by Roger Weston
Chuck almost gasped when he saw the photos. This was not just any compound. He read the notes on the attached slip of paper.
“What else can you tell me?”
Minsky shook his head in contempt. “You cannot succeed. Go back where you came from.”
Chuck narrowed his eyes. “I’ll need a guide. Do you have the name?”
The little man nodded and handed Chuck a slip of paper.
“I don’t know anything about you,” Minsky said. “You can do what you want, but if I were you, I would leave this place and never look back. Where you are going, there is no return. I can tell by looking at you that you aren’t going to take my advice. That’s fine. I had to say it anyway so that I’ve washed my hands of your blood.”
Minsky hurried past Chuck, but Chuck grabbed his arm.
“What about the guide? Is he good?”
“He is a broken man. He cannot help you. They destroyed him. They’ll do far worse to you.”
“If he’s broken, why are you sending me to him?”
“He’s your only hope.”
Minsky pulled his arm away and hurried out.
Chuck looked at the piece of paper. There was an address and the name Vitaly Pavlov.
Chuck walked slowly through town, thinking about what Minsky had said. Chuck had already known the bad news, but somehow hearing it from a stranger, a contact who knew the area, added gloom to the situation. He shut out the fear with contempt. He would not live by fear. He would not live just for himself. He was tired of living that way. He was tired of the emptiness. He picked up the pace and walked with energy.
He reminded himself not to be distracted by the magnificent scenery. He would not allow any distraction to give an assassin a chance to gun him down.
Still, the old time feel of the town lowered his blood pressure. It seemed like every building in this town was a six story apartment building that had seen better days, yet the mood was nostalgic. Modern city planners had not ruined the town yet. Because of all the low-rise buildings, the breathtaking views dominated the landscape of tree-covered hills and volcanoes. The air was cold, and the people wore heavy jackets.
Despite the awesome scenery, Chuck focused on the activity of the dirt sidewalks and the potholed streets. Green and white city busses rumbled past, but the air was fresh. Civilians walked the streets, but so did soldiers. Chuck noticed the people without looking at them directly.
He stopped in front of a Russian Orthodox Church. He saw the domes and spires and crosses. He thought of the lost sailors and moved on.
The market teamed with Kiosks, selling flowers, clothes, shoes, flowers, vegetables, and other goods. But Chuck was not here for the sights. He was about to have a crucial meeting. If he failed, time would be lost, and more of the sailors would surely pay with their lives for his failure.
***
Chuck finally found Vitaly Pavlov’s home on a lush green hillside on the edge of town. It looked like the lot covered two acres, and most of it was a thick forest of trees and heavy undergrowth. Rich green bushes prospered here, and a machete would have been needed for a walk. The foliage grew wildly out of control, forming a thick, crowding mesh all around the little home. The deep green trees rose gloriously above the underbrush. Even the home was green. It was a square green cabin, about the size of a two car garage. It had a steep green tin roof and thick patches of green weeds for a front yard. The fence was old and brown and leaning over to one side as it crept along the uneven hillside. The wood fence looked old and rickety, much like the decrepit shack just below the home.
Chuck pushed open a squeaky gate and walked over a slightly muddy driveway, and he saw no tracks to indicate that any cars had come or gone from this house recently. There were no vehicles in the driveway, but smoke curling up out of the chimney told him someone just might be home.
He knocked on the front door. After a minute, it squeaked open. Chuck found himself looking into the eyes of a beautiful girl wearing jeans and a pink sweat shirt.
“I’m looking for Vitaly Pavlov,” Chuck said in English.
“Is he expecting you?” she said in broken English.
“No, I was told that he was a guide who knew the land around Valley of the Geysers.”
“He is not a guide anymore.”
“That’s alright. I still need to talk to him. It’s very important.”
“Wait here.” She closed the door.
He thought about how Vitaly would react to his showing up here.
The girl returned and opened the door. “Come in,” she said. “He’s having a bad day. You can only talk to him for a few minutes.”
She led him to a small bedroom with nothing more than a bed. Vitaly lay there looking like a shadow of death. He peered at Chuck through glossy eyes. Covered with a clean white sheet, he barely moved, but his eyes followed Chuck closely.
“Thank you for seeing me,” Chuck said. “I won’t take long. I need a guide to take me in the area of Valley of the Geysers. I need a reference.”
“There are two such valleys,” Vitaly said in a weak voice, coughing.
“I want to go to the more remote valley to the northwest.”
“Then you are a fool.”
“I have my reasons. Do you know someone who can take me there?”
“No.”
“Why not? You know the area better than anyone. If anyone knows who could take me, it’s you.”
“I won’t … live much longer,” Vitaly said, coughing. “I don’t want to … die with your death on my conscience.”
“I’m a professional. I know the risks, and I am well trained.”
“There are a lot of well-trained dead men. Please leave.”
“Sir, I’m here to save lives. There are others whose lives depend on my success.”
“Then they … have no hope. Count them as dead because there is nothing you can do for them. Good-bye.”
