The Siberian Incident 2 Page 6

  “No, I didn’t know that. He never told me that he’d ever experimented with drugs,” Scott said, seemingly surprised.

  “I suppose, the drugs you did, and the pussy you got aren’t exactly grandkid conversations. Who knows how much pipe Grandpa Charles laid in those 1920’s flappers. I certainly didn’t ask him.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think very much. They had one kid, Grandpa David, before the era of birth control. I often wonder why I’m such a lothario.”

  “Your Great Grandma Donna was one of 14 children,” Maddock explained.

  “That’s true.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean, we must get it from somewhere.”

  The two used the keys given to them by Maxim to open the door. Outside it was cold, and light snow fell. The exterior of the house was dark, and it almost looked like the house had no power until Maddock flipped a switch near the door. A large chandelier made of antlers then lit up the expansive entryway. It opened to a living area, and two enormous lockers sat conspicuous but out of the way in the living room.

  “Did this get teleported from Montana?” Maddock asked rhetorically.

  “Definitely influenced by the American West,” Scott replied as he set their bags down and sat on the couch.

  Scott scanned the room for listening devices with a small handheld device. As he neared a bear carved from a single log with a chainsaw, he found a microphone taped to the bottom. He waved the device in front of the transmitter.

  “I’ve shut it off for 10 minutes. Don’t want to disable it, they’ll be on to us, right now they just think they have reception problems. By the time they dispatch to solve the problem, it will already be functioning again. We can talk freely. Our gear is in there, everything we need, camouflage parkas, knives, and night vision, all courtesy of Mr. Dimitry Strovenyevich.”

  “Colin really screwed this guy over, huh? How did you guys get him to work for you?”

  “Oh, we work for him, actually.”

  “What?” Maddock questioned.

  “Dimitry hired us to kill Colin.”

  “Uh, excuse me? We’re actually going to murder one of our family members.”

  “Of course not, we’re going to get the evidence to put him in jail and then get extracted.”

  “Ok, yeah, I can get on board with that, he belongs in jail, not in a box,” Maddock said, seeming relieved.

  “Not so sure about that,” Scott muttered, Maddock heard him but said nothing.

  “So, he has no idea we’re working for the CIA?” Maddock responded after a short silence.

  “Absolutely not, he’s a Russian patriot, he bought this dacha from the President of Russia.”

  “Alright, he thinks we’re mercenaries then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ok, on the sub, you said a plane is arriving tomorrow to take us closer to Colin’s facility?”

  “Yeah, a ski plane, there is a plowed runway behind this house, we’ll be dropped off on a lake, 30 kilometers from the facility. Can you ski that far, old guy?” Scott said, smirking.

  “I started off in the 10th Mountain Division, next to scuba diving, skiing is my favorite hobby. I’ll beat you there, kid,” Maddock chided.

  “You can only hope, I should be able to get there in less than three hours with all the gear,” Scott bragged.

  “I can do a 30k in two hours flat. With gear, probably two and a quarter,” Maddock now boasted.

  “You do realize that we aren’t going on groomed trails, and you won’t be doing any of that skate skiing you do in the races, right? We’re going through some old Soviet logging and wildlife trails,” Scott questioned.

  Maddock paused, saying nothing, just staring with his mouth open.

  “Yeah, I didn’t think so,” Scott said, “When is the last time you classic skied?”

  “Well, again, you think I am intimidated? I used to beat your grandpa around the woods in Otsego on classics, and we’d ski through three feet of lake effect snow. Don’t think I am worried,” Maddock laughed.

  “Good to hear, we gotta ski fast. Someone is probably going to notice our tracks, and the longer we’re on the trail, the more time they can catch up to us. Colin apparently has former Russian troops guarding this facility. They know how to ski as well.” Scott said, sinking into the leather couch he now sat on.

  “Russian military, the most overrated army in the world. They wouldn’t stand a chance against us.”

  “I wouldn’t underestimate them. Whatever their training, they are probably a lot younger than you,” Scott said, again smiling.

  “Don’t underestimate me either, I still have some fight left,” Maddock said confidently.

  “I’m counting on it,” Scott replied, “That microphone will probably be back on any minute, let’s get some sleep, the rooms are upstairs, you have five to choose from, I’m taking the master though. Let me know if you see anything strange this evening. I’ll set an alarm on my watch and wake you up at 6,” Scott said, getting up and walking toward the open staircase.

  ***

  Maddock opened the locker and looked inside, the equipment was surplus Russian military. Winter digital camo, from the 200th Independent Motor Rifle Brigade, a Russian division out of Murmansk that had been the Soviet 45th Rifle Division when he was on active duty. There were other miscellaneous supplies. Maddock took the gear up the stairs, along with his two rifles, a box of .300 Savage ammunition he’d stuffed in a watertight pack along with several magazines for the M4.

  He opened the first door he saw, he was exhausted and saw that it contained a bed and a chair in the same American log cabin style as the rest of the house. The bed looked to be at least a full size. Whatever the other bedrooms held didn’t matter to him. He threw his gear on the chair and got into the bed, taking only his boots off and putting them where they’d be easy to slip on should the need to move quickly occur.

