“You’re in luck. There happens to be an opening in my busy schedule.”
“Then follow me, if you please.”
Sokolov closed the door behind them after they entered.
“Please, take a seat and get comfortable. I feel the need to break into my private stock. May I offer you a glass of cognac?”
“That sounds more French than Russian. But yes, a change from vodka would be nice at this point.”
“It is thirty years old. You will find it more than just nice, if your taste buds are in any way similar to mine.”
Sokolov extended a balloon shaped snifter with a golden liquid inside.
“Thank you,” Francis said, accepting the glass.
“Have you ever read Doyle?”
The question came out of nowhere and caught Hamlin by surprise.
“Doyle?”
“Yes. Sir Arthur Ignatius Conan Doyle, to be precise.” Sokolov bent down and fumbled with a lower drawer in his desk.
“Of course. I loved Sherlock Holmes when I was a boy. I suppose I still do. Or, at least, I would if I made time for reading.”
Sokolov pulled out a small but gorgeous wooden box.
“So if I was to say, this is, I think, a two pipe problem, you would understand my meaning.”
He opened the box and extended it toward him. It was a small humidor.
“You are particularly clever today. The Hound Of The Baskervilles was always a favorite of mine.”
“There’s no pipe, I’m afraid, but these are Cuban. I was led to believe they came from the Castro family’s private stock.”
After hesitating, Hamlin extended his free hand and carefully selected and removed one of the large cigars. “Good heavens. It’s going to take at least two hours to smoke this thing. I’ll be sick for a week.”
Sokolov dismissed his concerns. “Enjoy until you feel you’ve had enough. The quality is too high to make you ill. Just puff, don’t inhale. I myself find it to be quite soothing.”
A box of long wooden matches appeared in Sokolov’s hand. He lit one with some flair and then extended it.
“All right. What’s the worst that could happen?” Francis drew air through the substantial stogie while slowly twirling it.
“Outstanding, Doctor. I see you have a grasp of the basic principles. Now, as they say, we’re in business.”
Hamlin took an exploratory puff. It was fine. He was still concerned about the effects on his constitution. He wondered how Sokolov would react to him puking out a ninety-dollar cigar.
Sokolov lit up and then leaned back in his chair. He drew in some smoke and exhaled it with some degree of showmanship.
“Ah, excellent. So, now that we’re as comfortable as two gentlemen in Antarctica can be, let us cogitate over our little problem. I am interested in your thoughts and feelings at this juncture, Dr. Hamlin. Without structure or thought to consequence, I would appreciate you sharing your innermost reflections on what has transpired here over the past few days. Don’t worry about shocking or offending me. As this is at my invitation, anything you say will not be held against you. We shall consider it a brainstorming session. If you please.”
Hamlin swirled his cognac before venturing a sip. Procrastination played a role in his actions.
“Say, this is good. There’s a lot going on in there.”
“Which is to say that the flavors become more complex and varied over time. You Americans have no regard for formality in how you express yourself. I cannot imagine how liberating that must be.”
“Yeah.” Hamlin placed the glass on the corner of the desk. Language skills of any sort wouldn’t help when discussing the disaster that had befallen them. “Well, let me start by asking you this—has anyone else shown any signs of illness since Kuvayev came down with symptoms?”
“No. Nothing obvious or that anyone is admitting to, at any rate.”
“Good. Very good. If, and I suppose this is a very large and important ‘if,’ we assume that transmission only happens with direct contact with the virus, then we have reached a very important juncture. It seems to me that the crisis is now over. There should be no more new cases. Perhaps what we should be doing is mapping out a plan to get back to our research and reestablish a normal routine to get us through the rest of the winter.”
“A very satisfying and optimistic analysis, Doctor. One which I greatly appreciate, to be completely honest.” He let out a long sigh. “But I fear there are still some small details that disturb me.”
“Such as?”
Sokolov took and puff, toyed with it, and then exhaled. After a moment’s hesitation, he picked up his glass and took a sip. Hamlin waited patiently.
“Barinov and Yedemsky just returned and reported from their grid search.”
“I saw them.”
“It was a disturbing or at least confusing report.’
“Oh? How so?”
“They discovered tracks leading away from our compound.”
“And that is unexpected?”
“Remember your orientation, Doctor. There is no wildlife here.”
“What kind of tracks, then?”
“They say human.”
Hamlin was taken aback.
“Whose?”
Sokolov stared at his cigar, watching the grey smoke rise lazily toward the ceiling.
“That is the question, indeed. At the approximate time these tracks were discovered, all crew members were present or accounted for elsewhere. Or deceased.”
“Could they have been made sometime earlier?”
“No. The drifting snow fills in tracks quite rapidly. Admittedly, the wind is light today. But even taking that into account, they wouldn’t have been visible if they had been there for any length of time.”
“How is that possible?”
Sokolov smiled. “Again, that is the question. Really, Doctor, I’m having second thoughts about your value to me in finding an answer to this.”
“Sorry. I’m just working through the initial shock phase.”
“There is one other disturbing detail.”
“Great. And what would that be?”
“Barinov was of the opinion that the tracks indicated a person walking in bare feet.”
Hamlin almost spit out a swallow of cognac. “What! That’s impossible.”
Sokolov nodded. “Yes. Frostbite would be almost instantaneous. The discomfort would be so severe that no normal person would willingly submit themselves to that kind of torture.”
Hamlin pondered the options.
“Is it possible that he was mistaken?”
“I considered that possibility. Neither man is a fool and they both have extensive experience down here. I questioned them at length and they were both consistent and adamant as to the details. Besides, what else could account for what they saw?”
“No wildlife, huh? Any chance they were drinking?”
Sokolov assumed a sour facial expression. “Barinov definitely had vodka on his breath. Yedemsky seemed dry, as far as I could quickly ascertain.”
“It has to be a mistake. What other explanation could there be?”
“I agree. What I need is a plausible alternative. Surely the rest of the staff knows about the tracks, probably even now based on how Barinov talks when he’s been drinking. How do I assure them that everything is now fine? What do I tell them when they start asking questions?”
Hamlin decided it was time for another puff. “These damn Ph.D’s and their inquisitive minds.”
“Precisely.”
“We have to tell them something.”
“No doubt about it.”
“Some sort of straw for them to grasp, even if it represents an unlikely theory.”
“Any ideas would be appreciated.”
“Antarctic fur seals.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“They live around the perimeter of the continent and nobody is sure of what their winter range is. Therefore, although I would not be an advocate of the theory myself, you cannot discount the possibility that one could venture this far inland. Maybe it is motivated by the same desire as the chicken who crossed the road; trying to get to the other side.”