The River of Bones v5 (25 page)

Were his friends still behind him? Jake wondered.  He wished he could look back and see them.  You always felt better when you knew you weren’t alone.

At last the GPS said they were getting close and he saw the tension gather on Sasha’s face.  They would reach the Marcha River soon and start searching for the crash site along its banks.  His mind’s eye could visualize the silvery wreckage strewn over green tundra.  Pilots could spot that kind of dissimilarity miles away when they knew where to look.

He found the river and turned along it, lowering the flaps ten degrees and slowing the Antonov to sixty knots, the best speed for searching.  Now Sasha’s face looked even more wretched.  He understood.  How
would he feel if he were in her shoes, looking for the impossible?
 
He had recovered too many skeletons for him to believe that her father could be alive.  But . . . he kept peering down.  Where in hell was the wreck?

Suddenly, Sasha screamed and white tracers streaked across in front of him.  He looked out the right-hand window and saw a helicopter flying sideways as fast as he was going forward, and it had him dead in its sights.  Another burst of tracers streamed by like a lightning bolt.

He hit the mike button.  “Simon—Molly, I’m getting shot down.  Get out of here.”  Waggling his wings, he prayed the Russian pilot would see that he wanted to surrender and was looking for a place to land.  The helicopter was the same one he’d seen in Ulan Ude.

Radio silence. . . .  Good.  Maybe the Werewolf was all alone and Molly and Simon had gotten away.  Now if the Russian would only hold fire and let him land, which seemed likely or he wouldn’t have been so unmistakably warned, Sasha and he might live.  The thought of a cockpit fire had always horrified him, and this particular fire would be fed by hundreds of gallons of high-test fuel.  What a cremation that would make.  Then he wondered why his mind was racing through such horrific thoughts.  Was that common when you were about to die?

He saw a small island of bushy muskeg ahead in the river and waggled his wings once more, signaling he meant to land.  The Werewolf followed him, still flying sideways, holding him in its cross hairs.  One wrong move and it would be all over.  He dropped full flaps and slowed the AN-2 until its wings started buffeting, telling him they were stalling and losing their lift.  With any luck, he’d hit the ground at forty knots, tear off the landing gear, and skid to a stop in the     soft tundra.  God, he hoped the floor grommets and cargo straps would hold the fuel bladders in back, because otherwise Sasha and he would be squashed to death like bugs.
 
He glanced over and saw her crying.

When he looked out again he couldn’t believe his eyes.  A second helicopter was chasing Simon less than a mile away, forcing him down as well.  But Molly was coming out of the sun like a fighter pilot right at them, unseen, clearly intending on buzzing between both aircraft.  My God, was there enough room, he thought?  Then he saw starry flashes in her side window.  Had the woman gone completely crazy?  She shooting at the helicopter with her Uzi.  A minute later he watched the helicopter break off its attack on Simon and chase her in turn.  She must have hit its fuselage with her little gun.  Then he saw her dive for speed, pull up in a loop, and come up behind the helicopter’s tail, her submachine pistol blazing once again.  He couldn’t bear to watch because he was sure that she was committing suicide.  Where the hell had she learned aerobatics?

He swung his attention back to his own death wish—the bog was just below him.  Sasha screamed again.  He flared, pulling back the control wheel and carrying the AN-2 for long as he could, hearing the brush beating on the leading edges of the bottom wings.  The airplane stalled and fell, its landing gear tore off, and he felt himself slamming against the safety belt as the nose plowed into the muck, sending grass and leaves sailing past the windows as the propeller thrashed to a stop.

“Get out,” he yelled.  “Get out before there’s a fire!”  Sasha had bloodied her face but it made no difference because she had to run for her life.  He shoved her into the fuselage, shooting her over the load of gas.  There was no fire yet
.

He crawled on his stomach, snaking out the rear door, and saw the Werewolf hovering a hundred feet away, its guns pointing right at him.  Sasha stood nearby, holding up her hands.  He slid down and stood beside her, holding up his hands as well.  Thank God, the wet bog had saved them, and sometimes damp marshy places were a pilot’s last prayer.  The engine on the Antonov was cooling, its exhaust cooking off its red-hot heat, and he doubted that fire would start now.

