Fire Ice

16

WITH HIS TALL gangling physique and questing intelligence, Yuri Orlov reminded Paul Trout of himself as a kid hanging around the ocean scientists at the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution. The way Yuri stood in the stem with one hand on the tiller, the Russian student could have been any of the skiff fishermen Trout knew on Cape Cod. All the youth needed to complete the picture was a Red Sox baseball cap and a big black Labrador retriever.

Yuri had taken immediate control of the boat, steering it a few hundred feet offshore, then stopping and letting the motor idle.

"Thank you so much for allowing me to go with you, Dr. Paul and Dr. Gamay. It's really an honor to be in the company of two such famous scientists. I envy you working for NUMA. My father told me all about his experiences in the States."

The Trouts smiled, even though the young man had upset their plan to sneak off on a scouting expedition. He brimmed with youthful enthusiasm, and his big blue eyes danced with excitement behind the thick glasses.

"Your father often talked about his family back in Russia," Paul said. "I remember him showing me pictures of you and your mother. You were younger then, so I didn't recognize you today."

"Some people say I look more like my mother."

Trout nodded in agreement. During Professor Orlov's stay in Woods Hole, the Russian had countered bouts of homesickness by whipping family snapshots from his billfold and proudly passing them around. Trout remembered being struck by the contrast between the bearlike professor and Svetlana, his tall, willowy wife.

"I enjoyed working with your father. He's a brilliant man, as well as personable. I hope we can work together again someday."

Yuri lit up like a bulb. "Next time Professor Orlov goes to the States, he has promised to take me with him."

Trout smiled at Yuri's use of the proper title before his father's name. "You should have no problem. Your English is excellent."

"Thank you. My parents used to have American exchange students stay with us." He pointed in the opposite direction from the one the Trouts wanted to take. "It's pretty nice along the coast here. Are you bird-watchers?"

Gamay saw their mission going astray. "Actually, Yuri," she said sweetly, "we were hoping to go to Novorossiysk."

A look of amused amazement crossed Yuri's young face. "Novorossiysk? Are you sure? The coast the other way is much prettier."

Paul picked up on Gamay's cue. "We do a lot of bird-watching in the Virginia countryside, but as an ocean geologist I'm more interested in deep-sea mining. I understand one of the largest ocean mining companies in the world has its headquarters in Novorossiysk."

"Sure. You're talking about Ataman Industries. They're huge. I'm doing my grad work in ecological mining, and I may apply for a job there myself when I get out of school."

"Then you'll understand why I'd be interested in taking a look at their facilities."

"Absolutely. Too bad I didn't know earlier. Maybe we could have set up a tour with them. You can't get a good idea of the scale of their operation from the water." Yuri grinned with relief. "I like birds, too, but not that much."

Gamay said, "I'm a marine biologist. Fish and plants are my game, but I think it would be interesting to go to Novorossiysk."

"That settles it, then," Paul said. Yuri goosed the throttle and brought the boat around in a big, lazy turn. He stayed about a quarter of a mile offshore on a course roughly parallel to the coast. After a while, the woods began to thin out, giving way to coastal plain and high, rolling hills. The beach was replaced by extensive reed-grown marshes and meandering creeks.

Paul and Gamay sat side by side on the center seat as the powerboat plowed through the sun-sparkled sea. The boat was around eighteen feet long and built like a tank, with overlapping planks and a thick prow. Yuri kept up a running narrative as he pointed out landmarks. The Trouts nodded with appreciation, although the snarl of the motor and the shush-shush of the hull drowned out most of Yuri's words.

Any misgivings the Trouts had about Yuri were quickly dispelled. He turned out to be a godsend. He knew how to keep the touchy motor supplied with the proper mixture of air and fuel, and was intimately acquainted with the countryside. They would have had trouble navigating the busy port on their own. Finding Ataman would have been almost impossible without a guide. As they got farther into Zeroes Bay, the city's importance as a major Russian seaport became apparent. Ship traffic in both directions was nonstop. The parade included every type of commercial vessel imaginable: cargo ships, tankers, oceangoing tugs, passenger ships and ferries.

Yuri kept a respectful distance from the big ships and their boat-swamping wakes. The shoreline became more built-up. High-rise buildings, smoking chimneys and grain elevators could be seen through the industrial haze that hung over the port. Yuri slowed the boat down to a fast walk.

