Novel 1986 - Last Of The Breed (v5.0) (31 page)

“He here,” the Udehe said, showing them places where the wood had been brushed or broken off. “Climb up there while people look for him.”

Rukovsky swore and turning to Suvarov, he said, “You were right, Lieutenant. This man is elusive.”

He ducked out of the opening and straightening up, brushed off bits of bark and wood. “Came right through us, did he? We shall see about that!”

He glanced at the Udehe. “That’s a good man. Keep him around. We will need him.”

He slapped his thigh with his gloves. “The question is, where did he go? Where is he now?”

“Colonel Zamatev is inclined to think the fugitive is trying to retrace the old route his people may have taken when they migrated over the Bering Strait to America. That would mean he’s going northeast.”

“It would, indeed.” Rukovsky slapped his leg again. “But northeast of here is the Kolyma. A hard river to cross and well guarded. You say this man was a major in the American air force? Then he will be intelligent as well as a good woodsman. I suggest he went west.”

“West, sir?”

“West, of course. The Kolyma is well guarded. If he goes further east he restricts his arc of movement. You say he is a man accustomed to the wilderness. Very well, he will go west. He will try to lose himself in the mountains.”

“Do you suppose he knows our country that well?”

“We must suppose he does. One thing, Lieutenant, never underestimate an enemy!”

“I shall have to communicate with Colonel Zamatev.”

“By all means!” Rukovsky agreed. “Tell him I am prepared to cooperate to the fullest. The man interests me, and I’d like to be present when he is taken.”

Suvarov hesitated, and then tentatively he suggested, “There are others in the field, sir. Comrade Shepilov wants him also, wants him first.”

“Shepilov?” Rukovsky’s face was bland. “Of course! But Colonel Zamatev is GRU is he not? I have every admiration for Comrade Shepilov and wish him success, but we in the military, we must work together, must we not?”

Rukovsky looked toward the soldier; the Udehe was waiting. “Let’s get that man seeking out the trail, Suvarov. He seems to be a good man on a trail.”

“Yes, sir. Comrade Alekhin is in the field, too, sir.”

“Alekhin? And where is he?”

“Nobody knows but Alekhin and perhaps Colonel Zamatev. He reports only to him, but I do know he is very anxious to be the one who takes the American. There is something personal between them.”

“How could that be?”

Suvarov explained about the brief meeting shortly after the American was first taken.

At the car Colonel Rukovsky got out his maps. “Suvarov? Let’s recall our men and transport them west. Let us make a base of Oymyakon.” He folded the map. “He covers country, this American. How does he do it?”

“He is an Indian. Some of them are said to be great runners. The man was an athlete.”

“Come, Lieutenant, let’s move.” He turned and glanced at Suvarov. “Let’s make this an army operation, Lieutenant. I’ve flown over those mountains and know them a little. We will take him ourselves.”

“Colonel Zamatev will appreciate your cooperation.”

“He shall have it. This American of yours intrigues me. I’d like to take him.” He paused, making room for Suvarov to get into the car. “Shepilov, is it? A very capable man, Lieutenant, but never very friendly to the army. Never friendly at all.”

O
N A ROCKY point under some low-growing, wind-torn spruce, Joe Mack squatted on his heels looking down the valley. At the distance he could see very little, only that the soldiers were being recalled. He had seen the car, even heard it in the cold air.

An officer, probably, a commanding officer taking his men from the field.

Why?

He had eluded them. Had they discovered how? The Russians were good players of chess, and now they contemplated another move. There must be a reason for suddenly leaving the field. They would not be quitting the chase, so they must be changing direction. Had they guessed what he was attempting?

When he got where he was going, would they be there, waiting?

Chapter 31

N
OW COLDLY BLEW the winds, icy blasts from beyond the Arctic Circle. In the small house above Plastun Bay, Stephan Baronas spent much of his time seeking wood in the forest. Here along the Sea of Japan the snow sometimes fell until it was several feet deep.

