“Okay, leave it, let her go. Come on, we’ll jump. If we’re found when this ship makes its entry to dry land, we’re screwed. I can’t explain our circumstances to me, let alone a seriously pissed-off Russian. Go, now! Let’s get out of here,” I barked.
Without so much as a look, Barbie ceased her actions, turned and began to run aft. I followed close behind, reliant on her awareness of the layout. The ship began to groan and creak as the hull met the bedrock of the harbour. It writhed, rolled, and juddered in dying throes as the rocks carved deep rifts through the steel. Explosions from the bow, followed by loud, resonant cracking sounds, which resulted in a trail of debris in the ship’s wake, accompanied the high-pitched wail of a claxon from the shore—a warning to anyone in the immediate vicinity of the imminent impact. In the hazy hue of the harbour lights, between drifting clouds of thick smoke, I could distinguish scurrying figures in fearful flight.
We stared momentarily at what looked like a three-storey drop to the icy, engine-churned waters of the Barents Sea. The oily, rainbow-coloured kaleidoscope patterns, formed by excess diesel floating on the surface of the waters, didn’t exactly appeal to my inner swimmer.
“Sir, I can’t swim,” Barbie panicked.
“We have to go, Barbie, now! I’ve got you, okay? Just don’t let go of my hand, and we’ll be fine. It’s now or not at all, we need to be clear of those props or we’ll get cut to shreds, you got me?” I shouted.
“But—” Barbie started.
“Wait! Where’s the backpack?” I snapped.
“It’s in the hold. You’ll not have time to get it now, though,” Barbie shouted after me.
After a couple of wrong turns and with the violent shaking of the vessel beneath my feet, I made it to the hold to retrieve the backpack. A promise is a promise, even if only to myself. Just a few minutes later I was back beside Barbie, the bag securely fastened to my back, faced with the prospect of a very chilly bath.
“Ready?” I asked as I positioned myself for the inevitable.
We couldn’t wait any longer. I clamped her hand in mine and pulled her over the side.
(Welcome)
Port of Murmansk, Russia, present day.
The two black-suited goons walked as if the ground were on fire. Even by military standards, the yomp took quite a pace.
They
had to be, Nathan thought. A Eurocopter EC155 helicopter rested inside the hangar. Owned by the authorities and hidden in plain sight, this military installation was simply disguised as a maintenance and repair depot. The aircraft, with blacked out screens save for the pilot’s, was already in the process of being loaded by numerous ground crew. Nathan noticed the lack of identifying markings, not even a tail number callsign.
“Wait here,” Gladstone instructed.
The three of them took a moment to check out the environment. The hangar, set out with a degree of precision and immaculately clean, was a veritable hive of activity and yet impossible to distinguish just exactly which government organisation held the purse strings.
“What do you think, love? Military intelligence?”
“It’ll be something to do with them, yes. Charles is well connected, and given what we’re potentially up against, he would want to keep a lid on this,” Evie stated.
“Stewey, what do you reckon, spooks?” Nathan queried.
“I’d put money on it. High-end, well-financed ops. We’re about to find out.” Stewey cocked his head to the left at the approaching man.
The cheesy-white smile, which displayed near perfect teeth, reminded Nathan of a car salesman—someone not to be trusted. As the man approached, his well-rounded frame belied someone more accustomed to sitting at a desk than operational missions.
“The name’s Hicks. I am the field operations director here in Tenerife. Our destination is Murmansk, Russia, and you will leave as soon as loading is complete, estimated one hour. If you would care to follow my associate, Gladstone here, he’ll get you suited, booted, and ready to fly. Grab a drink and a bite before we head out, it’s a fair flight and we won’t be stopping at the services. That’s all,” Hicks barked.
He didn’t wait for a response, didn’t ask if there were any questions, and instead turned back the way he’d come and simply walked away.
“Gladstone, I am Lieutenant Colonel Evelyn Shepherd. I have a few questions I’d like to ask before we go, just to get a heads-up on the plan,” Evie said boldly.
“I’m sorry, Ma’am. We’re just the supply chain and taxi service. The director has his orders, I have mine. We’re heading to Russia with enough firepower to start a new war, not to mention an expert in chemical, biological weapons. Go figure, Ma’am. You’ll be briefed when we land—I’ve no doubt. Now, if you’ll all follow me, please,” Gladstone instructed.
