Operation Petrograd

by Nick Carter

  She and Mal'ama put the bowls aside, and with no warning took off their robes. They were both nude beneath them. Their skin was glowing and smooth; their breasts high and proud, their nipples large and dark, the swatch of hair at their pubis intensely black.

  "What's this?" Carter asked, laughing.

  The girls climbed in beneath the quilt on either side of him.

  "You have had a very bad time out there," Na'tukt said softly. She nibbled at the back of Carter's neck while she caressed his chest.

  "You were nearly frozen when you were brought in here," Mal'ama said. She kissed Carter's forehead, his nose, and his lips, her tongue darting out.

  Carter could feel himself responding. Mal'ama laughed in delight, and Na'tukt reached around and felt for him.

  "See?" she purred in his ear. "We have learned the cure for prolonged exposure to our winters."

  For just a moment Carter wondered how he was supposed to satisfy two women at the same time. But then he lay back. The hell with it, he told himself. They were the doctors.

  Fifteen

  It was night again. The wind and snow had not stopped. Carter lay awake in the soft bed, his hearing and eyesight back to normal, and his battered body rested.

  They had told him that as soon as the Russian patrols stopped, they would take him across in the fishing fleet. They would not actually be able to get within Japanese coastal waters, but they could come close enough for Carter to take a sailing skiff the final twelve miles if the weather were settled.

  That could be days, perhaps even weeks, he realized. All the while the danger would exist that the Russians could come here in force to search every square inch of the village for the Petrograd-class sub's missing computer chip.

  Storms on the coast often lasted as long as five or six days. During that time very few fishing boats went out; only the most hardy or the most foolish would dare. A positive factor with the continuing bad weather, however, was that the Russians could not send up any aircraft for the search. It was during those times that they were the most vulnerable, though their patrol boats would be out in force.

  Carter got out of bed and cleaned up with cold water in the bowl in the washstand, then got dressed in his coveralls, socks, and boots which had been laid out for him. His weapons had been cleaned and oiled as well. He checked them, then strapped them on.

  Mal'ama came into his room when he was finishing, and carefully closed the door. She was clearly distressed.

  "What's wrong?" Carter asked.

  "Two Russian soldiers have come from the base. They are looking around," she said.

  "Are there others, or are they alone?"

  "They are alone. And I don't think they are here on orders. They come in like this from time to time."

  "Why?"

  Mal'ama looked at him in the dim light. "There are no girls at the base, Amerikanski. Do you understand?"

  Carter's jaw tightened. He nodded. "I'll have to hide. Do you have any idea when we can leave?"

  "I don't know," she said. "Father says this storm may last for many days yet. We will have to wait and see. In the meantime, stay here. No matter what happens."

  Carter nodded.

  Mal'ama gazed into his eyes. "One day I too will kill Russians," she said. She turned on her heel and left the room.

  Carter waited for a moment or two, then he went to the door and listened. He had not been out of this room since he had arrived, but he had been told that this was the main building in the village. The elders lived here with their families, village meetings were held here, and supplies and equipment that were communal to the village were kept here. It was the only two-story building in the village of 150 people.

  He could hear someone talking, but it was very faint and indistinct. It came from somewhere below. He opened the door a crack and looked out.

  His room was on the second floor, apparently at the rear of the big building. A balcony ran in front of his door off to a wide set of stairs down into the central chamber that was dominated by a huge stone fireplace. The atmosphere in the big room seemed smoky. The talking came from downstairs.

  Keeping to the shadows, Carter left his room and moved slowly to the edge of the balcony, behind a large supporting post, so that he could see down into the main room.

  There were a half-dozen villagers below in addition to Mal'ama and Na'tukt. Two Soviet border guard soldiers in uniform, green piping on their collars, were there as well. They were obviously drunk. They were both armed.

  "We're spy chasers," one of them said.

  The other one laughed. "Yes, and we're thirsty and very, very cold." He reached out and roughly felt Na'tukt's breasts. She didn't move.

  "Nice," he said. "I was told about you."

  The first one waved his Kalashnikov assault rifle vaguely toward the doors. "All right, the rest of you get out of here now. It is time for our own meeting. In private."

  One of the village elders stepped forward. "Excuse me, sir, but your base commander has said…"

  "What are you saying?" the soldier barked. The border guards were a division of the KGB. Carter's jaw was clenched, his muscles bunched up.

  "I'm truly sorry, sir…"

  "Get out of here!" the soldier continued, furious. "Get out of here and keep your filthy peasant mouth shut or you'll never see these little pieces again. They won't be fit for fish bait!"

  The men backed up, then turned without a backward glance and trooped out the door into the storm.

  "Now," the one soldier said, laughing, "first a little fun, and then perhaps something to eat and drink. We don't have to be back until morning."

  Carter stepped back out of sight. If he showed himself, he would have to kill them. It was something he wouldn't mind doing, but he knew that the villagers would be blamed and would be severely punished.

  Mal'ama cried out. One of the border guards laughed out loud. Carter pulled out his Luger. It was going to be impossible for him to hide while the girls were being mistreated. He simply wasn't built that way.

