Road of Bones

by James R Benn

  “We need armed men at the ready when she does,” I said. “Sir.”

  “I’ll get that organized. Contact me if you find anything,” Gideon said, and drove off.

  We began opening the boxcars, each time readying ourselves for an encounter. But there was just a lot of nothing.

  I tried to see this through Maiya’s eyes. Even though there was little chance, in her mind, that we’d discover her true destination, she’d planned everything in case we did, distractions and all.

  Kaz and Javid had a point about the airplane. What was the real purpose?

  Misdirection.

  Like a magician. They make you look up and to the right while the trick is being played low and to the left. The only question was, what was the trick?

  Misdirection.

  “Damn,” I said, stopping in my tracks as Javid was about to unlatch another boxcar.

  “What?” Kaz asked.

  “That wasn’t them. The three people. It had to be the Khazar crew. It’s not impossible for a smuggler to have a pilot in his gang, right?”

  “Not at all,” Javid said. “It would explain how the Khazars evaded our border patrols so easily.”

  “The explosion was meant to distract us,” Kaz said. “But from what?”

  “The drugs. They must have off-loaded them,” I said. “And they wanted us to waste our time searching the train for three Russians.”

  As we walked back, I called Gideon and told him to have the ambulances checked and to detain anyone who couldn’t be vouched for. I told Fenwick and his buddy to keep searching the train, in case I was wrong.

  But I knew I wasn’t.

  The fire. The smoke grenade. The ambulance. The airplane landing, the explosion.

  Brilliant.

  The platform for export materials was already filling up as workers unloaded cargo from the boxcars at the head of the train.

  Javid opened the door, and as if the train itself was granting me a reward for my deduction, we were greeted by the sight of five disassembled and empty cases. Cases marked for delivery to Khazar Brothers shipping. Next to them were discarded Russian uniforms.

  “The men from the plane are now mixed in with the laborers,” Javid said. “Impossible to find.”

  “But not the drugs,” I said. “I think I know right where to find them.”

  The export cargo platform was filling up. Crates and canvas sacks of all sorts were piled up, some of it had writing in Farsi and some in English.

  “What exactly are we looking for, Billy?” Kaz asked.

  “Packaging roughly the same volume as five cases, each five by two by two feet,” I said, eyeing the laborers all around us. Any one of them could be in the pay of the Khazar brothers, with knives hidden in the folds of their clothes.

  “This may be helpful,” Javid said. He tapped his finger on a wooden crate. Unpainted, new wood. If it hadn’t been so muggy, the paint might have dried in the heat. Instead, when I ran my finger across the destination, the black paint stuck to my finger.

  Africaine. Destination Marseilles, France.

  I had them. Without the drugs, they were dead.

  “Ten crates of pistachio nuts, if the label is to be believed,” Javid said. I got Gideon on the walkie-talkie and told him where we were. And that we needed a truck and armed guard.

  He pulled up a few minutes later, Big Mike in the rear seat, his bum leg stretched out.

  “Guards and a truck are on the way,” he said. “Is this it?” He pointed to the pistachios.

  “Probably, but I don’t want to open them here. Too public. Once we get them into the truck we can check,” I said.

  “How did they manage it?” Big Mike asked.

  “Distracted us with the airplane. While that was going on, they put the heroin into these crates aboard the train, then had them unloaded here,” I said, working it out as best I could.

  “Not sure about that,” Gideon said. “There’s a manifest for the unloading from the train. It’s all double-checked.”

  “Jesus,” I said, cursing my stupidity. “Did you find those two ambulances?”

  “There was only one,” Big Mike said. “They took my two guys away. Oh, damn, I see.”

  “The second ambulance,” Javid said. “They must have caused that stoppage on the line we saw. Then loaded the new crates into the ambulance.”

  “And put them on this platform which the fire started,” Kaz said. “No need for a manifest. Anything here will be loaded according to the labels. Ingenious.”

  “But where are they now?” Big Mike said.

  “There’s only one place. They think they’re safe, and the drugs are going to be loaded aboard the Africaine. That’s where they must be headed,” I said.