“Now, hold on a minute—” Evie began but was cut off by the wave of Gladstone’s hand.
A short walk towards the office areas of the hangar, guarded by armed, black-suited men, saw the three of them in some kind of storeroom, lined with every weapon imaginable.
“Now
this
is an armoury!” Stewey quipped.
“Easy, Tiffy, we’ll get to play later,” Nathan quipped.
Gladstone escorted them around the racks of clothing, body armour, and electronic gadgets such as night vision, thermal detection, and specialist tech. Each took a black holdall with numerous items picked from the shelves and instructions to find kit to fit their respective sizes. It looked like a military hardware superstore, every closet soldier’s dream, Stewey thought. Directed to separate rooms to change from civilian clothing, before an opportunity to take on food and water for the flight, all three were ready in under a half hour.
“Weapons you’ll get when we land, just in case we need them. We don’t want to spook our hosts, now do we?” Gladstone stated.
“I don’t like this cloak and dagger stuff, freaks me out,” Stewey replied.
“You know how it is, Staff Sergeant. Need-to-know. Right now, you don’t,” Gladstone replied curtly.
Stewey eyed Gladstone, tension clearly evident between the two men, the beginnings of a testosterone duel in the makings.
The tall, lean, deceptively athletic agent had a certain air of confidence about him. Besides the matter-of-fact look that seemed to be a permanent fixture, his emotions and expressions were kept tightly in check, which made him seem so much more dangerous. Stewey smiled, confident in the fact that he could take him.
“Gladstone, would you give us a minute, please?” Evie interjected.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Evie waited a moment for Gladstone to be out of earshot before she waved Nathan and Stewey back towards the hangar wall, in an attempt to gain at least some privacy.
“Listen, guys, it’s pretty clear we’re not going to get any information from this lot. Let’s at least try to get along with them until we get to Russia, then, with luck, we’ll find out what we want to know. They don’t need to know why we’re going, or any more information on us than they already have, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am,” they replied.
“Stewey, go double-check the kit for me—make sure we’ve got everything. Nate, a minute, please.”
Stewey gave them some space as he made his way over to the rear of the helicopter to oversee the loading of their recently acquired equipment.
“They know something we don’t, Nate,” Evie stated.
“Yeah, I’m getting those vibes too. Some of the kit they loaded there could bring down a small nation. Have you spoken to Charles since we left the hotel?”
“No, figured I’d leave it until we got to wherever we’re going. He may well be there to greet us, with luck. I hate being in the dark. That ship will have either been sunk or worse, made landfall by now. Expect trouble when we get there, be prepared, and please, don’t take any unnecessary risks, okay?”
“Got that. Don’t you be worrying about me. You just be sure that if it is another outbreak, you take every precaution. I couldn’t bear to see you become one of the deadheads,” Nathan added.
“Ahem! We’re ready to fly—shall we?” Gladstone interjected.
*****
The journey, from the western edges of Africa, straight up into the freezing northern Russian territories, wasn’t one the team had any inclination to make again. The flight lasted well over twelve hours, accounting for a refuelling stop in Germany at one of the largest UK forces military bases in the world.
Throughout, total radio silence prevailed as the pilots, alternating control of the helicopter, spoke only for confirmation of other nearby aircraft, or to gain permission to enter foreign airspace. The scenery changed from warm, sunny views out over the mountains to close cloud cover. All the team could do was attempt to get some rest.
As the helicopter began to descend through the soup, visibility improved slightly, not that it helped much in the passenger compartments, due to the dark tints on the windows. A near textbook landing signalled the end of the arduous flight and the beginning of a stress-acid, queasy feeling for Evie.
When the all clear was given to disembark, a team which consisted of several suits, a couple of uniforms, and a solitary recognisable face—Charles Fitzgerald—stood waiting to greet them.
“Evelyn. Good to see you. I wish it could have been on better terms. I never did take you up on that offer of dinner, did I?” Charles asked.
“Fitz! Am I glad to see you! Where did you find the goon squad here? I’m glad to be standing, that’s a hell of a flight. Who’s the greetings party? You know Nathan, I mean, Sergeant Cross, not sure if you’ve met Staff Sergeant Chris Stewall.” Evie embraced Charles before turning to Nathan and Stewey to introduce them, “Boys, this is Colonel Charles Fitzgerald, retired, my old boss. Former chief medical officer, bio-sciences liaison, mentor, and gentleman—to quote but a few of his qualities,” Evie beamed.