"The city is very historic," Yuri said. "You can't go ten feet without tripping over a monument. The Russian Revolution ended here, when Allied ships evacuated the White Army in 1920. It's also one of the biggest ports in Russia. Oil is piped here from the wells in the northern Caucasus. That's the Shesharis Oil Harbor over there."

Paul had been studying the dark hue of the water. "It's a deep-water port, judging from the size of those ships."

"Novorossiysk doesn't freeze up in the winter. This is the major port for cargo moving between Russia and the Mediterranean and the rest of Europe, and it's also more or less convenient to Asia, the Persian Gulf and Africa. The port facilities are state-of-the-art. There are actually five parts to the harbor: three dry cargo handling areas, the oil harbor and the passenger terminal. You came in through the airport, so you know it's got connections allover the world."

"I can see why Ataman would have its headquarters here," Gamay noted, as she scanned the bustling bay.

"I'll show you." Yuri kicked the boat's speed up and angled the bow in toward a wide indentation on the shore. Six long concrete piers extended from land. Several ships were tied up at the wharves. Rising behind the piers was a sprawling complex of industrial buildings, gantry cranes, big straddle carriers and cargo derricks. Forklift trucks and tractors moved along the piers like oversized insects.

"Which part is Ataman's?" Gamay asked.

Yuri grinned and swept his hand in a wide arc. "All of it."

Gamay whistled in astonishment. "I can't believe the size of this place. It's bigger than some major ports."

"Ataman has it own fleet of tugboats, fuel and water supplies and tanks for bilge and waste removal," Yuri said. "See those giant cranes over there? That's Ataman's shipyard. They build all their own vessels. That way they can control design and cost." He furrowed his brow and looked around as if he had lost something. "That's funny, Ataman' s port is practically empty."

Paul exchanged a puzzled glance with his wife. "It doesn't look empty to me. Look at all that activity. I can see five ships of considerable size pulled up to the dock."

"Those are Ataman's small ships. I wanted to show you their ocean drilling rigs. They look like they could drill through to the other side of the world. Each one is like a city in itself."

"Maybe they're all at sea working."

"Maybe," he said, with skepticism in his voice. "But I don't think so. Ataman has so many ships, a few are always being outfitted. Even with all those wharves, they don't have space to take care of their whole fleet at the same time." He scanned the shoreline until he saw what he was looking for. "I can show you something almost as interesting."

Yuri kept the boat on the same heading until they were past the main wharves, then he steered in toward a smaller pier. A luxurious yacht four hundred feet long was tied up at the dock. The gleaming white hull was set off by black trim. The superstructure was unusually sleek and stream- lined. The hull was shaped in a deep V to cut through the waves. The wide rear of the boat was concave.

"Wow!" Yuri said. "I've heard of this baby, but it's the first time I've seen it."

"Quite a luxury yacht," Paul said with appreciation. "It belongs to Razov, the head guy at Ataman. They say he lives on the boat and runs his business from it." Yuri gave the tiller a wiggle. Gamay pressed the shutter release and banged off several shots. "Can we go around to the other side?" Gamay said.

Yuri replied with a pull on the tiller that brought them around behind the boat. Gamay lifted the camera up to her eye again and started to press the control button that would give her a wide-angle shot, when she detected movement on the deck. A figure had come into view. She extended the zoom to its full 200-mm range. "Dear God!" she said with a gasp.

"What is it?" Paul said.

She handed the camera over. "Take a look."

Paul peered through the viewfinder and scanned the deck, but saw no one.

"Deck's deserted now. What did you see?" Gamay didn't spook easily, but she couldn't suppress a shudder. "A tall man with long black hair and a beard. He was staring straight at me. It was one of the most frightening faces I've ever seen."

A Jeeplike vehicle was racing toward the wharf along an access road, and Trout's instincts were aroused. He looked through the camera lens as the vehicle drove onto the boat dock. Speaking calmly, he said, "We've got company. Time to go."

The vehicle screeched to a stop. Six uniformed men carrying weapons jumped out, dashed along the wharf, raced toward the gangplank and climbed onto the ship. Yuri had hesitated, but when he saw the armed men, he twisted the throttle as far as it would go, and headed out to the bay.

The bow lifted and the boat got on plane, making a respectable speed despite its heavy construction. Flashes of small-arms fire could be seen on the yacht's fantail. The bullets stitched a line of small fountains in the water. Paul yelled at the others to get down. A round hit the boat and took a chip out of the transom, but seconds later they were out of range. The danger wasn't over, though. Another vehicle had followed the first, and the men who piled out headed for the dock, where some powerboats were tied up.

