The Good Spy

by Jeffrey Layton

“We’re low on food and need numerous equipment repairs and . . .”

  The Neva’s crew had devoured the foodstuffs from the Hercules and Borodin had a list of spare parts needed for critical repairs.

  The Barrakuda had plenty of extra food and many of the requested parts.

  Borodin also requested help. His shorthanded crew could barely manage the crippled submarine’s systems.

  Antipov asked for volunteers and nearly every man aboard responded. The captain selected two officers, five warrants, and three sailors.

  * * *

  The Barrakuda rode with the low swells that swept in from the northwest. The late-afternoon cloud ceiling hung low to the horizon. A steady rain obscured Captain Antipov’s view from the sail but he could see enough. Riding high in the water, the Neva drifted about fifty meters to the east.

  Captain Antipov towered over the other watch-standers. He raised his binoculars and focused on the Neva’s sail. He counted six men. He then pressed the handheld Transmit switch, activating the boom microphone of his headset. “Lion, this is Lighthouse, come in please.”

  “Lighthouse, this is Lion, over.”

  Both short-range radios had built-in encryption systems.

  Antipov observed one man raise an arm and wave. “Good to see you, Captain,” he said, raising his own arm.

  “You too, sir.”

  “Are you ready to make the transfers?”

  “Yes, sir. If you could have your men come along our starboard side that should provide the most protection.”

  “I’ll let them know.”

  An inflatable raft made it to the Neva, and its cargo of food and spare parts was transferred. The raft and its three-man crew remained moored to the Neva, ready to return for crew transfers and additional supplies.

  Captain Antipov was monitoring the raft when a new individual exited a side door in the Neva’s sail and stepped onto the deck. The blond hair marked the woman’s presence. He pulled up his binoculars. “Klássnyy”—Nice—he whispered as her face and slim torso came into detail.

  Borodin had been vague on how the SVR officer ended up on his boat. He wanted her off. With just one toilet that barely functioned, no real privacy, and her constant complaining, she’d become a complete pain in his backside. Even the crew who hadn’t been around women for months wanted Elena off the boat.

  Antipov agreed to take her. By relocating a couple of his officers, he could give Elena a cabin to herself.

  As Elena climbed into the raft, he smiled. It would certainly be an interesting trip home.

  * * *

  Ken Newman made the border just after sunset. He took a cab from the Tsawwassen ferry terminal. Instead of proceeding to the U.S. border station, the cabbie dropped him off a couple of blocks away. He walked westward along a residential street that paralleled the borderline. High-end Canadian homes lined the roadway.

  Ken’s passport remained in the Corvette. He could not reenter the United States without it.

  It took Ken twenty minutes to reach the westerly limits of the 49th parallel. In darkness, he walked over the open border and entered the United States.

  CHAPTER 90

  With Laura at the helm and Yuri and Nick tending the lines, the Hercules docked at Point Roberts an hour after sunset. The workboat moored at the marina’s guest dock next to the fuel dock. An eighty-foot yacht occupied the end-tie that the Hercules had previously rented. Exhausted, the crew decided to spend one last night aboard. Nick made a quick run to the local grocery store for steaks and wine. Laura prepared dinner.

  Nick enjoyed the meal, especially the Merlot. After Laura and Yuri had retired to their cabin, he stood on the port bridge wing, smoking.

  Nick took a final drag and flipped the butt; it arced over the floating pier and plopped into the water next to shore. He yawned and stepped back into wheelhouse, ready to hit the sack.

  * * *

  Ken Newman stood onshore in the shadows—spying. Watching one of his almost-killers aboard the workboat was bad enough. Seeing Laura and her lover drove him crazy.

  Ken weighed his options. A call to the U.S. border station would do it. Or would it? He still had no concrete proof, just his word against theirs. He’d have to contend with the court order forbidding Ken to be anywhere near Laura.

  With Ken’s luck, he’d end up in the Point Roberts jail tonight—again.

  No, that would not work.

  Laura’s cheating still infuriated him. He imagined her in bed with the stranger. The vision sent his pulse soaring.

