by Tom Hron
“Molly, keep your pistol well hidden. Simon and I have our Uzis, so you will be safe. Any questions?”
All three stood silently, looking once again like the fearless soldiers of the past winter, when he’d lain wounded in the hospital. Good, he thought, because from now on it would be critical they all stuck together . . . or they’d die all alone. He led the way outside and watched Simon blow out the lamp and lock the door.
He walked down the lakeshore trail, looking back to make sure no one lost their footing. When he reached the water’s edge, he rowed out with the women first, then returned for Simon and the baggage. Returning to the fishing boat, he hoisted the dingy, made it fast, and joined his friends in the bow.
They made mattresses out of gillnets and hauled up packing blankets they found in the hold. After an hour everyone had a soft bed under the stars and in the headwind coming off the lake, smelling like summer breezes coming off a lazy sea. They slept like the dead.
Waking at noon, they ate the dark bread and dried fish brought forward by the old fisherman and watched the far shoreline come toward them. After an hour they saw Davsha in the distance and its seawall and docks and the faded facades on the buildings that stood along its market square.
The women fell silent when they saw the mountains on the far side of the little village, because both had been sedentary a long time and the climb looked grueling. They went below and dressed in jeans, shirts, and walking shoes. Jake and Simon made packs for the luggage, which would let them carry all the weight. Finally, all four were ready for the long hike to Coldfoot.
After docking, they wandered around town and bought food for the journey, pretending to be Russian couples on an outing. The townspeople were curious about them, but friendly. They packed their food and left, watching over their shoulders, but no one followed them.
That evening they walked a little way and camped at the foot of the mountains, spending the evening beside a fire, watching its flying embers, listening to the night birds and hunting creatures. They slept again, feeling safe because they’d hidden their camp in the trees.
The next day they rose early, and after eating lots of fatty foods for energy, started the long climb over the peaks ahead. Both women struggled on the steepest parts and Jake and Simon sometimes pulled them up as they worked their way higher through the rocks and snow on the narrow footpath to Kurumkan. After several hours they topped out and watched the sun roll northeast along the horizon, making its way past the summer solstice, signaling another new day.
They hiked down and camped again, this time beside a hot spring bubbling out of a mountainside. Sasha told them about all the springs nearby, believed to be holy by those who lived in the Barguzins, long famous for its medicinal waters. The men smiled and nodded their heads. They hadn’t said a word yet about stealing the Antonov, wanting to surprise both women with their grand prize, and that they already knew about the hot springs.
When they woke late that day, everyone took turns soaking in the hot water, working out their soreness and bandaging their blisters, Molly and Sasha hiding behind bushes in their modesty. At last everyone felt good again.
They broke camp that evening and slipped past Kurumkan in the twilight, hiking downhill, both women amazed at the yellow rye and sunflower fields in the distant bottom lands. The air smelled of wild roses, and they saw deer and bear feeding below them. The time passed peacefully and at midnight they camped again. Tomorrow they would reach Coldfoot and start the greatest adventure of their lives. All four sensed the excitement, but smelled the fear as well. What was waiting for them ahead?
The next day everyone saw Coldfoot at the same time in the far distance. Jake stood for a few minutes, glassing for strangers, but saw no one.
“Let’s go down and show you guys where to stay,” he said. “I want all of you in separate buildings. Tomorrow, Molly has to learn how to fly a taildragger. The day after we’ll start north on our search.”
No one said anything because they were so tired, but their smiles told of the happiness in finally getting under way. The first stage had lasted too long. They walked down in single file, found their rooms, and slept like the dead again.
The next morning Jake and Simon led the way to the hangar, grinning, knowing both women would be stunned when they saw the Antonov they’d stolen in Ulan Ude. They were right. Molly and Sasha walked around and around the airplane, laughing and shaking their heads. Then Molly said she wanted to fly it.
