by Greig Beck
“We have seven days until we’re supposed to meet. I can be in Moscow in just a few days and then be back by the meeting date.” Marcus rubbed his chin for a moment before spinning back to the big Russian. “I can do it, if I leave right now. You take me to Listvyanka and I’ll grab a train.”
Yuri grimaced. “This is very bad idea. They might be watching the stations and airports. These people are dangerous because they’re ruthless, and also because they are smart. We need to think about this, please, Marcus.”
But it was impossible to think clearly. He was also more pissed than he’d ever been in his life. These assholes came out of nowhere and threatened his livelihood, his business, his life, and that of his family as well? Like hell, he thought.
He had zero choice; it was a no-win situation he needed to take head-on before it totally owned him.
“I have thought about it.” He faced his friend again. “We don’t have a choice; there’s too much at stake.”
Yuri nodded slowly. “Yes, there is a lot at stake, but…”
“Then it’s done.” Marcus turned toward the house, planning to pull a bag of clothing and toiletries together. He half-turned as he ran up the hill. “There’s more than a lot at stake; there’s everything at stake.”
CHAPTER 09
52 miles outside of Listvyanka
“Done and done.” Marcus disconnected his call. As he hoped, Listvyanka had little problem with phone reception like at the mill house compound, and he was able to secure an early meeting with Mikhail Ivanov from the Federal Agency for Fisheries and Conservation.
For some reason, just getting the meeting from the senior Moscow bureaucrat lifted his spirits. Something was going right for a change. And about time, he thought.
Marcus nestled back in his seat and pulled up the hooded collar on his orange SeaWorld jacket; he had the train carriage to himself, and it rattled and shook as he barrelled toward his destination. It was ink-dark outside the window and resting his head facing it, all he saw was his image reflected back at him—he looked tired, and also a little worried.
The train ride would take many more hours yet, and the rhythmic rocking and clackety-clack of the steel wheels on the iron rails was lulling him to sleep regardless of the shaking.
His eyelids grew impossibly heavy and he started to drift. He smiled as he saw Sara in his dream; it was that time again where she had the little green bird nestled in her hands that had stunned itself after hitting one of their windows. He looked down as she opened her cupped hands, showing him the small animal sitting there, looking up at him. It shook itself and then settled back down. It seemed to know it was safe in her hands.
The train slowed and then stopped. Marcus frowned and looked out the window. They weren’t close to any station and he guessed someone was getting on or off.
Weird, he thought. “Siberia.” He snorted. “Hey.” He lurched forward, smiling. “You idiot; don’t waste the reception… and hang the cost.” He dialed the numbers for home and waited impatiently as it rang, and rang, and then:
“Hello?”
He exhaled, feeling warm all over just at hearing her voice again. “Hiya, beautiful.”
“Marcus!” She near shouted down the line. “How are things going at the mill? How’s the weather? How are you?”
He smiled and closed his eyes, hunching over to talk softly even though he was alone in the carriage. “Ah, you know, a few teething problems, but nothing a week on a tropical island couldn’t fix.”
“I can’t wait to see what you’ve done.” She rushed her words now. “I’ve developed some great new techniques for the breeding programs, plus a synthesized food that’ll promote growth. I’m getting squared away so will be there soon.”
“You’re my champion. And I miss you so much.” He chuckled softly. “But maybe you should hold off for a few more weeks. Just until I bed down some last-minute things.”
“What? No. I can help.” Her voice became serious. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
His head came up as he heard the carriage’s rear door be pulled back. Then came the sound of footsteps as a man with a phone to his ear went past, briefly glanced at him, and then kept on going out and through the door to the next carriage. Marcus thought little of it and turned back to the window.
“Nothing serious. Just the unexpected complexities of working in Siberia.” He laughed softly. “Bureaucracy; nothing I can’t handle.”
“Is it the fish and egg deliveries? The pen sites? The compound? What can I be doing from here?” she implored.