  Then he had the solution. The way out of his dilemma. He smiled.

  "Where is your room? Upstairs?" one of the KGB guards asked.

  "No. No, it is down here," Mal'ama said fearfully.

  Carter hurried down the corridor, keeping well away from the rail so that he would be out of sight from below. He held up at the broad stairs, just edging across until he could see Na'tukt and one of the Russians disappearing through a door at the side, while the other soldier dragged Mal'ama over to the big fireplace, his back to the stairs.

  The moment Na'tukt and the one guard were out of sight, Carter started down the stairs, never taking his eyes off the Russian with Mal'ama.

  The room was very large. On one side were long tables and chairs for communal meetings and meals; on the other was the huge fireplace, a big fire burning in the grate, a large steel kettle hanging on an iron hook.

  At the bottom Carter hesitated a moment before he started across. The Russian had turned and was looking off toward the door through which the other soldier had disappeared. He had only to turn his head slightly to the left and he would have to see Carter, who stood stock-still.

  Mal'ama spotted Carter, and she let out a little gasp.

  The Russian turned to her. "Tell me, do you miss your mama?" he said, laughing. He slapped her, knocking her back.

  Carter jammed Wilhelmina in his pocket as he raced across the room on the balls of his feet so that he made no noise.

  At the last moment, the soldier, sensing that someone or something was coming up on him, started to turn. Carter hit the man's back at full speed, grabbed his head in both hands, and yanked sharply backward. The Russian's neck and back both snapped with a sickening sound. The soldier let out a strangled cry, then slumped to the floor, dead, as Carter let go and stepped back.

  "No, no," Mal'ama was saying, her hands to her mouth.

  "It's all right," Carter said, going to her.

  "They will retaliate agains
t my village."

  "They will not. I'll fix it. Believe me." Carter looked over toward the door through which Na'tukt and the other Russian had gone. "Where did she take him?" he whispered.

  "There are apartments back there," she said.

  "Where are all your people? Why aren't they here?" Carter looked at his watch. It was nearly eight in the evening. "They should be here. Inside."

  "We were told to search for spies. If they caught us resting before the job were completed, it would go very hard on all of us." Mal'ama looked down at the dead Russian. She shook her head. "It is too late for us now. Kill the other one before he harms Na'tukt."

  "Go get your people. I must leave tonight, no matter what the weather," Carter said. He turned and hurried across the community room. A low, narrow corridor led back to three doorways, each covered only with a cloth blanket. It was very cold back there.

  Carter slipped into the hall and listened at the first doorway, but there were no sounds from within. He started to pull the blanket back, when Na'tukt cried out in the next room.

  "Dirty peasant whore!" the Russian shouted.

  Carter turned, leaped to the next room, and yanked back the blanket. Na'tukt lay on the cold floor beside a low bed, her clothes torn off, while the big Russian stood over her, his coat and tunic off.

  "You son of a bitch," Carter swore.

  The Russian turned, the blade of a huge hunting knife in his right hand glinting in the dim light. "Amerikanski?" he said, dropping into a crouch.

  "An American spy, you motherless pig," Carter spat in perfect Russian. "And when I finish with you, you'll never get it up again, old woman!"

  The Russian was enraged by the insult. He charged, just as Carter wanted him to. Carter stuck out his foot, and the Russian tripped, going down heavily.

  Carter did not want to damage the man in any obvious way. At least not with a weapon.

  The Russian jumped up, bellowed, and charged again. Carter sidestepped the swing of the big knife and hit the Russian twice very hard with his fist in the chest. The color drained from the Russian's face as he stepped back.

  Carter went after him, relentlessly hammering blows with every ounce of his strength into the man's solar plexus and ribs over his heart.

  The KGB guard's eyes bulged, his mouth opened to catch a breath that for him would never come because his heart had stopped, and he bit through his tongue, a gush of blood coming from his mouth as he fell to the floor.

  Na'tukt had gotten up, and she had pulled her robe around her nakedness. Her eyes were wide and her lips parted as she looked from the dead Russian to Carter and back again.

  "You killed him… with your bare hands," she whispered.

  "Are you all right?"

  Na'tukt nodded uncertainly. "There was no time for him. But what about the other one?"

  "He is dead," Carter said, going to the doorway and looking out into the corridor. "I'm going to take him away. I want you to clean up this mess. If more of them show up, I don't want them to know that these two were ever here."

  She nodded. "But when they do not return to their base, their people will come looking for them. They will think that we killed them."

  "No, they won't," Carter said. "Believe me." He came back into the room, kissed her on the forehead, then held her very close. When they parted he looked into her eyes. "Thank you, Na'tukt. For my life."

  She nodded.

  Carter dressed the big Russian, then picked up his body, careful not to get any blood on himself, and brought him back into the main room.

  Mal'ama had returned with some of the elders. "It is true, then," one of the old men said. He looked at Carter. "If we kill him, our troubles will be over."

  "No!" Mal'ama cried out. "He saved our lives."

  "From these two," the old man said. "But others will come."

