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No, he was up to something else, and his course points right to Ilanskiy. There’s nothing else beyond that town of any import for hundreds of kilometers. Sookin Syn! He’s curious. That son-of-a-bitch has gone to stick his nose in things and see what he can find. But what would he find there?

There was a quiet knock on the door, and a servant came in with a tray and two coffee cups. He poured coffee into both, drank one, and left the second filled on the table. Volkov looked at the guard and gave him a terse order.

“Send for Kymchek. Tell him to bring anything he has on what those zeppelins are doing, the ones Karpov brought with him. I want to know where they are and what they are up to-understand?”

Even as he said that a cold thought occurred to him. What would I be up to, he said to himself? Karpov and I are two fish from the same pond. If I were him I would be trying to figure out how I got here… Ilanskiy. Yes, he’s trying to see if there’s any connection with that place and my strange appearance here. I’m almost certain of it. Kymchek will come in and tell me exactly what I already know.

He walked over to the coffee tray and poured a fresh cup, using the mug the servant had drunk from. There could have been poison at the bottom of that other cup. One could never be too careful, could he? Karpov would certainly like to serve me a spiked coffee if he could, wouldn’t he? The grand admiral of the Siberian Aero Corps is probably already planning my undoing. I could crush him like a bug. My fleet is three times the size of his little airship navy.

Now Volkov remembered a lesson he had learned and put to good use many times over the decades in his rise to power here. First, know what the other man wants to know-and get it before he does. Information was power. Second, kill your enemies before they are powerful enough to kill you. Sergei Kirov had plucked Stalin out of the stream when he was just a tadpole.

This Karpov has made remarkable strides if he only showed up here in 1938. The man’s ambition is impressive. So now is the time to get the bastard-now while he thinks we’re all nice and friendly, now while he can crow that he liberated Omsk with a simple threat. Did he really think I bought that lozh about half a million Tartar Cavalry?

Volkov smiled. Planning the demise of one’s enemies was such a satisfying endeavor. So what should he do now? Find out what Karpov knows, and why he’s squatting on that railway inn if that is where he went. I’ll know soon enough. If he finds nothing he will simply leave and stick his nose somewhere else. But if he sees an egg or two in that nest, then he’ll sit on them. Yes, he’ll sit there, and I should begin to see a buildup in that sector soon.

He did not have long to wait. Kymchek was very efficient, at any hour. The telephone rang and the voice of his Intelligence Chief gave him a satisfied smile.

“The zeppelins you have inquired about are at a small hamlet east of Kansk.”

“Ilanskiy?”

“Yes, Governor-General, that is the place.”

“What are they doing there?”

“We do not yet know. But Karpov is there with Abakan and Andarva, and he is disembarking the entire battalion he had with him during the negotiations. There is a good deal of activity around the rail yard. They could be setting up a new military depot or command center.”

“At Kansk? That makes no sense. It is too far behind the front to perform either role effectively. Why set up facilities there when he has them in abundance further west at Krasnoyarsk?”

“We are looking into the matter, sir.”

“Please do. Now tell me what airships we have available to operate east of the border.”

“Sir? We have Pavlodar, Astana, Oskemen and the Alexandra still in the Eastern District.”

“Anything north of Omsk?”

“Alexandra is presently at Tyumen, en-route to Perm. Oskemen is at Petropavlovsk. A little south of the city, but close enough.”

“Who commands?”

“Symenko is senior officer aboard Alexandra. A bit surly these days. He wasn’t happy about having to rename the ship.”

Volkov laughed. “He’ll get over it. Form a long range reconnaissance group of those two ships. I’ll send the flight plan and orders through normal channels. I’ll want a full battalion with each. Understood?”

“Very well sir.”

“And put all the other airships in the Northern Division on standby alert, including the Orenburg.”

“The fleet flagship, sir?”

“Are you going deaf, Kymchek?”

“I will see the orders go out immediately, sir. Anything more?”

“That will be all.”

Even as he hung up the telephone something told Volkov that it would not be all, that there was much more that would come of this. What he contemplated now was very risky, and as he looked at the map lit by the wan light of his desk lamp he began to consider how best to make this approach.

I cannot send them due east. The Alexandra is already well north, so I will send Oskemen to rendezvous here, at Tobolsk, but it must not overfly Omsk along the way. These are good, fast airships, and well gunned. Will two battalions be sufficient? Anything more might cause a major incident, particularly if Karpov stays at Ilanskiy for any length of time. So I will send these two ships northeast across the Ob River all the way to the Yenisey River. They can follow that south and then skirt over to Ilanskiy from the north. The area is a complete wilderness. If they stay above the cloud deck there is every chance for them to arrive undetected.

Yet this is risky. It could upset everything I have just negotiated with Karpov. It will definitely upset Karpov himself. He smiled. Too bad in that case. Perhaps I should have killed him the minute I realized who he really was. Curiosity stayed my hand. I need to know more about why he is here, and about that damn ship he was on. There are just too many unanswered questions. He was wearing a service jacket. Why did he not use it to contact his ship? There is more to this story than I know now, and if Kymchek cannot find out what is happening at Ilanskiy, I want a detachment ready to see firsthand.

This must be done carefully. I must plan it well.

Orlov was standing on the Gondola bridge of the Narva, watching the long ragged coastline off the starboard side viewports, amazed by the vastness of his homeland. He had never seen it quite like this, drifting a few thousand feet up, slipping through the mist and clouds and then breaking into the clear to see the sunlight dappling the Barents Sea. He had always enjoyed flying, his face at the window seat of any flight he ever booked. The vastness of the sky and the landscape below him were an altogether different experience from that aboard the ship. He felt airy light, like the zeppelin that bore him, with a sense of freedom that he had not felt since he took that fateful jump from the KA-226 helicopter in the Mediterranean, so long ago as it seemed now.

He had been very excited to learn his request to accompany the mission had been approved by Admiral Volsky. Duties on the ship had fallen into that old tedious routine for him again, checking ship’s rotations, assigning crews to maintenance details, knocking a few heads together when the work was slack. He missed the freedom he felt when he was at large in the world, this time, the 1940s, and with his head full of information that he knew he could use to become as rich and powerful as any man alive.

He remembered how he felt, almost invulnerable, a kind of demigod among these unknowing men. He never worried for one minute, not when the British found him, then when the NKVD had him, or even after those commandos pinched him. Persistent little rats, weren’t they? Why was everyone so interested in him, he wondered? But he really didn’t care. He had his own mission at the time, and he never doubted for one minute that he would do what he set out to accomplish-find Commissar Molla and choke the life out of the man before he could harm anyone else like he hurt his grandmother. Yet that conversation with Fedorov had left him feeling strangely perturbed. Molla was still alive! Sookin Syn! The son-of-a-bitch was out there somewhere-or was he?