“I cannot leave here without a name. Lives depend upon it. Please, sir.”
Vitaly’s shaky hand pulled the sheet away from his left hand, revealing a gun that was pointed at Chuck. “Get out of here now. Emilia…” He started coughing, but kept his eye on Chuck. “Emilia—”
Chuck nodded. He left the room. He didn’t see the girl Emilia, so he showed himself out.
The hostages’ lives were hanging by a thread and he knew that each passing hour reduced their chance of survival. He knew that much, but he also knew that he had just hit a blind alley.
CHAPTER 7
Peter Paul Statue
There was a lake in town behind the Peter Paul Statue. The statue of the two apostles rose prominently on the view platform along the edge of a small lake. They were honored here because the town was named after them. Petropavlovsk meant Peter Paul. The railing along the edge of the view platform was evidently put there to keep kids from falling into the lake; however, it was now used for a curious purpose. The ironworks of the railing were covered with paddle locks—hundreds of them. Chuck was staring at this curiosity, the lake that spread out in the background and the distant volcano, but he was thinking of the doomed sailors he’d found and the notes he’d read about them in the files.
One of these was Sean Wilson. Sean lived in a studio apartment in Baton Rouge and gave all his money to people in need. Maybe he gave too much. He was also hounded by creditors and it was always a relief to go to sea.
Another was Sachi Yoshida of Japan. Sachi was born in Hiroshima, but loved to go to sea. Whenever he was on land, he would go to the theatre or operas if there was time. He was engaged to be married in nine days.
Chuck knew time was running out for these Americans. He didn’t know which ones were dead and which were alive. He didn’t want to have to bring them home in body bags.
A voice startled him from behind.
“Mr. Brandt.”
He spun around and was surprised to see it was Vitaly’s daughter. She was no longer wearing the jeans and pink sweatshirt as she had been earlier. N
ow she wore a black dress and a white down jacket with a white fur collar that matched her blond hair.
“Emilia, what are you doing here?” Chuck said.
“I want to apologize for my father,” she said. “It is nothing against you. He is scared.”
“He has good reason to be.”
They looked at each other for a moment in silence. Chuck found himself lost in her eyes and grew self-conscious. He turned to the lake. “It’s a beautiful view here.”
“Yes, I stop here sometimes to watch the birds fly low over the water.”
Chuck focused on the birds. He smiled. “I see what you mean. They seem to be having so much fun they way they flit about.”
“They are free,” she said. “Sometimes I wish I was as free as they are.”
“Aren’t you?”
“I have responsibilities. My father needs me. I work, and I take care of him.”
“He is a lucky man to have such a daughter.”
“Thank you.”
Chuck watched the birds for a moment. He said, “Why are all those locks attached to the railing?”
She smiled slightly. “Newlyweds put locks on the railing. It symbolizes that they are locked together in love forever.”
Chuck looked at her then turned back toward the lake. “That’s how it should be,” he said.
“Should be?”
“I was married once, but my wife died.”
“I am sorry,” she said.
“That’s alright. Thank you.”
Silence drifted between them. Chuck heard the screech of a distant seabird.
“I should get going, Emilia.”
“Yes, I should, too.”
“I don’t know if I’ll see you again.”
She nodded. “I’m sorry. I forgot to say why I followed you here.”
“You followed me?”
“My father is not the only guide who can help you.”
“There is another guide?”
“Yes.”
“Who is he?”
She pushed her blond hair back over her shoulder and fur collar. “It is me.”
“You?”
“Yes, why are you surprised? My father raised me alone. He took me with him all the time.”
“I can’t take you with me, Emilia.”
“Why not?”
“It is too dangerous.”
“I’m your only hope.”
“What about your father?”
“He told me to come after you.”
“Really? Why would he do that?”
“To lead you to Belkin.”
Chuck let the name sink in for a moment. To hear that name…Just to hear it…To think that Lenoid Belkin was still alive… For Chuck, the moment was like hearing the breath of a mummy in a crypt.
He said, “But why would your father want you to get involved?”
“My father wants you to kill him.”
“You mean because of what Belkin did to him? Leaving him crippled?”
“Yes, but it is not because of him crippling my father that he wants me to go.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s because … Lenoid Belkin killed my mother.”
Chuck started to speak but stopped himself. “I’m so sorry, but I will not take you with me.”
“Then at least kill him.”
Chuck saw the pain in her eyes. “I have to go,” he said.
“Please let me go with you!”
“I wish you the very best, Emilia, but I have to go.”
He turned to leave, but she grabbed his arm. “Wait.”
He looked back into her sad eyes and felt himself being drawn back to her.
She let go of his arm and reached into her black leather purse. She pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to him. “There is another guide. There is his address. His name is Nicolai Volkov. He is a former Spetsnaz soldier.”
“What do you know about him?”
Emilia pushed her long blond hair behind her shoulder again. “He was a guide for wealthy Russians who came to Kamchatka to hunt game.”
“And he can take me to Belkin?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you, Emilia. I will talk to him.”
“Good-bye then.” She turned and hurried away.
