Siberius (17 page)

             
Or, for that matter, sane.

“
Nick,” Talia grabbed his arm. He turned away from the hole to look at her. Her voice was soft, full of compassion. “I just wanted to say-” She stopped, staring into his eyes.
What am I doing?
She got a hold of herself, mentally slapping herself in the face. It was strange, this feeling. She suddenly felt out of control, and she didn’t care for it. At the same time, it was an
exciting
feeling.

             
“What is it?” said Nick with a perplexed look.

             
Talia recovered her senses. “I wanted to apologize for yesterday. I wasn’t very nice to you.”

             
“Oh,” Nick said, somehow disappointed. “Well, don’t worry about it. Yesterday was yesterday. Wasn’t a good day for me either. I wanted to chuck a snowball at you.”

Talia smiled. “You did?”

“You were pretty snobbish.”

“
Snobbish?”

“
Forget it. I think today is going to be a good day. Don’t know why, but I suddenly get the feeling that things are about to change for us both. And anything is better than what we have been through the past couple of days.”

Talia lost her smile, but nodded as if to placate him.

“Now, what do you say we get out of this Eskimo deep-freeze?”

The igloo wall collapsed under their combined force, releasing Nick and Talia to the winter morning. They stood up, stretched their arms to the sky and breathed fresh air.

              “That wasn’t too bad, huh?” Nick said in a strained voice as he continued to stretch. “Kinda refreshing.”

She shook her head. “You’re a strange man, Nick Somerset.”

“And a hungry one.” He placed a hand on his rumbling stomach and dreamed of fried eggs and sausage gravy. “God, I wish there was a diner nearby.”

Talia thought of breakfast as well, but when she turned toward the lake, her appetite vanished along with all of the color in her face. Nudging Nick, she managed to whisper, “Turn around.” He didn’t need to hear the words. Her tone said enough. Before he could move, she added, “
Turn slowly.
”

When he saw what Talia saw, his eyes went wide and his heart pounded in his chest. He swallowed hard and forgot about eating.

“Holy shit” was all he managed.

The beast growled, staring trance-like at them with yellow-green eyes. Black tufted ears rotated in their direction. Pink nostrils flared to suck in the scent of human beings.

Instictively, Nick placed himself between the beast and Talia. He had never seen anything like it in his life; the closest approximation he could make was of a lion. Yet this was unlike any lion he had ever seen or heard of, nor was it the tiger Talia had said attacked the cabin. It was stocky and muscular, with long forelegs and a sloped back. Ruffling in the breeze was a rudimentary mane that sprouted from its jaw to its neck and down its chest. A short bobbed tail stuck straight up into the air.

Its size was intimidating enough, but Nick couldn’t tear his eyes away from the animal’s single most striking feature: jutting from its upper jaw were two 10-inch tusks, flat, curved, and lethal. Nick thought its teeth defied the laws of nature. All at once, he was a child again, staring in the face of a primordial nightmare.

Reaching into his coat pocket, he felt for and found the pistol. It felt delicate, miniscule.

“
Don’t, Nick,” Talia whispered.

Talia had never seen the animal this close up or from this angle. Always,
always
it was from a tree hide. Standing on the frozen lake, the beast’s shaggy white coat blended with the surrounding snow; in fact it would have been invisible were it not for the orange glow of morning outlining its shape. Its mouth parted and steaming breath escaped, clouding the cold air. Its stare was squinty, even contemplative.

“
What do we do?” Nick said tried to maintain his wits. There was no way his little pistol was going to protect them.

Even in whispers, the sound of their voices seemed to irritate the monstrous cat. Whisker-like
vibrissa
brushed backward and the lips curled to reveal the full extent of the saber-like canines. In an horrific display, the beast’s jaws gaped, loosing a thunderous bellow that Nick thought could have shaken the walls of Hell itself.

Like a trapped rat, it went crazy, thrashing about in place. Sometime during the night, it had dug through the ice to get at the Chukchi bodies. But as it tried to fish them out, its claws had become snagged on their clothes, and the open water soon froze around its paw.
             

             
Nick reached into the igloo for the backpack, slipped it over his shoulders and took a few steps. The animal quieted down, as if it knew they were leaving. Knew they were
escaping
. Talia stood frozen in the beast’s stare.

“
Talia, come on,” he said, and she joined him. Together, they headed across the plain toward the trees in a half-run, half-walk, glancing back on occasion at the trapped beast. Its roars faded as the distance increased between them.

             
At the tree line, they stopped and looked back toward the lake. The cat had stopped struggling, but it had not taken its eyes off of them for a moment.

Still shaken, they turned and headed off into the forest.

              After a sufficient distance, Nick stopped and pointed an accusing finger at Talia. “You lied to me.” His voice was stern, commanding. “Tigers, huh?” He stormed off, leaving her behind.

             
“Nick,” she said, trying to catch up. “I’m sorry.”

             
“You’re sorry? Did you get a good look at that thing? Because I did.”

             
“Please slow down.”

             
“Lady, I’m not slowing down until I get to China.”

19

             
The convoy rumbled down road 2-7, inching through snow three feet deep. The Maultier half-track had an easy go of it, but the Jimmie’s trailed behind. Back at Yenisey, there was a snowplow attachment that fit onto the front bumper of the half-track, but of course no one thought to attach it. No one thought they’d need it because no one thought they would still be deep in the taiga
four and a half days later.

