The River of Bones v5

by Tom Hron

  THE RIVER OF BONES: A NOVEL

  THE

  RIVER OF

  BONES

  A Novel

  TOM HRON

  PROMAN, INC.

  ANCHORAGE - PHOENIX

  Copyright © 2013 by Tom Hron.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the written permission of the author and the publisher except for the use

  of short quotations in book reviews.

  Kindle Edition

  ISBN:

  978-0-9840515-7-1

  0-9840515-7-0

  v1.0 last updated 2.19.2013

  Electronic version designed by TotenCreative

  Proman, Inc.

  15133 East Staghorn Drive

  Fountain Hill, Arizona 85268

  tomhron@cox.net

  For Sharon with love

  PART ONE—THE VAGABONDS

  CHAPTER ONE

  AKADEMGORODOK, SIBERIA

  Yuri Pavlov rubbed his graying temples with both hands and gazed out of his office window overlooking Akademgorodok, once the top-secret academic city of communist Russia. He wondered what he should do now after enduring two decades of political chaos since the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991. His patience had been a big waste of time.

  Did President Vladimir Putin and his crooked friends want him? Or maybe the Mafiya, rumored to full of old KGB agents, was tricking him into working for them . . . or maybe the Americans wanted him. They were all over Novosibirsk, the neighboring city of almost two million people, making it one of Russia’s most important business centers. Their billboards flashed in neon every night—Caterpillar, Mobil Oil, Motorola, and Pepsi. Long ago, Premier Nikita Khrushchev had promised that communism would bury the United States. What in hell would he say now? Almost everyone he knew would move to America in a heartbeat.

  He heard his daughter’s noisy sigh behind him. “We have never been apart since mama died. What will I do all alone?” she asked.

  His only child should have married years ago, he thought, but her beauty, pride, and education had kept most men away. Who was good enough to wed a candidate of science and his handpicked successor? They had headed the Institute of Geology and Geophysics for a long time, even during the downfall of the communists and all the anarchy since . . . but now his special genius had become a big liability. No one in the world knew more about finding diamonds than he did, and someone wanted him to lead a strange expedition into the center of Siberia, thousands of kilometers away. Who wanted him so badly?

  Eyeing his daughter’s oval face and golden hair, seemingly copied from a holy icon, he remembered her mother, who had been lost to cancer two years earlier. The hair and eyes were the same, Scandinavian features with Russian blood strengthening the cheeks and mouth. And there was her skin, almost as if she were still a child, rather than being 30 years old. She would be a movie star if she lived in America.

  “Sasha, it’s such a nice summer day let’s walk along Prospect Lavrentyeva, and we will stop at the Toadstool for lunch.” Turning, he led the way downstairs. His daughter and he had devised covert words of warning long ago. The office walls still had government ears—except nowadays you had no idea who might be listening. The madman, Vladmir Zhirinovsky, the ultra-nationalist who wanted to take back Alaska, could even be the one setting up the risky journey into the great unknown. It was hard to decide what to do with his country being such a dangerous place, he thought to himself as he stepped onto the avenue dividing Akademgorodok’s long rows of institutes and laboratories. Maybe he should take the chance . . .

  “Sasha, it’s important you stay here. I realize we’ve always worked as a team, but not this time. This looks too dangerous, and at least I can leave knowing that you’re safe.”

  “Tell me what’s happening. You’re behaving as if someone has threatened you.”

  “In a way someone has, whoever the man might really be, from Moscow or Vladivostok or wherever he actually lives. I can only pray he’s not working for the Mafiya, or that lunatic, Zhirinovky, who thinks he can win back Alaska by going to war. The Americans would shoot a smart bomb right up his ass, first thing.

  “Someone was waiting for me in my office this morning before you came to work. Can you imagine my surprise when he told me the administration had unlocked the door for him? He said his name was Feliks Zorkin and that he works for the Minister of Mineral Resources in the Sakha Republic. He showed me his papers and told me to come to Irkutsk by week’s end.”

