Yedemsky saw the look on his face and turned toward his line of sight.
“Shit. Hey, Barinov.”
“What?”
“We’ve got company.”
He too looked at the open door.
“Son of a bitch.”
Kuvayev somehow had one boot still on. It was all he wore. And yet, the heat was still pouring off him. Wisps of evaporating moisture emanated from his bare skin. His hair and beard were pointing in every possible direction. His head was lowered, but his eyes were locked on them. He was swaying slightly from side to side. And his eyes were unnaturally washed out, the irises a pale greyish-white color. His mouth was moving but so sound was discernible. To them, he looked gigantic and unstoppable.
Barinov risked a sideways glance. “Kravchuk, did you see anything we could use as a weapon?”
Kravchuk was very close to soiling himself. “A hammer, a crowbar, and a propane cylinder.”
Yedemsky was shaking visibly. Barinov knew things were hanging by a very fine thread.
“Okay. Let’s all move back toward the workbench and try to find something to protect ourselves. Move very slowly.”
Kravchuk whirled around too quickly and triggered an automatic response. Kuvayev roared like a crazed beast and ran toward them with unimaginable fury. He was fast as well. Faster than any of them.
Yedemsky raised his arm in a defensive posture and screamed. Kuvayev was going to reach him first.
Hamlin was once again surprised out of a deep thought by the close approach of another crew member.
“Oh, Dr. Zhabin.” He remembered to smile. Manners still counted. “How are you?”
“Bored, I’m afraid. I’m next on the schedule so I came to relieve you.”
Hamlin checked the clock. “I still have forty-five minutes to go. You’re early.”
“I don’t mind. My laundry is finished and my sleeping quarters cleaned. I don’t have time to get involved in anything else and frankly, there isn’t anything else to get involved with. I’ll grab one of those fine magazines and get started.”
Francis stood; his legs and back showing the signs of being seated for a long period of time.
“Very well, then. And thank you. Perhaps laundry would be a good thing for me to do as well.”
“I believe you westerners refer to this as living the dream. Enjoy what remains of your morning.”
Hamlin took several tentative steps, not really committed to his next course of action. Laundry did make sense. But he had another thought as well. He turned and headed for the hallway that led to Sokolov’s room. He walked with purpose, like he had every reason to be doing what he was doing. He reached it unchallenged, then opened the door in a businesslike manner and stepped inside. He immediately closed it and breathed a sigh of relief. He looked around and took stock.
“Okay,” he whispered to himself. “Brilliant. Now what?”
He sauntered over to the bookshelves and looked at some of the titles. Most of them were Russian and meant nothing to him. There were some in English but none that caught his interest for any reason. So much for that.
He walked over and sat in Sokolov’s chair. There were several drawers in the desk that he had never seen the insides of before. With a slight guilty feeling, he started to open them one by one. What he found was typical for any business person’s desk. Pens, pencils and markers; writing pads, folders, various little pins and clips; nothing unusual or noteworthy. The larger drawers had hanging files, but they all appeared to be written in Russian and so were of no interest. He slid the last one shut, and then folded his hands behind his head and leaned back to get comfortable while he thought.
“Making yourself at home?”
Hamlin nearly fell off the chair.
“Lena! Don’t do that! I could have fallen and broke my neck.”
She smiled, seemingly quite happy with herself.
“Well, I wouldn’t want that. Your services are badly needed at this station.”
He was sitting quite upright and balanced now.
“Right. I’m a first rate researcher and we all know it.”
She was walking slowly toward him.
“That’s not what I meant.”
He snickered out loud. “Lena, if being suggestive was a sport, you’d be Olympic class. You could write books on the subject and go on a lecture tour.”
“Why, thank you. We all have our unique skills.”
She grabbed the handles on his chair and spun it so he was facing her directly. Then she whirled around lithely and sat on his lap. She started to gyrate slowly but perceptively.
“Well now,” Hamlin said. “This is professional behavior at its finest. I’m guessing Sokolov didn’t do much of this. This chair is probably wondering what the hell is going on.”
“I’m not worried about the chair.” She had switched over to her husky voice.
“Well, to be honest, I’m getting less so myself. Our priorities do change over time.”
“So, tell me, Doctor,” she said as her hips continued to do their marvelous work, “what were you after in here? I fear you were being bad.”
“Naughty seems like a better word currently.”
“And what about those numbers? What has a smart man like you managed to figure out?”
Concentration was getting progressively harder. So was something else. He slid his hands up under her shirt and went exploring.
“I, umm, tried to, you know, uh, think about that. I did. I have some, oh my, ideas.”
“Doctor, you seem to be having trouble formulating your thoughts. Are you under some sort of duress?” She increased her speed.
“Oh, I, umm, no. That’s just, you know, we could always…just…get to the...ah. Give me a minute, will you?”
He looked up aimlessly at the chart on the wall over her shoulders. It was of Antarctica and showed the location of their station. But his mind was elsewhere. This was going to happen soon and he wanted it badly. There could be some collateral issues to resolve afterwards, but they seemed incredibly petty right now.
“Here is my best move.” She made a minor alteration to her speed and pressure points. She was right. It was the best.
“How is this even possible?” Hamlin hissed through clenched teeth, knowing it was too late to stop the process. The inevitable was going to happen. He teetered on the edge for a few seconds before arching himself against her to create more pressure where he needed it the most, and then bucked and moaned while nature took its course.
“My, my. What is wrong, Doctor? It would seem you are having some sort of seizure. It seemed to come upon you rather quickly.”
“Had,” he corrected. “I had a seizure. Oh my. I think I made a mess. And I’m not sure I appreciate your quickly comment.”
She smiled. “And that is your problem. I’m wondering how you’re going to walk back through the station now.”
He looked over her shoulder again. The same chart caught his attention again. Suddenly he knew why.
She looked at his expression and frowned. “I know how men are, but they don’t always lose interest quite that fast.”
A smile slowly spread over his face.
“Lena. I think know what the numbers might be.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Barinov lived the longest by simply doing nothing. He stood silently and motionless while first Kravchuk and then Yedemsky drew the attention of Kuvayev. They both died horribly, right before his eyes, and he had done nothing. Blunt force trauma, he had thought to himself quietly while trying to work out a plan for escape. Kuvayev was brutally strong. Kravchuk only lasted a few seconds, until he had been thrown against one of the generators, striking it head first. It didn’t take a medical professional to see the obvious damage that the impact had on his skull, or what was now left of it. The sound it made was sickening.