             
Private Parnichev slept in the Maultier’s cab while Colonel Barkov drove. Spidery veins filled the whites of his eyes from lack of sleep. Though it was morning, they were in the shadows of the mountains to the east, and the yellowed headlamps labored to fill the space before the half-track with light. Even so, Barkov couldn’t see anything. He had gone more than four days without sleep or food and his mind was now a torrent of pictures, memories and voices. The grand expanse that was Siberia closed in on him, and he fought claustrophobia. Still, he was aware of the fact that very soon, Radchek would try to relieve him and take command of the search. Probably, he reasoned, Radchek would order them all back to Yenisey. Probably, he’d call General Tomkin and have a recon patrol take over. They’d find the American and take credit, and Barkov would be reprimanded for not having called Tomkin in the first place.

             
He couldn’t let that happen. Back in St. Petersburg (to
hell
with calling it ‘Leningrad’), his wife and children awaited his return. If the American spy were to be found, it would be Barkov alone who’d reap the praise and reward.

             
The half-track fought through snowdrifts cutting across the road. Pushing the eight-ton vehicle along, the tank-like rear crawler tracks squeaked and clattered in mechanical harmony. Snow scooped up by the hood peppered the windshield, and the inadequate wipers fought to brush it off. The German-made truck was solid in engineering and construction, but Barkov was indifferent as to where it came from. He was concerned about how it would hold up if the snow got any deeper.

A hundred yards behind the Maultier, the first of the two Jimmies navigated through the trail plowed by the half-track. At the wheel, Radchek fought sleep by taking continuous deep breaths, his nose numb to the smell of sour breath and licked-clean MRE tins. Next to him, two privates bundled in blankets were fast asleep. At Vukarin’s request, the enlisted men took turns sleeping in the heated truck cabs. The canvas covered cargo beds were frigid, the wood benches hard and cold. Sleeping was near impossible. And though they were eating regularly, the MRE’s were dwindling along with morale.

Radchek looked at the fuel gauge. A half tank remained. The night before, they had used up the remaining external tank reserves. Now, as Radchek had feared, they were in danger of running out of fuel. Telling Barkov that, though, was like talking to a statue. He acknowledged the lack of fuel, but didn’t offer a solution. They were now 300 miles away from Yenisey.

They didn’t have enough fuel to get back.

He thought about Barkov’s desire to leave Yenisey, about his words as he held a gun to Radchek’s own face. “
Do you know what home is, captain?
” he had said. Radchek had heard rumors regarding Barkov’s transfer. Something about striking another officer. As often happens with rumors, the soldiers at Yenisey inflated the officer’s rank to colonel, then to General, then to Stalin himself. There were also rumors that his wife had an affair with the officer, but Radchek thought that one was started among the men themselves. Most of them didn’t care for the colonel either.

Regardless of the reasons, there was no excuse for the manhunt they were on. Except, perhaps, insanity.

Right now, as he searched beyond the scope of the headlights to the impending morning sun, Radchek knew they were not going to find the American by staying on the road. At the same time, he didn’t want to subject the men to another foot search through the woods. They were cold, frostbitten and now apathetic toward R and R on the Adriatic. Very soon, Radchek would make a move. Vukarin insisted they were all willing to support him if he decided to relieve Barkov. Radchek wasn’t so sure. And the image of Barkov holding a pistol in his face was still intimidating.

Deep in thought, Radchek failed to see the Maultier stopped in the road ahead. At 15 miles an hour, the collision was minor, but the jolt awoke everybody in the truck with miniature heart attacks. Now awake himself, Radchek flung open the door and jumped out of the cab. He circled around to the back, checked on the soldiers. The second truck caught him in its lights and stopped. Vukarin exited the cab.

“What is it?” he said as he approached Radchek.

Catching his breath, Radchek said, “Let’s find out.”

In the headlights of the Maultier, Radchek and Vukarin saw two figures standing in the center of the road. Their long shadows stretched to the end of the illuminated snow, then faded in the morning gloom.

“Colonel?” Radchek said, then was startled as Barkov turned toward him. In the light, his tired eyes glowed red while the steam of his breath escaped parted lips.

“
They go in that direction,” said Parnichev pointing. “To the east.” A line of tracks crossed the road, followed it for a few yards, then vanished again into the forest. Radchek squatted, studied the deep tracks. They were fresh, within the hour.

Vukarin looked at him in a pleading fashion. Animal tracks? Were they now on a hunting trip? Radchek nodded back at him, then stood up and faced the colonel.

“Private,” Vukarin said to Parnichev. “Tell the men to stay put and rest. You can return to the half-track.” Parnichev nodded, made his way back to the convoy.

Radchek waited for Parnichev to leave earshot, then said “Colonel, I feel it’s time we-”

“Captain, I’m aborting the search.” Barkov peered out toward the mountains. Radchek opened his mouth to say something, but couldn’t. Vukarin shook his head in disgust. “Siphon the remaining fuel from the third truck. Gather all essential supplies and restock your truck.”

“
Sir,” said Radchek. “We won’t make it back to Yenisey, even with a full tank.”

“
We’re not going to Yenisey,” said Barkov. “This road ends at Angara, 100 miles to the east.”

“
Angara?” Radchek said, then looked at Vukarin. He shrugged. “I’m not familiar with that.”

“
It’s a corrective labor camp.”

“
You’re taking us to a gulag?” said Vukarin, forgetting his rank. Radchek admonished him with a look and the lieutenant backed off.

“
We’ll refuel and resupply for the trip back to Yenisey.” With that, he returned to the Maultier. Radchek watched him enter the cab.

“
A gulag,” Vukarin said in disgust. He headed back to the Jimmies.

Radchek stared at the virgin road before them. He’d never set foot in a gulag, and he didn’t want to. Barkov again thwarted his attempt to wrest control, and Radchek was now losing Vukarin’s respect.