Siberius (5 page)

“
Yuri, let me help you back to bed.”

“
I’m going to kill him.” Tobolisk pulled a knife from his coat pocket. The young radar operator leaned away. The knife wasn’t military issue, it was a big kitchen knife Tobolisk must have stolen from the mess hall.

“
I don’t blame you,” said Kurskin looking at the knife. “I’d want to kill him to.”

His eyebrows arched and Tobolisk’s face took on a surprised look. “You would?”

“Absolutely,” said Kurskin. “The son of a bitch.” He hoped his acting was convincing. The last thing he wanted to do was lump himself in with Barkov, but he couldn’t help but agree with the colonel’s methods. As much as everyone else hated him, Kurskin liked the colonel, if for no other reason than that Barkov liked
him.

Tobolisk began to cry. “My father used to beat me, too.”

“You’re a good man.”

“
I try to be.” He buried his face in his hands, ashamed.

Kurskin looked at him, unsympathetic.
For God sakes, get out of here,
he thought.
You big tub of shit. You worthless alcoholic piece of shit. I’ll kill you myself.

“
Go back to bed, Yuri, please.” Kurskin’s stomach turned as the blubbering private wailed louder. He was ruining his nice quiet evening. Tonight of all nights, when the compound was empty, he had the chance for some real peace and quiet. “Maybe we can get you transferred somewhere else,” the radar operator added.

Tobolisk’s drooping face emerged again from behind pan-sized hands. A string of white snot hung from gaping nostrils and Kurskin looked away. “Yes, I’d like that,” said a sniffing Tobolisk. “Will you help me?”

“Of course. I’ll even write a letter to Lieutenant Vukarin. We’ll get you out of here.”

“
Thanks. You’re a good friend.”

Right. Get the hell out.
“Don’t mention it.”

With the big kitchen knife still in his hand, Tobolisk got up, grabbed the bottle from the consol and went to the door. Before opening it, he turned around. “You’re not lying to me, are you?”

“Why would I do that?”

The giant nodded. “You’re right,” he said, then smiled. “It would be a shame to have to kill you too.”

6

Talia reached the tree with the observation platform. The pilot was sprawled out on the snow, still unconscious. She grabbed the rope dangling from the platform and tied it around his chest.

From the woods, the sound came again, and Talia stopped and listened as it trailed off. At the plane, the distance had given it a kind of soft, throaty sound. Now it was closer, distinct and threatening.

It was the roar of an animal. A
large
animal.

Her breathing shallow and rapid, Talia waited for the sound to come again. It didn’t. She remained still and scanned the forest floor. The darkness revealed nothing.

She grabbed the rope and began to climb, leaving the pilot on the ground. Dragging the injured man was more tiring than she had thought, and her muscles screamed for rest. The climb to the platform never felt longer, but she dared not stop. Reaching the top, she hauled herself over and laid on the blanketed floor, every inch of her body begging for a moment’s rest. She held her breath as another deep and powerful roar shook the platform. The direction was obvious:             

It came from the wreck.

Talia sprung to her feet, grabbed the rope and untied it from its mooring. Propped within the crotch of two stout branches was a man-sized log with a shallow groove cut around the circumference. Talia looped the end of the rope around a branch then tied it around the log, snugging it up tight within that groove. On the ground below, the pilot remained unconscious and, Talia thought, mercifully oblivious. With whatever strength she had left, Talia pushed the log from its resting place and watched as it tumbled down the shaft in the branches to the ground, the rope trailing behind it. The log quickly slowed to a stop as the pilot, acting as a counterweight, lifted off of the ground. Talia grabbed the rope and began pulling, with the log counterweight doing most of the work. Another roar echoed in the forest. It was much closer.
I’m not going to make it,
she thought.

Talia was soon surprised to see the pilot’s head at the edge of the platform. She wrapped the rope around the stump of a branch, then grabbed the man’s shoulders, and with a final heave-ho, hoisted him into the tree hide. She fell back onto the stool, trying to stifle gasps for air. Her breathing was loud and she muffled it with a gloved hand. It was then that she realized the raspy wet breathing was coming not from her, but from the ground below.

From her sitting position, she could not see over the edge of the platform. She didn’t need to. Below, something snarled and grunted. There was a crunch of footsteps and Talia deduced that the tree was being circled.

Please
, she thought.
Please go away
.

As if to answer her thoughts, a deep roar shook the tree. Pine needles vibrated from the branches, cascading down over the tree hide. The sickening crunch of wood came next, a sound that went on forever. Talia knew what that sound was, and although she was confident she was out of danger, she couldn’t help but wonder. The tree trunk was thick; it was one of the reasons the hide had been built there in the first place. Still, it wasn’t hard to imagine, however improbable, that the tree could be felled. All it took was resolve. Resolve and some horrifically powerful jaws.

Talia reached for a small pine box, opened it and removed a handful of pebbles. Placing them in a canvas sling, she stepped over the pilot to the edge of the blanket-covered platform. The tree shook again with another baritone roar.
Such power,
she thought. Placing the stones in the cloth, she faced opposite the wrecked MiG, spun the sling over her head, and then let them fly.

A long silence was broken by a metallic clang clang clang. Talia glanced over the edge of the platform and saw a shadow creep away in the direction of the new noise. Too nervous to move, she stood there motionless and waited.

She stayed that way for over an hour.