“You just being you, is all I need right now.” It was times like this he felt homesick. He traveled a lot, and though he always missed Sara, it was when things were going bad, or he was lonely, or sad, that missing her became unbearable. And right now, he missed her calm intellect, her face, her body, her smell, her love, and every other damn thing about her. He wished she were here right now.
No, on second thought, he was glad she was far away until he had all this bad shit sorted out. But he needed her.
“Well, okay, but I know you and something’s up,” she mused.
The rear door of the carriage opened again, and this time, there were multiple footsteps. He was about to turn, when the front carriage door opened and the guy who went through a few minutes before reappeared. But this time, he closed it and just stood there, back to the door and blocking it with his body. His amused eyes were on Marcus.
“Ah, shit. Bratva,” he breathed out. Now he knew who got on the train a while back.
“What?” Her voice had an edge. “Marcus?”
Immediately, alarms started to go off in Marcus’ head and he swung around. That was when his heart sank. Tushino and his henchmen were sitting in seats a few back, grinning or giggling.
“Hello again, Mr. Stenson. Small world, yes?” Tushino got to his feet and came to sit across from Marcus. “Who would think we would both be going to Moscow at same time, hmm?”
“Who’s that?” He heard her say as he lowered the phone from his ear. He faced the men while working to keep his expression deadpan. “Yeah, lucky me.”
“Lucky, yes.” Tushino sat forward. “So, where would Mr. Stenson be going today? Visit relatives, maybe?” He chuckled and turned to his men. “Maybe he has little old babushka hidden away in Moscow.”
His men brayed and Tushino’s face became serious. “Or maybe you have friend in Agency for Fisheries and Conservation?” He pointed at the phone. “You talk to them now?”
Marcus shook his head, realizing Sara was still on the line. He expected that he was in for a beating and would cop it. But he didn’t want Sara to know. He’d had fights before, and even though he was outnumbered, he’d sure as hell let these assholes know they’d been in a match.
“Just my accountant.” He put the phone to his ear. “Okay, Lenny, call you back later.”
“Marcus… Marcus…”
He hung up, cutting Sara off.
God, he wished his brother were here. He and Carter would wipe the floor with all of them, twice over.
He’d tell them nothing and only give them enough so that they thought they still had a chance of securing their black money. “Just need to get some supplies myself. Lab equipment, that sort of stuff.” He folded his arms and sat back.
“Really?” Tushino raised thick eyebrows. “Funny thing about Russia is that everyone likes a little bit of extra money. Whether it’s the postman, the shopkeeper, the police chief, or the politician. You see, my boss, Mr. Gennardy Zyuganov, also knows people in the fish ministry, and they mentioned you had made an urgent meeting plan with their chief scientist.” His brows went up. “Just for supplies?”
“Yep.” Marcus yawned. “I’m a little tired now and want to get a few hours’ sleep. Do you mind?”
Tushino shook his head slowly. “No sleep for you this night, I’m afraid.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded document. “This is contracting to give Mr. Zyuganov a 51% controlling stake in
your company.” He flattened it out and also took out an expensive-looking pen and opened it. “No need to read it; just legal stuff.” He handed it over. “Sign, and we’ll get off next stop. And we all stay friends.”
Marcus made no move to take it from him. His mind worked a mile a minute as he tried to think of responses to put the guy in hibernation. Right now, he was alone, outnumbered, and outflanked.
“That’s not the way we Americans do contracts. Let me take it to my lawyer, check it out, and then see if we can come to some sort of agreement. I can guarantee I’ll have an answer by the meeting you called, next week.”
Tushino’s grin was back. “I don’t care how you Americans do contracts. You’re not in America now. And in Russia, business is governed by Russian law.” He exhaled with theatrical exasperation. “This is the problem with American arrogance; you always think that you are the ones who are in charge. Even if you are not in your own country.”
Here goes nothing, Marcus thought. He shook his head. “Sorry, buddy, not signing anything today.”