“Tell him that we’re unarmed and ask why he forced us down.”  Reaching over, he took Sasha’s hand and stepped forward.  “Try convincing him that we’re only searching for your father.  It might mean less jail time.”

She began crying.  “They know all about the diamonds or they wouldn’t have done this.”

Then both of them saw a cloud of black smoke upriver, and another farther off.  Sasha broke down completely, bawling pitifully, and Jake felt tears in his own eyes.  He had seen too many airplane accidents to miss the signs of fabric and metal burning out of control, and his friends were dead, because the other helicopter had shot them down.

The Werewolf pilot saw the rising smoke as well.  He landed, cut the screaming turbines of the helicopter, and climbed down, pointing his pistol at them.  The surroundings fell silent, except for the reechoing blades of the second helicopter, coming toward them in the distance.

The pilot stepped forward and spoke to Sasha.  Then Jake felt the pistol hit him and everything turning black.  The pain became a memory, and he dreamed of drifting in a dark storm.  Thunder and faraway voices, all speaking in tongues, filled his head.  But . . . he couldn’t      understand a word.  Where was he?  Who was rolling him around?  Groaning and tasting dirt, he sat up.  The second helicopter landed and its downwash brought back his consciousness with blasts of cold air.

It was a Mi-8 Hip, the mainstay of air commerce in Russia’s remote areas.  Rugged and dependable, the giant helicopter could carry two dozen passengers, and even the U.S. didn’t have anything better.  The twin turbines stopped their shrieking and he saw the cargo door open.  Molly came tumbling out, landing headfirst on the ground, just spongy enough to soften her fall.  She stood and brushed off her clothing, behaving like the prim woman, despite her car-wreck look.

“Jake, I saved Simon.  I saw him crash-land and get away.  They shot up his Cub and then forced me to wreck mine.  I’m not very good at soft-field landings, and there’s a guy on board who’s really pissed off.  Are Sasha and you okay, because both of you look pretty beaten up and bloody?”

Next, Jake saw a black-haired man step down, carrying an AK-47.  Somehow . . . he looked familiar.  Where had he seen him before?  Was he still woozy from the blow on his head?  Why the hell should he know him?  Then he remembered and even greater fear speared through him.  It was the Russian who had stabbed him in Anchorage, and they were in a lot more trouble than he’d ever imagined.  He glanced at Sasha and saw her face twisting in horror, because she recognized him, too.

“We meet again, American asshole, and I knew you would come.  You people are sentimentalists, always saving the damsels in distress.  Now I’ll repay you for punching me in spades, as your country likes to say.”  He took a breath.  “Don’t look so surprised that I speak English so well.  I speak several languages.  Stand up.  The commandant and I want to know about your friend, the one who escaped us.  What’s his name?”

Jake wondered what to say, since there wasn’t much use in lying.  What purpose would it serve?  But . . . maybe a few fibs would help.  Then Molly and Sasha could follow along with their own answers later, rather than making up things they might not remember.  He blinked and pretended he felt dizzy.

“Your friend knocked me cold, so let me have time to clear my head.  His name is Simon Jones.”

The dark-complexioned man scrunched his face.  “Has he visited Siberia before?  He disappeared like a ghost.”

“He’s lived in Alaska all his life.  We came here looking for this woman’s father.”

“So . . . you belive her father is alive as well.  But you came here looking for something else, didn’t you?  You came here for my diamonds.”

Instantly, Jake saw the army officer glare at the man asking the questions.  What was wrong, and why did the commandant all of a sudden look so angry?

Sasha wiped her eyes with her hands.  “You’re Feliks Zorkin, the man who lied to my father so you could get him to help you.  I saw you following me last year, but why do you think I know where the diamonds are?  He never told me, and there’s never been any way he could have?”

Zorkin’s face turned red, and then the commandant’s coloring looked just as angry.  Muttering, he marched back to the Werewolf and climbed in.  The rotor blades began winding.

“All of you get in my helicopter.”  Zorkin’s eyes narrowed.  “Get in there now.  You’ll learn why they called me the
Kheeroork
—”

Jake saw Sasha’s face turn pale.  Taking her hand, he led her to the Hip, lifted her, and then helped Molly get inside.  The pilot looked back from the cockpit and watched Zorkin shut the door.  Where were they going?