The sun broke over the horizon with little fanfare. The temperature climbed to a balmy 25 degrees, a winter heat wave on the Central Plateau. Across the horizon, miniscule black dots trudged south- a heard of caribou heading for the winter feeding grounds of the taiga.

The beating wings of an owl awoke Nick Somerset with a start. At first, he found it difficult to focus. He took a few deep breaths. When his mind cleared, he remembered trying to land the MiG. Any pilot would say a landing you could walk away from was good, but Nick didn’t remember walking away. Hell, he didn’t even remember
landing
.

Some time passed before he found that he couldn’t move. His first thought, morbid as it was, was that he had broken his back. But as he struggled, it soon became evident that he
could
move, at least a little bit.

Something was holding him down.

Lifting his head, he found himself tied down and covered with blankets. Nick tried to make sense of it, but before he could derive an explanation, he saw another person.

             
Though he could barely see over the shroud of blankets encasing him, he knew it was a woman, and that she was either dead or fast asleep. Her gear was worthy of an arctic expedition, with big insulated boots and thick wool gloves. Her parka was white and sported a fur-lined hood that obscured her face. Strangely, she too was tied down: a single rope held her to the trunk of a tree.

“
Hey, you,” he said, struggling against the bindings. The woman didn’t budge. “Hey, sister.”

It was the volume of his voice that awoke Talia. Before Nick could say another word, she untied herself and pressed a hand over his mouth. Talia looked around and saw rays of sunshine slicing through the clouds.

Morning.

Looking back at the man, she saw him struggling to breath and pulled her hand away.

“What’s the big idea?” he said, gasping for air.

Talia looked at him, perplexed, and Nick knew that he had made a whopping mistake. The crash had made him careless, but there was no point in trying to hide it now. He had spoken to her in English and blown his cover.

              “You’re American,” she said in wonderment, as if he was the Second Coming.
“You’re American.”
Her English was good, but flavored with a heavy Russian accent.

             
Had Nick given it much thought, he’d have found the whole episode absurd. The odds of escaping the radar installation and a whole squad of Red Army soldiers, say nothing of surviving a blind plane crash in the Central Siberian Plateau, were astronomically low. But what were the odds of being found in the middle of the dense taiga by a Russian woman who spoke
English
?

“
Now what do you suppose an American is doing flying a Russian airplane over Sibera?” said Talia.

Her question was more rhetorical, but Nick wouldn’t have answered her even if it wasn’t. He struggled against the bindings, then said, “What’s with the rope?”

Talia looked over the side of the platform then back to the man. “You don’t want to fall, do you?” she said.

Nick turned as far as the bindings would allow and peered over the side of the platform. His groin tightened. Despite being an experienced pilot, he still had a fear of high places. “Jesus Christ, lady,” he said. “What are you, a lumberjack?” Talia sat back down, removed her gloves. Nick looked over the side again and wished he hadn’t. He swallowed hard. “Where are we?”

“Siberia,” she said matter-of-factly.

He shook his head. “Yeah, I know. Where in Siberia? I mean, within a few square miles, if you don’t mind.”

“You’re on an observation platform,” she said and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

“
Observation?” Nick said. “You don’t look like the Red Army, sister.”

“
Thank-you.”

“
Uh, your welcome.” He wiggled around, trying to loosen the ropes. It wasn’t working. “So what are you observing?”

Talia stared at Nick and considered actually telling him the truth.. “I observe foolish Americans crashing planes in the middle of the taiga.”

“I hear that’s a real growth industry.” Nick smiled. “Hows about untying me?”

She studied him as if trying to unravel a riddle. “You’re an American flying a Russian airplane. You aren’t dressed like a pilot, so I assume you left in a hurry.”

“There was an air raid siren,” said Nick. “I just got home from the late shift.”

Talia reached into a knap sack, pulled out a thermos full of tea and poured herself a cup. It had cooled to just warm tea, but it tasted good nevertheless.

Nick licked his lips. “I bet you’ve got Vodka in that,” he said.

“
I don’t drink alcohol.” She stood up, gulped down the rest, and then lowered the rope to the ground. “And I don’t tolerate liars.”

Nick watched as she prepared to descend. “No, wait,” he said. “You can’t leave me up here, lady. That wouldn’t be humane.”

“That was a military plane you crashed.”

“
Yeah?”

“
I get the feeling that you shouldn’t be lecturing anyone on what humane is.”

“
Okay, okay.” Nick continued struggling against the ropes, but they held firm. “You sure know how to tie a knot.”

Her left foot went over the side.

“Wait a minute,” he said. He tried to recall what the book said regarding such circumstances. It may have had a chapter on subduing drunken Russian soldiers, but for this, there was no listing. “I’m a pretty good liar,” said Nick.

Talia smirked. This was the man she saved? “I don’t doubt that,” she said.

“How will you know if I’m telling the truth or not?”

             
“I’ll know.”

             
For some reason, he believed her. Who the hell was this woman? He hesitated a guess. “I’m an American, your right,” he said.
What the hell are you doing, Nicky?

             
Talia eased away from the rope. “Go on.”

             
Name, rank and serial number, Nicky. That’s all you gotta give.
He jammed his eyes shut, tried to clear his throbbing head. He stammered. “Lady,” he said, then took a deep breath to quell the nausea. He must have suffered a real whack on the melon during the crash. “You have to believe me when I say that I’m no danger to you. Can’t we just leave it at that?”

             
Talia thought about it for a while. She had risked her very life to save him, and leaving him in the tree was a waste.