Tushino’s eyes were half-lidded. “Well, if you sign today, we will own 51% of your company. If you sign tomorrow, it’ll be 61%. The day after, 71%. You see how this works? Better to sign today.” Tushino held the pen and contract out.
Marcus shrugged. “I can’t anyway. The business is in both my wife’s name and mine. Even under Russian law, it requires both of us to approve something this significant.”
Tushino’s eyes flicked to one of the people behind Marcus momentarily, before he eased back in the seat. He seemed to think it over for a minute. “Yes, it would be better if only one person we need to negotiate with.”
Marcus suddenly had a horrible thought. “Forget it; my wife’s not coming now. So you get to deal with me and me only.”
Tushino tilted his head. “But your wife is coming. And I think once you get to Moscow, you may tell her not to come. But if you don’t tell her not to come…” He smirked. “Then she’ll come, and when she sees you have already signed, then she will sign.”
The Russian’s eyes flicked to just over Marcus’ shoulder and he gave a near-imperceptible nod. Suddenly, a strap went over his head to catch him around the neck. Immediately, a crushing pressure was applied and it happened so quickly he had no chance of getting his fingers under the leather.
Marcus threw a punch over his shoulder but was grabbed by two other sets of arms as he thrashed and kicked. But his head began to pound and his throat was on fire. He quickly ran out of oxygen and felt his eyes bulging as his strength ebbed away.
Tushino’s face started to become blurry as the man simply sat and smiled as his life was being taken from him. The Russian held up a hand and the pressure eased. He slid the contract forward.
“Easy choice; sign or die.”
Marcus coughed, his voice hoarse. “You need me; you can’t kill me.”
Tushino nodded again, and one of the huge men holding his arm quickly reached forward and grabbed a finger, jerking it backward until it snapped like a dry stick.
Marcus howled from the excruciating pain.
“Sign.” Tushino’s gaze was amused.
“You… son of a bitch.” Marcus grit his teeth.
Tushino nodded again, and a second finger was grabbed.
“Wait…” Marcus yelled.
He didn’t, and the finger was jerked backward and broken like the first. Tears ran down Marcus’ cheeks, and he saw his hand with the two largest fingers sticking up at wrong angles.
“Number three?” Tushino jeered.
‘No, no, I’ll sign.” Marcus needed time to think, and he had none here.
“Good, good.” The Russian slid the contract forward and held out the pen once again.
Tushino’s goons released his arms but stayed hovering at each shoulder. Marcus lifted the pen and scrawled on the page. He dropped the pen.
“Fuck you.”
The Russian bratva leader ignored him and turned the contract around and scrutinized it. “Good; thank you, Mr. Stenson. And now, my business with you is concluded. Goodbye.” He jerked his head to the side, and Marcus was pulled from his seat.
“Hey, hey.” He was dragged down the center of the carriage aisle to the exit, and once in between the old carriages, he was immediately assaulted by the deafening sounds of steel wheels on the iron tracks and also the freezing wind howling like a thousand banshees.
One of the thugs said something to him in Russian, laughed cruelly, and then threw him off the moving train.
*****
Marcus trudged alone for hours, his collar on his SeaWorld jacket pulled up, cradling the mangled hand in his other hand. His shoulder felt like it was dislocated, his face was scraped raw, his phone gone, and he couldn’t feel his nose and tips of his ears. But he was alive.
There was no moon, and he walked as close as he dared to the train tracks, hoping that he’d make it back to Listvyanka in the next few hours. The temperature was dropping, and he would have given anything for a hat that pulled down over his ears, as he bet by now the tips would be blood red, and then if he was out much more, the tips might even turn black.
The temperature dropping also meant he might be closing in on the lake, and he remembered that the train line passed close to the water for a few miles as it pulled out of the town.
Not far now, he hoped.
The upside of the cold was his fingers had stopped throbbing. He hated to look down at the twisted contraption that used to be his hand. He’d head home to get it repaired so the fingers knitted properly. He needed his hands.