Dressed in a tweed suit, reminiscent of a private school professor, his shoes polished to a gleam, the impression was accented further by the trademark bowtie at his collar. Charles leaned in to shake the hands of both men.
“You are too kind, Evelyn. Gentlemen. Nathan, good to see you again, you are looking much better than the last time we met, I must say. How’s that leg, any troubles? That was my handiwork, you know. It was my last surgical operation before my retirement.” Charles smiled as he shook Nathan’s hand, his grip surprisingly firm for a man of his years.
“You did a fine job, Sir. I am extremely grateful,” Nathan replied, unable to suppress the shiver which ran through him at the mention of that time.
“Staff Sergeant Stewall, a pleasure to meet you, indeed,” Charles offered.
“Likewise, Sir. Lieutenant Colonel Shepherd has told me a lot about you over the last few months. It seems you two go way back.”
“Many more years than either of us care to remember, I should think. Now, to the business at hand. I took the liberty to arrange a heads-up meeting, after you have all had a chance to refresh yourselves from the flight, naturally. We’ll assemble in one hour and I’ll send someone for you. The port has already been sealed off by the Russian military. I am still in the process of obtaining authorisation for us to enter, hence the short break available. Use the time wisely.
If
we are granted access, it’s going to be a long, long night. That’s all I have, for now, dismissed.” Charles coughed and brought his hand to his chest before adding, “Do forgive me, old habits die hard. Belay that order, I’ll see you in an hour.”
“Ever the character, isn’t he?” Nathan smiled.
“He is exceptionally good at what he does. Don’t let that confused gentleman look fool you, it’s just his way. I feel a lot better knowing he’s here, Nate,” Evie acknowledged.
“Right then, two things: The can and a brew, in that order—I need to make room for one before I have the other,” Stewey quipped.
“Sounds like a plan. Quite an operation they have here, already. Let’s see, we have fuel dumps, barracked accommodation, which means there must be both toilets and catering, couple hundred troops by the look of it too. This doesn’t look like your average ship collision, not that I’ve seen that many this close to hand,” Nathan observed.
“Yes, but I don’t see bio-suits anywhere,” Stewey added.
“We can’t see the vessel from here. Someone planned this very well to keep out prying eyes. They have pretty much built a small military facility from shipping containers. Do you have any idea who the other suits were, Evie?”
“No, I wondered that myself. Aside from the goon squad and Charles, the others are a mystery soon to be solved, no doubt. One face rings a bell, strangely enough, I’ve seen him somewhere before, but I can’t remember where,” Evie added.
“After you.” Nathan gestured with a smile to Evie.
Port of Murmansk, Russia, 26
th
June, Twelve hours earlier.
The icy, churning waters of the Barents Sea enveloped us in a hungry, eager embrace as we plummeted from the side of the
Baltic Wanderer
.
My grip on Barbie’s wrist subconsciously tightened as we entered the water together, both disappearing below the waves before a struggle against the propeller-churned torrent to the surface. The intense cold made me suck inwards, to be rewarded with the bitter taste of salt, mingled with old diesel oil. I spluttered and spat repeatedly to rid the sickly combination, fighting to keep my head above the water.
Every extremity became numb within minutes. My arms and legs thrashed wildly, without consideration for direction or forward motion. It was more of an uncontrollable series of spasms to match the chatter of my teeth. Barbie bobbed up a few feet away, dazed, confused, and flapping her arms in sheer panic. I channelled all of my energy into making my limbs do what I wanted them to do.
When the memory of her admission about being unable to swim hit me, I began to pull hard against the waves towards her. Luckily, when I got to her, she was still surfaced, though clearly the situation wasn’t good. I hooked my arm under her chin to tilt her head back slightly, to initiate a natural prone position, which would make it easier for me to get us both to shore.
“B-B-Barbie! Barbie, l-listen to me. I’ve got you, we’re s-safe but you need to help me now. You’re not going to d-drown. I need you to calm d-down and start k-kicking with your legs. Can you d-do that for me?” I shouted, between shivers.
A slight, jerky nod of her head, between spluttered coughs and gasps, confirmed she’d understood as she began to kick out. As I turned us away from the wake of the vessel, we observed its pace, racked with that awful water-echoed sound of something once majestic, dying. The ship groaned and wailed as the hull, sheared from beneath it, rapidly filled with seawater, which made the boat tilt bow down minutes before it collided with the harbour wall. I could have sworn I felt the vibrations of the impact from our position.
