Cole tightened his grip on the Browning 1911 in his hand and Samson shifted his bulk to cover the door with his shotgun. The dog's bark turned to a happy whine as whoever was out there made friends.
Vaska approached the door armed with nothing more than his tobacco pipe. Seconds later, he was beckoning in the woman who stood there. She appeared to be alone, so Cole and the others relaxed enough to take their fingers off their triggers.
Vaska's wife had set up this meeting with the woman who worked in the Gulag infirmary. Cole still didn't know the wife's name, so in his head he just referred to her as Mrs. Vaska. Maybe Vaska had introduced her at some point, but Cole had either missed it or couldn't remember the Russian name.
Inna Mikhaylovna was a lot more memorable.
She entered the small house, keeping her head down and wrapped in a head scarf, like an old babushka. She had come under cover of darkness to avoid as many prying eyes as possible. Cole didn't know how much good that would do — if the Russian village was anything like Gashey's Creek, people talked, and not much got by them. He just hoped there weren't too many villagers spying for the Gulag.
The woman took off the scarf and sat at the kitchen table. She had dishwater blond hair and lacked the roundness of face that he had come to expect in the local Russians. Her eyes took in the faces around the table. Her gaze settled on Cole, who sat at the head of the table next to Vaska. So this was the girl who was in love with Whitlock? Lucky bastard, Cole thought.
Mrs. Vaska served tea solemnly, as if they were all distant relations gathering to discuss something serious, like the sale of property — or maybe the details of an arranged marriage. She did not serve food. Food always seemed to be in short supply. There sure as hell weren't any cakes or cookies to pass around. You couldn’t share what you didn’t have. Cole felt right at home.
"Are you in charge?" she asked Cole.
Honaker practically leaped out of his chair as he announced, "That would be me." He asked what was now obvious, a tone of surprise in his voice: "You speak English?"
"Yes. Just the four of you?" she asked, looking around the table again doubtfully. Her English didn't have much of an accent — she could almost have passed for an American. Who'd have thought, out here in the north of Russia?
"We're enough, honey. Believe me," Honaker said, sounding boastful.
"Sometimes a small group attracts less attention," Cole explained. "We are glad for your help, miss."
"Inna," she said, pronouncing it EE-nah.
"Cole," he said. He rattled off the names of the other men, but she looked too nervous to remember all the names. He doubted that she was any kind of spy — and if she had been, the Russians would have been right behind her and rounded them all up by now.
Honaker was about two steps behind Cole's thinking process. "Why should we believe you are really trying to help us?" he demanded.
"I am not helping you," she said, some snap in her voice that Cole liked. "I am helping Harry."
By “Harry” she meant Harrison Whitlock IV, grandson of a United States Senator and the golden boy of a New England family that was richer than Jesus.
"Then we're in luck," Cole said. "We need to break him the hell out of that Gulag, so we could use your help."
Her eyes went back to Cole. Honaker had said he was in charge, but her eyes stayed on Cole. "I have a plan," she said.
"Miss Inna, I do love a woman with a plan," Cole said before Honaker could open his mouth, which earned him a scowl. “Let’s hear it."
Quickly, she explained the layout of the Gulag compound and its basic security. Cole began to understand that it was really more like an old-fashioned frontier stockade than a proper prison. The Gulag compound had just one watch tower. There were searchlights, but to save electricity they were rarely turned on. There was at least one machine gun up in the watch tower, as far as she could tell, although they never had been fired at anyone trying to escape. Prisoners did escape from time to time, but they never got far. Where would they go, anyhow, in the middle of the taiga, in the dead of night? In effect, the taiga itself served as the prison walls.
"Then there is Barkov," she said. She shuddered. "He is a hunter and he tracks down anyone who escapes. He is a cruel man."
"Is he the commandant, or whatever you call it, of this Gulag?"
"No, but he is like the overseer. He chases down anyone who escapes."
"Sounds like a hunting dog."
"He is more like a bear," she said. "He was a sniper in Stalingrad and then in the offensive into Germany. He should be a hero of Russia, but they sent him here for the things that he did in Germany."
"What kind of things?" Vaccaro asked, sounding nervous.
Inna shrugged, leaving that to their imagination. They could imagine a lot. This Barkov had probably done all that, and worse, to get himself sent to this place.
“He’s nothing we can’t handle,” Honaker said.
Cole wasn’t so sure. This girl didn’t look as if she scared easily, but it was clear that Barkov concerned her. “I reckon we need to get a head start to give us a chance against Barkov," Cole said. "How do we get Whitlock out?"
Inna explained her plan. The barracks were not locked at night because the prisoners or zeks needed to come and go — some worked early shifts in the kitchens, for example. So the problem wasn't getting Whitlock out of the barracks, but out of the Gulag itself. The main gate was out of the question. That gate was mostly for show when important officials came and went, or very large machinery or supplies were brought in. Used more frequently were a couple of smaller gates in the perimeter fence. The gate closest to Whitlock's barracks led to the village, serving as a kind of shortcut for moving between the two.
Vaska nodded when Inna described the gate; he explained that he had used this gate often when bringing in fresh meat to sell.
"One of the regular guards at the gate knows me because I have struck up a conversation with him many times," Inna said. "He knows that I come and go at odd hours — sometimes I come over to the village to check on someone who is ill."
"This guard isn't going let you walk out of there with Whitlock," Honaker said.
"Of course not," Inna said impatiently. "I am going to make sure the guard is missing for a few minutes. I will tie my scarf to the gate as a sign for you and for Harry, and he can escape."
"Where is this guard going to be?"
Inna shrugged. "Busy."
She didn't have to explain how she would be keeping the guard busy.
"What about you?" Cole asked. "It sounds like this Barkov will figure out right quick who helped Whitlock escape, once he realizes his American prisoner is gone."
"As you say, he will figure it out," she agreed. "But I won't be there. I will be coming with you."
“No, you won’t," Honaker said. He shook his head emphatically. “The deal is that we're taking Whitlock with us, and nobody else."
Inna and Honaker started to argue about that.
Cole thought it over. The girl wasn't going to have a chance once Barkov or the camp commandant figured out who had helped Whitlock escape. They didn't have any option but to bring her along.
"She's right," Cole said. "She's got no choice. As long as she can keep up, she can come along."
Honaker was annoyed. "Listen, Cole—"
But it was Vaska who made the decision. "She comes with us. Barkov must not know who in the village helped her. If she is left behind, he will make her tell."
They spent a few more minutes hashing out the details. Then Inna announced that she had to get back to the infirmary before she was missed.
When she had gone, Honaker said: "I don't trust her. Who's to say she won't sell us out?"
Cole wasn't buying what Honaker was selling. He went with his gut. He wasn't sure that he understood love, but he did know loyalty, and he sensed it in this young woman. "We got no choice but to trust her. Besides, if Mrs. Vaska vouches for her, I reckon that's good enough for me."