Alexi’s face darkened with blood and his composure slipped into a glare at the shorter man. “You accuse me of lying?”
“Da, unless you can come up with a better word!”
“I demand satisfaction! Either apologize at once or meet me outside.”
Gennady grinned. “You are challenging me to a duel?”
Alexi maintained his glare and suppressed a smirk. “Yes. If you’re man enough to face me.”
Gennady’s eyes seemed to glint. “I accept. Since you challenged me, I get to choose the weapon.”
Alexi suddenly looked wary. “What do you choose?”
“Skinning knives at thirty paces.”
“Skinning knives? What can you do with a skinning knife at that distance?”
“Do you accept my choice of weapons?”
Alexi smirked. “Of course.” He straightened to his full height, a full head above Gennady, and shook his long arms as if to make them more limber. “But I think you’d better keep your distance.”
Somebody shouted, “Duel! Clear the building!”
Everyone trooped out into the sunshine. Gennady thought it might be close to 70 degrees Fahrenheit, and no breeze to alleviate the oppressive heat. Temperatures in Interior Alaska during the summer could reach incredibly high numbers.
Waterman Stoddard stepped off thirty paces. He gave Alexi a skinning knife, and then approached Gennady, holding out a second blade.
“No thanks, Waterman. I have my own.” He pulled his knife from its sheath and stared at his opponent, holding the knife in his right hand at his side.
“So what do we do now?” Alexi said with a grin, glancing at the crowd for approval. “Stare at each oth—”
Gennady snapped his arm up and his knife flew straight into Alexi’s throat.
Alexi dropped his knife and grabbed his throat as he thudded to his knees. Staring at Gennady with wide, beseeching eyes, he pulled the blade out and dropped it, and grabbed his throat again. Blood gushed from the wound, soaking his hands, arms and the ground around him.
While his mouth opened and shut like that of a beached fish, Alexi Popovich fell over on his side and died.
The crowd stared in silence. Alexi looked around, staring into the eyes of every person there.
“I am an honest man. I pay my debts and I honor my contracts. I ask for your vote as delegate.”
He walked over to the still-twitching body and picked his knife off the ground, wiped it on Alexi’s trouser leg, and walked back into the meeting house.
83
Aboard the RCNS Mako, SS-45 Chatham Strait
The rumbling thunder of a Japanese destroyer rolled over them and Grisha felt his heart rise into his mouth. The submarine lay quiet on a shelf off Admiralty Island. Grisha had no idea how Captain Vandenberg knew the location of the shelf or how he could set his boat on it safely.
Clangs like hammers on steel suddenly rang through the boat.
“They’ve found us!” Captain Vandenberg bellowed. “All ahead full.”
The rumble and hammer strikes vanished. Grisha looked at the men around him, slowly, carefully. He wanted to remember their faces for as long as he lived, and pay them honor.
As one, they sweated and strained, eyes upward. No, some stared at meters and dials as if watching the turn of a card or die that would render them rich or busted. Or dead.
“Sonar?” Vandenberg intoned.
“They’re coming back around, Skipper. This would be a good time to jink.”
“Thanks, Pete. Helm! Hard to port.”
“Hard to port, aye!”
The submarine rolled to the right and Grisha was glad he had not released his hold on the framework. Something crashed to the deck behind him.
“Sorry, Skipper,” Chief Fisher muttered. “I thought I had that secured. Give me a minute.” He swished away and Grisha turned his attention back to Sonorman First Class Lawson.
“Skipper, they crossed our wake, fading to starboard.”
“Anything else out there, Pete?”
“Not that I can hear, Skipper.”
“Chief of the Boat, bring us up to periscope depth.”
“Periscope depth, aye,” Chief Busch said. “You heard the captain, guys, now get us there.”
Grisha watched as wheels were turned and levers brought back a few notches in their arc. But he understood none of it. He couldn’t remember ever being this frightened before in his life.
“Grisha!”
He turned and saw Wing’s outstretched hand, grabbed it immediately. He hadn’t thought of her for over five minutes and his cheeks flamed. He felt gratitude that the battle lanterns all had red lenses.
“What is happening?” she asked as he pulled her close.
“I have no idea. All I do know is that Captain Vandenberg had been through this before, so I don’t think we have to worry.”
Captain Vandenberg overheard him and flashed them a quick smile.
“Periscope level, Skipper,” Chief Busch whispered.
“Up periscope,” Captain Vandenberg said.
As soon as the eyepiece hit knee level, the captain was on it, snapping down the two little arms and walking them around the thick, still-rising shaft of the thing.
“Destroyer aft, six thousand yards and headed away from us.” He continued to slowly walk the shaft in a circle and stopped abruptly.
“Second destroyer headed straight for us, balls to the wall! Open forward torpedo doors, now!”
Grisha saw the fear drop over their faces. This wasn’t a sure thing. They all still might die.
“How can they do this day after day?” Wing whispered in his ear, echoing his own thoughts. He shrugged.
“Forward torpedo doors open, Skipper,” Chief Busch said in a conversational tone.
“Fire one, fire two!” Vandenberg ordered.
“Torpedoes away, Skipper,” Chief Busch said. “How long until you—”
The explosion slammed through the water and violently rocked the Mako to the left.
“Jesus Christ!” Busch shouted. “How fu—,” he glanced at Wing and flashed her a grin. “How close were they, Skipper?”
“Too damn close. They just went to the bottom,” Vandenberg said, eyes still glued to the periscope. “And here comes their cavalry.” He snapped the arms against the periscope tube.
“Down scope, full speed ahead. Take her down to 300 feet, port full rudder, Chief.”
“Port full rudder, 300 feet, aye, aye, Skipper.”
The deck tilted down and Grisha maintained his grip on the stanchion with one hand and put his other arm around Wing. Behind them he could hear Sergeant Major Tobias muttering under his breath.
“What’s that, Sergeant Major?”
“I was just telling myself that this is something I needn’t do again in my life. Once is more than enough!”
Wing turned to him and forced a smile. “For once I am in total agreement with you, Sergeant Major.”
“Depth charges!” Sonarman First Lawson shouted, jerking off his headset.
Thunder filled their steel universe.
84
5 miles east of Delta on the Russia-Canada Highway
Yukon Cassidy aimed at the position from where Riordan last fired. His carbine weighed more than an ordinary weapon, of that he felt positive. The muzzle quivered no matter how hard he grasped the weapon.
“Where is that son of a bitch?” he muttered.
Time dragged and he decided that the quarry had different plans, but what? He knew Riordan wouldn’t do anything to endanger himself in a real way.