Carter stood swaying on his feet, his knees weak, a hollow feeling at the pit of his stomach, looking at the empty spot behind the rocks.
He stepped back and looked around to make sure he hadn't made a mistake, that this was indeed the place where they had hidden Forester's body and the raft. But it was the correct spot; he was certain of it. The raft was simply gone, and with it his chances of escape.
For a long time he remained there, staring at the rocks, but he finally turned around and when he did he thought he must be dreaming.
A young Siberian woman, the hood of her parka thrown back, her long black braids streaming in the wind, her eyes round, her olive complexion clear, stood there looking at him. She smiled.
"Where are your other friends?" she shouted over the wind in halting English.
Carter could just make out her words; it was as if they had come down a long, padded tunnel. He raised his Mac 10. "Who are you?"
"Na'tukt," she said. "We have your rubber boat, and the bodies of your friend here and the one from inside the fence."
"Did you kill him?"
The young woman shook her head solemnly. "The Russians found your friend. They killed him. We killed them and brought their bodies with us. But what of your other two friends who went to the submarine pens with you?"
Carter looked at her. She was from the fishing village just down the coast; there was little doubt of it. Evidently she and her people had been the ones who were following them.
"They are dead," Carter shouted over the wind. His own voice seemed far away. It was a real effort just to talk, and the girl's face seemed to be going in and out of focus. "Did you find a radio?"
"You cannot attempt to go to sea in this weather," the girl said.
"I must."
"You would die in the surf, or the patrol boats from the base would shoot at you. They have cannons. They are very upset about what you have done to their boat. They are not sure, though, if there are more of you, but they are certain that one of your submarines must be out there waiting."
"I have to get back…" Carter started, but finally his legs gave out one last time and he pitched forward, his world going soft and dark.
He dreamed that the carrying case was being taken away from him but that his struggles were ineffectual. He also dreamed that his clothes had been taken and that he was finally getting warm, and then his dreams turned erotic. Two women were in bed with him, keeping him warm, making love to him…
Carter woke up twelve hours later. He lay in a soft bed, a down-filled quilt covering his nakedness. He felt rested, though his body ached all over. Only a small oil lamp in one corner provided any illumination. It was warm beneath the quilt but the room was unheated. He could see his breath.
He started to sit up, when the door opened and two young women came in. One of them carried a bowl of steaming broth, the other a jar of kvas — a fermented Russian drink something like beer.
"How do you feel?" one asked. He recognized her from the rocky beach.
"Na'tukt?" he asked.
She smiled broadly, and the other one giggled. "You have a very good memory. Is there anything else that you recall?"
"Where are my clothes and the suitcase?"
"Your clothes are being cleaned, and your suitcase is in the other room. Nothing has been harmed."
"You didn't open the suitcase?"
"No," Na'tukt said. She and the other girl came to the bedside and began feeding Carter the broth and the drink. It was very good.
"The soldiers came around in the morning, but they found nothing," the second girl said. Her English was much better than Na'tukt's. Both of them were dressed in long sealskin robes, their feet bare, their hair cascading down around their shoulders.
"My father has listened on the radio that your friend had with him," Na'tukt said. "He says your submarine has gone. They think that you are dead."
"I have to get out of here," Carter said. "It is very important."
"We know," the other girl said. "And we can help you. But first you must regain your strength."
It was no use to protest, he realized, and he lay back. "What do they call you?" Carter asked.
"Mal'ama," the girl said.
"Those are very Siberian names for this part of the Soviet Union," Carter said. "And where did you learn to speak English?"
"Our entire village was brought here from Okhotsk by the navy. It was required that we learn English," Mal'ama said.
"Why?"
"To stop spies such as yourself," she said matter-of-factly.
"Then why haven't you turned me over to the authorities?"
The girls looked at each other and smiled. "We had a good life in Okhotsk. It was our family home. Our life here, however, has been made very difficult. Our people were populating Siberia long before the Russian Revolution, and we will be Siberians long after the government in Moscow changes hands again."
"We are not helping you so much as we are not helping them," Na'tukt said. "Now it is time to stop talking.
She and Mal'ama put the bowls aside, and with no warning took off their robes. They were both nude beneath them. Their skin was glowing and smooth; their breasts high and proud, their nipples large and dark, the swatch of hair at their pubis intensely black.
"What's this?" Carter asked, laughing.
The girls climbed in beneath the quilt on either side of him.
"You have had a very bad time out there," Na'tukt said softly. She nibbled at the back of Carter's neck while she caressed his chest.
"You were nearly frozen when you were brought in here," Mal'ama said. She kissed Carter's forehead, his nose, and his lips, her tongue darting out.
Carter could feel himself responding. Mal'ama laughed in delight, and Na'tukt reached around and felt for him.
"See?" she purred in his ear. "We have learned the cure for prolonged exposure to our winters."
For just a moment Carter wondered how he was supposed to satisfy two women at the same time. But then he lay back. The hell with it, he told himself. They were the doctors.
Fifteen
It was night again. The wind and snow had not stopped. Carter lay awake in the soft bed, his hearing and eyesight back to normal, and his battered body rested.
They had told him that as soon as the Russian patrols stopped, they would take him across in the fishing fleet. They would not actually be able to get within Japanese coastal waters, but they could come close enough for Carter to take a sailing skiff the final twelve miles if the weather were settled.
That could be days, perhaps even weeks, he realized. All the while the danger would exist that the Russians could come here in force to search every square inch of the village for the Petrograd-class sub's missing computer chip.
Storms on the coast often lasted as long as five or six days. During that time very few fishing boats went out; only the most hardy or the most foolish would dare. A positive factor with the continuing bad weather, however, was that the Russians could not send up any aircraft for the search. It was during those times that they were the most vulnerable, though their patrol boats would be out in force.
Carter got out of bed and cleaned up with cold water in the bowl in the washstand, then got dressed in his coveralls, socks, and boots which had been laid out for him. His weapons had been cleaned and oiled as well. He checked them, then strapped them on.
Mal'ama came into his room when he was finishing, and carefully closed the door. She was clearly distressed.
"What's wrong?" Carter asked.
"Two Russian soldiers have come from the base. They are looking around," she said.
"Are there others, or are they alone?"
"They are alone. And I don't think they are here on orders. They come in like this from time to time."