“Goddamnit, let a woman take a few flying lessons,” said Simon, “and right away she wants to fly off in an airplane that’s big as an airliner. You’re too small, Molly, and you’d have to get up and run across the cockpit to reach the throttle and prop controls. Let Jake handle the Antonov, because I’m not sure I can even fly it.”
Nonetheless, she looked unappeased.
Jake pushed his Super Cub outside and walked her through its preflight, inspecting the engine, draining the fuel sump, and checking the ailerons and rudder for freedom of movement. She climbed into the front seat and he squeezed in the back and they taxied to the runway. Now came the hard part, because not many people knew how to fly taildraggers anymore and three-point landings had become a lost art. She, of course, had learned to land an airplane, but, in bush pilot speak, only with a training wheel up front, making her touchdowns much easier. She would soon learn piloting a Cub was an entirely different matter, because every breath of wind floated the little Piper sideways on final approach and throughout its flare. If you didn’t stay ahead of the crosswinds and touch the tail wheel first, fully stalling the wings, you were likely to bounce, lose control, and groundloop (skid laterally end for end), resulting in wing and landing gear damage. And even if you didn’t groundloop, the wild-horse bucking that a pilot could induce with poor technique usually turned spectacular, leaving the airplane bounding along the surface like a giant jackrabbit jumping fifty feet high. It would take her several passes before she’d master full-stall landings. Jake began his checkout by talking about takeoffs, a lost art as well.
Surprisingly, she took to flying the Super Cub like a baby duck does to water. She quickly showed an understanding of leaving the tail low on takeoffs, letting the plane do the work, and expertly cranking the trim forward as the ship accelerated off the runway. Then she zoomed around the sky, rolling in and out of steep turns, climbing and diving, much like an old pro. She said the airplane fit her perfectly with its small size and race car efficiency. He showed her the landing procedure and made her practice touch-and-goes, then got out and told her to solo. Standing beside the runway, he smiled. He had checked out airline captains who’d shown less aptitude for flying taildraggers.
But . . . when she turned on final approach he saw that Simon had been right all along, the woman couldn’t be trusted. She added power and came at him like a crop duster, flattening him on the grass. Off she went again, up, up, turning, diving, and taking after Simon and Sasha until she had chased them inside the hangar, leaving both with their heads peeking out and mouths open. Somehow, they had unleashed a monster—so now what? After a few minutes she stopped buzzing and shot three perfect landings, taxied in, and shut down. Simon, who was now furious, ran out to meet her. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You’ve got no business flying like that, and could have killed yourself. That’s the last time—”
She jumped out of the airplane. “Simon Jones, you can’t tell me what to do, and I’ll buzz you if I please. You’re a fool if you’re worried about me killing myself when I’m in the middle of a secret mission. None of us are likely to live, anyway.”
“Secret mission—what in hell are you talking about? We’re not spies—”
“What would you call our expedition then? Besides, Jake and you brag about dogfighting with your old Antonov, then get mad when I want to have a little fun. I’m an equal partner and I’ll buzz you if I want.”
Jake couldn’t believe his eyes, seeing his two friends trading verbal punches, nose to nos
e, or more properly said, nose to neck, since Molly was shorter. He began laughing and stepped between them, pushing them apart.
“All right, break it up you guys. God, what a motley crew. Simon, give her a break because she’s right about the risks. Molly, for crying out loud, no more buzzing—it’s important that we can trust you when you’re flying. Promise you’ll control yourself, because our lives might depend on it. Tell me you’ll follow orders like we agreed back in Anchorage.”
Both stopped yelling, but continued to glare at each other. Finally, they nodded their heads and walked off, Simon heading back into Coldfoot and Molly joining Sasha in the hangar.
Jake pushed his Super Cub inside, shaking his head and wondering what he should make of the big dustup he’d just seen. Why were both getting so antagonistic? Was it the stress, were they in love, or all of the above? At least, he’d seen Molly was no coward and could fly like an ace, and that might come in handy someday soon.
