North Cape

The Russian gave the guard instructions in Russian and Teleman caught the words chyornii chelovek, and knew they referred to him. The guard nodded and backed away to sit down against the wall of the tent, rifle in his hands, relaxed but ready. Behind his shut eyelids Teleman's mind worked furiously. Flashes of memory having to do with running across the tundra kept passing through his mind, but he could not decide if they had to do with the long day's hike or were somewhere in between. He kept recalling green buildings on the horizon, but ascribed these to dreams. He still had vivid memories of the dream involving the Mongolian sheepherder. As Teleman got himself under control and began to think clearly again, he realized that for the past forty-eight hours he had been fighting off the effects of lingering traces of lysergic acid and amphetamines. Even without the drug effects, the long periods of the desperate flight across the North Cape should have been forgotten as they occurred. This would have been normal for any man as exhausted as he was. But not to be ahle to remember more than highly colored and wavering details as seen through a glass partly obscured with flowing water, Teleman knew was not normal. Then with a shock he realized that he could remember nothing at all since one of the late afternoon rest stops. He could recall no more than hazy snatches of a warm sleeping bag and Folsom's voice laying out the' guard-duty pattern.

Teleman concentrated on what Folsom had said, trying to bring back a little of what remained… he had awakened to see Folsom and McPherson rolled into their sleeping bags. Gadsen had been on guard duty and he remembered that he had crept away from the tent. The entire sequence of events suddenly was clear to him. He had been convinced that the three Americans were plotting to kill him, to keep him from falling into Russian hands. He had crept away from the tent to run south with the idea of reaching the Norwegian naval base. He recalled the bitter cold… falling… and after that, nothing, until he had awakened a few minutes ago as Folsom forced the hot tea down his throat. He opened his eyes, sick with the realization that Folsom, Gadsen, and McPherson had been captured because they had come after him rather than save their own skins by abandoning a madman and making a run for the Norwegians. Now the four were exhausted, their last hope completely gone. Five Russians were in the tent and, as he glanced about, the tent flap parted and a sixth entered.

He closed his eyes again. He was to blame for their being captured. It had been a foolish stunt to try and run-for it alone. It had been a stupid reaction to believe that the three sailors who were risking their freedom, their very lives for him, would try to kill him. That this reaction was due to the traces of the drugs still left in his system, coupled with exhaustion and intense cold, did not occur to Teleman. He knew only that he was to blame.

"Hey, Commie, come over here." Teleman struggled up into a sitting position again, sneering at the guard who swung the rifle to cover him.

The English-speaking Russian approached and Teleman motioned toward the guard. " Tell that fool to put that thing away before he shoots himself." The Russian ignored him; his face bore no traces of humor at. Teleman's attempted levity. "What do you want?"

"I want to know what happens next."

The Russian turned away and Teleman grabbed his sleeve. The Russian swung around and hit him squarely across the face. ' "Keep your hands to yourself," he said through clenched lips. "You or your friends killed two of my men. I do not like that. If I did not have such orders, I would kill you all and have done with

Teleman rubbed his face where the other had struck hint "Did it ever occur to. you that your own pilots tried, and almost succeeded, to kill me?"