When the Hip reached cruising altitude, Zorkin moved
forward to the copilot’s seat—but still kept looking back and pointing his rifle.

Jake wondered what he had to work with—waterproof matches, a pocketknife, what else?  Moments later, he found his pockets had been emptied while he’d lain unconscious.  He turned to Sasha and hoped the howling engines would hide his voice.

“What does
Kheeroork
mean, and why did you look so scared?”

“He was called the Surgeon when he ran the KGB many years ago, and now I remember him.  When the communists ruled our country,
Pravda
often wrote articles about him.  He will kill us as soon as he thinks we’re no longer useful to him.  I should never have asked you to come—”   She cried again.

Jake felt the helicopter start to let down and glanced at his watch.  Five minutes or almost ten miles, piece of cake for Simon, with his long legs and endurance.  He knew his friend would take a straight course off the river.  He had to stall Zorkin for as long as he could, count heads in camp, and somehow help Simon, if he found them in time.  But what good would that do?  The commandant and Zorkin would watch his every move.  He had to somehow bait them and buy time.

“Molly, do you still have the four diamonds, or did you hide them?”

“They went up in smoke with my airplane.”

He looked at Sasha, feeling hopelessness like never before.  “Help me talk to the commandant when we land.”

Zorkin aimed his rifle at him and yelled, although the words were muffled by the main rotor.  At least they hadn’t been overheard, Jake thought, and if he was right about the apparent conflict between the two men who were holding them captive, maybe they’d live to see another day.  He had to get the commandant off by himself.

They landed and got out of the helicopter, followed closely by Zorkin, still holding them at gunpoint.  The Werewolf sat in the distance, alongside a tent camp, the commandant having arrived first.  A soldier, with headphones hooked around his neck, stood nearby, watching.

Four in all, Jake thought to himself, not nearly as many as they’d faced in Coldfoot.  He looked at the radio man.  What was he all about?  Suddenly, it struck him—other soldiers were posted nearby on lookouts.  Simon would be lucky to stay alive.  And if the Hip pilot flew out and picked them up, there would be almost no hope for them at all.

Sasha called out to the commandant, but Zorkin’s face instantly filled with rage, and he started screaming.  Seconds later, the commandant pointed his pistol at Zorkin, silencing him.  Sasha called once again.

Jake felt the air resonate with danger.  The commandant stood pointing his pistol at Zorkin, the radio man had picked up his rifle and was running to join the standoff, and Zorkin was pointing his weapon at the three of them.  Cooler heads needed to prevail or they’d be caught in a crossfire.  Sweat ran down his sides like spiders.

Then everyone saw the stranger at the same time, standing beside the tents.  Where had he come from, and how had a Siberian native walked into camp without anyone seeing him?  Everyone stared, then the four Russians quickly pointed their rifles at him, although he was unarmed.  His clothing was leather and fur, colored like a caveman.

Zorkin, screaming at the top of his voice, ran over to the native, grabbed him by the back of his neck, and pulled him over to where they stood, banging his rifle barrel against the poor man’s head.  Everyone’s eyes widened in complete astonishment and fear.

Jake looked at Sasha.  “What in hell is going on?”  He noticed Molly looked as surprised as the Russians, then remembered she knew the language well enough to understand what was being said.  He wished he’d worked harder and learned more of it himself.

Sasha seemed badly shaken.  “He’s the man who was lost with my father.  Zorkin is asking him about the pink diamonds, but he’s says he won’t answer until we’re set free.  He’s come here to save us—”

“Your father’s still alive?”  Jake couldn’t believe what he’d just heard, but maybe it was the lucky break they needed.  Still, how could they escape?  Zorkin and the commandant looked like the types who’d gladly torture anyone until they got what they wanted.

Tears streamed down Sasha’s face.  “He—he said my father died last winter of starvation.”  She covered her face and wept in her hands.

Jake wished she could find the strength to listen a little longer, then he decided that Molly could translate later.  The midnight sun was setting and the sky would darken a little in a few hours.  Maybe by morning Simon could find the campsite and figure out a way to help them.  But something else was bothering him.  Why had the little stranger surrendered to Zorkin?  No one ever wanted to give up his or her life without a damn good reason.  He saw the Russians looking around.  They knew something weird was going on.