  Sasha’s blue eyes suddenly rounded. “You’re going to Lake Baikal. There’s no more beautiful place on earth. Please, I’m begging you, take me along.”

  “Nyet, and that’s final because I need you here. I’d have you come along if I knew that I’d be staying in a nice dacha on the beach for a few weeks, leading an exploration that didn’t require spending so much time in the field, but there’s something not right about this trip.”

  “I’ve never seen you acting so strangely, and I’m beginning to worry about you. What’s going on?”

  “Nyet—not now, because we’re at the restahran. We’ll eat, act normal, and then sit in the sun like yesterday. I have something to show you, but when I’m sure no one is watching.” He opened the door of the Trade Center Restaurant, nicknamed the Toadstool for its odd shape, and walked inside. They sat with friends, leisurely ate their main meal of the day, the custom of most Russians, and pretended their usual self-control. Both were good at playacting, because their lives had depended on it when the communists had ruled Russia.

  Akademgorodok had been built near Novsibirsk, called the capital city of Siberia, in 1957. The science town was purposefully built in the middle of a lovely birch and pine forest beside the Ob Sea, a giant reservoir situated on the Ob River, one of Russia’s greatest waterways, all for strategic and motivational purposes. Over 30 world-class research academies, more than 400 doctors of science, about 3,000 candidates of science, and 30,000 people had finally populated the campus. The grand scheme was to create a powerful university with the technology to exploit Siberia’s vast wilderness. The world’s largest coal, diamond, gold, and oil reserves lay just east of the motherland. Once the Soviets had removed the riches, they could take over the world.

  But they were much better at introducing the horrors of the modern world than providing any of its advantages. More than 20 million people had died in the gulags, trying desperately to keep Lenin and Stalin and all the other bloodthirsty premiers happy. Communism had failed miserably, but only to be replaced by an equally insidious government, and one that had no more intelligibility. Yuri and Sasha knew this, and they feared their motherland.

  They again walked onto Prospect Lavrentyeva after their meal, found a park bench hidden in some evergreens, sat down, and looked around. After a minute, they were sure no one was watching them. Yuri reached into his pocket, pulled out a little white sack, and handed it to his daughter. “Don’t react and attract attention,” he said, “but have you ever seen anything like this before?”

  Sasha’s breath caught when she opened the sack and looked inside. “Pink diamonds! The only rose-colored diamonds in the world are from Australia, and there’s nothing more valuable. Where did you get these?”

  “From a duck.”

  Sasha’s eyes flew wide open.

  Feliks Zokin turned from the high balcony of the Zolotaya Dolina Hotel, folded his binoculars, and pushed them into his coat pocket. He walked across the room, keyed the telephone, and waited.

  “Allo, I’m ready now, so please come get me. Da, to the airport, because I’ll leave for Irkutsk tonight.” He then hung up the phone and started packing. So far . . . so good, he told himself, though now the tric
ky part remained. He must talk his backer out of a million rubles, or else his plan would fail. Finally he left the room, paid his bill, and waited beside the hotel for his ride.

  After a few minutes a black Mercedes-Benz limousine stopped alongside him, then a driver jumped out and opened the rear door. A blue haze rolled out in its wake, smelling like tobacco from a soggy cigarette. He climbed in and sat.“So, did you hire Pavlov?” the smoker asked. “Without him, I’m not interested in your crazy adventure.”

  “Da, he’ll come to Irkutsk in a few days, so afterward we can start.”

  “What about his daughter? Will she come too?”

  “Nyet, I don’t think so. I watched them while they walked back to their offices, and she didn’t look very happy.”

  “Just as well. I will try making her my lubovnik while her father is gone. She’s such a beauty. Wouldn’t you like having her long legs wrapped around your head as you are making her moan for more of your tongue? What a prize she would be in Moscow.”

  “Please, let’s talk about the money. I can’t hire a helicopter or buy supplies without your help. You have the other diamonds, and they are worth a lot of money.”