The vision of the whirling propellers, tilted skyward, became imprinted on my mind. We had to move, find dry land, or we would surely freeze to death. With my one free arm, I scooped at the water, paddling for the shoreline to land out of sight of the unfolding drama. The ship would leave us one last legacy in death, that of distraction to aid our escape.
Still a hundred metres or so from land, Barbie unhooked my arm, rolled to her front, and began to paddle alongside me. If I didn’t run the risk of taking in a mouthful of that contaminated water again, my jaw would have dropped.
How the hell?
Even I didn’t learn to swim that fast. Near exhaustion, my feet finally scraped the shingle shoreline and I stood waist-deep. Moments later, Barbara splashed up beside me, and I extended a protesting arm to help her rise. She spluttered, coughed and hocked out a mouthful back into the sea, before her face turned to look me over.
“We, we made it,” she spat.
“You learnt to swim between there and here?”
“It seems I could always swim, but I never learnt when I was little. I was terrified of the water. Always,” she offered.
“Your timing was brilliant, if confusing. Come on, we need shelter, fast.”
We scrambled through the shale and sea debris which littered the shoreline, up towards a row of dense trees. They would provide us with cover and shelter from the brisk breeze sweeping across the harbour.
In wet clothes, the cold-amplified, shivers racked our bodies involuntarily as we focused purely on placing one foot in front of the other. The tangle of trees and dense foliage offered a welcoming embrace from the bitter wind as we collapsed in a heap, drained of energy, to take stock of our new environment. We would not be able to remain still for too long, the cold would surely overcome us. The feeling in my fingers and toes had long since gone, and sea water began to puddle around us in its exit from our clothes.
I began to undress, each garment twisted to squeeze out the excess water, my reasoning being that it would dry quicker and provide me with added warmth.
“What are you doing? Aren’t you cold enough?” Barbie asked in amazement.
“It’ll help dry our clothes faster, help to warm us. I know we don’t know each other that well, but, strip!” I quipped.
Barbie didn’t protest. She did exactly what I told her to do. With more years between us than she’d been alive, I offered her as much privacy as was possible, in our current situation. With my back to her, I could hear her struggle with the clingy, damp clothing both to remove it, ring it dry, and later replace it. Even there, in some foreign woods, freezing and miles from home or friendly contact, I had to smile. I could imagine my feeble attempt to explain this situation to my wife.
Ex-wife
.
Well, it was like this love, I was only naked in the woods with a twenty-three-year-old Barbie doll lookalike because—
yeah,
that isn’t going to wash.
I never knew that simply getting dressed could be so exhausting. The damp clothes latched onto every protruding part of my anatomy in some kind of death grip. It took both of us to unfurl the tangled mess of my T-shirt enough to cover my battered body. As soon as we were clothed, still shivering from the chill air, I did a quick sweep to be sure we had everything.
“Okay, that wasn’t so bad. We need to keep moving inland now, find some decent shelter, water and food.” I stated, as if knew exactly what I was saying.
The thick carpet of decaying foliage proved to be hard going as each footfall sank into the sodden earth. On the plus side, the moistened ground had softened the fallen twigs and leaves, which reduced them to no more than compost and aided our stealth progress. Up ahead, a circular clearing beckoned us from the relative darkness of the wooded womb. In the middle, picturesquely situated, stood a small, cobblestone brick cottage. A single, precariously crooked chimney added a good dollop of pollution to what was otherwise a haven of nature. At the very edge of the oasis, I bent low, my eyes locked upon Barbie to ensure she got the message to remain quiet and close to the ground.
“Looks like a small farm, single storey, central chimney column with limestone foundation, geometric carved block construction, additional after-build cellar—maybe a logger’s rest.”
How the hell do I know that?
“Someone’s home too, we need to be careful. Don’t suppose you can speak any Russian, can you?” I asked.
“I’m sold, where do I sign?” Barbie added with a giggle before continuing. “No, only what I’ve seen in films. Though, Murmansk is an international port, and we’re not that far inland. There’s a good chance anyone living in this vicinity will speak at least broken English. We’re freezing, starving, and we look like a pair of mismatched corpses. What would
you
do if you saw us coming at you?” Barbie quipped.
