Jaunt (24 page)

And at this moment, Nicolenko hated everything about himself.

“So, what are my orders?” Krasnowsky asked, fed up with trying to command his own vessel. If the NKVD were going to commandeer his boat, they’d be the ones to get them out of this mess; Krasnowsky had had enough.

“Keep our distance from the
Amiliji
...at least enough so their inflatables cannot reach us.”

“And if they give pursuit? What about your precious cargo?” His voice was devoid of concern for the operation. If anything, he hoped he’d finally have the man by his balls; he was already enjoying watching him squirm under this additional pressure.

“And what?!” Nicolenko snapped, swiveling towards the skipper. “We have what they want. He won’t risk harming our vessel in this storm. He will not pursue us,” he paused, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, “it will not be in his interests to.”

“Let’s pray for your sake, sir. I would not want our commission to be washed back to the ocean floor in haste.”

Nicolenko’s finger met Krasnowsky’s chest. “You are fortunate that I am a son of the people. My colleagues would not offer such a generous amount, nor would they take abuse from the likes of yourself. Count your life as more important than your wallet.”

“I would seriously doubt they’ll respond,” Gilmour said. “Right now, they realize we have them in dire straits...their own dredging mission is jeopardized without this ship to give them advance reports on incoming sea traffic.”

Clayton stroked his stubbled jaw as he paced. “What the hell is this all about? Why all the political maneuvering all the way out here?”

“It’s all about power, Clayton. Who has it, who can grab more. A deadly war is raging, more terrifying than any in history. Millions are on the way to their deaths...I would venture,” Gilmour paused, remembering the chain of events that recreated the world, “this war will reshape humanity as we know it. Everyone, and everything, will in some way be touched by it. Right now, out here, beyond borders and leaders, we are engaged in it. If we don’t succeed out here, then we’re all dead. It’s as simple as that.”

Gilmour could feel the trawler crew’s fear; they truly had no idea what was to follow in the years hence. Taking a deep breath, he formulated a plan in his mind to get them out of this mess, so that wouldn’t be starting a little war of their own. “Can you get us closer to that ship?”

Clayton hesitated, weighing his abilities in light of the crash with his sinking trawler.

“You’re not thinking...Christ—”

“Just get me close to that boat, and keep your eyes on your prisoners. I’ll do the rest.”

“If you get yourself killed, don’t expect me to do anything but get the hell back to British Columbia.”

Gilmour flashed a sardonic smile. “I would expect nothing less.”

“They’re closing, sir,” the
Marinochka
’s navigator reported from the window. “Two hundred meters.”

Krasnowsky faced Nicolenko, seeing the anger and ire rising in his eyes; the captain didn’t have to utter a word to the lieutenant.

“Circle round them,” Nicolenko ordered. “Keep our distance as constant as possible.”

“That will be extremely difficult in these waters,” the navigator said, the frustration in his voice evident. “Going off course and hitting them is a possibility.”

Nicolenko hovered over the youth’s shoulder, projecting every ounce of fear into the subordinate’s spirit. “Then make sure that doesn’t happen.”

The navigator vacillated, displaying his discomfort to Krasnowsky before finally laying his hands on the vessel’s tiller.

Gilmour watched the
Marinochka
leave his binoculars’ field of view. “Clayton, they’re moving....”

The captain rose and looked out the window, taking the binoculars proffered from Gilmour. “They’re not leaving...looks like they’re attempting to come about...no,” he squinted his eyes, “they’re going to encircle us. Why are they doing that?”

In his mind, Gilmour recited a dozen delay tactics an officer might employ, deciding upon one that the trawler would have little recourse but to use in this storm. “They’re trying to prevent us from reaching them, but they don’t want to leave the trench to us. Circling around would keep the two of us chasing one another until one of us exhausted our patience. He’s betting that will be us.”

“Doesn’t he realize how dangerous that is?”

“He knows that we know. Clayton, they don’t have the upper hand here by any means, just like us. They’re trying to wait out the storm by any way possible...I just want to make it as difficult as I can for them.”

Clayton sighed. “We can’t go on chasing our tails forever.”

“I don’t intend to. Do you think you can calculate their speed reasonably?”

“I...well it’s not something I do everyday, you know. But Andersson is pretty proficient at that.”

“Good,” Gilmour said, nodding. “Track them for as long as you need to. When you have a good feel, set a course for their estimated position, within a few minutes.”

A thought dawned over Clayton. “That would put us in front of them, or near them.”

“All the better to ram them, don’t you think?”

“No, no I don’t think so at all!”

“Good, because I don’t want them to think that either, just scare them. Maybe, just maybe, it’ll give us an edge, tip the balance to us.”

“But if we do—”

Gilmour threw his hands up. “You’ll make it work, and it will be our way out of here. With their cargo.”

“I hope it works,” Clayton whispered under his breath, before beginning the calculations with his navigator.

“No change in their course.”

Krasnowsky prayed that his navigator’s report was correct; he would just as soon give up now and possibly save his skin from Nicolenko’s and the NKVD’s wrath. At least he knew the Canadians would give him mercy if it all went well.

Nicolenko nodded. “Excellent...keep a wide berth.”

“And just how long are we to draw circles in the ocean?” Krasnowsky asked, resting his hands on his hips. “My ship has only enough supplies for another day or so. I should hope your dredging—”

“Do not worry, Krasnowsky. Our stint here shall not pass your deadline. I’m sure the Canadians will be most interested in returning to port after the loss of their vessel.”

“Which brings me to another point,” the captain said, stepping ahead of the lieutenant. “Is Moscow to reimburse my family for the loss of the
Amiliji
, and my crewmen?

Or are they martyrs to the party cause?”