  “They are so few, and you know I can’t sell them without someone telling federal security about me? Besides, I’m worried about the deal because maybe I can’t trust you.”

  “What can I say? There is this great treasure waiting for us. Work with me, and can you imagine what the Sakha Republic would pay us, or De Beers, if we find where they came from? You can buy whatever you want, and I can leave this damn country.” He looked out the car window just as they were leaving the last of Akademgorodok. With luck, he’d never have to come back. Otherwise, he’d stick something more like a knife into Sasha Pavlov.

  His potential backer sucked hard on his cigarette, then exhaled. “One million rubles . . . such a lot of money. I need more than half of the diamonds. Give me three-fourths and we can make a deal. There’s way too much risk for me.”

  “Your risk isn’t worth my life, and we’ll share the same or not at all. I’m a dead man if this thing fails, because you’ll have me killed or someone else will murder me. Please, let’s not argue. When two people dislike something equally, it must be fair.”

  The smoker started laughing, then coughing loose phlegm out of his lungs. Finally, he wiped his mouth on a white handkerchief and quieted himself. “Zorkin, I like you, and you have this sense of self-worth I appreciate. I’ll deposit one million rubles in your name in the Bunk v Irkutske, Sibir, but I must be crazy.”

  Zorkin smiled. “You won’t regret it. Soon, I’ll bring you bags full of pink diamonds, and then you will see my true value. I promise.”

  Leaning back, he let his mind jump ahead. There was one more person to see, a shaman on the Angara River Delta, a little way west of Lake Baikal . . . before the withered old Evenki started wondering why his wife hadn’t come back home.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE BROOKS RANGE, ALASKA

  “Ma’am, turn around but don’t run,” said Jake Colter, “and keep quiet.” Then he watched his longtime friend, Simon Jones, raise his rifle and step backward. The yellow leaves shook in the distance and an animal sound ebbed along the creek bottom. The smell of rotten meat filled the autumn air.

  “The bear can’t smell us because the wind is wrong, but he’ll attack if he hears us come any closer.” He lifted his own rifle and snapped off its safety. A grizzly charging through thick brush was almost impossible to stop in one or two shots, and they were in great danger. He had faced man-killers before.

  Their client crept away and started shivering as if she were suffering from sudden fits of palsy. They moved quietly downstream 300 yards, and finally the little valley fell silent and the ptarmigan began calling once more.

  “Was that the same bear that killed my son and his wife? Why didn’t you shoot him? This trip is costing me several thousand dollars, and I want to find their things. Most of their stuff is missing.” The woman stopped and faced Jake now that she was over her initial fright.

  He had flown a McDonnell Douglas 500E helicopter to the Gates of the Arctic National Park in Northern Alaska and landed near Foggytop Mountain in the Brooks Range. Afterward, Simon and he had led Molly Faircloth almost a mile up a creek, looking for the place where her son and daughter-in-law had been killed by a tundra grizzly, the most dangerous subspecies roaming the Alaskan wilderness. Thankfully, her ten-year-old grandson had escaped, ran downstream, and found another group of hikers. There hadn’t been much left of the bodies by the time the park rangers had reached the site. Curiously, they had claimed the bear was missing as well.

  Now Mrs. Faircloth from Fort Worth, Texas, wanted to search for her family’s lost possessions—wedding rings, wallets, and backpacks. She had flown to Anchorage after the funeral looking for help and said she didn’t care what it cost. Right away, she had been told to hire Simon and him, since they were known around town as two men who were experienced bush pilots and veteran outdoorsmen.

  “That grizzly can run as fast as a race horse, and he’ll be within a few feet by the time Simon and I see him in the brush. I don’t want to lose any more lives, especially yours.”

  “Then what can we do? Please, I want to find my family’s things—” Her eyes glistened in the sunshine.

