Novel 1986 - Last Of The Breed (v5.0) (44 page)

There were lights on the bridge, lights over the guardhouse, a gate across the bridge for wheeled traffic, and a smaller gate for pedestrians. At the far end of the bridge, they could see another post. It was not until they were on the approach to the bridge that she saw the Volga. It was standing in the darkness just off the bridge and across from them. Its motor was running.

“Evgeny…?” she whispered.

“Keep walking,” he said. “Do not look around.”

It was no more than thirty yards to the guardhouse, but it seemed the longest distance she had ever walked in her life. Why didn’t the watchers in the car stop them? The Volga merely sat there, engine running, dark and threatening. At any moment, she expected it to start up, to rush toward them.

What should she do? Stop and wait? Run back toward the town? Or run across the bridge? She knew of people who had been shot trying to flee, but nonetheless, that was what she would do. She would run, run as she had never run. Maybe they would let her go, maybe she would be shot, but she would run.

“Take your time,” Evgeny whispered. “We are almost there. Your lieutenant is standing up, watching us.”

“Suppose he isn’t on duty?”

“We will try anyway.”

Now that they were so close, the old man was strong again. His fears seemed to have vanished. “I have money,” he said, “in Hong Kong. You will want for nothing. I shall see to it.”

“I want to go to America,” she said.

“We will see to it,” he replied confidently. “Now stay calm. Let me talk.”

Lieutenant Potanin stepped from the guardhouse as they drew near. They could see two soldiers standing inside, warming their hands over a stove.

He looked quickly from one to the other. “This may get me into trouble,” he said, “but I shall do it.” He turned toward the pedestrian gate.

At that moment they heard the sound of a car. It was some distance away but coming fast. He fumbled with the lock, and the car wheeled onto the bridge.

Kyra Lebedev stepped quickly from the car. Stegman got down on the other side. “Dr. Baronas! You are under arrest!”

Evgeny turned so his face was in the light. “I am not Dr. Baronas,” he said. “I am Evgeny Zhikarev.”

“Ah? So it is you!” She turned to Natalya. “But you are Natalya Baronas, are you not? Where is your father?”

“He is dead. He died crossing the mountains.”

“Ah? Too bad. Come now, both of you. You—”

A boot scraped on gravel, and a low, strong voice said, “Let them alone!”

Angrily, Kyra Lebedev turned. A big man in a heavy overcoat faced her. She stopped, suddenly dry mouthed and frightened.

“I am Bocharev,” the big man said.

“But we have an order,” Kyra protested, “an order for their arrest. The GRU—”

“I know all about it. The order has been countermanded.” His eyes were cold. “You may go,” he said. “You are not needed here.”

Still, Kyra Lebedev hesitated. “But what shall I tell Colonel Zamatev?”

“He has already been informed, as you will hear.” He pointed. “Go now! You are not needed here!”

She hesitated no longer. Stegman was already getting into the car.

From an inside pocket, Bocharev took a sheaf of papers and handed them to Natalya. “Your passport, your visa.”

He glanced at Evgeny. “This is not your father?”

She explained, and he nodded. “Do not worry. I shall see his body is found and buried properly.” He glanced at Evgeny again. “How about you, comrade?”

“I have papers, comrade.” Evgeny’s voice was trembling. “I—”

“You have assisted this young lady,” Bocharev replied. He turned to Natalya. “Sometime, in a moment, remember my son.

“I shall never forget him,” she replied. “Nor you.”

“Go now, quickly.” Bocharev turned to Lieutenant Potanin. “Pass them, Lieutenant. Their papers are in order.”

“Yes, comrade!”

Bocharev stood alone, watching them go, his hands thrust deep in his pockets. Then, at last, he walked back to the Volga.

At the end of the bridge a Chinese officer was awaiting them. Natalya turned and looked back, lifting a hand in farewell. She saw the lights of the car go on and saw it turn away.

“There are good men everywhere,” she said, recalling another.

“Yes,” Zhikarev agreed. “I only wish they had louder voices.”