  Ken’s wrath surged even higher when he again thought of the bastard who had tried to drown him. And then he considered the killer’s accomplice who came within a hair of blasting a hole in his skull. Ken had yet to ID the sexy Russian assassin but he expected she was aboard, too.

  Ken scanned the boat basin. That’s when he spotted the fuel dock. The scheme crystallized.

  * * *

  Laura stood in front of the mirror combing her hair. She wore pink pajamas. Thick white athletic socks covered her feet.

  Yuri admired the view from the bunk, his spine propped against the headboard. He’d shed his day clothes for a two-piece set of gray long johns that were six inches too wide in the waist and four inches too short in leg length. He liberated the underwear from the dresser draw next to Laura. They had commandeered Captain Miller’s stateroom.

  Laura spun around and walked to the opposite side of the bed where she laid down on top of the covers. She turned on her side to face Yuri. “That was a fun dinner with Nick. I really like him. He’s funny.”

  “He’s a good man all right. I think he likes living in America.”

  “I’ll say. A Forty-niners fan and he lives on a houseboat. I don’t think you have those back in Moscow.”

  Yuri chuckled. “No, we don’t.”

  They chatted for several minutes, Laura asking about his family.

  “Sounds like your grandfather Semyon was a wonderful man,” she said with her head propped up by a pillow.

  “He was. He really looked out for me. I still miss him.”

  “Do you have other family members there?”

  “No one close.”

  They next talked about Elena, both relieved that she was out of their lives.

  The discussion shifted to tomorrow’s activities.

  “I think it’s best if Nick goes alone,” Yuri said.

  “Why? I’d like to see him, too.”

  “I know but in case there’s a problem, Nick has the skills to protect himself. You don’t.”

  “Oh yeah, I see what you mean.”

  Before heading back to Redmond, Laura insisted on checking up on Captain Miller and arranging for the Hercules’s return to Seattle. That required a visit to the hospital where Nick had dropped Miller off the week before. All three assumed the critically injured mariner remained at the hospital. Nick continued to insist it was too risky to make inquiries over the phone; the authorities were likely trying to identify the John Doe.

  “After Nick visits Miller and finds out what he wants done with the boat, we’ll drive to your place.”

  “Okay, sounds good.”

  Nick offered to drive to Redmond. Elena’s Mercedes remained parked in a marina lot. He had the keys, discovered inside Elena’s purse that she’d inadvertently left aboard the Hercules.

  Finally, after alleviating Yuri’s worries about his fake passport and the border crossing at Blaine they would make tomorrow, Laura changed subjects.

  She sat up, crossing her ankles. “There’s something I need to tell you.” She looked away from Yuri.

  He noticed how she’d clasped her hands, as if to suppress a tremble.

  She turned back. The neutral expression on her face confused Yuri.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  “I’m pregnant—by Ken.”

  Taken aback, Yuri took an instant to process the news. He broke into a broad grin and said, “That’s wonderful. I’m really happy for you.” />
  He slid over to her side and hugged her. “I love you. I’ll always be there for you.”

  “Thank you,” Laura said as a solitary tear cascaded down her right cheek.

  And then he kissed her.

  CHAPTER 91

  DAY 21—SUNDAY

  Yuri awoke to the pain in his left leg. It was a quarter past midnight. Laura lay beside him asleep.

  Will this miserable thing ever heal? he wondered.

  Yuri’s ailments plagued him but Laura’s welfare came first. At dinner, he had wondered why she’d declined the wine.

  A baby, he thought. She’ll be a wonderful mother!

  Guilt soon gripped Yuri. Because of his actions—abducting Laura and then seeking her help—the baby would not have a father. All aboard were convinced Ken had drowned.

  That would not have happened if I hadn’t interfered with her life.

  Yuri next thought about his future. No way would he return to Russia. During the southbound voyage, he pried the whole story out of Nick. Their government had abandoned the Neva and its marooned crew.

  But just what can I do to earn a living here?

  Laura wanted Yuri to work for her company, but software development didn’t rouse him.

  He then considered another idea. Geophysical surveys use underwater instrumentation. Maybe I could adapt . . .

  Yuri’s brainstorm evaporated when a dull thump reverberated through the workboat’s hull.

