Somewhere in the darkness behind them, Bowen heard the unmistakable snick of a rifle safety coming off.
Chapter 15
Ahowling wind blew in from the Bering Sea, shoving at Volodin like the horns of an angry bully. Kaija stood hunched over as she worked on the man door to the hangar, assuring him over the screaming blizzard that she could get past the combination lock. He had thought the lee of the metal building would block the storm, but the wind seemed to come from every direction at once. There was no hiding from it. Crystalline snow scoured the exposed skin of his face and neck, forcing him and his daughter to withdraw into their scant clothing like tortoises in a sandstorm.
It seemed impossible, but the attack he’d seen on television was of his creation. Someone had sold or given away New Archangel. Only he and Lodygin had the codes to the lab, so it had to be Lodygin. If the Captain was involved, then so was Colonel Rostov. Evgeni Lodygin was a vile thing to be sure. Volodin warned Kaija to stay well away from the pervert. But from what Volodin had seen, the Captain would not so much as get a haircut unless he had the approval from his boss.
His back to the wind, Volodin pounded at his forehead with a palm, trying desperately to fill in the growing black holes that seemed to be taking over his mind. He knew he was a bad man. Chemical weapons had been called “a higher form of killing,” but Volodin knew that was a lie. There were no high and low killings. Only killing. It made no difference if it was for money or patriotism. Anyone who would create a substance as deadly as New Archangel had made a deal with the devil. Volodin cursed himself at the thought. He could not remember making the deal, but he must have. And if he made a bargain so vile, what else had he done?
“It is open,” Kaija said, entering the hanger without looking back. Her anger toward him was palpable. And why shouldn’t she be angry? It was his fault they’d been forced to hide for hours in the cramped attic above the lavatories of the air-charter building. They were unprepared, and they both knew it was his doing.
They’d waited another hour after the building had closed, moving only when they heard the last of the employees lock the door to the charter office.
It was Kaija who located another hangar where they could spend the remainder of the night. She was a supremely intelligent girl, and had, Volodin supposed, spent enough time around him to know that people, even smart ones, tended to write down things like door combinations. This one was scratched into the paint of the metal siding a few feet away from the push-button cypher lock.
Volodin lit a match as soon as he entered the pitch-black hanger. Kaija was quick to blow it out, using the light from her mobile phone to point to three high-wing bush planes and the assorted fuel cans stacked around them.
“Papa,” she said, shaking her head and glaring with her small mouth set in a hard line, the way her mother had looked when she was cross. “This is not a place to light matches.”
“Of course,” Volodin said, tapping at his forehead with an open hand again. “I should have known better. I am sorry, child.”
Kaija led the way across the rough concrete floor. A metal desk, a filing cabinet, and a small refrigerator set one area of the open bay apart as an office area. Thankfully there was a stack of candy bars and four plastic bottles of water inside the fridge. Kaija scooped them up along with something wrapped in white paper that turned out to be a pastrami sandwich.
Kaija cut the sandwich in half and handed part to Volodin. “Eat this,” she said, biting into her half. “It will help you get your strength back.”
They ate in silence for a time, with Kaija playing the light of her phone around the huge space, past shelving piled high with airplane parts and winter gear.
“I need to know something, Papa,” Kaija said at length.
“Of course,” he said. He’d dragged her this far. What else could he say?
“The spill into the river,” she said, eyes piercing even in the dim light of the phone. “What were you thinking?”
Volodin sighed. He’d taken only two bites of the sandwich before his stomach began to rebel. He carefully wrapped the rest and set it on the corner of the desk so Kaija could eat it later.
“Honestly,” he muttered. “I do not know. It seems to me that the entire lot of what I have done should be destroyed. I must have thought that if I released the chemicals one half at a time, they would be inert and cause no damage.”
“They would have, Papa,” Kaija said, frustration showing in her twitching brow. “But for some unknown reason you decided to release both components within minutes of each other. Had you not rinsed out the original batch you would have been killed when you simply flushed the second set down the drain.”
“Perhaps that would have been better than what is happening to me now,” Volodin said, hanging his head.
“We have been rushed, Papa,” she said, stating the obvious. But perhaps he needed the obvious. He certainly made enough mistakes. “Rushed into fleeing our homeland when we are unprepared.”
“I know this,” he whispered.
“Do you, Papa?” She was fuming now. “Do you understand how important it is that we discuss big decisions? There are many places in the world I would have wanted to go besides the United States. Your foolishness has put us in jeopardy. You have put everything in jeopardy.”
“I am a horrible man, kroshka. Tomorrow I will turn myself in to the American authorities. I will tell them you had nothing to do with this, and they will give you asylum. Perhaps you will like America.” He smiled. “It is not such a bad place. They have excellent universities”
“I do not wish to live in America!” Kaija screamed. “We will be at the mercy of filthy, thieving zhid!”
Volodin slapped her, hard, bringing a trickle of blood to the corner of her mouth. “Never use that word,” he said. “Your great-grandmother was a Jew.”
Kaija rubbed her jaw, staring at him. For a moment, he thought she might hit him back. Instead, she merely shook her head. “I am very tired,” she said.
“I am sorry, kroshka,” Volodin said. “I should not have struck you.” Her mother had held such racist thoughts, and it had been a constant source of friction between them.
Kaija held up her open hand. “The fault is mine, Papa.” She clearly had no remorse about what she’d said, only that she’d said it to him. “I will watch my words. We are both exhausted.”
There were no cots inside the hanger, but there were several pairs of nylon wing covers, quilted bags to protect the plane from snow and frost. Two of them folded made a serviceable if lumpy mattress to keep them off the chilly concrete. And two more proved large enough to climb inside and use as sleeping bags.
“Go to sleep, child,” Volodin said as he settled in against the stiff nylon. It smelled of oil and mildew, but it was American oil and mildew. “We must not be here when the owners of this place come in tomorrow.”
“Papa,” Kaija said, facing away in her own makeshift bag. “I am concerned about your plan to go to the authorities tomorrow.”
Volodin rolled onto his shoulder. His eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, and he could just make out the lump of cloth that was his daughter in the dim glow from the computer on the desk a few feet away.
“What would you have me do?” He asked. “We cannot hide for long. Those men are surely still looking for us. I expect I will see more by tomorrow. Rostov has eyes everywhere. They will crawl through car and building until they find us.”
“I am sure this is true.” The heavy nylon wing covers rustled in the darkness as Kaija rolled up on her side as well, looking directly at him. “And that goes to my point. Nome, Alaska, is a very small place, barely larger than Providenya — and just as remote. We will eventually have to go to the authorities, but not here. It would be better to wait until we are in Anchorage where we have a better chance to find someone not in league with Colonel Rostov.”