physically torn the head from a man with his bare hands. Looking at the hulking brute, no one would dispute it.
Zyuganov sat holding a report in those head-tearing hands and read slowly. There was a large cigar in his mouth, unlit for now, that he rolled from one side of his thick lips to the other. The report was a summary of their moneymaking projects they were involved in; the costs, long-term cash flow, and risks. It was the company balance sheet, and he ran his criminal enterprise like any other big business.
Each of the delegates took turns explaining their projects in more detail, and it had finally come around to be Tushino’s turn. The worry for Tushino was on his turn, the boss had dropped the report and turned his cold, pale gaze on him.
Tushino detailed his multiple projects, and also the opportunity of the part ownership of the Stenson sturgeon fish farm to sell high-value Beluga caviar. When he had finished, Zyuganov grunted and took the now very wet cigar from his mouth.
“When will this American woman sign your contract?” he asked in a voice that was slow and deep.
Tushino swallowed and struggled to remain outwardly impassive. “I expect any day now. The widow has only been in Russia for a few weeks now and she has brought with her the brother of the former owner. They do not have the expertise or contacts as Mr. Marcus Stenson did. She is helpless and has no choice but to work with us.”
“Helpless, hmm?” Zyuganov’s jaw worked for a moment. “Tell me about the Orlov brothers.”
Tushino frowned for a moment, not comprehending how the big boss even knew about the pair of low-level thugs. He hiked his shoulders and his mouth turned down. “They were local muscle who drank and fought too much.” He shrugged. “The idiots seem to have killed each other.”
“Did they?” Zyuganov’s eyes were like pale lasers. “Do you know who this elder Stenson brother is? Have you even seen him?”
Tushino shook his head slowly and could only stare, waiting. Something was happening that he hadn’t anticipated, and he certainly didn’t like it.
Zyuganov took the cigar from his mouth. “I have friends in America, and they have done some background checking for me. This elder Stenson is not just ex-military, he is ex-Special Forces. And whatever he did in Special Forces is sealed from my scrutiny. I don’t think he was just the military cook, do
you?”
Tushino felt his stomach sink as Zyuganov’s jaw worked for a moment before he continued.
“And you killed his brother.” Zyuganov never blinked. “He arrives and two of the men who were involved in killing this man’s brother suddenly decide to kill each other. Really? And you still think this is all a coincidence?”
“We never killed his brother.” Tushino licked his lips. “The police said…”
“The police are idiots.” The roar made Tushino wince. The group’s eyes were on him now as Zyuganov bared his teeth. “You pull an alligator by the tail, don’t be surprised if you lose an arm.”
Tushino gulped but tried with every fiber of his being to maintain an iron-like composure. He knew that to show weakness now would mean he might leave the building in a potato sack… and in pieces.
“If there are loose ends, I will tidy them up, sir. You can count on me, you know that, Mr. Zyuganov.”
Gennardy Zyuganov leaned forward on the table, his bulk making the entire oak frame squeak. “I don’t care about this fish farm. I don’t care about two morons getting themselves killed, or even that an American has caused you to lose face. But I do care about making money and losing control. Mr. Tushino, are you in control of your district or not?”
Tushino stood. “Yes, Mr. Zyuganov. Absolutely, sir.”
Zyuganov continued to glare. “Go there, make a deal with the woman, and see this man. See if he will be… reasonable.” He leaned back in his leather chair, making it squeal under his considerable weight. “When we next meet, you prove to me you control your district.” His eyes narrowed. “Or I’ll have someone control it in your place.”
*****
“Heads up.” Carter straightened as he heard the high-powered motorboat in the distance. He quickly felt for the gun at his back and eased it out and back in case he needed to draw quickly.
Yuri and the other men stopped what they were doing and watched the water, and even Nikolay poked his head from the huge loading doors of the mill laboratory to watch.
Carter wandered up to the main house and as he came to the bottom of the steps, Sara stepped onto the front deck and stood with hands on hips.
“Who is it?” she asked while still holding a screwdriver in one fist, obviously in the middle of repairs.
Carter watched the boat arrive. It wasn’t like Yuri’s or the other boats that tended to work the lake, and instead looked more like a pimp’s boat. It was a sleek-looking motor cruiser, incongruous for these parts.
“Either we’ve got some visiting movie stars, or the local mafia has arrived to try and do a deal with you.” He looked up at her. “You want me to take care of this?”
“Not a chance.” She continued to watch the boat as it nudged ice sludge out of the way as it came into the wharf.
Yuri joined them and squinted down as the group of men alighted from the boat. “I can see our old friends, Drago and Volodin,” he said as two big men waited for the others to disembark. “But no sign of Orlov twins.” He glanced at Carter who gave him a flat smile.
Yuri looked over the rest. “Other man I don’t know. But now comes Arkady Tushino. He is the local boss. These are the men that came and talked to Marcus.”
The four men walked up the hill toward the main house, and Carter could tell at least two of them were armed because of the telltale bulge in their jackets. Lumped muscle rolled under their thick clothing, and they looked raw and intimidating. It didn’t bother Carter one bit.
Carter stepped down when they got to within 20 feet of Sara. He held up a hand flat in their faces. “Stop right there, and state your business.”