  Kaz and I raced to the wharf. We left Gideon and Javid to guard the heroin, with Big Mike in his jeep watching the crowd, M1 at the ready.

  I held my hand over my eyes, shielding them from the sun. The water glittered, each wave reflecting pinpoints of bright, dazzling light.

  “There!” I said, pointing to a rowboat just leaving the far shore beyond the pier. A lifeboat, probably from the Africaine. It was too far to tell for sure, but it looked like four rowers and three passengers.

  I prayed this wasn’t another of Maiya’s tricks. If it was, she was just too damn smart for me. I ran, Kaz hard on my heels, off the wharf and onto the roadway that led to the pier, where one lighter stood at the ready. A jeep was parked next to a loading crane, and I jumped in, the GI who was taking a smoke break in the shade too startled to speak. With Kaz hanging on, I sped down the road, wondering if Maiya would spot the racing jeep.

  And what Sidorov would do.

  What I would do.

  I slammed on the brakes right at the edge of the pier. We both vaulted out of the jeep and found two sailors lounging in the partial shade of a makeshift wall built along the pier.

  “What’s all the fireworks, Captain?” one of them asked.

  “We need to intercept that rowboat,” I said. “Too complicated to explain. Let’s go.”

  “Is it dangerous, sir?” the other guy asked.

  “Very,” Kaz said. “Which is why we are so heavily armed. Now go.”

  Something in Kaz’s tone convinced them to shove off without delay. The engine rumbled to life and as we cast off, I eyed the distance between us and the rowboat. I couldn’t tell which ship was the Africaine, but I didn’t want them getting close. I didn’t know if the crew was in on it and might take exception to our collaring their clients. Or if we’d get mixed up in some sort of Iranian, French, and Russian jurisdictional issue.

  No. We were going to settle this now.

  Empty, the lighter wallowed in the water, even in the gentle rolling swells. It wasn’t designed for speed, but slowly we drew closer. Close enough to make out Maiya standing at the bow, with a pair of binoculars aimed our way. I waved and aimed my Thompson her way.

  I could see her yelling at the rowers, and damned if they didn’t pick up the pace.

  “Billy, we can’t let them get to the ship,” Kaz said over the rumbling roar of the engine. “There she is, the Africaine.” He pointed to a small ship that had just become visible as it moved out from behind a larger Liberty ship.

  “Their ship still has to dock,” I said. “Gideon can handle that end. We’ve got to stop them from boarding.”

  “They may have willing accomplices on the Africaine,” Kaz said. “The ship could be crewed by Le Milieu.”

  Damn. Kaz was right. The French mob might well operate a small coastal freighter like this shallow-hulled one-stacker. Just the thing for smuggling. Not that they’d be happy about abandoning their drug shipment on shore, but maybe they’d take out their frustrations on us. Then Maiya and company, but we’d be dead.

  “Can you go any faster?” I asked.<
br />
  “Some,” the sailor answered. “Hang on.”

  We grabbed the rail on the starboard side as the craft thumped over the waves, water splashing us and swirling over the deck.

  “If they have any firepower at all on the Africaine, it’ll be like shooting ducks in a barrel,” I said, looking at the wide-open steel deck of the lighter. “Literally.”

  “I for one refuse to quack,” Kaz said, and fired off a burst at the rowboat, kicking up splashes of water short of it. The Thompson had great stopping power up close, but lousy range.

  “You’re not going to hit anything yet,” I said.

  “I know. But I want the rowers to think about what will happen when we get closer. If they are not Milieu, it may give them pause.”

  Apparently Sidorov and Max had the same idea. They stood and quickly unleashed a couple of bursts from their PPSh-41s. We ducked, but their rounds fell short.

  “How soon can you close the range?” I shouted to the sailor at the wheel.

  “About one minute, sir. Those fellas are pulling hard, but they can’t keep it up. We can.”

  I counted to thirty, and then let loose a few rounds in front of their bow. They fell about ten yards short. We’d be within a hundred and fifty yards, the Thompson’s effective range, in half a minute.