Chuck stood there for a moment, certain he’d just saved her life, knowing it might be the last good deed of his life.
He wondered about why his bosses in the CIA had chosen him, a lone operator, to go against Lenoid Belkin and his forty killers. Someone in Langley didn’t like him very much—or know how good he was.
CHAPTER 8
CIA Headquarters
Langley, Virginia
CIA Deputy Director Carl Seychel was taking a walk in one of the sprawling parking lots of CIA headquarters. He wore a black suit and tie and wire-rimmed glasses. A breeze was blowing, but his hair didn’t move because it was pasted down with hair grease. Seychel was a holdover from the last administration and rumors were circulating that he would soon be replaced. As a result, he had been making some moves to set himself up in the private sector. He’d used his influence and power to open doors. He knew that power must be used or lost. He wasn’t interested in traditional businesses and wasn’t looking for a job and a salary. Instead, he was looking to play with the big dogs, and he’d made some extremely bold moves. It was rough business, but he was riding the wave to glory. Unfortunately, he knew that if he wanted major success, he had to take major risks. It was a high-stress high-wire act. He’d had some bad luck, so now he was determined to double down.
Seychel made a call with his burner cell phone. He was calling a business associate named Maxim Cress.
“Yeah,” a voice said.
“This is Seychel.”
“Where the hell you been? I been trying to call you for a week.”
“Look, I’m sorry,” Seychel said. “Things have been really crazy.”
“Yeah, I don’t want to hear about it, alright. I couldn’t give a rat’s ass what your problems are.”
“I understand your anxiety.”
“Anxiety? I think heart attack is closer to the truth. Let me explain something to you, Seychel. The last guy who gave me a heart attack ended up six feet under. He had a bad day when his car exploded. Am I making myself clear?”
“I got it.”
“I’m not so sure you do. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been getting the runaround for six days.”
“I’ve been out of the country.”
“Don’t give me that crap. I been out of the country, too, but that don’t mean I don’t have obligations. Now, let’s get something straight. You and I have some business to finalize.”
Seychel walked along a row of cars. “I know that. I just need a little more time.”
“More time?” Cress said. “You don’t take my calls for a week and then you want more time? Let me explain something to you, Seychel. You don’t want to see me angry.”
“You’ll get your money. My partner came through. In fact, if anything, he’s been too successful.”
“That sounds like B.S. You lie to me, Seychel, and I’ll dig you a hole myself.”
“I’m not lying. My partner and I have put ourselves in a position to pay you back and to move to the next level.”
“Big moves, uh … In Colombia. You lost big. Fine. That’s the way it goes sometimes. But when you have a debt to me, you pay up on time. That’s all there is to it. I’m calling the loan. Time is up.”
“Things are looking a lot brighter than you think. The clown who wrote that article in the Journal doesn’t know half of what we have going on.”
“Is that right? Then where’s my money?”
“Like I said, you’ll have it soon.”
“You think you’re in a position to dictate to me? Is that it?”
“No, of course, not. I’m doing everything possible.”
“Excellent, Seychel, because if I don’t get my $10 million in the next twenty-four
hours, the time for excuses will be over.”
Seychel hung up. He could smell his own stress-induced body odor. He knew he was right about the big score of his partner. The problem was that Seychel couldn’t get a-hold of him. Belkin had fallen off the map. He lived in his own isolated world and was always hard to contact.
CHAPTER 9
Valley of the Geysers, Kamchatka
Sulfur Valley was located near the eastern coast of the Kamchatka Peninsula, among the volcanic ranges of the Eastern Volcano Belt, 240 km northeast of Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky. Chuck’s helicopter was a Haze, an old Soviet antisubmarine variant of the M-8 Hip helicopter, which entered military service in 1967. This Haze had been retired from military service for over twenty years and needed to be retired for good. The pilot landed in a little-known, remote section of Sulfur Valley seventeen miles away from the main section. It was five miles away from Chuck’s final destination so that he could make a surreptitious approach to Belkin’s compound.
Chuck and his guide Nicolai jogged away from the helicopter and dropped their packs and weapons in a clearing in a birch forest. Chuck waved to the pilot as the chopper lifted off and soared back toward the southwest. He set down his assault rifle, leaning it against a rock. Carefully, he put his compound bow next to it—carefully since three of the arrows had explosive tips.
Nicolai kneeled down and laced his boots. Then he slammed a clip into his handgun and chambered a round in is M21 Yugoslav rifle.
Chuck said, “Remember, Nicolai, I only need you to get me close.”
“Yeah, but I still need a rifle. Bears and foot patrols.”
“And you can take care of yourself if we meet a patrol?”
“I was Russian special forces.”
Chuck nodded. “That’s very good. Still, it’s not too late to back out.”
“Why would I?”
“I told you the risks.”
“I will be fine. I always say that nothing is difficult if you put your mind to it. I will get you where you want to go. For what you have in mind, however, I cannot be so optimistic. No, my friend, you are the one who should back out.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Are you sure? Better to be a live dog than a dead lion.”