“Good points. We need to be careful. I don’t fancy adding buckshot to my list of experiences today. I’ll go first, see if there’s anyone home. If it’s safe, I’ll wave you over. Stay out of sight until I give the signal, I’m in no mood for a
Deliverance
ending,” I said with a knowing smile at the reference.
“
Deliverance?
What’s that supposed to mean?” Barbie asked, perplexed.
“Never mind. It’s before your time. You kids of today don’t know what you missed. Do we still have the knives I took from the store?” I patted my still damp pockets as I asked.
“In the pack, side pouch. I put them there before I dropped you off the”—she paused nervously—“but we’re even, you did pull me off a boat.” Barbie reasoned, with a playful smile.
“I’ll give you that. Okay, if they let me in and I’m not back in ten minutes, skirt around the area and find somewhere safe to hold up,” I instructed.
“Yes, sir!” Barbie retorted.
“Oh, and quit calling me sir. You know my name, for God’s sake. What’s with that anyway? Never mind, you can tell me about it afterwards.” I squeezed her shoulder, an action of reassurance, before I pushed through the perimeter towards the quaint dwelling.
A rusted wood chipper stood spattered in splinters off to my left as I approached the house. The circular, age-old tree stump, sheared at the perfect height for chopping logs, supported a honed axe. I was tempted to take the axe, just in case. Instead, my focus on the thick, wooden, fairy-tale-style door flashed up an image of a hobbit welcome. I couldn’t have been further out. The door creaked ajar as I raised my hand to knock. I’m not sure who got the biggest shock, me or the bear-like, bearded resident, as his full frame all but blocked out the flickering light emanating from within. The guy was tall, stocky, muscled, and clearly toned by his strenuous work in the woods, yet his expression was not one of anger at my intrusion.
“Dobro pozhalovat!” he boomed.
I held my hands palms up, an action of surrender, of submission.
“Het! Dobro pozhlovat!” he repeated.
Sensing my confusion, he took a step forwards and extended a hand large enough to shroud mine. With my own hand clamped, I felt the hardened calluses on his palm as my eyes met his.
“English?” I attempted.
He released his hold, and with forefinger and thumb, indicated just a little bit. I nodded and smiled my understanding.
“Simon,” I pointed to myself, “English.”
“Da, Simon English,” he responded, still smiling.
“No, I meant—never mind. Can you help me? You help me, please?” I hadn’t realised that my hands signed out my words as I spoke. Years of living with a deaf partner, reliant almost entirely upon sign language or touch as a means of communication, meant that when I spoke, I did so with voice and actions.
“Welcome,” he said, the single word heavy-set with Russian enunciation.
From that point on, communication with this powerful man, known only as Yaromir, became easier. He stood aside, an invitation for me to enter his home, and I pushed the door closed behind.
I stood at the roaring, open fire, mesmerized by the dancing of the flames as they gorged upon the quartered lumps of tree trunk in the hearth. Somehow, an open fire always seemed to instil a sense of peace, of wellbeing, no matter where I might find myself. The last time I felt the heat of this captive force of nature, I was standing at a beer-stained bar, the pint of bitter being the ‘plus one’. I recalled the contents of the brown envelope with Jackson Hall Solicitors stamped on the front as I nursed my third drink.
“Simon English?” Yaromir began. “To wash? You’re hurt too?” His statements came out as questions, due to his grasp of English, which to be fair, was far better than my understanding of Russian.
We brits are quite ignorant that way.
In his hands, a metal bowl steamed the presence of hot water. He set it upon a rustic table, the centrepiece of the kitchen area. Before I sat to clean myself up, I met his eyes to capture his attention.
“I have a friend, outside, also in need of help, a girl; my partner. We have come a long way. Can I bring her?” I felt guilty enough as it was, to enter this kind man's home and take from him without explanation, difficult though that would have been.
“Friend, in woods?” Yaromir understood, and nodded. “Da. You bring here.”
There seemed to be no end to his hospitality. I stood at the open door and waved towards Barbie’s position. I thought for a second she’d already left. The closing darkness amplified the shadows and created false entities to distract me, but there, low to the ground, her outline came to focus. She crawled out from her cover, finally standing beneath the bent branches of a sturdy tree, to return the wave. I beckoned her to come to me, my eyes continually searching the forest for any unwanted visitors.