  He understood how his brother could have had illusions in this place. It was isolated, dark, and seemed so far removed from any familiar that it might as well have been on another planet.

  He laid in the bed, a private bathroom adjoined the room, and he left the light on with the door open, just a crack. When he was exhausted and sleeping away from home, he sometimes woke up disoriented, and it took several minutes of fumbling around in the dark to get his bearings. He’d once broken a lamp in Mason’s house this way, Mason’s wife Diane had been less than thrilled and assumed the two brothers had been drinking too much.

  The whirlwind of events in the past few days had made it difficult to sleep, the best rest he’d had was on the USS Jimmy Carter, and he actually regretted leaving her. This was what he’d asked for, however. No amount of hiking or skiing or motorcycling or hunting had satiated his thirst for this kind of challenge. Scott was the only reason he was here, there would be no way he’d have been hired for any type of field operation like this without Scott. All of his experiences and all of his close calls had given him a rush. Yet even the weirdest events in his life had not compared to this.

  There was the time in Panama during Operation Just Cause. Delta’s objective was to locate and track Manuel Noriega. After weeks of keeping tabs on the dictator, they’d lost sight of him. Unbeknownst to them, he was hiding from his wife in his secretary’s apartment. Creeping into one of his residences in an attempt to find him, Maddock’s unit had overwhelmed a small security force and then discovered a massive cache of pornography, voodoo talismans, and jars of animal parts for some kind of magic rituals. They also found a gigantic portrait of Hitler. That bizarre mission may have involved witchcraft and porn, but it wasn’t like this. Human genetic experimentation and cryptozoological animals? An international conspiracy involving his family? This was a new one. At least the yetis were friendly, according to his deceased brother. The Russian army wouldn’t be if they were found out.

  He settled into the bed, it was a squeaky spring mattress, not what he’d expected. He’d grown used to the springless memory foam mattresses i
n hotels and at home. He was getting soft. He did need this.

  He had always been very good at calming his mind before bed, he’d slept in the C-130 right up until go time during the bombing of Libya. He and his Delta brothers had been tasked with lasing targets on the ground. As he got older, he’d found this more difficult. Maybe he was more cognizant of the risks and consequences of dangerous activities. He’d had a lot of friends die over the years, and perhaps he was concerned about Scott. He didn’t know the kid very well, but he definitely liked him, and maybe that was what gnawed on him right now. The Agency had done a lot of dumb things over the years, he could see how a totally idiotic mission could get approved through their bureaucracy. He wasn’t sure if that was what had happened here or not.

  He tried an old trick that had always helped him sleep and removed his mind. He recited the lyrics of a song from his favorite band. Uriah Heep’s “The Wizard,” concentrating on the words and thinking about David Byron signing the song took him back to times when he wasn’t under stress and was relaxed. His old room on the farm in Otsego. The record spinning on the turntable. His Koss headphones plugged into his Pioneer receiver. The amber glow of the receiver face lighting the room.

  Soon he drifted off into a calm, restful sleep.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The Visit

  THE MUSIC STOPPED as Mason turned down the volume knob. The sudden silence jarred Maddock out of his relaxed state. The bleary view of his older brother's angry face erased any pleasant feelings that still lingered. Mason wore a sharp fitting gray suit and appeared healthy and thin, like he had when he’d last seen him in 2010, yet the room they were in was Maddock’s bedroom from right before he left for the army in 1975. Maddock looked down at himself he wore a blue flannel shirt buttoned only halfway, ripped jeans, and a thick studded belt. His long hair flowed down his shoulders, the last time his hair had been like this was right before he’d entered basic training.

  "What the hell are you doing, Mason?" Maddock snapped, ripping off the Koss headphones and sitting bolt upright on his bed.

  "What the hell are you doing?"

  “What do you mean what am I doing?” Maddock questioned, "What is your problem?"

  "My problem is that you're wrecking my legacy with my grandson," Mason said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Scott worshipped me, he saw me as someone who could do no wrong. Now you're telling him about me using drugs, and you're not exactly portraying me in a good light with that story about the Coronet."

  "Well, those things happened Mason.”

  "I used to smoke a little grass, so what? You're such a fucking square."

  “You know, Mason. I know you didn't live to see this, but pot's legal in Michigan now, the other stuff you did still isn't though. That's probably what caused some of your issues on that trip. Our family has a history of dementia. You think LSD and coke help that? You grew up to be successful, got a degree just like Grandpa Charles wanted. I guess. Just don't get all bent out of shape when people tell the truth about you."

  "You mean snitch about me," Mason sneered.

  "Well, just trying to clear up the kid's misperceptions. It can be difficult when your heroes seem like perfect gods. You're always trying to live up to this ideal. When you fail, it hits that much harder, because you only know the successes of someone. Not how they dealt with their shortcomings and failures," Maddock said.

  "He's just using you as a substitute for me, you know," Mason said after a long pause in which he just stared at Maddock with his icy blue eyes.

  "No, he's using me to clear up your name. This is the issue Mase, he thinks Elaine's kid really put a black mark on a spotless record. We're here, and he might die, our employer wants us to kill him. Scott could be killed on this stupid quixotic adventure too. What is that going to solve?"