He came in from the cold, stamping his feet. “It is cold,” he said, coming up to the fire. “If this lasts another day I must go to the village for food.”

“I will go.”

“The snow is deep, Talya.”

“I am strong, and much younger than you.” She seated herself on the hearth. “I wonder where he is?”

Baronas shook his head. “He is out there; that is all we know except that they do not seem to have caught him. As you know, word gets around. Somebody whispers something and it is passed on, person to person. The trouble is that by the time it reaches us it may be much changed.”

“What did you hear?”

“It was just before the storm began. I was down on the shore looking for driftwood. There was a fisherman I know, just down from Magadan, where he sold his catch. The word is they are organizing a search by trappers and hunters, men who know the country.”

“Father? Must we wait?”

“Wait? You mean for whatever Bocharev can do? We must. What he can do I do not know, but certainly more than anyone else. Who cares about us? He seems to because of his son. That feeling may pass, and it might be impossible even for him.”

“Can we not at least try? That other man? The trader in furs? You suspected he might be arranging to get away over the border? He might take us.”

Baronas shook his head. “Zhikarev is a good man but he owes us nothing. Moreover, he will have enough trouble trying to arrange things for himself. My feeling was that he expected to get right away and something went wrong.”

“The border is not far, and I am afraid.”

“You? You have never been afraid, Talya.”

“They might try to use me to capture him.” Her eyes were large with worry and fear. “It has come to me in the night. They will do anything to capture him.”

“But how would he know? If they took us now, how would they get word to him? It is impossible. You worry needlessly.”

“How much longer can we stay here? When spring comes, we can no longer have the house.”

He had been thinking of that and shied from the thought. This place, however small and lonely it might be, was snug and warm. It was a refuge, a hiding place from all that crowded about outside. Little as it was, he hated to give up these days of peace. The place was cozy, the view beautiful, and there were no passersby to alert the authorities.

He dreaded another trek across country and the problems of protecting his daughter. So far he had succeeded, but there were bands of young renegades, “hooligans” the law called them, and he was no fighting man. He would soon be seventy and had grown more fragile with the years, although since coming to live in the taiga his health had been better and he was stronger. The north country did not tolerate many germs, and the air was better. They were far from factories and the effects of smokestacks and power lines.

“We must think about it, Talya. I agree we must have an alternative plan if Bocharev forgets or can do nothing. I agree that we must leave, for it is only a matter of time until they descend upon us again.

“We are free now only because they are busy with other things. They have, as the saying is, bigger fish to fry. If they want us, they will have us.

“I think we should make plans now; when this snow is gone, then we can move.”

To where? He asked himself this question. The closest point on the Chinese border was beyond Voroshilov. He did not know the towns but must get out his maps and study them. Iman might be better, although farther. There might be fewer people about.

He put on his heavy coat and went out again to gather fuel. It was a never-ending struggle against the cold. Had he been here earlier he would have stacked wood for the winter, but there had been no chance of that.

He walked up into the huge trees in the grove behind the cabin. It was silent there, like walking in a huge cathedral or the temple at Luxor, of which he had seen pictures. It was a good place to think.

Natalya was right, of course. They must not delay. How to get across the border he had no idea. All they could do was get close and study the alternatives. Knowing the thoroughness of the KGB, his only wonder was that they had not already been picked up and interrogated.

Their very presence on this coast was enough to arouse suspicion.

Thoughtfully, he began reviewing all he had learned from the young soldiers during their visits. They had talked a good bit about the borders and their duties, partly to impress Natalya and himself with the importance of what they were doing. This was expected of young men, and their experiences had been interesting as well as informative. Although there were places where troops facing each other verged on outright hostility, there were others where food was exchanged and clothing traded back and forth. At such a point, there might be tolerance unfound elsewhere.

Gathering wood to load the crude sled he had built, he tried to think of every aspect of escape.