Yuri pointed the boat out into the busy channel, crossing behind a cargo ship that was making its way out of the bay. The small boat leaped like a dolphin as it crossed the wake, but it rode the waves out comfortably. Yuri brought the boat around to the other side of the ship, using the cargo vessel as a screen. When they were safely beyond the Ataman complex, he peeled the boat away and they followed the coast back toward the camp. At one point, Paul suggested that they pull into a creek. They waited ten minutes, but no one followed.

Yuri's face was flushed with excitement. "Man, that was fun. I've heard a lot of businesses have their own armies to protect them from the Russian Mafia, but this is the first time I've ever seen them."

Paul felt guilty about putting the son of his old colleague in harm's way. He and Gamay owed Yuri an explanation, but too much knowledge could be just as dangerous. Communicating with her eyes, Gamay silently sent a message saying that she knew what to do.

"Yuri, we've got a favor to ask," she said. "We'd like you Ito say nothing about what happened back there to anyone."

"I guess your visit to my father wasn't entirely social," Yuri said.

Gamay nodded. "We've been asked by NUMA to check out Ataman Industries. They're suspected of being involved in some shady business. We had planned to do so from a safe distance. We never dreamed that they would be, well, so touchy."

"It was like something out of James Bond!" Yuri had a broad smile on his face.

"Except that this isn't fiction. It's very real."

Gamay's calming tone got through to Yuri far more effectively than any bombast Paul might have been able to summon up.

Yuri tried to look serious. "I'll be quiet, but it's going to be hard not to tell my friends." He sighed. "They wouldn't believe me anyhow."

Paul said, "We'll fill you in as soon as we know what this is all about. We can assure you that you'll be one of the first to know. Deal?" He stretched his hand forward.

"It's a deal," Yuri said, pleased to be in on the conspiracy. They shook hands all around.

The sun had dropped toward the horizon, and shadows were gathering as they saw the lights of the camp glimmering on shore. They all breathed a sigh of relief as the boat drew nearer the beach. They would have been less assured if they knew that a birdlike speck in the sky high above them was a helicopter equipped with high-powered optics.

PROFESSOR ORLOV WAS waiting on the beach. He waded into the water and pulled the boat into shore. "Hello, my friends. I see that you've met my son, Yuri."

"He was kind enough to take us on a sightseeing tour," Gamay said. She slipped over the side and used her body to hide the hole gouged out by the bullet. "We had a nice talk about now and the future."

"The now is that you go back to your cottage and get ready for dinner. The future is a wonderful meal and talking about old times. Our accommodations are primitive, but we feed ourselves well." He patted his expansive stomach.

The professor ushered the Trouts back to the main clearing and instructed them to return in a half hour with their appetites. Then he hustled off with his son. As he walked away, Yuri looked back over his shoulder and winked. The silent message was clear. Their secret was safe with him.

Paul and Gamay returned to their cottage and showered away the salt and sweat from their nautical adventure. Gamay changed into designer jeans that emphasized her long legs, a blazer and lilac camisole. Paul had not left his fastidious sartorial habits behind. He wore loose tan slacks with a Gatsby-style pale green shirt and a violet bow tie.

Some of the other inhabitants of the camp were assembled at or around the picnic table. The Trouts were greeted by the middle-aged couple they had met earlier, a tall intense-looking physicist who resembled the writer Alexander Solzhenitsyn and a young married couple, both engineering students at the university in Rostov. The table was set with an embroidered tablecloth and colorful china. Japanese lanterns lent a festive air to the gathering.

Orlov broke into a beaming smile when he saw the Trouts' approach. "Ah, my American guests. You look lovely, Gamay, and you are handsome as usual, Paul. A new bow tie? You must have an endless supply of cravats."

"I'm afraid my addiction is starting to get expensive. You don't know anyone who makes cheap throwaway bow ties, do you?"

The professor roared with laughter and translated for the others. Then he directed the Trouts to the seating that had been saved for them, rubbed his hands in anticipation, and went into his cottage to start the meal moving. Dinner was salmon-filled pirogi, basically Russian turnovers, served with rice and a clear borscht. The professor also had a case of the famous Russian champagne that was made in nearby Abrau-Dyurso. Even without vodka and a common language, dinner was loud and friendly and extended late into the evening. It was nearly midnight when the Trouts pushed themselves away from the table and begged to be allowed to go back to their cottage.

