Into the Black (19 page)

"How did your father die?"

"I'd rather not speak of it," she mumbled.  The liquor was clearly affecting her, but she seemed to retain a shred of good judgment.

"I understand.  But it is important that I know the facts.  Petr Ilyich had many enemies.  Some might even wish to avenge themselves upon his heir.  What will I tell them when they learn that his daughter sat at my table?"

"It was an accident.  There was a fire."

Severin nodded slowly.  "How sad for you."  He waited silently, as if expecting her to reveal more, but Irene said nothing.  The quiet hung in the air above the table like a pall, dissipating only when the waiters cleared away the platters.

Kismet contemplated yet another portion of vodka waiting in his glass as dessert--
bliny
topped with sour cream and honey--was served.  The liquor was indeed potent.  His intoxication was now no longer an act, but rather a measured relaxing of his usual self-control.  Following yet another toast, he was all too aware of the difficulty he was having in discerning the difference.

"Mr. Kismet.  Irina has told me of your latest endeavor.  You should have been more forthcoming.  You see, I have information that will be of great value to you."

Severin's speech was as smooth as the vodka.  Kismet had to will up the last vestiges of his cognitive abilities even to comprehend what the Russian had said.  "My latest endeavor?" he echoed stupidly.

"Yes Nikolai.  I know all about it."

Kismet sat in a daze, trying to fathom the implications of Severin's statement.  Surely Irene had not revealed anything.  The captain was still probing, trying to trick him into giving up something.  "I'm not sure I do," he replied.  Leaning forward, he craned his head around to look over at Irene.  "What's he talking about, dear?"

Irene's blank expression confirmed his suspicion that Severin's statement was indeed a ploy designed to trick Kismet into a self-incriminating admission.  Rather than continue to profess his innocence, he tried a new tack.

With finesse apropos of a drunken fool, Kismet wrapped an arm around Severin's shoulder, hugging him in a buddy embrace.  "Greg you sly dog," he slurred.  "I'm not a kid anymore.  There's nothing you can tell me that I don't already know."

It was Severin's turn to be confused.  With an expression that hovered between disgust and befuddlement, the captain shrugged free of Kismet's grasp.  "I am not sure we're talking about the same thing—"

"I don't know what either one of you is talking about," Irene proclaimed, now thoroughly in the dark.

Kismet continued to play the idiot.  Raising a finger to his lips, he began whispering in a conspiratorial tone.  "Bedroom secrets, darling.  Captain Greg doesn‘t think I know how to please a Russian girl."  He flashed a lascivious wink in her direction, purely for Severin's benefit.

The Russian captain looked stunned, but quickly recovered his composure.  "How foolish of me. Of course, you are a man of the world, Mr. Kismet."

Irene seemed to take up the thread of Kismet's improvisation.  "You men are disgusting," she sneered.  "I sometimes wonder what I ever saw in you, Nick Kismet."

Her contempt was so palpable that Kismet found himself wondering if she was in fact sincere.  Before he or Severin could answer, she stood up.  "I'm afraid I'm not feeling very social tonight.  I'd like to return to my room, if you please."

Severin nodded.  "I apologize for any offense, Irina Petrovna."  He gestured for the second officer to escort her, and the two of them left the officers' mess.

Kismet decided to stay in character.  He playfully slugged Severin's shoulder.  "Now look what you've done."

Severin whirled to face him.  "You are drunk," he spat.  "If you were one of my men, I would have you publicly disciplined for your foolish behavior."

Kismet folded his hands meekly in his lap.  "Oops.  Maybe I should go to my room, too."

"I think that would be the best thing for you to do."

Kismet rose, affecting unsteadiness, and staggered toward the exit, bumping repeatedly into the bulkhead.  When he crossed the threshold however, leaving Severin's lion's den behind, he paused to breathe a sigh of relief.  “That could have gone better,” he muttered under his breath.  “Then again, i suppose it could have gone a hell of a lot worse.”

* * *

Kismet awoke the next day with a fuzzy mouth and a mild headache; a pleasant surprise inasmuch he had been expecting a hangover of epic proportions.  He had slept soundly.  According to his watch it was nearly noon, though it was possible that their journey had taken them across enough degrees of longitude to the next time zone, making it an hour later.  Either way, he had overslept by a considerable margin.  He swung his legs off the bed and struggled to rise.  The deck was chilly beneath his bare feet and he hastily got dressed.