  Simon joined them, still glancing over his shoulder. He was a quintessential Alaskan—tall, tanned, tousled brown hair, and a day-old beard shadowing his weather-beaten face, which was brightened by blue eyes that were normally unafraid . . . except when he faced grizzlies in willow brush. Six or seven people were killed each year by bears in Alaska, sometimes even more.

  No one knew where Simon had come from, since he’d appeared like an apparition. Most people in Anchorage thought he’d come from Fairbanks, and most people in Fairbanks thought he’d come from Anchorage. Whenever anyone pointed out this inconsistency, then it was said that he must be from Kenny Lakes, an anonymous settlement in the shadows of the Wrangell Mountains that was believed to be full of people running from the law. That usually shut everyone up and got them glancing around to see if anyone was listening. He often made the gossip even worse by showing up around the state dressed in a business suit one day, then a moose-hide medicine jacket the next, dressed like an Athabasca shaman from the Yukon River. His mystery was complete.

  “Simon will stay here with you,” Jake answered, “and I’ll walk back to the helicopter, start up, and buzz the bear until he runs off. Afterward, we can search like I promised.”

  The woman eyed Simon, then his rifle. “Can this man shoot if you chase the bear in the wrong direction?” she asked.

  Jake couldn’t help smiling a little. “Yes, even better than me, and I’ve seen him hit pop cans at two hundred yards.”

  He walked downstream to the helicopter, climbed in, and flipped on the battery switch. Next, he punched the starter button, wound the turbine, and then heard it ignite. The blades began buzzing and he pulled on his headset. Time to lift off, he told himself.

  He hovered over the scattered thickets of dwarf willow, alder, and spruce that covered the uneven, rocky ground until he passed Simon and their client standing off to one side. Then he started dancing above the surface, first left, then right. Slowly, he swung back and forth, until at last he saw the grizzly stand and look at him. Pushing the cyclic control forward, he charged the bear head-on, then quick-stopped in front of it, with the helicopter’s tail cone pitched down and five main rotor blades slapping the air with all their lifting force. The bear streaked away at full speed and ran up Foggytop Mountain.

  Good, he thought, this one didn’t stand there swinging his forepaws like an oversized prizefighter. He had seen grizzlies behave like boxers during wildlife tagging operations, refusing to give ground. A nine-foot bear, standing tall, snapping and snarling at a helicopter was a scary sight, and sometimes they were so fearless even hovering helicopters had to back off. He loved and feared them simultaneously, since they w
ere the world’s largest predators. Satisfied the bear would head over the mountain, he turned and landed again, then began walking back.

  Stopping at an icy spring, he knelt and drank from it. His reflection shone on its glassy surface, mirroring his black hair, dark suntan, and coffee-brown eyes. Although he was in his late thirties, his face looked a bit younger. He felt strong and jogged every day, but lately an anonymous anxiety had haunted him, with tragic losses like Molly Faircloth’s upsetting him more than in the past. He walked upstream again, remembering how great life had once been.

  For some reason he’d hit a rough patch in life, a place where nothing seemed right. The money had stopped coming in and he’d started questioning his way of life. For so long, he’d been sure the right woman would come along and there would be someone to share things with, but that hadn’t happened. The rough and tumble of his past didn’t seem like it had been so much fun now. He’d had every success in life but felt like a failure, and he wondered if others had similar doubts about themselves. It seemed as if something was missing.

  He still clung to many of his old ways, finding solace in good cigars and California wine, faded jeans and flight jackets, and now and then a high-stakes poker game. A man shouldn’t live unless he could bet on it—his personal philosophy, as nonsensical as it seemed at times. All he knew was that he had reached a point where he felt like an aberration. There was something out there for him, but he just didn’t know what it was.

  When he returned to the bushy bottom where Molly’s son and daughter-in-law had been killed and eaten, he saw her sitting on a flat boulder, crying, her face and golden-brown hair a big mess and a ripped and bloodstained backpack lying at her feet. Farther off, Simon was walking back and forth with his head down, still searching for missing items. He walked past her and stopped beside his friend.