Then they crossed a border into an uncertain future. Natalya vowed silently to reach America, where, she dared hope, Joe Mack would somehow be waiting for her, to share the dream he had inspired.

Chapter 44

W
ITHIN HOURS AFTER his arrival at Chersky, Colonel Zamatev had motorized patrols driving slowly along the road, if such it could be called, that led from Chersky to Talovka and along that from Talovka to Ust’chaun on the north coast. The two roads cut across the country east of the Omolon River.

Several patrols would work each road continuously until further notice. There were also patrols along the river, and the guards on the few bridges had been alerted.

A very subdued Kyra Lebedev had arrived the following morning, reporting to Zamatev. He listened impatiently, his mind on other things. He waved a hand of dismissal when she completed her report.

“It is well. They will not be needed. Whatever passed between them does not matter. The Baronas woman is unimportant to us. Our man,” he touched the map, “is somewhere in this area.

“Patrols will be driving these roads, passing constantly. If he is seen, they will follow and apprehend him.

“I have sent Lieutenant Suvarov to visit personally all the fishing ports and villages along the Bering Sea and the Strait, and somewhere out there is Alekhin. There are few places in which to hide out there, and we shall have him.”

He paused. “A man was seen in the Kolyma Mountains north of Magadan. I have sent helicopters to find and bring him in.”

“Do you believe him to be the American?”

He shrugged. “Who knows? What would anybody else be doing in that country?”

He walked to the window and stood there, hands clasped behind his back. “We must be alert, Kyra.” His voice softened. “This means too much to us both. That prisoner must be apprehended. My career depends upon it.” He turned toward her. “As you have surmised, yours does also. You have become too deeply involved in all this, although it was your wish.”

Her lips tightened, but she said nothing. It was true. She had insisted on being involved, and now she wished she had never opened her mouth.

“He cannot escape,” she said. “If we fail, he cannot get past the Buffer Zone and the radar.”

“Do not be too sure. The man is like a ghost. A dozen times we have thought we would take him, and each time he has simply vanished. I am no longer sure of anything where he is concerned. He is not a man but a phantom!”

Kyra waited, apprehensive but determined. “Arkady?” she spoke gently. “I must talk to you. Something terrible has happened.”

He turned, surprised by her tone. “What now?”

“My sister has been arrested by Comrade Shepilov. It was in connection with the American’s escape.” Carefully, she explained. That Zamatev was irritated, she could see. Obviously he wanted no more to do with Shepilov, and to reach him now, to ask a favor, was almost out of the question.

“What does she know?”

“Nothing, except—”

“Except what?”

“Her husband, Ostap. He was always meeting people who were on the fringe of things, black-market people and such. I went to them for you. Ostap always knows so much, so much that is talked about by such people. Much of it is probably nonsense, of course, but he always knows when something is happening. I believed he might help us to find the American. Also, to tell us what Shepilov was doing. He knew all about that.”

“He did?” Zamatev was skeptical.

“You must understand, Arkady, that people like that always know what is happening. Very little is secret from them. There is always somebody who talks, you know.

“It was he who told me about Shepilov using the trappers and also that they were not anxious to help. They could, of course, if they wished. They do not like Comrade Shepilov, however.”

“Where is this Ostap now?”

“He fled to the forest when Katerina was arrested. I have not heard from him or from her.”

He shrugged. “I can do nothing for your Katerina now. Shepilov would simply say he knew nothing about her, and I could do nothing. It is better that we show no interest. He will discover there is nothing there, and he may release her. If she is sent to prison, well, maybe I can do something then.”

Suddenly he swore. When she looked at him, surprised, he said, “It is probably this Ostap who is causing us trouble. We are looking now for a man who was seen in the forests near Magadan whom some believed might be the American.”

“He could help us. He knows the trappers. He knows what is happening among the dissidents, among the Jews—”

“Do not speak to me of Jews. They are trouble. I want nothing to do with them.”

“This man you are looking for? If it is Ostap, I could talk with him? He might know something, and he would tell me whatever he knows.”

He shrugged. “Very well. If we catch him.”