"The party is just starting!" Orlov bellowed. His face was red from alcohol and sweaty after serenading the other diners with an energetic rendition of a bawdy Russian folk song.

"Please don't stop on our account," Paul said. "We've had a long day, and it's starting to catch up with us."

"Of course, you must be very tired. I've been a poor host, making you sit here and listen to my attempts to sing."

Paul patted his stomach. "You've been a great host. But I'm a little older than I was when we used to drink the night away at the Captain Kidd."

"You're obviously out of training, my friend. One week here and we would have you back in shape." He hugged both Trouts. "But I understand. Would you like Yuri to escort you?”

"Thank you, Professor. We'll find our way," Gamay said. "See you in the morning."

Orlov let them go after another round of hugs and kisses. As they made their way along the path toward the single light glowing on the porch of their cottage, the Trouts could hear Orlov belting out a spirited but hardly recognizable rendition, in Russian, of "What Should We Do with the Drunken Sailor?"

"I don't envy Vlad for the hangover he's going to have," Gamay said.

"There's no party animal like a Russian party animal." They laughed as they climbed onto the porch. They weren't exaggerating their exhaustion. They brushed their teeth, stripped down to their underwear and slipped beneath the cool sheets. Within minutes, both were asleep. Gamay was the lighter sleeper. Later that night, she sat up in bed and listened. Something had awakened her. The sound of voices. High-pitched and excited. She poked Paul out of his slumber.

"What's going on?" he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

"Listen. It sounds like… children playing."

But just then a loud shriek of unmistakable terror echoed through the woods outside.

"That was no kid," Paul said, vaulting from the bed. He scooped his slacks off a chair and jumped into them, nearly falling on his face. Gamay was one second behind, pulling her shorts over her slim hips and throwing a T-shirt over her head. They burst out onto the porch, where they could see a reddish glow through the trees. The smell of smoke hung heavily in the air.

"One of the camps is on fire!" Paul said.

They ran along the path in bare feet and almost mowed down Yuri, who was running in the opposite direction.

"What's going on?" Paul said.

"Don't talk," Yuri replied breathlessly. "We must hide. This way."

The Trouts glanced at the fire, then followed Yuri's lead. He moved fast in a long, loping gait. When they were deep in the pines, he took Gamay by the arm, pulled her onto the soft Cover of pine needles and motioned for Paul to duck down. They could hear branches and twigs snapping and rough voices. Paul started to get up to look, but Yuri pulled him back down. After a few minutes, the crashing stopped.

Yuri spoke from the darkness.

"I was asleep in my father's camp," he said, his voice ! hoarse from tension. "Men came in the night."

"Who were they?"

"I don't know. They had their faces covered. They dragged us out of bed. They wanted to know where the red-headed woman and the man were. My father said that you had left to go home. They didn't believe him. They beat him. He yelled in English for me to warn you. While they were busy, I ran to tell you."

"How many were there?"

"A dozen, maybe. I don't know. It was dark. They must have come by water. Our camp is right by the driveway, and we would have heard someone come in."

"We've got to get back to your father."

"I know a way," Yuri said. "Come."

Paul grabbed onto the back of Yuri's shorts and Gamay held on to her husband's other hand as they made their way through the woods, taking a circuitous path. The smoke thickened. Soon they could see the source of the smoke: the professor's cottage. They stepped out of the woods into the clearing, where students were spraying the cottage with hoses apparently powered by a generator. They couldn't save the building, but their efforts kept the fire from spreading to the adjacent woods and cottages. The older people were huddled in a group. Yuri spoke in Russian to the tall physicist, then turned to the Trouts.

"He says the men are gone. He saw them leave in a boat."

The group parted to reveal Orlov lying on the ground, his face covered with blood. Gamay was on her knees in an instant, put her ear close to the professor's mouth and felt for a pulse in his neck. Then she examined his arms and legs.

"Can we get him somewhere where he'll be more comfortable?" she asked.

The professor was lifted onto the picnic table and covered with the tablecloth. At Gamay's request, a pot of warm water and towels were produced. She gently sponged the blood away from the professor's face and balding scalp.

"The bleeding seems to have stopped," she said. "It's coming from the head, so it's worse than it looks. He's also bleeding from the mouth, but I don't think it's internal."

