“Like I said, the only thing close to happy times I had with my daddy was when we were fixin’ engines.”
“He taught you to use the empty rifle bullet as a fix?”
“Hell, no.” Beaudine frowned. “If we would have had guns and bullets around the house I woulda shot the son of a bitch a long time ago. He just taught me to use what we had on hand.”
“Okay then,” Quinn said. “If you don’t mind doing the fixing, I’m going to pour some more antiseptic on my thigh. I’m pretty sure the stuff I was laying in back there came out of the south end of a north-bound caribou.”
Beaudine handed him the brass shell casing and Leatherman. “Your hands are stronger. It’ll go faster if you do it. In the meantime, drop your pants, and I’ll take care of your antiseptic again. It’s the least I can do since you sewed me up.”
Quinn did as he was told, sitting on the edge of the Arctic Cat with his pants and long underwear pooled around his boots. He held the empty rifle case against the handlebars with one hand while he sawed first at the narrow-necked end of the cartridge with the Leatherman file. He’d work on the primer end next. Beaudine opened a new packet of Betadine and began to pour it on each spot where the shotgun had hit his thigh.
“Lucky for you, she was using birdshot.”
“I’ll say.” Quinn concentrated on what he was doing to keep from wincing. It was not particularly delicate work, but he had to move the file evenly back and forth on the brass shell casing, working to form a tube that could be inserted in between the broken oil lines.
“You’re sure you don’t want me to try and get at them?” Beaudine offered again.
“No, thanks,” Quinn said. “Better concentrate on fixing this. We slowed Zolner down but he’s not going to be far behind Volodin and the girl. He might even catch them.”
“If he doesn’t bleed out.” Beaudine grinned. “I still can’t believe you actually hit him.”
“Technically the bullet bounced into his rifle and then hit him.”
“At three quarters of a mile, a hit’s a hit,” Beaudine said.
Quinn stopped filing long enough to look up and stare across the empty tundra. “Anyway, this Worst of the Moon doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to bleed out.”
Beaudine squatted beside the Arctic Cat, trimming the oil line with a pocketknife. “Everybody bleeds out,” she said.
Quinn turned and looked at her over his shoulder, first at her face and then at his thigh. “We didn’t.”
Chapter 56
Colonel Rostov felt as if his guts had turned to jelly as he watched a thin whisker of smoke curl from the barrel of Kanatova’s H&K P7. He carried a Makarov pistol in a regulation flap holster on his hip, but the way this woman summarily shot Lodygin without warning… Rostov knew there was no way he could get to his weapon before she shot him as well.
Rosalina, reduced to a bundle of nerves from her recent treatment, lost control of her bladder at the gunshot, and fell forward across the table, knocking the soup bowl to the floor.
Instead of shooting Rostov as he expected, Kanatova returned her pistol to the holster and produced a handcuff key from her pocket. “Don’t just stand there,” she said as she stooped to free the girl’s ankle from the chain. “Take off your coat.”
“My coat…?”
“Give me your coat!” Kanatova snapped, causing the colonel to shrug the thing off as if it were on fire. “Now turn away. The poor thing deserves some privacy.”
Rostov turned slightly, but kept an eye on the FSB agent in his peripheral vision, smart enough not to show his back completely, but concerned enough that beads of sweat began to pop up on his bald head.
“Come, my dear,” Kanatova said to the girl. “We must get you clean and into warm clothing. Do you live with your mother?”
“Yes.” The reply was hardly louder than the peep of a bird.
“How long have you been here?”
“I do not know,” Rosalina said. “Two days, I think.”
Kanatova’s green eyes shot daggers at Rostov. “Your poor mother must be worried sick. I will call and let her know you are with me now.” Arms around the shattered girl’s heaving shoulders, she turned again to Rostov. “I have seen what I was sent to see, Colonel.”
“You will take the girl with you?”
“I will,” Kanatova said, drawing her closer as if she were a beloved younger sister. There was a fierceness about her that made her seem to glow, even in the dimness of Lodygin’s dismal room.
Rostov shook his head, feeling some measure of control return to his spirit. He was after all, a colonel in the GRU. “And what of Captain Lodygin?”
“Dump him in the sea,” Kanatova said, her freckled nose drawing into a tight sneer. “I do not care. It is apparent Lodygin was a sadistic bastard and that is what I will report to General Zhestakova. The man had no business questioning young women about such sensitive subjects — much less being in charge of your project.”
“I assure you, I did not know of his proclivity—”
“Is that so?” Kanatova said, tilting her head as if passing judgment. She turned to look at Rosalina. “My dear, have you ever seen this man before?”
“No.” The girl shook her head. “Only the other one.”
“Very well.” Kanatova shrugged. “In that case, Colonel, I must ask you to return me to my plane.”
Rostov put a hand on the edge of the table to keep his knees from buckling. “Of course,” he said. “Yes… of course.” He could think of nothing else to say. She had made it quick, and, in a manner, kind, when she’d killed Lodygin, just as General Zhestakova said it should be.
A stocky woman with her gray hair piled high in a tight bun swung her elbows as if she were marching when she walked out from the plane to meet Aleksandra Kanatova beside the old ZiL. The woman carried a bright blue wool blanket and wrapped it around the girl’s shoulders like a loving grandmother. Rostov nearly collapsed in relief when Kanatova returned his greatcoat. The FSB would not go to the trouble of returning a coat if they meant to murder someone.
“Mrs. Dudkov will look after you, my dear,” Kanatova said to the girl, patting her on the shoulder as the matron escorted the girl to the plane. “I will be along in a moment.”
“Thank you for your assistance in this delicate matter, Colonel Rostov,” Kanatova said when the girl was safely out of earshot and boarding the plane. “Finding information on any plans the Black Hundreds have regarding Novo Archangelsk is paramount to all else. Do you understand?”
“I do,” Rostov said. Some of his bluster had begun to seep back in now that he knew he would survive this encounter. “You bought an incredible amount of trust from the girl when you rescued her from Lodygin.”
“Yes… Lodygin,” Kanatova said as if the name was bitter on her tongue.
“I assure you,” Rostov stammered. “I was only interested in the information he brought me. I knew nothing of his activities with the girl.”
Kanatova smiled, giving him a sly wink. “Oh you knew, Colonel. You knew all too well.” The smile bled from her face. “The important thing is that you did not take part in those activities.”
“Quite right,” Rostov said, squirming, fighting the urge to tug at his collar for more air. “The girl trusts you now. That is good. She will tell you everything she knows, I am sure.” He felt as if he was on the verge of collapse by the time she extended her hand. She was a civilian and did not salute, but it made sense that she would offer to shake hands.
Kanatova nodded a curt good-bye and turned. The same cold, gray wind that had brought the terrifying redhead to Providenya tugged at her hair as she walked back toward the aircraft. Rostov felt as if he could draw a full breath for the first time in hours.