J
OE MACK TOOK his time. Every mile behind him was a victory now, but every mile before him a danger. He overlooked a vast plain now in which there were many small lakes, an area he must avoid. Up here, he could see the lakes easily and the spaces between them. Once down on their level, he would no longer have that advantage and could easily be trapped against one of their shores. The ice, if any, would be treacherous.

His map showed him he was somewhere north of a village or town named Gizhiga. Although there were few roads in the area before him, those few would be patrolled. The area of the search had narrowed, and the search would have grown more intense.

He stood now in a small cluster of larch, carefully examining the country before him, choosing a route to be followed and an alternative if something happened to force him to change.

The air was unbelievably clear, with not a cloud in the sky and no mist in any of the hollows. Far off he occasionally caught a glint of something that might be sunlight on a windscreen. If that was the case, there was an unusual amount of traffic on that road, if such it was.

Nothing moved down below, except near the closest lake, where there were several moose. They seemed to be feeding along the lakeshore.

What he did not know was that Alekhin had landed, only hours before, in Gizhiga. Another thing he did not know was that not two hundred yards away, hidden in the brush, a man was watching him.

Ostap was no woodsman. He had fled Magadan when Shepilov arrested his wife, barely escaping. He had gone to the woods, to a place where trappers sometimes met. None were there when he arrived, but there was food, fuel, and warmer clothing.

He was in serious trouble, and so was Katerina. She knew nothing, but that would not help her and might even work against her. It was always better, Ostap had discovered, to have something to tell.

On this morning he had walked out into the forest and climbed a small knoll. There, in a place sheltered from the wind, he had sat down to study the country. Almost at once he had seen the American, and from the first glimpse he had no doubt who it was on whom he looked.

The man’s very caution was a dead giveaway. Frightened as well as intrigued, Ostap had the sense to remain still. Had he moved, his presence would have been revealed. His heart began to beat heavily.

Talk about luck! There he was, the man they all wanted. If he could only capture him—!

But that was foolish. Whatever else he was, Ostap was no fighter. He was a trader, a conniver, a trickster, if you will. To attempt to capture the American was out of the question. Of course, the idea had occurred, but it fled his mind in the same instant.

The point was, he knew where the American was.
He
knew! That kind of knowledge was worth money. It was worth a trade; it was a chance to save Katerina. For a moment he hesitated: Katerina or the money? No, it had to be Katerina. There was one thing he valued above money, and that was his personal comfort. Katerina took care of him. Above all, she understood him. She accepted his foibles, his trickiness, and his weaknesses and took care of him anyway. He could find other women, he knew. Occasionally, he had, but they were too demanding of him, of money, of his time. Katerina took him as he was, and was therefore priceless. Of course, he told himself, he might get a little money on the side, too.

But whom must he speak to? He was far from Magadan now, completely out of touch with anybody there. Besides, if he went back into that town they would arrest him.

It must be somebody nearer, somebody involved in the search. But if he were to bargain for Katerina, it must be someone in command. Someone who could actually say yes or no. That meant, as far as he was concerned, either Shepilov or Zamatev.

He could not deal with Shepilov. That one would have him up and given the treatment until he told whatever he knew. With Zamatev he might bargain, and with Zamatev he had an in. He had Kyra Lebedev.

He would watch a bit longer and see what direction the American took, and then he would head for Evensk.

He held himself very still, waiting. Would he cross among the lakes? It was a long trek, and there was much swampy country down there, still partly frozen, however.

Joe Mack edged along the woods and started off to the north. Waiting only a few minutes longer, Ostap got to his feet and ran down the dim trail toward the road below. Even as he approached it, he heard the sound of motors and saw four cars coming along the road toward Evensk. The cars slowed and stopped when they saw him, and a man in the lead car motioned for him to approach.

Wary, but unable to avoid the meeting, he went up to the man who had motioned. He had never seen him before, but he knew at once that he faced the legend. This was Alekhin.

“Where are you going?”

“To Evensk. I must speak to Colonel Arkady Zamatev or to Comrade Lebedev.”

Alekhin eyed him thoughtfully, his flat, heavy-lidded eyes revealing nothing. “Why must you speak with him?”