Paul's jaw hardened at the plight of his old colleague. "Someone used him for a punching bag."

The professor stirred and mumbled some words in Russian. Yuri leaned close for a second, then grinned. "He says he needs a glass of vodka."

Glowing embers were coming down on them from the fire and the smoke made it hard to breathe, so Paul suggested that they move the professor to a more sheltered location. Trout and three other men carried him to the cottage farthest from the fire. They laid him out on a bed, covered his body with blankets and brought him a glass of vodka.

"Sorry this isn't champagne," Gamay said, offering him a sip as she tilted his head up.

The vodka dribbled down his chin, but he swallowed enough of the potent liquor to bring color back to his cheeks. Paul dragged a chair over. "Do you feel like talking?"

"Keep the vodka coming and I'll talk all night long," Orlov said. "How's my cottage?"

"The fire brigade couldn't save it, but they kept the fIre from spreading," Yuri said.

A satisfied smile crossed the professor's swollen lips. "One of the first things I organized here was a fire company. We draw water directly from the sea."

"Please tell us what happened," Gamay said, as she dabbed the professor's forehead with a damp washcloth.

"We were sleeping," he said, talking slowly. "Some men came into the cottage. We never lock the doors out here. They wanted to know where the people in the boat were. I didn't know what they were talking about at first, then I realized they wanted you. So naturally I said I didn't know. They beat me until I was unconscious."

"I ran off to warn the Trouts," Yuri said. "I didn't want to leave you. They came looking for us. We hid in the woods until they were gone."

Orlov reached out and put his hand on Yuri's shoulder. "You did the right thing."

He motioned for more vodka. The drink seemed to clear his mind, and the scientific analysis of cause and effect came into play.

Looking Paul directly in the eye, he said, "Well, my friend, it seems you and Gamay made some interesting friends in the short time you have been here. On your little sightseeing trip, perhaps?"

"I'm truly sorry. I'm afraid we're responsible for this mess," Paul said. "It was entirely unanticipated. We made your son a partner in crime, too."

Paul told Orlov that NUMA was investigating Ataman and related the events surrounding their boat trip.

"Ataman?" Orlov said. "In a way, I can't say I'm surprised at their violent reaction. Huge cartels tend to act as if they are above the law."

Gamay said, "There was a strange man on the yacht. He had a thin face, long black hair and a beard. Was that Razov?"

"It doesn't sound like him. Probably his friend, the mad monk."

"Pardon me?"

"His name is Boris. I don't even know if he has a last name. He is said to be Razov's eminence grise, his mentor. Few people have seen him. You're very lucky."

"I don't know if I'd call it lucky," Gamay said. "I'm sure he saw us, too."

"He's probably the one who called out the hounds," Paul said.

Orlov groaned. "That's where we are in Russia today. Thugs advised by mad monks. I can't believe Razov has become such a powerful political figure in our country."

"I was wondering," Paul said. "How did they know where to find us? I'm pretty sure Yuri lost them."

"Maybe the bigger question is what they intended to do after they found us." Gamay turned to the professor and his son. "We're profoundly sorry for what happened. Please tell us how we can make it up to you."

"Perhaps a little help in rebuilding my cottage," Orlov said, after some thought.

"That goes without saying," Paul said.

"Anything else?" Orlov furrowed his brow. "One more thing," he said, his face lighting up. "As you know, Yuri is intent on visiting the United States."

"Consider it done, with the condition that you come along."

The professor could barely control his pleasure, "You drive a hard bargain, my friend."

"I'm a tough old Yankee, and don't you forget it I think we should be on our way the first thing in the morning."

"I'm sorry you have to leave so soon. Are you sure?"

"It might be best for everyone if we go."

They talked until the professor's weariness caught up with him and he drifted off to sleep. The Trouts and Yuri split the rest of the night into shifts, so at least one person would stand watch while the others caught some sleep in the bunk beds. The morning dawned without incident, and after a quick breakfast of coffee and rolls, the Trouts said their good-byes, vowing to get together in a few months, and squeezed into the same taxi that had dropped them off.

As the Lada bumped down the road, Gamay looked out the back window at the charred remains of the cottage. Smoke still hung in the air. "We'll have a lot to tell Kurt when we get back," she said.

Paul's eyes blinked with amusement. "If I know Kurt, he'll have even more to tell us."