by Greig Beck
All their fish were tagged with electronic sensors that were the equivalent of being on a technical leash—they knew exactly where the fish were at all times. The computer plotted on them a schematic map as all being within a 200-yard space of the western end of the pen.
Yuri maneuvered the camera in their direction, and soon he found the first of them. The huge fish was on the bottom, resting; its eyes shone back silver from under the bony scutes of a brow ridge. On seeing the camera’s light approaching, it gently flicked its tail and glided away, like a long aircraft taking off.
In another 30 minutes, they had found every one of their charges.
“All present and accounted for,” Carter said.
Theoretically, they could have known that from the mill compound, as an alarm was set to go off if any of the fish moved beyond the netting wall. But the net needed to be checked, and one thing the sensors couldn’t do was give an indication of the fish’s health, only their location.
“Okay, bringing camera back.” Yuri used the small joystick to speed the camera back toward them as Carter hauled in the line. It took another 15 minutes before the small camera’s light began to illuminate the dark hole on the ice.
Carter didn’t need to go down the ice steps, as the water had welled up to the surface, and the camera bobbed up right beside him. He reached out, grabbed the box, and hauled it in. Even through his gloves, he could feel the bitter cold from the water and thanked their lucky stars he didn’t need to go in today.
The pool of dark water in the center of their tent suddenly welled up.
“Hey…” Carter lay the camera down. “What the hell?”
Then they felt something else—there was a thump from the ice sheets. The pair froze and Yuri slowly turned to Carter.
“What was this?”
“I think something just hit the ice,” Carter said. “Could a sturgeon do that?”
“Maybe. But why would it?” Yuri licked his lips. “Come on.” He stood and backed out of the small tent with Carter right behind him.
Immediately outside, they felt the bite of the wind chill, and the glare of the muted sunshine on the endless ice sheets made them squint.
Yuri took out a small pair of binoculars, put them to his eyes, and then turned about slowly. Carter put on his sunglasses from the glare and also looked out over the ice. Did something just come down on the ice, or bump up into it? he wondered.
There was another thump, followed by a cracking and vibration that tickled the soles of Carter’s feet. He gritted his teeth. “I can’t see anything, but it feels kinda close.”
“I think is coming from underneath us,” Yuri said and then nodded. “Yes, I think this is what it is; below the ice, not above.”
“Shit.” Carter spun about, and then looked down. “Underneath us.”
Yuri walked forward a few paces. “Maybe not directly underneath us. The sound and vibrations could be carrying for a long way.” He continued to turn about.
Carter looked down at the ice. He knew what freezing water could do to the human body, and it only took three minutes before internal organs could start shutting down. “Hey, are we safe here?”
“There.” Yuri pointed just as there came another crackling rumble, and then a sound that was like huge trees splintering.
Carter followed his direction and could see several hundred yards further north and away from the shoreline what looked like an explosion of white happening—a geyser of ice and snow as it was thrown into the air.
“Shit, something is coming up.” Carter backed up. For some insane reason, he thought it must have been a submarine breaching, but then had no idea why he thought that, as there were no subs in Lake Baikal.
With pounding smacks, the airborne slabs of ice came back to earth, and just as quickly as it started, it seemed over. The pair of men stood and stared for several more moments.
“We gotta check this out,” Carter said.
“No, not a good idea.” Yuri threw out an arm.
Carter slapped his shoulder. “I’ll take the lead then, you can follow.”
Carter turned and ran to his snowmobile, threw a leg over it, and started the engine. Yuri was close behind, muttering his warnings all the way as Carter took off and sped toward the disturbance.
He was traveling fast, eating up the distance in seconds. He had no idea what he was about to encounter, or what he’d do when he got there. But he could feel the solid weight of the gun in its holster at his back.
Carter slowed when he was just 50 feet out and turned off the engine, the bobcat sliding to a stop. He slowly got off and waited for Yuri to do the same.
“Take it slow,” the Russian said and then turned. “You first.”
Carter grinned and turned back to the huge mound of broken ice slabs, and the pair of men had both pulled their guns and held them in two-handed grips. Carter approached and Yuri was at his shoulder.
Even up close, it still looked as if a submarine had breached the way the slabs had been pushed up, some of them were broken into boulders and shunted aside. It had taken Yuri close to an hour with a chainsaw and axe to cut and hack through the ice. But whatever did this had done it in seconds, and it must have been big.
Carter waved Yuri to the other side of the breach. The explosion of ice was about 40 feet wide, and he wanted plenty of space in the event either of them had to fire their guns.
Carter stepped up on a slab, and then another, climbing the outer edge of the ice crater. When he was about eight feet up from the lake-ice surface, he peered over the edge of the broken ice, down into its center.
There was open water there, still not fully welled up from below. It swirled and boiled as if there was something moving about in there, but the water was inky black and impossible to see below the surface for more than a foot or so. But as he stared, he was sure there was a green glow coming from deep in its center.
Yuri’s head came up from the other side. He looked down and then across to Carter. He shrugged.
Carter wished he had the camera to toss it in to get a look down there, but bet he’d lose it in seconds. Instead, he settled for picking up a fist-sized lump of ice and lobbing it into the agitated pool.
