The River of Bones v5 (28 page)

“But where’s Kozlov?”

“He’s gone, too.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

THE BERING STRAITS

Simon tamped
the fresh dirt covering the grave with his foot.  Turning, he stared at Sasha, who stood in the distance with Molly.  “I wonder who’s in this hole,” he asked, “or are there two bodies down there?”

Agonizing, Jake wondered if she had actually witnessed murder.  It seemed unlikely . . . yet she must have at least
suspected
that her father meant to kill Kozlov when their backs were turned.  What should they do?  “Yuri’s a dead man if he hunts Zorkin by himself,” he answered.  “You think we should go help him?”

“We’ve got to leave, regardless of how we feel.”  Simon’s eyes turned darker.  “Time’s running out, and if we turn back now we’re doomed.  We have to let him go, as sad as it seems, and we couldn’t find him in this country, anyway, even if we wanted to, not in a thousand years.  He’s been schooled by an Evenki, and they’re the best woodsmen in the world.”

“If he doesn’t kill him, Zorkin will stalk us for the rest of our lives,” said Jake.  “Maybe we should kill him ourselves.”

“Some other day, but not now.  We have to get out of here and sleep for a few hours.  I’m so tired I can’t see straight, which is an even better reason not to pick a fight.  We will kill ourselves if we try flying much farther without some decent rest.”

Jake thought about the future.  Simon and he could hide Sasha so she wouldn’t have to   worry about Zorkin, or the
Mafiya
for that matter, since they posed a threat as well, but what about Molly, Simon, and himself?  Where would they hide when they returned home?  Their trip had given them great wealth, assuming they lived long enough to sell the diamonds, but it had earned them enemies who would never rest until they got revenge.  Their triumph tasted bittersweet, and now he would need to sleep with one eye open for the rest of his life.  He leaned over, picked up a handful of dirt, and let it slip through his fingers.  “Are you scared?” he asked.

Simon laughed.  “Only when I’m awake, otherwise I’m as brave as anyone.”  He turned toward the helicopters.  “Come on, let’s get out of here before we find out what real fear feels like.  Once you’ve seen a Mig Foxbat head-on you’ll know what I mean.”  He called for Molly and Sasha to climb aboard the Hip.

Jake stood by the grave for a moment.  His friend was right—the time had come to run like a deer, and more important, the time had come to sleep.  Flying hotrod helicopters when one was overtired was an accident waiting to happen.  They had better fly an hour or so, find a hideout, and get some sleep.  They could always fly the following day, then bootleg across the Bering Straits.

He turned toward both helicopters and wondered where to spend the night.  Why not along the Lena, saving them the time necessary to find a fuel barge later on?  There was every likelihood one would come along first thing in morning, plowing against the currents of the biggest river in Siberia.  The map he’d carried along showed the Lena was filled with islands, perfect places for hiding.

Simon and he needed to coordinate their speeds and avoid losing sight of each other too, which meant he’d have to use a low percentage of torque (power), because the Werewolf was so much faster than the Hip.  Though, that would help save fuel.  His mind spun through the   problems they faced.

Simon, his brow set, waited for him beside the Hip.  Jake looked at him, since you never knew.  “Have you seen the Lena before?” he asked.  “We’ll reach it in less than two hours.  Let’s hide there until morning and raid the first barge that comes along.  Afterward, we’ll have enough fuel to reach Alaska.”

“Just the headwaters near Lake Baikal.  It’s by far the busiest river in Siberia.”

Jake worried about protecting the three of them.  They would see Molly hanging out the door of the Hip with one of the Kalashnivkovs, ready to take on the world, otherwise.

“I’ll fly a little higher than you and hang back, flying cover,” he said.  “Stay on our frequency, in case we see trouble.”

Simon nodded.  Afterward, Jake watched him climb on board and sit in the pilot’s seat, beside Molly, who had already taken the copilot’s side.  She would help fly the Hip, mostly because Simon wouldn’t be able to keep her hands off the controls.  She was a true daredevil, seeking all the excitement she could, especially when it came to flying.  Sasha, who still looked inconsolable, sat in the jump seat behind them, staring insensibly at the fuel bladders in back.  Again, Jake wondered what her father had said when they’d parted the last time.