  “Aim for the oars,” I told Kaz. “Shake up the rowers.”

  We both fired, raising some serious spouts along the port side of the boat. The rowers ducked, losing their rhythm, leaving some oars dead in the water. The starboard rowers maintained their pace, but that only caused the rowboat to swerve closer to us.

  “Maiya, give up!” I shouted, cupping my hands around my mouth.

  She raised her PPSh-41. Not at me, but at the head of the rower closest to her.

  Sidorov fired, then Max. A few rounds zinged against our steel hull. The message was clear. Back off or the rower dies.

  I wasn’t buying it.

  “Straight at ’em!” I shouted.

  “Again, at the oars,” I said to Kaz. We fired, emptying our clips and reloading. This time, it looked like we struck a couple of the wooden oars. It was mass confusion on their port side as the starboard rowers looked around for instructions, slowing their pace. The rowboat wallowed, Maiya waving her weapon and yelling at the crew.

  Max and Sidorov fired at us, rounds ricocheting inside the lighter as they targeted the coxswain.

  “Son of a bitch,” he shouted as a bullet grazed his arm. His pal went to help but he waved him off, his mouth clenched in fury. He bent low, grasping the wheel, and kept straight and true on an interception course.

  The rowboat was hardly moving. Two rowers jumped over the side and began swimming away. Maiya aimed her papasha and fired at their bobbing heads, sending up sprays of foamy blood. She quickly turned her weapon on the remaining men. Smoke curled from the barrel. Sidorov joined in and manned an oar. The boat got going again. But too much time had been lost. We were nearly on them, coming in at an angle to ram. More rowers abandoned ship, and Max stood, leveling his daddy at us as the boat rocked beneath him. His burst went high.

  Mine didn’t.

  It caught him dead center and knocked him down.

  Maiya fired, her aim better than Max’s. She peppered the wheelhouse, causing the coxswain to dive for cover.

  Which was a mistake, since he couldn’t slow or swerve to avoid the rowboat. The lighter crashed into the boat, splintering wood and tossing Maiya overboard. We churned over the wreckage, Maiya disappearing under our hull.

  The coxswain regained control, bringing the lighter about. The remaining rowers had all given up and were making for the Africaine, a hardy swim away. The smashed rowboat was afloat, with Max sprawled in the stern, one arm moving enough to show he was alive.

  Sidorov managed to stand, maintaining his balance as the boat slowly sank.

  “Not the ending I wished,” Sidorov said, gesturing at the waves lapping at his feet. “But at least it is not the road of bones.”

  He drew his pistol and aimed it at Kaz. His hand shook, just for an instant. But he didn’t fire.

  “Smert’ shpionam,” Sidorov said, his voice loud and clear.

  Kaz shot him. Two rounds in the chest and Sidorov tumbled into the water, a river of red trailing him as he floated away.

  “What did he say?” I asked Kaz, as we watched Sidorov’s sinking corpse.

  “Death to spies,” Kaz said. “It was the motto of the original Soviet secret police. I took it as his death sentence.”

  “Self-proclaimed,” I said. “I don’t think he was going to shoot you.”

  “I agree,” Kaz said. “I gave him what he wanted. A warm grave.”

  “Captain,” the coxswain’s buddy said. “There’s the woman we ran over.”

  Maiya was face down, her dark hair a bloody halo around her ruined neck, mangled by the propellers.

  “Leave them for the fishes,” I said. “But we should help Max.”

  “He should be dead,” Kaz said. “But, if you insist.”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Max was moaning as we hoisted him onto the lighter. I’d gotten into the rowboat as it was about to go under and lifted him, surprised at how little blood there was. Kaz took him and the sailor helped me aboard.

  We laid him out. Blood soaked his shirt where I’d hit him, low and on his left side. It looked like only one bullet, but a .45 slug at that range should’ve done a world of damage.

  I opened his shirt, just as Max’s eyelids fluttered open.

  I almost laughed out loud.

  Wrapped around his skinny waist were two money belts filled with gold coins. It was like wearing armor. My slug had smashed into one gold piece, nearly flattening it. There was another underneath it, and it had broken through his skin and gave him a thickening bruise.