Tushino stepped to the front of the group and pulled on a wide smile, but his dead eyes never left Carter. “My name is Arkady Tushino, and you must be Carter Stenson.” He held out a hand, but Carter ignored it. Tushino shrugged and looked around. “Where is the brother, Marcus?”
Carter heard Sara’s intake of breath. Frankly, he wanted to kill them all, but he knew Yuri was right; he had no proof and he couldn’t exactly cite the Orlov twins as witnesses for the prosecution. For now, the law was on their side. Carter would let them play dumb for a little longer.
“Not here. Like I just asked, what do you want?”
“Not here?” Tushino looked troubled. “I hope he’s okay. Very bad country this; some bad people.” He seemed to brighten. “So, when we last met with Marcus, he wanted to ensure that his business was never troubled by these bad people or circumstances again.”
Tushino stepped around Carter to address Sara. “And you must be Marcus Stenson’s charming and beautiful wife, Sara, I think.” He grinned up at her, but she remained impassive.
“Is hard here for a woman. And dealing with Moscow is also very hard, and strains the patience, especially if you are a foreigner. We can help with that too. Streamline everything. Even find new markets for you, for the fish, and for the eggs.”
“Eggs?” Sara frowned. “No eggs for sale. In fact, no nothing for sale.” Her eyes were flat. “We can’t help you and too bad you came all the way out to be told that. We’ll be fine.”
“You are mistaken, Mrs. Stenson. Mr. Marcus has already agreed to this. Your approval is only a formality under Russian law.”
Sara bared her teeth. “Bullshit.”
Tushino held out the contract. “I think you’ll recognize this.”
Sara and Carter leaned forward. Sara was first to ease back and her lips were drawn back in a snarl. “That’s not Marcus’ signature.”
“I was there when he signed it.” Tushino frowned back. “It is his.”
“You really are as dumb as you look. That signature is not even spelled right—there’s only one ‘t’ in our name.” Sara motioned with her head back to their boat. “Get outta here.”
Tushino pulled his head back on his neck. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Mrs. Stenson. I think you don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
Carter stepped in close to the man faster than anyone else could react and pulled him close to hiss into his face. “You heard the lady. Get the fuck out of here.”
Two of Tushino’s men went for their guns, but Yuri drew a long knife and held it by the blade, ready to throw.
“No, no, let’s all stay friends here, da?” Tushino waved them down but stared back into Carter’s eyes. “This is the last time you’ll see me… being nice.”
Carter pushed him hard so he fell back in the icy mud. “And this is me being nice, right now.”
One of Tushino’s men obviously thought he saw an opening and darted in at Carter. He came in like a linebacker, but for a big man, Carter was extremely light on his feet and stepped back, dodging the huge roundhouse punch thrown at his head.
Carter then grabbed him as the follow-through took him past and yanked him sideways to use the tip of his elbow onto the Russian’s temple. The big guy grunted in pain and went for his gun. Carter’s expression was devoid of emotion or effort as he punched down again onto the man’s jaw, and leaned down to rip the gun from his hand.
He then used the heavy iron revolver to smash it back across the man’s face, eliciting a crunch of metal on cheekbone. The big guy went down onto his knees, and Carter hit him again, knocking him to all fours, and then held the gun to the back of his ear.
“There are two ways forward for you from here—one of them is you all getting on your boat and pissing off. The other is very bloody and painful.” He looked up. “For all of you.”
Tushino bared his teeth and spoke rapidly in Russian. Carter understood every word as the man was ordering his other men to pick up Drago, and they’d finish this later.
“Today, I just really came to look in your face.” Tushino glared. “I promise you, we’ll be back, Mr. Carter.”
“You’ll regret it if you do.” Carter nosed toward their boat. “Now fuck off.”
The Russians headed back down the hill toward the wharf, with Drago being more dragged than walking.
Yuri came and
stood beside him. “This will not end well.”
Carter turned to him. “They want total capitulation. Was never going to happen.” He looked toward his team still watching and looking very nervous. “Get everyone back to work.”
Carter walked up to the step where Sara watched the man jumping back aboard the boat. Tushino stood on deck, still glaring back up at them.
“Sorry you had to see that,” Carter said.
“Forget it.” She looked at him for a moment. “We sleep safe in our beds because rough men stand ready in the night to visit violence on those who would do us harm.”
“George Orwell.” He snorted softly. “Always liked him.”
“This isn’t over, is it?” she asked wearily.
He sucked in a deep breath and let it out. “Probably not.”
“There’s only one of you, and we’re a long way from home,” she said softly and turned to face him. “Well, here, even the Russian justice system is as bent as a banana. So we’re screwed, aren’t we?” She chuckled but with little humor.
“We’re never screwed. Tactics 101—amplify your strengths and minimize your weaknesses.” He turned to her. “If there’s only one of me, then the solution is to get more of me.” He grinned. “I have some buddies who would love a little Russian holiday.”
He held up the Russian’s weapon. “And now you have your own gun.”
EPISODE 03
CHAPTER 20
INTERACTION: Lake Baikal waters, 2 miles north of the Paper Mill—1972
Sergei and Golkin sat in silence as the small fishing boat drifted. It was 3 am, a moonless night, and they were far enough from the paper mill that they couldn’t smell the stink of the chemicals.
Golkin’s large, rough hands detected the minuscule vibration on the line and he eased forward, just as the weight came on, heavy, and it dragged on his line, taking more over the side.