He walked to the Werewolf and started the turbines, saw Simon take off, and followed him, carefully keeping him in sight, meanwhile weighing all the dangers they faced.  Siberia was larger than the contingent forty-eight states, so the chance of their being discovered was small.  But if Zorkin dreamed up a good story and convinced Moscow to chase them, the Frontal Air Force would wait for them in the Far East, near Big and Little Diomede Islands, Provendenya, and St. Lawrence Island, all sitting alongside the international border.  The only good thing . . . once Simon and he left the coastline, it wasn’t very far to freedom, only thirty miles, or a little more than ten minutes.

The Russians wouldn’t give a damn if the Hip got away.  They would concentrate on stopping the Werewolf, their latest and greatest tank killing technology.  Simon and he must trend north, making it harder for the air force to find them, sneak through the Anadyr Mountains, fly along the north side of Cape Dezhney, called the East Cape by the polar bear hunters in the 1950s, and, once there, pray for a foggy night.

After an hour he saw the land slope toward the Lena River.  A short time later, he saw the Werchoyansky Mountain Range standing on the far side of the taiga along the river.  Again, Siberia reminded him of Alaska, with all its wild rivers, dark forests, and shining mountains.  Whatever the outcome of their incredible journey, the magnificence of the country would stay in his heart and he’d think some longing had been satisfied.  He would also know that Siberia was the richest place on earth.

He saw the river just ahead, running full of sediments, colored like coffee-and-cream, and Simon and he followed it, looking for a place to land.  The Yakut word, Lena, meant “very big river,” a fitting translation by anyone’s description.  The main channel lay in front of him, several miles wide, roiling, dirty, though life-giving to those who revered it.  He had grown up beside the Mississippi and loved rivers all his life.

He heard three sharp snaps on his radio—Simon signaling he’d found a place to land.  Following close behind, he watched him hover into a small clearing in the trees a mile off the channel.  Fatigue tested his strength and he blinked his eyes, wishing Simon would hurry up.  The Werewolf was a handful to fly and exhaustion was clouding his depth perception.  Luckily, he remembered to lower the landing gear.  Little harm would have occurred had he forgotten it, but Simon would have forever teased him.  Friends never cut you much slack when you flew like a fool.

He felt the Werewolf settle onto its wheels, then pulled the fuel controls, shutting down the turbines.  He waited, feeling exhaustion overtaking him.  They had survived everything imaginable in the last day and a half and gotten rich when they’d least expected it, all without any sleep.  His mind visualized the rose-colored diamonds and he smiled.  Then strange images of boyhood memories filled his eyes.  What was wrong?  Someone shook him.

“Jake, wake up,” said Molly.  “Climb down and sleep in the Hip.  Sasha and I’ll trade watches and let Simon and you get some rest.  Listen to me and go lie down.”

He let her lead him to the Mi-8, wondering how both women could endure so long and still find the strength to stand guard in shifts.  He saw that Sasha had made him a bed in the back of the helicopter.  Rolling into the blankets, he looked up at her, forcing himself to stay awake for a second.  She seemed more peaceful now, and they kissed.

The night passed with him only waking twice.  Once he’d heard Simon snore a little, then later felt the Hip rock when Molly and Sasha changed places, letting the other sleep.  But he’d stubbornly stayed in bed, sleeping until he couldn’t sleep any more.  Tomorrow they’d face the greatest challenges of their lives . . . at least he would.  One never could tell about Simon, because Lord only knew what he’d done in his life.  The man was a complete mystery.

“Jake, wake up, there’s a barge coming upriver.”

He opened his eyes.  Simon was standing over him with a grin on his face.

“What time is it?  I didn’t hear a thing.”

“It’s daylight, so get your butt up.  The time has come for us to play pirate and take that yonder ship.”

“How the hell did you find one so soon?”  He sat up.

“Molly did.  She stayed up half the night prowling around like a housecat.  Went upriver at daybreak and saw one plowing low in the water, which means its full of fuel oil.”

Standing, Jake shook his head in disbelief.  What would they ever do without her, since she’d proven herself so often?

“Follow me aboard the barges, land behind me, and keep your engines running.”  He glanced at Simon.  “They’re always locked together so they form a flattop almost the size of an aircraft carrier, and so we’ll have plenty of room.  Once we set down, walk forward and pretend to be General Kozlov.  We have enough of his clothing and paperwork, so I’m sure the tug captain will believe you.  But, just in case, take him off to one side and flash a few bills at him.  Tell him we want everything filled.”