  What’s that?

  * * *

  “Dammit,” muttered Ken Newman as he tripped on an unseen stern mooring line and fell onto the Herc’s deck. The plastic tank clutched in his right hand slammed onto the steel plating. The thud echoed across the marina basin.

  Ken knelt next to the five-gallon container and checked for damage. Filled to the brim with gasoline, the tank remained intact.

  Although the fuel dock had closed hours earlier, one of the Point’s gas stations remained open. Ken drove to the mini-mart where he purchased the container and fuel. He also picked up a six-pack of Coors and bought a pocketknife.

  Ken remained hunched down on the deck. No lights were on inside the cabin.

  He waited another minute and crept forward.

  * * *

  Yuri listened for follow-up noise but heard nothing. Too wired to sleep, he decided to brew a cup of tea in the galley. With considerable exertion, he extracted himself from the bed, using both hands to pull his near lifeless lower left leg over the edge without disturbing Laura. He headed toward the door.

  * * *

  Ken entered the main cabin and fumbled with the tank’s spigot. He tipped the tank and poured gasoline onto the deck.

  Yuri stood at the cabin doorway. He could make out a shadowy mass a few steps away in the galley.

  What’s he doing?

  Yuri was about to call out, believing that Nick might be impaired from drinking. But then the stench hit.

  Ken tilted the tank forward while stepping aft. Gasoline streamed across the hardwood deck. The fumes stung his eyes. The tank was nearly emptied when a nearby cabin door burst open and a blur rushed toward him.

  Supercharged with adrenaline, Yuri rammed Ken with the force of a mini-locomotive. They both crumpled to the deck, Yuri on top.

  The gas tank slipped from Ken’s grip; it crashed to the deck on its side. Gasoline surged out.

  Ken jabbed his left thumb into an eye socket of his adversary and rolled away.

  Yuri howled. Blood spurted from the laceration, clouding his vision. But he could see with the other eye. His opponent slithered along the deck through a pool of gasoline, making his escape.

  On his knees now, Ken reached into the right rear pocket of his jeans. He removed the knife and pulled out the three-inch blade.

  Yuri retackled Ken, pulling him down onto the deck and straddling him. He slammed his right fist into Ken’s face. Yuri struck again, and then out of the corner of his good eye he detected a flash of silver.

  Ken aimed for the torso just below the rib cage.

  Yuri blocked the knife thrust. The blade slashed deep into his left forearm, nicking an artery. He groaned while grabbing Ken’s wrist to prevent another strike.

  Ken clasped Yuri’s other arm.

  Ken’s breath reeked of beer; sweat flowed from his pores. Yuri summoned a new burst of strength and pressed harder on Ken’s knife hand, twisting the wrist. “Drop it,” he yelled.

  Ken almost complied, the fire in his wrist unbearable, when the pain began to abate. Yuri’s strength eroded as blood gushed from the tear in his forearm.

  * * *

  Yuri’s shriek woke Laura. She bolted from the bed and rushed to the door. Although the main cabin remained blacked out, she saw Yuri thrashing on the deck with an intruder—a bulky form that appeared to be gaining the upper hand. Both wallowed in the blood from Yuri’s wounds; the stink of gasoline permeated everything.

  And then the real horror hit Laura.

  Oh my God, it’s Ken!

  * * *

  Ken rolled back on top of Yuri and straddled his chest. Yuri’s left hand still clasped Ken’s knife hand, keeping it at bay. But the power in Yuri’s wounded arm was ebbing as his body reacted to shock.

  Sensing the weakness, Ken aimed for the base of Yuri’s neck. He smiled, knowing that he’d won.

  “You’re dead now, prick!”

  “Leave him alone, you bastard!” screamed Laura as she ran forward. She jumped onto Ken’s back and lashed at his face with her fingernails.

  Ken reared back and bucked Laura off. She toppled onto her side, landing next to a bulkhead. That’s when she saw the fire ax, mounted to the wall just a few feet above her head.

  Laura reached upward when a phantom figure pushed her aside.

  Yuri hung on to Ken’s knife arm as both rose. Ken body-slammed Yuri; the back of Yuri’s skull smacked the hardwood deck.