It splashed into the center and in response, there came an almighty explosion of freezing water. Carter cringed back, but nothing came up with the water. In a second or two, he lifted his head and looked down again. The green glow was gone.
The water was still and calm, and it began to slowly well up to the ice’s surface. He watched it for a full five minutes, but there seemed nothing there but ice and freezing water now. He even tossed in another chunk of ice, but it splashed and sunk without any more response. Whatever had been in there was now gone.
Carter waved at Yuri and clambered back down. The pair met up at their snow bobcats. Carter exhaled and stared back at the explosion of ice.
“Any ideas?”
Yuri shook his head. “There are no whales here, no submarines, and no seal or sturgeon is going to be able to punch a hole through six feet of ice.” He sighed and looked back at the crater of exploded ice sheets. “I have heard that sometimes the ice sheets can buckle and twist if there is a big storm somewhere pushing on the water and ice layers.”
“That’s not a buckle, but a freaking hole.” Carter scoffed.
“Then I have no ideas.” Yuri shrugged.
“I’d love to see what’s down there.” Carter placed his hands on his hips.
Yuri blanched. “Please, Carter, do not even think of doing that.”
Carter stared at the crater for a few more moments. “Nah, not this day. But I don’t like mysteries.” He turned and grinned. “I mean more mysteries.” He stared for a moment more, his mind working. “Hey, drop a camera in, and set it to auto-record. We’ll get it later.”
“Sure.” Yuri paused. “Hover, or sink to bottom?”
“Put it on the bottom,” Carter replied.
Yuri nodded and set to rigging the camera, and
then, with Carter, scaled the broken ice. He handed it to Carter.
Carter carefully eased down toward the pitch-black water and tossed the camera in. It would auto pilot itself to the bottom, where it would land, and then watch the darkness until they retrieved it or it filled its memory chip.
“We’ll come back in a few days.” Carter clamored out of the crater.
Yuri just exhaled. Carter threw a leg over his snowmobile. “Okay, let’s grab the rest of our stuff.” He glanced back at the ice explosion. “Might be a good idea not to mention this to the others. There’s enough things to worry about already.”
“Da.”
Yuri glanced back at the broken ice and then to Carter. For the first time, Carter noticed that the big Russian looked scared.
EPISODE 04
CHAPTER 28
INTERACTION: Overlooking the Mill Compound—10 minutes ago
Stanislov Borga was dressed in all white camouflage clothing and was a silent and near-invisible ghost as he moved through the snow-draped landscape.
Over his shoulder was an SVD Dragunov sniper rifle with a five-round magazine—it was reliable, light, and he was deadly accurate with it for up to half a mile. Though the tree coverage was still thick on the hill, the air was breathless and had a clarity that was perfect for a marksman.
Borga had been given his targets—two of them, the man and woman. Either one was acceptable as his job was to send a message. However, the American man, Carter Stenson, was the real priority target.
He found a perch behind a large tree and settled down to wait. It was still early morning and he had at least eight hours of light to wait for a perfect kill shot. But he also had light amplification equipment so if he had to camp out, he would.
It had taken him a day and a half to get to the lake and then wend his way circuitously through the thick forest, so he was determined not to head back without completing his mission.
He had been engaged by the local bratva, but he was a freelance assassin for hire. It didn’t matter to him if it was a man, woman, or child, what their crime or politics were, or whether it was simple revenge or even the removal of an opponent. If the money was right, his target was as good as dead.
Borga lit a smoke and exhaled through clenched teeth, spreading the smoke. The smoke would dissipate quickly and the cold locked up odors so he wasn’t worried about it being detected. However, if he were here in the dark, he’d have to dispense with smoking. But he suspected his job would be completed well before then.
He lifted his rifle, looking through the scope to scan the compound—there was the main manager’s house that his briefing notes had told him was used by Sara Stenson. Then there were about a dozen smaller cabins used by the workers, and one of them by Carter Stenson. The major building was the old mill house that had been turned into their laboratory, hatchery, and administration center.
Borga sucked in another lungful of smoke and eased it out again. He’d been freelancing ever since he left the Spetsnaz forces. He’d enjoyed his work there, but the pay was shit. Now, he only needed one good hit on a high-profile target to make nearly an entire year’s wage. And a confirmed kill today would do just that for him.
Confirmed kills were never a problem for him. Borga specialized in headshots and with the Dragunov’s 7.62mm caliber rounds and a muzzle velocity of 2,500 feet per second, the effects were a hole in one side of the skull and the other half blown off like a broken dinner plate.
He’d heard Americans had hard heads, and he couldn’t wait to test that and see Carter Stenson’s in pieces.
Borga stubbed out his cigarette against the tree trunk and waited. This was the hard part, what separated the professionals from the amateurs. Impatience and nervous energy were enemies that needed to be conquered. The right shot was worth waiting for. A rushed shot could mean a catastrophe, as the target not only lived, but also then made it impossible to get to them a second time.