  “Once a vor, always a vor,” Kaz said. “After all the lies and betrayals, it is refreshing to find a man who is at least consistent.”

  “It saved his life,” I said. “But what good does that do him? He may come to regret it.”

  “Look,” Kaz said, pointing out to sea as we neared the pier. “The Africaine. She’s weighed anchor.”

  “And she’s not headed for the wharves,” I said. “I wonder if Gideon can call on a warship to intercept her?”

  “For what crime?” Kaz said. “Leaving without unloading cargo? There may be something to that, but the captain can claim to have been under attack. Or they might just take the cargo and scuttle the ship. With Le Milieu, it may be just a business loss.”

  An hour later, Max was in the base infirmary, bandaged and sitting up. Big Mike was off getting his ankle taped. Inspector Ghazi stood at the end of Max’s bed, Kaz and I on either side. A ceiling fan moved the hot air around as my saltwater-soaked clothes clung to my skin. Colonel Gideon joined us, first having gone to the radio room.

  “Thank you for saving me,” Max said. “Maiya forced me, you know.”

  “Max, you tried to kill us,” I said. “I think you killed Morris and Kopelev in the warehouse as well.”

  “No, no, never would Max kill Boris Morris. I like him.”

  “Kopelev?” Kaz asked.

  “No one like Kopelev, boss. But Max no kill him either.”

  Of course not.

  “Then help us Max. How did the Khazar brothers do it?” Gideon said. “Was it Maiya’s scheme or theirs?” That was smart. He was letting Max off the hook.

  “Oh, they come up with plan. They use the ambulance before, at other ports. Good trick, yes? And the airplane, they have pilot. Smart boys. They put drugs in new containers. Make train stop, load ambulance. Then boom!”

  “You must have been afraid for your life,” Javid said. “To fire on these officers.”

  “Yes, yes, very afraid. Afraid Maiya will kill me. But I did not hit y
ou, boss, did I?”

  Not for lack of trying, but I let that slide.

  “You stole the map back in Poltava, didn’t you?” I asked.

  “Sure. Maiya tell me to watch what you do, take what I can. Or she denounce me, which means no more Max.”

  “Was Black working for Maiya?” Kaz asked.

  “Black is a fool. He prays at the church of Maiya, but she uses him,” Max said. “Maiya good at using people. Bend them around finger, yes?”

  Yes.

  “So Max, just answer me this,” I said. “How did Maiya and the Khazars communicate?”

  “What? Oh, pain is bad. Please, drugs.”

  “How droll,” Kaz said. “No drugs, Max. Answer the question.”

  “Bad pain,” Max said, moaning and squeezing his eyes, not to mention his mouth, shut.

  Max was smart enough not to incriminate himself. He had a story and he’d stick to it. Maiya the evil temptress who called all the shots. Well, good for him. The only question was, would he end up back in the Soviet labor camps or in an Iranian prison? Neither was a pleasant option, which was fine with me.

  We left the room to the groans and protestations of Max’s innocence.

  Big Mike came down the hall, crutches swinging.

  “What now?” he asked.

  “I guess we have to report back to Poltava?” I asked.

  “No. I’ve taken care of that,” he said. “I sent a radio message to General Dawson, informing him that Major Kiril Sidorov and Lieutenant Maiya Akilina died while in pursuit of drug smugglers. I fingered Max as being in league with Iranian smugglers. Bull said he’d throw a Major Black into the mix as one of the culprits. Convenient because he’s dead.”

  “Why?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.

  “Allied unity,” Gideon said. “It’s all-important. We still want the Russians to come into the war against Japan. We want them to be cooperative when our armies meet in Germany. This way, we give them two dead heroes and a plausible story of a Russian thief and a renegade OSS officer.”

  It made sense. I also knew that this fairy tale would spare Maiya’s family from any retribution Uncle Joe might hand out. The Soviets, like the Nazis, practiced wholesale family punishment on anyone accused of anti-state behavior. Sidorov’s wife as well, although he’d said she was protected by a well-placed father.