  Ken again rose, yanking his knife hand free. Yuri could no longer protect himself.

  Just as Ken raised the knife over his head for the kill strike, Nick Orlov swung the ax like a Louisville Slugger. The pick end smacked Ken’s temple with a gushy thud.

  Ken collapsed onto Yuri; the knife spilled onto the deck.

  Laura rushed to Yuri’s side. She grabbed Ken’s shoulders and rolled him off Yuri. Blood oozed from Yuri’s right eye and surged from the deep tear in his forearm.

  She cradled his head with her hands and said, “Yuri, Yuri, can you hear me?!”

  Nothing. He’d lost consciousness.

  She checked his body, looking for other wounds.

  “Yuri, wake up!”

  No response.

  She placed her right check next to his nostrils. “Oh, thank you, Jesus!”

  Laura turned around to check her husband. Ken’s lifeless eyes stared at the overhead. She then stood and surveyed the cabin. It remained blacked out and Nick had disappeared.

  “Nick!” she screamed, “I need your help. Right. Now!”

  She grabbed a towel from a galley drawer and then flipped the main cabin light switch. Nothing happened.

  Laura returned to Yuri’s side and wrapped the towel tightly around his bleeding arm. She used the flap of her pajama top to swab blood from around his right eye while pleading, “Yuri, wake up! Come on, honey, wake up, please!”

  * * *

  Nick sprinted aft to the main deck and onto the floating pier, where he tripped the shore power circuit breaker and unplugged the power cord.

  The fume-rich environment inside the Hercules had the equivalent explosive yield of a stick of dynamite. A light switch thrown, a water pump starting, the heater cycling on, anyone of the myriad electrical systems aboard could trigger apocalypse.

  Nick ran back and dropped to his knees next to Laura.

  “Yuri, please wake up!” Laura pleaded. She faced Nick. “What’s wrong with him, why won’t he wake up?”

  “I’ll be right back.” He raced up the companionway to the pilothouse two steps at a time.


  A minute later, he returned carrying a first aid kit and squatted beside Laura. “Let me try this,” he said.

  “What is it?”

  “Smelling salts.”

  The pungent odor of ammonium carbonate revived Yuri, but it took a couple of minutes before he became lucid.

  “Am I still alive?” he asked, looking up at Laura’s beaming face with his surviving eye. Nick flanked her.

  “Yes, honey. And thanks to you we’re alive, too.”

  CHAPTER 92

  AFTERMATH

  Laura drove Yuri to the same hospital ER where Nick Orlov had dropped off Dan Miller. Yuri was admitted as a U.S. citizen—John Kirkwood—who’d injured himself from a fall aboard his yacht moored at a Vancouver marina. Laura explained that her husband had inadvertently left his ID on the boat in their rush for medical help. Without proof of medical insurance, Laura signed a hospital form guaranteeing payment and used her Visa card to pay the admitting charge.

  An ER doc used a local painkiller to numb Yuri’s arm and then she stitched the nicked artery. The on-call ophthalmologist treated Yuri’s lacerated eye and placed a patch over it. Yuri promised to have the eye checked by his doctor in Seattle.

  Finally, just after eight o’clock in the morning, Yuri was discharged from the ER.

  On their way to the Suburban, Laura and Yuri walked through the hospital’s main lobby.

  “Just a second,” Laura said. “I want to check something.”

  She stepped to the counter desk that lined a nearby wall. Yuri hobbled behind.

  “Excuse me,” Laura said, addressing the receptionist, “but I wonder if you can help me.”

  “Yes, ma’am. What can I do?”

  “I’d like to visit a patient here but I don’t know his room number.”

  “Certainly. What’s his name?”

  “Ah, Dan Miller, from Seattle.”

  The young woman checked her computer screen. “Sorry, ma’am but there’s nobody by that name here.”

  “Hmm, we were told he was in an automobile accident a week ago and was brought here. Do you have any John Does? Dan may have not had any ID on him.”

  “Let me do some checking.”

  It took several minutes of keyboard inquiries and finally two phone calls before the hospital receptionist made her report.