The River of Bones v5 (11 page)

What was bravery all about?  Was feeling fearful always part of the big picture?  Did Jake and Simon sense fear like she did when they faced danger?  Were you less courageous than others when your stomach knotted up, yet you still charged ahead?  She must learn to control her anxiety, and maybe Jake and Simon would share their thoughts with her someday soon.

Her grandson had looked thunderstruck the day she’d taken him to Love Field in Dallas and told him to watch her solo a Cessna 172 and the Robinson R22.  But . . . his maternal grandparents had hit the roof when they’d found out about her flying lessons.  What’s wrong with you?  Have you lost your senses, especially at your age? they’d yelled.

Their comments had really angered her. 
At her age.
  What did they think, that she was a hundred?  She had screwed Simon’s lights out in Las Vegas and loved every minute of it.  What made them think they had any business telling her to dry up and blow away?  She smiled, remembering how her grandson had come to her defense, even with one of his hugs.  He had told them to leave her alone, and that he thought she was Captain Terrific.  She still felt tears in her eyes when she recalled how loudly he’d spoken out for her.  He was growing up and getting over his parents’ death.  God bless him . . .

Joining the long queue in front of Lenin’s Tomb, she began the solemn march past his well preserved remains.  Why did the Russian people keep him?  The man had deliberately sentenced millions to death when he’d founded the world’s first communist state.  She especially despised him for his complicity in the macabre slaying of Tsar Nicholas Romanov’s family.  How could any sane man order the shooting, stabbing, and dismemberment of the lone, sickly son and four beautiful daughters of the tsar and tsarina?  She felt like spitting when she walked past his glass coffin, but thought better of it, because the guards looked very unfriendly.

She toured the city for five days, even learning to board the Metro, the world’s busiest underground rail system, moving seven million people daily in their need to get around.  She always woke early, memorized her destination in the Cyrillic alphabet, then had someone at the front desk who spoke English write down the same place in translation before she set off.

Curiously, she found some Metro rail cars used trick mirrors for decoration, warping everyone’s reflection into comical shapes, like when one visited a fairground.  But she noticed very few Muscovites ever laughed at their images.  Why were they always so grim?

She began learning certain Russian expressions as well, using them during her trips around the city.  Her favorite was
“Pamagite mne pazhalusta?” 
She’d found most people
were
willing to help her, and many spoke English.  Each day she had grown bolder.

Finally, the day came for her to catch her Aeroflot flight to Novosibirsk and the covert part of her trip.  She packed, checked out, and caught the Savoy’s chauffeured car to Sheremetyevo I, the domestic airport serving Russia’s outlying cities, St. Petersburg being the principal one.  Once again she trembled, praying for her safety as the driver glanced at her handwritten note and tore down the street.  She was on her way, come hell or high water.

She found the airport very primitive with only an untidy tea counter and a few kiosks.  After buying an English language newspaper at one, she sat, drank tea, and waited, then waited some more.  Her travel agent had warned her about Aeroflot’s hours of delays, also their wretched, smelly airplanes with cattle-car seating.  Would they ever call the flight to Novosibirsk?  What would the city look like?  At last she heard the odd syllables of her destination called on the terminal’s speakers and boarded the plane.

For hours she sat cramped between the side of the airplane and a fat man with a cleft palate who spoke no English.  Just my luck, she thought to herself.  Why couldn’t the person have been an educated Russian woman, fluent in English and familiar with Akademgorodok?  Then she could have learned about visiting the famed academic city that was being so criticized in recent times.  She had recently read its scientists were studying the feasibility of reversing the flow of several Siberian rivers and sending them to the deserts of Central Asia, diverting them away from the Arctic Ocean.  Environmentalists from around the world hadn’t stopped screaming bloody murder since the mention of the idea, which made sense to her.  She had always felt more open-minded about dams and reservoirs than most people, but this colossal scheme seemed crazy.

She watched the ground go by her window—first the open steppes around Moscow, then several large reservoirs along a river coming through the countryside.  Was that the Kama River in Tatarstan she’d once seen marked on a map?  Afterward, she saw the Ural Mountains, reaching north and south like a fortress wall.  A chill ran down her back.  She had reached Siberia, the land of lost places, untouched by man.