A taciturn sailor was posted at his door.  Kismet pantomimed his desire to eat, and the seaman nodded, indicating that he should follow.  He was led to the galley where a portion of leftover breakfast had been set aside for him, along with an urn of unpalatable coffee.  With a grimace he swallowed some of the vile brew.  The sailor, apparently his personal watchdog, remained at attention just inside the galley doorway.

As Kismet struggled through a mug of the coffee, he heard Severin's voice behind him.  The captain dismissed the sailor, and then stalked over to where Kismet was sitting.  "You have slept through the journey, Mr. Kismet."

"Guess I forgot to ask for a wake-up call."

"Indeed.  No matter though.  We turned north after crossing the fortieth meridian early this morning.  We should be in sight of Poti within the hour."

Kismet grunted but said nothing.  Severin helped himself to a mug of coffee and sipped it thoughtfully.  "You know that I had your luggage searched when you came aboard."

"I noticed.  You refolded my underwear all wrong."

Severin was not amused.  "Among your belongings, we found a firearm.  The Russian Navy does not take the matter of weapons smuggling lightly, even when it is simply a personal weapon for self-protection.  We are charged with protecting the borders of Russia and her neighbors on the Black Sea.  You have committed a grave offense, I'm afraid."

Kismet set his mug down. Severin had avoided mention of the issue on the previous night, but now the matter of the pistol represented the captain's final hole card. Kismet was ready to call his bluff.  "Listen Greg.  I've put up with enough of your crap.  I wasn't sneaking into your country, and I wasn't trying to smuggle my gun in.  I was in a boat showing the Turkish flag, in Turkish waters, with legal authorization to carry a pistol.  It was you that violated the law by firing on that boat and by coercing Irene and I aboard your ship."

"You were not coerced," the captain replied defensively, startled at Kismet's vehemence.

"Like hell we weren't.  Boarding of our boat was an act of piracy on the open sea.  You pointed your guns at us and made it all too clear that we were your hostages.  You seized our luggage, kept us under constant supervision, and probably tried to poison us with that godawful vodka.  So don't give me any shit about my illegal gun."

Severin's face was growing red under the heat of Kismet's accusations.  "I was only trying to educate you in the laws of the region.  You are correct that I did not afford you the opportunity to declare your possession of the gun.  That was an unfortunate oversight on my part.  I merely seek now to explain to you why your weapon has been confiscated."

Kismet did not relent.  "I think you're the one about to commit a grave offense.  The United Nations has authorized me to carry that gun on my person at all times.  Correct me if I'm wrong, but Russia is still part of the UN, right?  Permanent membership on the security counsel, if I recall correctly.  I'll have to report this of course, up my chain of command and down yours.  That snowball is going to have a lot of momentum by the time it lands on your head."

Severin's eyelid twitched uncontrollably.  "My apologies.  You are correct of course.  I will instruct the quartermaster to return your weapon as soon as we make landfall."

Kismet took another sip of the vile coffee but said nothing more, dismissing the captain with his body language.  Severin bristled but before he could speak
,
a tinny voice scratched from the intercom, summoning him to the bridge.

"It seems we have arrived.  I suggest you make ready to depart."  He stood up and walked toward the exit.  "One more thing, Mr. Kismet.  Despite your impressive performance last evening, I am unconvinced that you have no ulterior motives.  Your
official status--
" He filled the words with contempt-- "notwithstanding, if you attempt to perpetrate any crime or activity that poses a threat to Russia, her people or her interests, I will be there to stop you.  Consider yourself warned."

Kismet matched Severin's smoldering stare without blinking until at last, the Russian took a backward step through the doorway and closed it between them.

"Same to you pal," Kismet muttered to the empty air.

Kismet gazed out across the water at the silhouette of the
Boyevoy
.  The launch that had shuttled Irene and himself to the modestly industrialized harbor at Poti was a barely discernible speck racing back across the dark water to rejoin its mother ship.