Borga’s neck prickled and he glanced over his left shoulder. Then a few seconds later, the right one, and continued to watch. He slowed his breathing so he could focus—a soldier’s intuition told him when he wasn’t alone.
The sniper crouched and carefully lifted his rifle to his eye, sighting through the scope and then panning it slowly along the wall of forest. A few flakes of snow drifted down but the air still had good clarity. Even so, the number of trees meant that further in, if anyone was hiding, they could be easily obscured.
Borga lowered the rifle and tilted his head to listen. Was there the soft scrunch of snow underfoot? He concentrated, but it wasn’t repeated.
There was always the chance he could be discovered purely by accident. People could come hunting, gathering wood, or simply stretching their legs. He would always try and avoid killing innocent civilians, only because it might attract attention. Also, he didn’t get paid for it.
He couldn’t see anything and decided he might move from where he was currently staked out and shift a little further along the ridgeline. Borga turned away from the forest and put his rifle over his shoulder. He then began to rise to his feet.
The sniper took one last look down at the compound. Big mistake. There came the rushed sound of something heavy moving through the snow behind him. He spun, reaching for his gun at the same time.
But his hand froze as the shadow fell over him. It wasn’t a man, but seemed to be a massive bear. The thing didn’t growl or even grunt, but he was grabbed by the throat with one massive, taloned paw, the pads or claws shutting down his windpipe. Borga was lifted in the air and his legs bicycled uselessly beneath him.
Like a child, he was tucked under a heavily furred arm. The stink of the thing clogged his nostrils as he began to beat at it. But he might as well have been striking a side of beef for all the effect he was having.
The thing was cold beneath the fur, and the stink was one of corruption rather than the cookie-like smell of a furred beast. Borga reached for the knife at his waist, drew it, and stabbed upward into the bear’s armpit. The blade sunk in deep. But no blood spurted, there was no roar of pain, and the thing didn’t even flinch. Instead, something like dark rope flashed out of the wound and pulled it closed.
The massive paw was taken away from his throat and Borga yelled. He knew when he was in the shit and needed help. The mission was over and only survival mattered now.
He yelled again, as he could make out now where they were heading—the frozen lake was in front of them. Was the beast planning to take him out onto the ice? Maybe its den was somewhere up or down the shoreline.
Borga still had his gun over his shoulder and knew he only needed a few seconds if he was released to put a bullet in the beast’s head.
But when the creature got to the frozen lake edge, it didn’t step onto the ice, but instead leaned forward to tear a hole in it with one enormous arm. Huge chunks were lifted and pushed aside, exposing water that was blacker and colder than hell.
“No, no…”
To his horror, Borga could see what was going to happen next. The creature burrowed into the hole in the ice it had made—directly into the freezing water.
The assassin sucked in a deep breath, but as soon as he entered the water, it was like being punched in the gut and the cold against his skin felt like it burned. In just a few seconds, his lungs exploded to force him to try and gulp air, but instead he sucked in the terrible, black water.
His last thought was how much the freezing water hurt his teeth before the darkness took him.
*****
Red saw Mitch lift a hand and he held his position. The pair had been tasked with patrolling the perimeter of the mill compound, and even though it was daytime, the light was a muted washed out grey from the heavy cloud cover that extended all the way down to the treetops.
“I don’t like this,” Mitch whispered.
Red scoffed and looked over his shoulder. “What? You mean the cold, the food, the being stuck out in the Russian boonies, or the fact that there could be some
sort of weird-ass creatures running around out here, climbing inside dead bears, and making them act like giant puppets?”
Mitch grinned. “Yeah, that last one… and also the food.”
“Makes two of us,” Red said. “Come on. The sooner we’re done, the sooner we’re back drinking vodka and eating barbecued reindeer.”
The pair continued on, rifles ready, and even though both men were highly experienced and normally cool as ice cubes, both of the ex-Special Force’s soldiers had nerves that were currently strung wire-tight.
Red hadn’t felt this edgy since their last tour of Afghanistan where they were on night patrol in a Taliban-controlled zone. Just like then, he had the feeling of being watched and of imminent danger.
There had been a snowfall an hour or two back and the effect was powdery dry snow that squeak-scrunched underfoot—it was also virgin snow, meaning it was unblemished by tracks of any kind.
The cold, and the snow had other effects—it damped down sounds so the only noise came from their own plodding footsteps in the powder that pressed all the way to their calves.
“There—tracks—not human,” Mitch said.
“Shit,” Red hissed.
“What do you wanna do?” Mitch crouched behind a tree trunk.
Red crouched beside him and looked again at the tracks. “Yeah, big sucker.” He pointed with the barrel of his gun. “Came from out there and headed further into the forest, over that way.”
“Follow?” Mitch asked.
“Wait.” Red held up a hand and tilted his head. “Did you hear that?”
Mitch turned and the pair crouched in silence for a couple more minutes before Mitch slowly shook his head. “Something… a bird maybe?”
“Nah, thought it was a yell.” Red checked his wristwatch—it was only mid-morning. “We got time to check this out. Priority one, we make sure whatever this sonofabitch is, it doesn’t wander into our camp.”
“I heard that, compadre,” Mitch agreed.