“Your crewmen are not lost yet, Krasnowsky. I fully intend for you to retrieve them, when the time is right. For the time being, per my superior’s orders, we will continue to dredge the trench shelf, starting,” he checked his wristwatch, “in about four hours, once day breaks and the storm ceases.”

Krasnowsky shook his head and scowled, allowing Nicolenko to take notice.

“Is there a problem, Captain?”

Twisting his jaw, Krasnowsky silenced his rebuke. “No...no problem.”

“Good. Make certain that is how it remains.”

Turning his back on Nicolenko, Krasnowsky looked to each of his crewmen, all of whom reciprocated his rapidly fermenting distaste.

“We’ve got it.”

Gilmour stepped around to the cartograph on the small navigator’s table. Crosshatches in pencil, some in pen, marked the paper map, all connected by a series of dotted lines and scrawled Cyrillic letters. Clayton and Andersson had done calculations of their own and marked them onto the cartograph. The
Amiliji
’s course was laid down and expanded upon from the Soviet crew, as was the estimated course of the circling
Marinochka
.

Clayton’s meaty index finger pounded the map, pointing out a crossmark. “One hundred and sixty-two yards to our starboard bow, bearing eighty-one degrees.”

Gilmour nodded.

“At the rate each of our boats are going,” Clayton figured, “we should arrive ahead of them by two or three minutes, not giving them nearly enough time to avoid us.”

“How much clearance will that give us?”

“Fifteen, maybe twenty yards at the most.” The captain rubbed his eyes, then folded his arms. “Do you really think this will work?”

“We have no choice,” Gilmour said, rounding the table to give his eyes another view of the cartograph. “I can get us out of this with our lives, if you and your crew are willing to follow me.”

Clayton considered Gilmour’s proposal once more, giving his fatigued brain time to run through it. Picking the sleep from his eyes, he craned his neck to Andersson behind him. “Set the course.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

A faint smile crept across Gilmour’s lips, so faint Clayton didn’t detect it as the agent clapped the captain’s arm.

The
Amiliji
groaned under the stress of the aroused ocean waves against its frame. Complying with the crew’s will, the trawler deviated from its forward momentum to venture starboard, heading for the calculated coordinates to confront its sister ship, for perhaps the final time.

Salmon clouds rolled into the North Pacific skies, peeking out from behind the typhoon’s rear cloud deck, rendering the ocean waters quiescent for the first time in twelve hours. The oppressive gusts that had battered the trio of trawlers now subsided to a mere reminder of the previous night’s cyclone.

The
Amiliji
cut through the grey waters, determined to keep her appointment; to the trawler’s rear, the
Marinochka
powered ahead, less than an hour from completing a single, counterclockwise circuit of the crash site, waiting for the Canadian-controlled sister vessel to leave the trench to her alone.

Krasnowsky paced back and forth aboard the
Marinochka
’s bridge, keeping one eye on his wristwatch and the other on the
Amiliji
’s position to their port bow. His sister ship hung around the dredging site throughout the night, refusing to be intimidated by the
Marinochka
’s holding pattern. Silently, he was relieved that his other trawler hadn’t been lost to the Pacific during the storm, and that despite Nicolenko’s aggressive tactics, the Canadians hadn’t taken her across the ocean back to North America. Perhaps that thought cast him in a bad light as a faithful party member, but the devil with that...if he could get out of this with his investments intact, and his life, then all the better, Nicolenko be damned. The NKVD and Moscow were nothing but an albatross.

His eyes found his wristwatch again: 0648. Glancing out to the newly sparkling waters, he observed the
Amiliji
’s progress, mentally retracing its course over the past hour. Krasnowsky’s fingers rubbed his chin, and as he thought longer, the skipper bit his nails to the quick. Another glimpse of his watch gave him pause.

“Hell,” he whispered. The
Amiliji
wasn’t going away, like Nicolenko had hoped; she was headed for them. And soon—

The clicking of Nicolenko’s boots on the deck floor broke the skipper’s attention from the window.

“Krasnowsky, I believe four hours have about expired.”

The captain did a cursory glance to his wristwatch, for Nicolenko’s sake.

Nicolenko noticed the sister trawler forging ahead outside the window, then folded his arms. “Have they been doing this all night?”

“Um...we’ve been trying to stay to your requested course. The
Amiliji
hasn’t been a concern of mine.”

“Perhaps she should be.” He turned away from the window. “Have your men ready the nets for dredging. We’ll begin shortly.”

“Readying the nets will take some time. After the typhoon last night, I’d prefer to have them thoroughly checked before we drop them again.”

The lieutenant scowled. “We don’t have time. The sooner your nets can be dropped, the more time we can devote to the site. I would expect you, of all people, preferring to get back to port as soon as possible.”

“And risk losing your catch because I didn’t double-check my equipment? This isn’t just about my wallet, Nicolenko, it’s about my life.”

Nicolenko contemplated the legitimacy of the captain’s reticence, particularly so after Krasnowsky’s recitation of the lieutenant’s previous warning. With a petulant sigh, he relented. “How long?”

“Twenty minutes.”

The lieutenant nodded; that wouldn’t put them behind his schedule for long.

“Double-check your nets.” He pointed a finger at the captain’s face. “But no longer, understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Judging by Krasnowsky’s own timing, twenty minutes would be just about right for the
Amiliji
to intercept the
Marinochka
. By then, it would be too late for Nicolenko to order a change in course, allowing Krasnowsky to perhaps rid the lieutenant of his stranglehold over this ship. The very thought was treasonous, punishable almost certainly by death. Out here, however, the captain was ever more confident that Moscow’s long arms couldn’t fully extend to him.