That afternoon they finished the last of their preparations—loading and fueling the airplanes, cleaning the firearms, and determining the exact course to the Marcha River. Sasha had been told the location of her father’s disappearance, so they drew a line across the Rand McNally true north, along the meridian to that specific point. The flying time would run over seven hours, the limit of the Antonov’s range. They hoped they’d see the crash site right away and a sandbar to land on, letting them refuel and look around. Jake believed he could tell if anyone had survived.
“Sasha, can you shoot?” he asked.
“A little, but not like Molly.”
“Okay, this is our plan. Molly, you take my Uzi and give your Glock to Sasha. I want everyone armed.
“I’ll lead with the AN-2, Simon will follow with his Cub, and Molly will trail last. Stay low and slow. I want good spacing in case of trouble, so one or two of us can get away.
“This is especially important for you, Molly. I want you to stay as far back as possible, just so you can see Simon’s airplane ahead. Then you can make a run for it if trouble breaks out. You still have your passport and maybe can figure out some way to rescue us.”
Her eyes shined. “I knew you’d let me fly.”
“It wasn’t an easy choice. I can make a strong argument for leaving an airplane behind, hidden, although I’ve decided it’s safer to take a spare.
“Simon, give your GPS to Molly so she can navigate with it. I’m not worried about you getting lost, but if she loses sight of us without a GPS she’ll be in big trouble. We’re flying over a wilderness where everything looks the same. Okay, any questions?”
Simon shuffled his feet. “God help the Russians if Molly picks a fight with them.”
Jake grimaced. He didn’t need another family feud, not now, not on the eve of their secret mission, as Molly would describe it. He had to find a way to get his two friends to call a truce.
“You two take the map and figure out how to get along with each other. Simon, go over every detail again so Molly can make the flight safely. Both of you are letting your stubborn independence become a problem, rather than an advantage. She promised that she’d behave, and I’ve taken her at her word. I want you to trust her as well.”
Both stared at each other, then nodded and walked away. Peace at last, Jake thought to himself, at least for a little while. He glanced at Sasha and saw that she was amused.
“They’re so much alike,” she said, “but the problem is one is experienced and the other isn’t. But they’ll work out their differences because they know all of our lives are at risk.”
“How do you feel about risking your life with so little chance for success?” he asked. “I can’t stand the thought of seeing you get hurt, let alone Molly. Simon . . . well, he’s faced danger before, and that’s the way he makes his living.”
“What about you, Jake? Don’t you matter?”
“Probably not, since I’m just some kind of misfit and not worth much. Maybe this trip will help me get my life together. I need a fresh start because my old one is gone.”
She paused, her eyes searching his. “Why did you come here? Was it for me, or did you come for the diamonds?”
His eyes searched hers as well. “I’ve thought about you a million times. None of this makes any sense because when this is over I’ll probably never see you again. There’s so many things that will come between us—”
Their eyes searched deeper, letting their emotion take them past the self-consciousness they felt. Suddenly, they wanted to hide inside each other’s heart and feel the fear being driven away. Tomorrow would be soon enough for reality.
“Will you stay with me tonight?” she asked. “I want you close to me, and maybe you can help me forget my old life is gone too.”
He watched her soft eyes. Months had passed since he’d slept with a woman, and then none more beautiful than the one a few feet away. Funny thing, he thought, the moment someone like her said yes, the whole world became less important. He felt himself start to harden and his breath quicken. But . . . was there any sense in it, and would they mess up their ability to think clearly when the tough choices came along, when their lives were hanging by a thread, when Simon and Molly needed them to make the right decision?
“What’s going to happen when we wake up in the morning? Will we owe each other so much that we forget our friends and why we came here in the first place? I don’t want to look back and say I’m sorry that I forgot some promise I made.”
“Just help me forget everything for a little while . . . that in the end I might be disappointed.
I’ve lived for weeks knowing I’ve lost my home. Tell me we’ll find my father, that I’ll be happy in the end.” Tears wetted her eyes.