Simon grimaced.  “We need to do something about their radios, because every tug has a high-frequency transmitter.”

“I’ll drag my landing gear through his antennas.  He’ll get sore about it but tell him it’s the first time I’ve flown the Werewolf, then make him think he can sail away with a small fortune.”

They shook hands, again letting their friendship speak about their mutual trust, then stepped out of the Hip.  Molly and Sasha waited nearby, watching with dark shadows under their eyes, having lost so much sleep.  Jake smiled and flashed them a thumbs up.  The time had come to make a run for it.  He walked to the Werewolf.

The turbines screamed alive, and he lifted the collective and hovered to the river, seeing the tug in the distance, pushing its flotilla of barges upstream.  White foam and bow waves rolled behind as its screws beat the water, and no other boats were in sight.  He accelerated, held his airspeed at thirty knots . . . no one aboard the boat had any idea that he was closing on them from behind.  Snap-turning sideways, he held his forward speed and rammed the Werewolf’s belly into the antennas on top the tug.  Spinning ninety degrees once again, he flew backward next, purposefully aiming his cannon at the pilothouse, synchronized his speed to the barges below, and landed.  The captain’s face told him that he and the crew had already surrendered.  He watched Simon set down behind him.

After a minute Simon, dressed in jackboots, green uniform, and flat-topped cap, strutted past him, looking exasperated.  Stopping, he stared up at the broken antennas with his hands on his hips, then spun around and waved his arms, seemingly cursing him.  Struggling to hold a straight face, Jake lowered his head, pretending to be ashamed.  He watched Simon march off, jump onto the tug’s bow, and climb to its pilothouse.

Good, he told himself, Simon was behaving just like a lieutenant general.  A few minutes passed.  He saw him shake hands with the captain and wave his arms once more, pointing at the Werewolf.  Finally, both walked out of sight . . . then came back.  Now the captain looked pleased.  He handed Simon a cup, poured something from a pot, and spoke to two crewmen.  Both ran from the pilothouse, jumped onto the deck, and pulled a hose toward the helicopters, struggling with its bulky weight.  Jake smiled.  It looked like they were going to get away with it.

But he began to worry about the greatest danger of all, getting blown out of the sky.  He knew they could avoid the military radar by flying low, using the terrain that lay ahead to their best advantage, making it very difficult for any fighter pilot to spot them, but there was Russia’s infrared technology to reckon with.  Their air force had previously shown the Mig 29, Fulcrum, at the Farnborough Air Show in England, and to the West’s absolute panic, would-be experts, the very ones who’d assured the Pentagon that Russia had no advanced infrared attack system, saw a small glass bubble on the nose of the fighter.  Suddenly, everyone learned that not only did the Russians have one, they had the best in the world.

When General Kozlov had told him about the Werewolf’s defense systems, he’d pointed out its flare bombs, incendiary devices that fired overboard in order to fool infrared guided missiles.  He would be safe if a jet fighter tried locking-on with its missiles.  In addition, his killercopter cooled its exhaust internally, eliminating its heat signature, used stealthy skin to deflect radar, and carried its own missiles, rockets, and guns.  It would take a lucky shot to bring him down.

But Simon’s chopper was an entirely different matter.  Its turbines pumped out hot gases like mad, moved along like an old plow horse, and carried no weapons at all.  Not only was it a sitting duck, it was a big fat dumb one, besides.  Buzzing along the surface would help, but his friends’ lives would be in grave danger if anyone saw them.  Simon and he must improvise, and luckily Kozlov had given him an idea.

He saw Simon join the two men who were struggling with the hose and watched him pantomime with both hands, ostensibly explaining how to refuel both helicopters, including the reservoirs inside the Hip.  Then he climbed the side of the Werewolf and began yelling at the top of his voice at him, above the whining engines.

“They’re on their way to Yakutsk and so far the captain has bought my story.  I told him we were on a training exercise and that you’d gotten lost and run us low on fuel.  He’s suspicious but wants the cash in my pocket.  Maybe when his two men see Sasha and Molly and tell him that we have women on board, he’ll think we’re out joyriding with our girlfriends, a good enough reason for us to be acting strange.  Should help him feel less skeptical.”