  "That is then," she said. "This is now. And will you repay a kindness with a betrayal?"

  The old man stamped his foot in irritation. The others were watching Carter.

  "She is right, you know," one of them said.

  The old man sighed deeply, and nodded his head. "Yes, I know. I hoped for a simpler solution. One we could accomplish without risk. But it is not to be." He looked up at Carter. "So, young man. You have come here with your weapons, with your suitcase, which we can only assume contains some terrible secrets, and now you want to go home. But you must understand that we cannot get you to your submarine. It has gone."

  "What about the radio?"

  The old man looked at the others. "It too is gone, as are the bodies of your friends. Such things would mean our deaths. You must understand…"

  "I do," Carter said. "And I also thank you for your help. Now I need to get to Hokkaido."

  The old man nodded. "That will be difficult but not impossible. What about these two boys?"

  "They have a vehicle out front?"

  "A half-track…" the old man started, but then understanding dawned on his face. "The sea," he said. "They will have a terrible accident on this treacherous coast. Their vehicle will have plunged into the sea. It was an accident."

  "Yes," Carter said.

  "I will send help for you," the old man said. "In the meantime we will make our fishing boats ready. We will go out as a fleet first thing in the morning… even before first light. In that way they will not become suspicious."

  * * *

  The Sovetskaya-Senyev fleet consisted of thirteen boats, all of them large, mostly open vessels with canoe sterns, one side equipped with rollers and winches for handling long nets. Each boat carried a crew of four men; one of them an elder who could steer, one of them very young and strong to let out and pull in the nets, and two of average strength and age to pull the fish out of the nets, one by one.

  Getting out of the inlet was spectacular. At times the boats seemed to be standing on end in the huge breaking waves; at other times Carter was convinced huge waves would capsize them, sending them to the bottom and their deaths.

  A few hundred yards out from shore, however, the waves were not so steep, though much larger, and the going was easier.

  The wind came down out of the mountains now, which tended to push them away from shore. Soon they were alone on a storm-tossed sea, and the short, stubby masts were set up, and the lateen sailing rigs were battened down for the long run across the northern Sea of Japan.

  Three times Soviet gunboats passed close enough so that they could see their lights, hear their engines, and smell their exhaust gases. The Soviets either never saw them in the huge waves, or they chose to ignore what they assumed was nothing more than a hard-working Soviet fishing fleet.

  That evening Carter's things, including the computer chip carrying case, were loaded aboard a twelve-foot sailing dinghy.

  Before he cast off he looked up at the Siberian fishermen. He wanted to tell them that what he had done would make things better for them. But he could not. Unless the entire world and all life on it were destroyed, no matter what advances were made in technology, no matter which countries turned to the U.S. and which turned to the Soviet Union, their lives would not change drastically. Life for them was keeping warm in the winter, cool in the summer, dry at sea, and fed year round. Nothing else was of any real importance.

  "Thank you," Carter shouted over the wind in Russian.

  "God go with you," the old man who was at the helm called down.

  Epilogue

  The farmlands and forests to the east of Fujiyama glowed red in the silent dawn. Overhead the sky was clear. Only at the horizon was there any haze, and because of it the sunrise was spectacular.

  It was cold that morning as Carter stood smoking a cigarette on the veranda. He was dressed only in a kimono, nothing on his feet, no weapons. And it felt good. For the first time in what seemed like a very long time, he felt at peace. The computer chip had been sent to Washington four days ago, and already early reports were using words such as fabulous, stunning, magnificent. Hawk had sent his congratulations, an
d even the President, who had finally shown up in Tokyo, had sent his thanks through one of his staff.

  The only dark cloud was Kazuka's resignation. She had told Carter last night that she was finished… not only with AXE, but with the business.

  "I lost Owen some years ago," she had explained, "and I almost just lost you."

  "It's part of the job."

  "I know," she had said. "It is time for me to settle down, Nicholas. Have babies. Tend to a household. Shop. Make the tea ceremony."

  "Anyone I know?" Carter had asked.

  She had ignored the question, and later they had made love, slower and more gently than ever before.

  He sensed her presence at the rice-paper door behind him.

  "It is a beautiful dawn," he said.

  "Yes, it is, Nicholas," she said softly.

  "My things are packed," he said after a long pause.

  "I saw."

  "You won't invite me to the wedding?"

  "I don't think so. You will probably be on assignment in any event."

  "Hawk called again?"

  "Yes. He wants you back in Washington. Something important has come up."

  "I see."

  "I thought about asking you to turn it down, to stay, but then I realized that would be unfair not only to you but to me as well."

  Carter nodded. He took a deep drag of his cigarette, drawing the smoke way down into his lungs. His was an odd life, he knew. But he could not imagine any other.

  He stubbed out his cigarette and turned to her. Tears streamed down Kazuka's cheeks. "It is Major Rishiri?"

  She nodded. "I love you, Nicholas… but there will always be another Petrograd chip for you, won't there?"

  Carter nodded.

  She reached up and kissed him gently on the lips. "Good-bye, my love."