To leave here, of course, meant to abandon any help from Bocharev, so all he could do was hope that if such help was to come that it arrive before they fled from here. And the time was terribly short.

It meant crossing the Sikhote Alin Mountains, low but formidable. There were dense forests and man-eating tigers, long feared by the Chinese who lived along the Amur.

There were brigands in those forests now as there had ever been, fierce men who robbed, raped, and terrorized travelers and nearby villages.

Yet if they were to escape, it must be done, and it might be possible to secure transportation. Stephan Baronas was beginning to learn that there were many ways in which to survive and that there existed a clandestine world of which he had never been aware, a half world in which refugees, criminals, and others mingled, aided and robbed each other, and moved across borders without the knowledge of the authorities.

Human nature is such that friendships will develop even among those whose official interests are opposed, and in these days of instant communication such an understanding could possibly avoid a clash that might end in war. Trust is often based on very little more than one’s measure of a man.

He loaded his sled with firewood and drew it over the snow to the cabin. By the time he had reached it he knew they must prepare, select several possible avenues of escape and have them ready.

In the village he might establish some contact with a truck driver who would carry them to their destination or at least near to it. Also, he would take a page from Joe Mack’s book and scout a trail over the mountains toward the border.

The difficulty was that they must wait to the last minute for what Bocharev might do, while even now their arrest order might lie on a desk somewhere, awaiting implementation.

Fortunately, they had nothing that must be taken, beyond what clothing and food they possessed at the time. Stephan Baronas was beginning to learn that possessions can rob one of freedom just as much as the bars of a cage.

When Stephan Baronas reached the cabin with his sled, he was tired. He paused, waiting outside the door until he had caught his breath, not wanting Natalya to hear how hard it was for him to breathe.

To flee they must cross mountains. How would he manage that? No matter, he would manage it, and the mountains were not so very high.

When he had stopped panting, he opened the door and took an armful of the wood to its place beside the fire. Putting down the wood he brushed off his arms.

“Talya?”

There was no answer. Looking around, he saw the note on the corner of his reading table. There he left the three books he had succeeded in keeping.

Gone to the village.

He swore, exasperated. She knew he had intended to go, and he would not have wished her to climb back up that steep trail. It was a cold walk down to the edge of the bay and then around by the shore, and that was a rough, hard-drinking crowd that hung about there.

Adding fuel to the fire, he took off his coat and settled down. It would be a long wait.

N
ATALYA ARRANGED THE few things purchased into her backpack. She was aware that several of the men who usually loafed about were watching her and talking in undertones to each other. She was about to shoulder her pack when the door opened with a gust of wind from off the bay.

The instant her eyes touched him she knew the man, but she knew better than to call any such man by name until he identified himself. It was not impossible that at the moment he had chosen to use another.

He glanced at her and then went to the keeper of the store and purchased tobacco.

Taking up her pack, she started for the door. One of the loafers sauntered over. “Help you with that?” He reached for the pack.

“I will be all right, thank you.”

“Now that isn’t friendly,” the man said. “Here, I’ll take it.” His hand closed on the pack and he jerked it roughly from her arms, so roughly that she staggered and almost fell. Somehow she kept a grip on the pack. “I do not want any help!” she said.

He laughed at her, pushing her away. “Let’s see what you bought,” he taunted. “Maybe there’s something—”

“Let go of her.” Yakov’s tone was low, but it carried a message.

Slowly, still keeping a grip on the pack, the man turned. “Did you speak to me?” he said roughly.

“I told you to let go of the pack and leave the lady alone.” Yakov smiled. “I shall not tell you again.”

“Ho, ho!” The man sneered, jerking a thumb toward Yakov. “Who does he think he is?”

Yakov was not four feet from him, leaning an elbow on the counter, his pipe in his teeth.

“Move back, Natalya,” Yakov said. “When he falls I do not want him to fall on you.”

Two of the other men had risen, looking from one to the other, uncertain what course to choose.