Their arrival hadn't drawn much attention.  During the South Ossetia conflict, Russia had destroyed the Georgian naval base in Poti and established a permanent and arguably illegal military facility of their own. The appearance of Russian warships offshore no longer struck anyone as out of the ordinary.  A handful of swarthy, rugged locals paused briefly from their work to gaze at the tired couple that stood on the dock, but after a few exchanges amongst themselves they turned back to their errands, untroubled and unfazed by the presence of strangers.

Kismet looked over at Irene.  She had been cool toward him all day, speaking only occasionally, and only then in reference to what a fool he'd made of himself the previous evening.  Her statements were troubling, since it was beginning to look as though she had taken his coarse behavior seriously.  Under Severin's watchful eye there had been no opportunity to rectify the situation.

Despite his earlier assurance, Severin reneged on his promise to return Kismet's Glock, claiming that the quartermaster had misplaced the firearm and would of course be disciplined.  The captain had then bidden them farewell, assigning his executive officer the duty of shuttling them ashore.  Kismet had made a pretense of thanking Severin for speedy passage, and then climbed down into the launch.  Irene had accepted his offer of assistance, but did not relent in her silence.  Now that they were safely at their destination, away from Severin and his tricks, it was time to set matters straight.

"Listen Irene.  About what happened last night—" He moved his head, trying to make eye contact with her.  She dodged his stare at first, and then faced him squarely, cocking her jaw to one side, her dark eyes blazing with fury.  The look pained him.  "It was all an act.  I was trying to—"

She looked away suddenly, unable to hold her expression.  Uncontrollable laughter bubbled from her lips and she fell against him.

He caught her in a cautious embrace.  "What the hell?"

Irene continued to laugh. Her rage had slipped away like a paper mask revealing a look of pure delight.  "Sorry Nick, but as an actor, you make a hell of a good—well, whatever it is that you do."

Kismet rolled his eyes.  "Christ, Irene.  Don't ever do that to me again.  I thought you were really mad at me."

"So did Captain Severin."

Kismet shook his head in disbelief.  He hefted their luggage, one bag in either hand.  "Next time give me some kind of signal so I'll know it's just an act."

"You were really concerned, weren't you?"

"Well, yes.  What I said was pretty crude.  I was afraid you'd taken me seriously.  I don't want you thinking I'm that sort of guy."

Her humor subsided, and gave way to perplexity.  "I don't understand you Nick.  You treat me like a child, yet you claim to care about my feelings.  Which is it?"

Kismet suddenly felt very foolish.  He had intended only to apologize for the previous night’s drunken act, but had instead opened an entirely different can of worms.  "Can we discuss this later?"

"Why not?"  She stalked off ahead of him, leaving him more troubled than at the start.

"Wait."  He ran to catch her.  "Where are you going?"

"My father's closest friend was a fisherman here.  He kept his boat at this pier. I'm looking to see if it's... there it is."

"Irene, we need to keep a low profile.  How do we know we can trust this guy?"

She dismissed his concern with a wave.  "Anatoly's like an uncle.  He would never betray us."

"Maybe not intentionally.  But Severin let me know in no uncertain terms that we will be watched.  I doubt he would have let us go so easily if he didn't have an informant keeping tabs on us. Maybe it isn't your friend, but you can bet they'll be watching him as well."

"Anatoly can keep a secret, Nick.  I trust him, and you should trust me."

Kismet frowned.  "Let's just tread carefully.  Don't tell him everything all at once."

"I'm sure you'll see that he's trustworthy once you meet him."  While they were talking, Irene had continued to lead the way toward a large wooden fishing boat.  The craft looked to be about forty-five feet in length, considerably smaller than Achmet's vessel, and whereas the Turk's boat was for hauling cargo across open water, Anatoly's boat was clearly designed and equipped to harvest the sea's bounty closer to port.  Heavy nets dangled from overhead booms and were spread out across the deck.  A shaggy form was hunched down in their midst, performing some intricate operation on a section of netting.

"Anatoly Sergeievich!"

The wooly head swung in their direction, whereupon Anatoly rose to his full height and darted toward them.  He moved so swiftly that Kismet was startled into dropping their luggage.  He was reaching for his bag, intent upon brandishing his only remaining weapon, the
kukri
, when the bear of a man swooped Irene up in his arms.