When she stepped onto the icy tarmac of Novosibirsk’s airport, she stopped, thoroughly surprised.  Winter had seemed very distant in Moscow, although it had been cold, but here winter lay everywhere.  The ice under her feet looked like grayish rock.  At least it was sunny and the snowbanks were starting to thaw.  She waited for her bags, hailed a cab, said two words,
Hotel Sibir
, and dug out her rubles, seeing the driver thought she was Russian.  What should she do when he demanded payment?  Quickly, she counted the round numbers in her mind . . .
adin, pyat’, desiat’, and tihseecha.
  Would he ask for,
pyat’ tihseecha?

A half hour later she reached the fifth floor of her hotel, then wondered if she’d walked into a mental ward by mistake.  The long passageway looked like a hospital dressed up in filthy carpet runners.  She had been getting two distinct impressions of Russia—everything had been built in the 1950s and hadn’t been cleaned since.  Some public bathrooms in Moscow hadn’t even had toilet paper.  How could an atrocity like that take place in such a great nation
?
  Then she remembered the all-knowing and all-powerful government Sasha had complained about so often.  They were ruining the country with way too much bureaucracy.

She suddenly heard a female voice welcome her from down the dark hallway, next saw a round woman waddle toward her at a fast pace, sweating and gasping in her great hurry.  What was this all about?. . .  Then it struck her—the travel brochures had written about the old Russian custom, but the guard had been an elderly man back in Moscow.  The woman was the floor matron, and, incredibly, had called out in English, sounding as friendly as a lonely grandmother.

“Dobriy dyen,
thank you for speaking English.  I only know a few words of your language.  I’m looking for my room.”

The woman smiled and grabbed her bags.  “You are smaller than I, so let me help you because we have a long way to go.”  She flew down the hall, swinging the bags and her rear end in willowy rhythm, despite her size.

Molly smiled also and stretched her legs to keep up.  “Do many Americans visit this city?  I saw several familiar billboards on my way here.”

“Yes, yes, always.  We are a much nicer place than Moscow, which is why your country has invested so much money here.  We are called the Chicago of Siberia because our city is so important.  Do you not know?”

Molly remembered reading that Russians often asked questions negatively, making it easier for strangers to answer without feeling any guilt.  Most important, now she saw her opening.

“No, I’m visiting for the first time.  Your country is so interesting and this city’s so busy, I had wondered.  Isn’t there a place nearby called the Academic City?  I’ve read it’s beautiful there, and the home of some of the best scientists in the world.”

The woman’s backside swayed even more, then she stopped by a numbered door.  “Akademgorodok.  Yes, it’s world famous and we are very proud.  Would you like to see it?  My daughter could take you there tomorrow.”

Smiling, Molly nodded and opened the door with her key.  You are so . . . so smooth, Faircloth, the CIA would even be pleased with your performance.  She stepped inside and saw the room didn’t look bad at all.

The next morning she breakfasted, met the floor matron’s daughter, and paid her a hundred dollars for a morning drive around Novosibirsk and an afternoon tour of Akademgorodok.  The Hotel Sibir had been happy to make arrangements with the university . . . especially for an American lady who said she was interested in investing in mining.  They had said someone very special would meet her, adding that the Institute of Geology and Geophysics had an impressive exhibit of alluvial diamonds and mineral bearing rock.  Sasha, here I come, she thought.

She saw that Novosibirsk was
indeed
a Chicago of sorts, with its Trans-Siberian and Turkestan-Siberian railways meeting in a giant switching yard that sent long freights south to Central Asia with grain and timber, then receiving even longer ones from those same places loaded with raw cotton.  Also, she learned that 70,000 passengers boarded 60 different trains every day, destined for the various cities of Siberia, or Alma Ata, where they could cross into China and journey southeast to Tibet or south to Kashgar and the Karakorum Highway.  She trembled with fear and excitement.  Here she was, a foreign spy in the middle of all the mysterious lands of the world, a beautiful, alluring, temptress, hell bent on her secret mission.  Would the bad guys ever catch her?  Then she felt the embarrassment of her wild imagination burn her face.  Wake up, Faircloth, or you
will
get caught.

