Sergei nodded, but continued to contemplate them. “I’d love to hear more, but I have other matters to attend to. Perhaps I’ll go out with you tomorrow. The weather service is calling for another cloudless day.”
It was clear from his physique, pale complexion, and comfortable surroundings that going out with them was the last thing he wanted to do. Krupin’s people had undoubtedly sent him there with orders to look for anything suspicious. Now he’d found it and he was going to make sure nothing got by him that could bring down his president’s wrath.
“That’d be great,” Rapp said, knowing he had no other option. “It’ll be nice to have someone familiar with the terrain.”
? ? ?
True to Sergei’s promise, a high-pressure system had settled in over the region, bringing with it clear skies and unusually cool temperatures. It was supposed to last for another five days, which would be more than Rapp could afford to take. The way the war was heating up, Western Europe could be an uninhabitable wasteland by the middle of next week.
“We’ve got oatmeal or granola with soy milk,” a young woman said, stirring a large pot hung over a fire. The sun still hadn’t broken over distant peaks, and so far she and Rapp were the only two people who had ventured outdoors.
“Oatmeal.”
The woman—Ingrid from the University of Oslo based on a brief introduction at dinner the night before—filled the two bowls on Rapp’s tray and then poured in a little milk.
“Have you seen the news yet this morning?”
“Nope,” Rapp responded, trying to avoid unnecessary conversation without seeming overly unfriendly. While he’d become reasonably knowledgeable about wolf biology, his newfound expertise wouldn’t survive the scrutiny of the real scientists in the camp. Fortunately, all anyone wanted to talk about was the war.
“NATO says it has control of the Baltic Sea. That every Russian ship has been destroyed but that there may be a few hidden submarines. They say that at least a thousand sailors have died. Do you think that’s possible? So many people?”
“I dunno.”
In truth, the estimate was likely low. NATO was wreaking havoc on Krupin’s navy while trying not to cross the line into anything that could be construed as an attack on the homeland. But where was that line exactly? With Krupin’s brain rotting away and Sokolov controlling the war effort, the situation got blurrier every day.
“Men are crazy,” she concluded.
“You have no idea.”
“Are you going out this morning?”
“Yeah. We’re meeting Sergei in twenty minutes.”
She rolled her eyes. “He’s going with you?”
“Yeah.”
“Plan for a long day. His cigarette breaks alone will take over an hour.”
“We’re going to be crossing some pretty rugged terrain. Maybe he’ll change his mind.”
Her blond ponytail flopped across her back as she shook her head. “He’s suspicious of everyone. I think he believes we’re all a bunch of CIA assassins.”
Rapp smiled and grabbed a few rolls left over from the previous night. “Thanks for the oatmeal.”
? ? ?
“How are we looking?” Rapp asked, entering the yurt and kicking the door shut behind him. Azarov was hunched over a laptop, tracking the movement of the collared wolves they were ostensibly there to study.
“They’ve moved toward the river,” he said accepting a bowl of oatmeal. “That puts a mountain between us and them.”
Rapp examined the satellite image on screen. The fact that the pack appeared to be on its way to the river that was their objective was good news. And the mountain wouldn’t play well with Sergei. It looked steep as hell and then they’d have to cover a good half a mile of craggy ridgeline before coming to a viable descent.
“Long, hard day,” Rapp said, assuming that there were listening devices hidden in the yurt. “Probably twenty hours with a lot of elevation gain. We should take headlamps for the way back.”
Hopefully, that would be enough to discourage Sergei from coming. They hadn’t known the man was going to be in camp and still didn’t know what they were going to do with him if he still insisted on tagging along. The fact that Krupin had chosen him for this detail suggested that he was smarter and more determined than he looked. Best to bring along a shovel just in case.
? ? ?
“How many wolves were transported here from the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone?”
The terrain had turned uphill, but the dense trees made it impossible to pick up the pace enough to discourage Sergei’s thinly veiled interrogation.
“Four,” Rapp said. “But one died almost immediately and never got a chance to breed with the local pack.”
His unusually detailed memory had saved his ass too many times to count and this was quickly becoming another example.
“I understand you were a lacrosse player, Mitch.”
Their legends included lacrosse for him and biathlon for Azarov. Always best to stay as close to the truth as possible.
“Yeah. Back in school.”
“Intriguing sport. I was watching a match recently on television.”
Rapp calculated the chances of that at around zero.
“Maybe you could clear something up for me. What does FOGO stand for?”
“Face off get off,” he said, using a machete to hack through a bush that opened up to a rock-strewn slope.
Finally, it was possible to accelerate enough to get Sergei huffing instead of running his mouth. The route to the top of the mountain was in full sun with virtually no air movement. Rapp would keep the Russian near his limit—not hard enough to make him demand a break, but hard enough to make him suffer. With a little luck, his heart would give out.
Rapp took the path of most resistance, glancing back at Sergei’s glistening face and Azarov bringing up the rear.
The ground underfoot was dangerously loose, creating minor slides that left dust trails leading back toward the trees. Rapp aimed for a comfortable-looking boulder but then turned before reaching it, finding an even steeper line to the distant summit. As expected, Sergei didn’t follow, opting instead to take a seat on the boulder. His tracksuit was soaked through, as were the nylon straps holding the Makarov PM pistol beneath his left arm. He’d undoubtedly worn the holster for the purpose of intimidation, but was now likely regretting the extra weight.
“How much longer?” he panted.
Rapp squinted at the ridge looming above. “Maybe two hours?”
“And how long have we been climbing?”
“About ten minutes,” Azarov said.
“At least it’s not hot yet,” Rapp said. “The way back’s going to be brutal.”
“And I hear that there’s been a lot of bear activity in the area later in the day,” Azarov added.
The possibility of an animal attack was the last straw.
“I have a conference call with the Kremlin early this evening,” Sergei said.
“I don’t think we’re going to make that,” Rapp responded, shooting for a tone of sincere regret, but going a bit wide of the mark.
The Russian nodded gravely as his breathing finally began to slow. “I’m afraid I can’t miss it.”
“No problem,” Rapp said. “We’ll just head on up and see you back at camp tonight.”
The political officer looked at them, going from one face to the other, finally settling on Azarov. “You’ve not said much on our journey. Why don’t you tell me a bit about what you hope to accomplish with your research?”
“We’re studying the persistence of radiation-induced genetic mutations passed down through generations of wolves.”
“That sounds like something you read in a book.”
“What do you mean?” Rapp said, coming to Azarov’s rescue. “We’re biologists. Everything we talk about came from a book.”
Sergei returned his attention to Rapp. “You’re very convincing, Mitch. But your friend here . . . I don’t trust him.”
“What do you mean?” Rapp said. “What’s to trust? We’re going to go over this mountain, dart a few wolves, get a few blood samples, and go home. I mean, I know about all the stuff that’s going on in Latvia, but what’s that got to do with us? Wars start, wars end, nothing’s accomplished. Science goes on, man.”