  "Colin Crossfield needs to be taught a lesson."

  "You know what? Colin Crossfield and you are exactly the same, that's why you hate him so much."

  "I don't think so, Maddock. As usual, I'm the smarter one. You'll see when you get there, I wasn't insane. These things exist."

  "Yetis?"

  "Yeah, I have seen them. It wasn't a hallucination."

  "The friendly yetis?"

  "They protected us. Colin will never admit it because he has too much invested in justifying what he did to me at the end of my life, but he knows it too."

  "Well, we'll find out, brother," Maddock said.

  He stood from the bed and dropped the Koss earphones on the multi-colored quilt Grandma Charles had made him. Her name was Emily, but they'd always called her Grandma Charles. Maddock missed her, he missed Mason, and he missed this room. He reached out to embrace his brother. Mason took a step back.

  "Can't hug me, Maddock," he said.

  "Why?" Maddock questioned.

  "Your plane is here."

  ***

  Maddock awoke in the wood-paneled room, outside he heard the rumble of aviation engines. He slipped into his boots as he quickly stood from the bed and squinted in the bright light of the morning sun, reflecting off the smooth runway that had been plowed behind the house.

  A single-engine ski plane was taxiing up to the house. Just then, Maddock heard a knock at his door.

  "Maddock, time to go," it was Scott with a sense of urgency in his voice.

  Maddock quickly donned the winter gear that had been provided in the locker. He removed both guns from the case, slung them around his shoulders, and stuffed the ammunition in his pack. He was ready. He opened the door and ran down the creaking wooden stairs.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The Flight

  THE PILOT HAD shut the plane down, and the insulated silence of the snowy landscape returned. Scott talked to the pilot who spoke only Russian. Maddock's Russian had deteriorated over the years, his Spanish was much better. He understood enough to realize that Scott was having trouble comprehending the pilot and that the pilot was getting frustrated with his lack of fluency.

  "This guy is kind of a dick," Scott said walking back toward Maddock, "but grab your gear and let's load up the plane, we have a two-hour flight, well I think he said two, maybe it's a twelve-hour flight, I don't know."

  "Ok," Maddock said, squinting at the shadowy form of the aircraft.

  "You okay, Maddock?" Scott asked with a concerned look on his face.

  "Yeah, still waking up, had a weird dream."

  "Were there yetis?"

  "No," Maddock said with a seriousness that made Scott think that he perhaps wasn't listening.

  "I didn't see any either, and I checked everywhere. Not even in our dreams. By this time Mason and Colin had seen two potential yetis. We just aren't very good Bigfoot hunters, I guess," Scott laughed.

  Mason laughed a polite laugh, mostly because Scott was laughing, not because he'd comprehended what Scott had said. Scott walked by and went up the steps to the room he'd stayed in that night.

  The plane was a Piper Saratoga, probably an 80's model. Maddock wondered how an American aircraft had made its way to Russia. Perhaps someone's failed venture right after glasnost opened up the country to a lot of foreign business ideas that failed in the '90s. However it got here, it was their ride today.

  The pilot had opened the side door that allowed passengers to get into the plane. He instructed Scott on where their packs should go. Mason also saw cross country skis and poles in the back of the aircraft. All but two seats had been removed from the Saratoga's four-seat rear passenger area.

  Maddock and Scott, already dressed in their winter gear boarded the plane and strapped into two rearward-facing seats as the pilot climbed into the right side of the plane. It was the only entrance to the plane for the front passengers.

  The pilot fired up the Saratoga's engine, which, although already warm, seemed to have some difficulty firing. When it appeared that he might not be able to get the plane started, they heard him curse in Russian. Then almost immediately, the plane fired up, and the pro
p began to spin.

  He went through the checklist much more quickly than Maddock liked and then began back taxing on the plowed runway. The feeling of the skis was much different than the rolling gear Maddock was used to. He'd been in planes that landed on ice and snow before but never one equipped with skis. The pilot had the plane trimmed out to keep the weight off the front ski and held the yoke quite far back as he taxied. He spun the airplane around and lined up for the middle of the plowed patch. He moved the throttle all the way forward, and Maddock felt pushed away from his seat back as the plane gained speed. Soon they were up in the air. The sky was clear as far as Maddock could see out of the aircraft, the air was smooth, and the ride was pleasant.

  Once again, their pilot said nothing to them as they flew toward their destination. Maddock removed his headphones and instructed Scott to do the same. They unplugged their microphones. The noise of the airplane and the pilot's own headphones ensured that he would not hear their conversation.

  "The pilots you pick don't seem to like to talk a lot," Maddock said into Scott's ear.

  "I didn't pick this guy, he's one of Dimitry's," Scott replied.

  "The guy who took us to Pokok, he was with Culbert & Swenson too?"

  "Yeah," Scott said, nodding.

  "That explains the aloofness," Maddock said, "He wanted to be a mysterious guy, didn't he?"

  "He's a good guy. Definitely nicer than this guy," Scott said.

  "Yeah, you and he didn't seem to hit it off," Maddock said.