Only two days ago, four members of the NRP were seen in the nearby village of Hakanes. They were accompanied by a pair of tall, blond-haired middle-aged strangers, who were introduced as business associates from abroad. Knowing full well that they were representatives of Werewolf, Mikhail was able to follow them to a mountain hut that lay hidden in the trees of the opposite shoreline, not far from where the orange and white helicopter had just landed. From this vantage point they would have an uncluttered view of the lake, much like his own. This led Mikhail to one shocking conclusion. Werewolf was also after the heavy water, which they hoped to utilize to construct a weapon of such destructive force that even the world’s superpowers would have to stand up and take notice.
Mikhail returned his gaze to the lake. The fair-haired giant could still be seen on the trawler’s stern, securely strapping the drum that he had just extracted from the water to the boat’s deck, while on the opposite shore, the Bell 212 helicopter lifted off into the sky with a grinding roar, its cabin now filled with the three young Norwegians who had arrived here by means of the Zodiac raft.
Wondering where they had been called to, Mikhail Kuznetsov angled his binoculars up into the thicket of ri0 trees that overlooked the clearing where the helicopter had just taken off. Even though the pines effectively veiled the wooden structure that he knew to be hidden here, the seventy-one year old Russian visualized the gloating representatives of his arch nemesis as they also peered down to the lake’s surface, patiently waiting for the rest of the liquid treasure to be brought up from Tinnsjo’s icy depths.
Chapter Three
The snowmobile zoomed over the freshly fallen powder, and Alexander Kuznetsov dared to open the throttle wide. As he did so the engine instantly reacted with an ear-shattering whine, and the vehicle shot forward like a sprinting thoroughbred. The speed was intoxicating, and the seventy-one-year-old naval officer felt totally invigorated. The fresh, bitterly cold Siberian air was like a youth-giving tonic to him, and in the blink of an eye he was a lad once again, his spirit renewed by the thrill of adventure. It was only when he left the flat valley that he had been following and began climbing a steep hillside that he cut back on the throttle. The snow was encrusted with ice and dotted with dozens of jagged boulders. Taking care to steer well around these obstacles, Alexander reached the summit of the ridge and briefly halted.
In the distance he could just make out the outskirts of the city of Vorkuta. It was a drab outpost, as were most Siberian settlements, dominated by older, corrugated steel huts, and newer, four story concrete buildings.
Dwarfing these uninspiring habitations were several massive oil platforms. The derricks of these huge structures rose high against the horizon, while their equipment-packed bases were like miniature cities unto themselves. Two of these platforms had only just gone operational, with the rest soon to follow. It was projected that they would be in service for decades to come, pulling up the black gold that had been found beneath the permafrost in an incredible abundance.
This was Alexander’s first visit to this region and his heart filled with pride as he thought about the thousands of brave, resourceful men and women who chose to make their homes here. Cut off from the rest of the USSR. as they were, they braved both isolation and the raw elements to do the all-important job at hand. They were true heroes who deserved the Republic’s heartfelt thanks.
Alexander couldn’t help but wonder why he had been picked to attend this conference. He was but a Vice Admiral assigned to Northern Fleet headquarters in Murmansk, and had no business mixing with the likes of such notables as Defense Minister Vladimir Kamenev, Energy Minister Pyotr Glebov, and Deputy General Secretary Viktor Rykov. All the same, he had been summoned to attend, and now he only had to wait for Viktor Rykov to arrive to learn the reason for his presence here. Anxious to get to the bottom of this mystery, he decided to take a brief excursion to clear his mind and help pass the time before Rykov’s plane landed.
The local militia commander had sketched out a route which would allow him to safely enjoy the area’s scenic splendors and not take him too far away from the city. This was a once in a lifetime chance to see a portion of the Rodina that was far from the nearest Intourist office, and he returned to his snowmobile eager to get on with his adventure.
His route led him down the opposite ridge. He was travelling straight into the piercing wind, and he pulled up his woolen scarf to cover as much of his exposed face as possible. As he reached the bottom of the hill, he began following a narrow ravine. The snow was deep, and he had to make certain to keep moving along at a good clip to keep from sinking.
Soon this ravine opened up to yet another broad valley. This one was coated completely in a veil of white, and contained not a hint of human habitation.
Alexander readily crossed its virgin length, all the while pondering a thought that the local militia commander had shared with him. In several weeks time the sun would set beneath the western horizon, not to be seen again for three months. This would signal the time of darkness, when the frigid Arctic night prevailed twenty-four hours a day. The commander had mentioned that at this time the crime rate usually shot up in Vorkuta as the locals vainly struggled to adjust to this occurrence. With their biological clocks abruptly knocked off kilter, insomnia was shared by all, while a handful of unlucky individuals were driven to even greater extremes of hallucinations, schizophrenia, and even suicide. Having participated in submarine patrols, submerged for up to two months at a time, Alexander was no stranger to a perpetual world of darkness. But he had to admit that undergoing such a phenomena while on solid ground would be very disorienting.
The snowmobile skimmed over a frozen lake. Beyond a distant ridge, Alexander spotted a lofty mountain range that he knew to be the northernmost extension of the Urals. This chain stretched for over twelve hundred kilometers, efficiently cutting the USSR. in half, and acting as the natural dividing line between Europe and Asia.
Wishing that he had the time to continue right up into these foothills, Alexander caught sight of a group of dark alien forms in the snow beyond and instinctively cut back on the throttle and guided his snowmobile up onto a small hillock that lay beside the frozen lake bed. With the assistance of a pair of binoculars,
he identified the previously alien forms as being a herd of musk-ox. This was only the second time that he had seen such creatures in the wild before. They were covered completely with long, shaggy brown hair, with yoke-shaped horns that tapered down to stiletto-sharp points. They were feeding on dwarf shrubs that lay exposed beside a large boulder, totally unaware that they were being observed from afar.
Alexander was in the process of deciding whether or not he should try getting closer to the herd when a distinctive, low-pitched growl redirected his attention to the area right behind him. At first he could see nothing but pure white snow. But when the growl once more sounded, he scanned the ravine again.
Then he spotted the snow bear. It was an awesome looking beast of incredible proportions completely covered in a thick coat of white fur. Only its jet black eyes and nose gave it away. Since it was only twenty meters or so distant and appeared to be headed straight for him, Alexander knew he had to act at once. Having ignored the militia commander’s suggestion to take along a weapon, he found himself with two alternatives: he could make a break for the snowmobile and pray that he could get it started in time to escape, or make his stand right where he stood.
Again the beast angrily growled, and Alexander decided at that moment that making a dash for it was much too risky. Even though it was against all his instincts, he slowly dropped to the snow-covered ground. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest as he pulled himself into a tight fetal ball. As long as he kept himself absolutely still, he knew he had several things going for him. First off, was the fact that the bear was still upwind. Notorious for its poor eyesight, the bear would have an equally difficult time spotting him because of Alexander’s white snowsuit.