The rest of Novosibirsk stood as a shrine to its Stalinist days—long factories shrouded in flying clouds of smoke, rows of gloomy apartment buildings, bloodstained by acid rain, neighborhoods of simple wooden homes, trimmed with ornamental blue and white window frames.  The place wasn’t one bit pretty, and late winter had worsened its dismal look.  She started to miss Texas, because it would be warm there.

The driver’s voice woke her from her muse.  “Excuse, please,
we could drive to Akademgorodok for lunch, and afterward you could begin your tour.  Do you not know there’s a famous
reestahrahn
there?  It’s called the Toadstool.”

Molly felt her heart jump.  Sasha had said she always ate her meals there, and that it had been her father’s favorite place as well.  The thought of seeing a familiar face and hugging someone who also knew the sorrow of loneliness suddenly seemed critical.  Thrilled, she tried thanking the woman in Russian.

“Spasiba, ya bi payel.”

“Do you not know how awful you sound?”

“Yes.”

Both laughed.  Her silliness in trying to speak the mother tongue had sealed their new friendship.  Moments later, on the way out of Novosibirsk, the driver told about the huge Ob River hydroelectric dam and the long reservoir it had backed up alongside the city.  So far, Molly thought, her simple ruse had worked perfectly.

When they walked into the Toadstool, she saw Sasha at once, looking woebegone, eating with a circle of people.  How could she attract her attention and yet warn her?  The answer seemed simple—speak loudly in English to the woman driver and ask where she’d like to sit.  Everyone in the room would look up, and even if Sasha did react, no one would notice.  “Where should we sit?  I’m so hungry,” she said.

Every head in the place raised and stared at her.  Jeez, this spy stuff wasn’t so hard.  Sasha, tears in her eyes, was staring as well.  In an hour or two they would meet and pretend to be two strangers . . . but soon they’d become friends, planning on spending the summer together.  She walked across the restaurant and sat.  Everyone had started eating their food again.  She would blow Sasha a kiss if she saw the chance.  Oh, why couldn’t she have given birth to a daughter just like her?

A few minutes later she saw Sasha walk toward her.  Stay cool, she told herself, and listen carefully.  Her new friend was up to something.

“Excuse me, please, but I heard you speak English,” said Sasha.  “Are you the lady from America who asked to see me this afternoon?  My administrator said you were interested in precious minerals.  I would like to introduce myself if you are?”  Smiling, she held out her hand.

Standing, Molly returned the smile and shook hands.  Act a little pompous but friendly, for the driver’s sake and all the curious people around them.  “Why, yes, how good of you to come over,” she answered.  “Please join us.”

Sasha smiled again and sat in a nearby chair.  “My administrator gave me your name.  I’m Sasha Pavlov, director of the Institute of Geology and Geophysics here at Akademgorodok.  We are recognized around the world for our research and knowledge, and we think Siberia is the richest place on earth.  Wait until you see the things we have learned about our wonderful land.”

    The time had come for getting rid of the driver, but how?  Sasha had cleverly smoothed the way, but what was the right thing to say?  Finally, she said, “I’m so excited about Siberia and its opportunities I wish there was more time to spend, but I mustn’t keep this lady from home too long.  She has family and should get back.  Could you show me your work right away?”

“Let her go home.”  Sasha stood, acting anxious to leave.  “I need to drive to Novosibirsk tonight, so let me take you back, and I’d be pleased to buy you dinner.”  The driver looked eager to leave as well, since she could get off early with the same pay.

Standing, Molly pulled on her coat, thinking Sasha and she had already become a formidable duo.  “Why that would be wonderful.”  Facing the driver, she added, “Thank you so much.  I’ll see your mother tomorrow and thank her as well.  She was so nice.”

They walked away, leaving the driver behind, and marched onto Prospect Lavrentyeva, behaving like two strangers.  After a minute, they were alone.

“I’ve missed you so much.  Have you heard from Jake and Simon?” asked Molly.  “Are they all right?”

“I don’t know.  Jake sent an e-mail message that said Simon and he were leaving Anchorage, but I haven’t heard from them since.  But it would be impossible for them to communicate with me because they’re crossing the last unexplored place in the world.”