He reached over and held her in his arms, kissing her golden hair, her eyes, finally her lips. She circled his neck with her arms and pulled him closer, lifting herself against him, letting him feel her breasts, the heat of her breath, the sound of her excitement. He knew they couldn’t stop, not until they had touched all the secret places inside and found themselves satisfied.
“I promise I won’t let you go,” he whispered. “I don’t care about anything except you. You’re so beautiful. . .” He took her hand and they walked to his room.
The darkness of the summer night shadowed their bodies as they undressed, softening their nakedness. Both threw off their clothing and rushed to hold each other, wanting their breasts and abdomens and hardness and softness to come together. He lowered her onto the old mattress he’d thrown on the floor for a bed, spreading her on his sleeping bag, seeing her milky skin brighten its dark cover. She arched herself in a way he’d never seen before, and he knelt between her legs and wrapped his arms around her and kissed her thighs, stomach, and breasts, full and soft and with both nipples distinctive in the night. He heard her quiet sounds quicken, felt her touch him, caressing as he moved up, then the hot moistness of her body as she guided him inside.
He waited for a moment, not wanting to move, wishing the first sensation could last, wanting his penetration of her to deepen beyond the physical, to become something timeless. They began rolling their bodies in rhythm, slowly, sensing their excitement together. They stopped, kissed, and started again. Finally, they couldn’t stop, and their bodies blurred in the magic of coming together, their sounds filling the room. Then they stayed together, smiling, watching the brightness of their eyes and the heat on their faces.
He rolled on his back, pulled her on top of him, and drew the sleeping bag over them, trapping their body heat below, keeping them warm against the chilly night. They kissed and smiled again.
What should he say? he wondered. He knew he wanted to make love again before they slept. Would she let him feel the magic once more?
“You sleepy?” he asked. “I don’t want to let you go.”
“No, just the opposite, wide awake. You felt so good inside. . . . Let me stay. We can be our old selves in the morning, flying off for God knows where, but tonight I don’t want to be
alone, so keep me warm.”
For an hour they lay close together and told secrets about themselves, then made love again, this time with Sasha kneeling over him while he sat on the mattress, holding himself straight with an arm, touching her with his free hand. Moving, teasing, they worked their passion higher, waiting until both broke loose, rocking, holding tight as each finished coming.
They covered themselves with the sleeping bag and reveled in the smells of their lovemaking and the warmth of their bodies that had waited so long for release. At last they fell asleep, her head on his shoulder, feeling peaceful, the tiny sounds of mice mixing with their sleepy sighs.
Squeak! Suddenly, an odd noise woke him. What was it, and how long had they slept? He rolled to his knees and shook Sasha, holding his hand over her mouth, moving his other hand to his lips, signaling to stay silent. He crept to the hallway door and peeked out, but saw nothing in the dim light. Turning, he pulled on his pants and shoes and crept to the outside window, inching his eyes around the corner.
Rrrrip! Glass, wooden sash, and cement exploded around him in a burst of bullets, and instinctively he fell, praying he hadn’t lost his eyesight. Sasha’s screamed. He rolled, brushed his eyes, blinked, and found his vision unchanged, except for the dust of the blast. Russian words, slamming doors, and pounding feet echoed below him. He had to get out, escape the trap of the uppermost floor that he’d chosen for his hideout. God, he wished that he hadn’t given away his Uzi. He saw Sasha frantically dressing, gripping Molly’s Glock. Good, she wants to fight, and he would need her help.
“Sasha, follow me. We have to climb onto the roof—there’s an attic ladder in the hallway. Cover me while I pull it down.” He grabbed his Winchester and a bandolier of ammunition he’d brought along and ran out the door, praying they still had time.
When he reached the midpoint of the long hall, he jumped, grabbed the rope on the pull-down ladder, and dropped his weight against it, opening the upstairs crawlspace to the roof. He saw Sasha run by, sprinting for the end of the corridor where the Russians were coming up. Sweet Jesus, she’s going to try to hold them off all alone, he thought. He yelled at her to come back. She ran on, fired several rounds down the staircase leading to the top floor, then started back. Had she given them enough time?