“Arthritis central, here I come.” He chuckled and the sound was sucked away by a bitter wind.
In another few hundred yards, he thought he saw the dark sheets of ice signifying the lake surface, and then moments more he spotted a glow, green, and coming from just behind the tree line. It didn’t look right.
“What’s that?” he asked aloud, perhaps to bolster his own confidence.
The wind seemed to die away, and he felt he was walking in a vacuum. The only sound came from his feet as they crunched down on the snow. Then he heard it, the other footsteps. They were heavier, and he bet, larger.
He looked over his shoulder, but saw nothing. Then looked left and right, contemplating crossing the train tracks.
Marcus felt the fluttering of nerves in his stomach. The campfire tales the Yakut Russians told rushed back into his mind, and he suddenly knew how the superstitions took hold. He looked back again.
“Keep it together, buddy,” he whispered and turned back just as the shadow loomed over him. He had to crane his neck to look up at its face, and when he saw, his breath caught in his throat.
Marcus could only stare, open-mouthed. He knew what was coming, but didn’t think of himself. Instead, he thought of Sara holding her cupped hands out to him. She opened them, showing him the small green bird that had been nestling there, nestling all this time in his memories. Except this time, it suddenly flew away.
His scream was cut dead as it took him.
EPISODE 02
CHAPTER 10
INTERACTION: Northern shore of Lake Baikal—1602
“What was that?”
Vasily sat up in the dark, grabbing his shaska, the special, curved Cossack sabers both men carried. Kurbat was also instantly awake and sat listening for a few moments. The sound came again—a cracking like splintering wood, or…
“Ice breaking.”
Vasily frowned. “Can it be thawing?”
“No, not this time of year,” Kurbat replied. “Something else.”
The pair listened some more, and sure enough, the cracking sound came again, this time accompanied by the sound of water falling. Kurbat stoked the fire up and in a few minutes, it was blazing and the light created a glow around the men for fifty feet.
The deep cracking continued, louder, and seemingly even closer. Kurbat Kolesnikov and Vasily Ivanov had been friends for over a decade and in their lives they’d encountered g
iant bear, wild tribesmen, wolf packs, and vicious weather, and prevailed every time. They didn’t scare easily.
“We take a look.” Kurbat lit a lantern and also grabbed a spear.
Vasily followed with a burning torch and his weapons. Kurbat was first to the shoreline, holding his lantern out and craning forward.
“See, the ice is broken open.”
Sure enough, a huge swathe of ice, looking around four feet thick, was pushed up and back like the folds of a giant’s blanket.
“I see a light,” Vasily whispered. “It seems to be coming from under the water.” He stood slowly, but stayed behind a tree trunk. “How can fire burn beneath water?”
“No fire that I know. But maybe black magic.” Kurbat also stood.
“I don’t like this. I think we must leave, now,” Vasily insisted.
“Not yet,” Kurbat replied firmly.
The pair crept nearer and saw the snow near the water was dry and though none had fallen for a while, it was like a smooth blanket—mostly—because just to the left of where they hid, there were lines of tracks leaving the dark lake.
“Something came out of the water,” Vasily whispered.
Kurbat held his lantern up. “Seals maybe.”
Kurbat edged closer and crouched to examine the marks—whatever it was, it looked to walk on spindly legs, many of them, that were wide apart.
“Some sort of new animal,” Kurbat mused. “Let’s follow them.”
In just a few minutes, they came to a mound of something wet that still had steam rising from it as it rapidly cooled in the freezing air. Kurbat edged forward toward the mass.
“What is this?” He prodded it with his spear.
Vasily grimaced at the massive pile of viscera. Something had been slaughtered and disemboweled, and given it was still hot, it had all happened quite recently.
“Wolves, or maybe hunters,” Vasily surmised. “Gutted a deer.”
“Bigger than a deer,” Kurbat said and backed up. “And why didn’t we hear it? There should have been screaming like the devil himself was being tortured.” He continued to back up behind Vasily.
