The Kremlin File

“Everyone’s getting ready to leave. Noah wants his people on the other side of the mountains, scattered in the jungle, where Jerome can’t dig them out. He’s gone to bring back Mitzy.”

Fleming sat in a chair below us, beside a lot of baskets filled with food. There looked to be enough for a voyage to the mainland instead of a few hours of island hopping.

Noah and Mitzy came through the gate, the girl lugging the rifle. The old patriarch looked worried.

“Is there enough fuel to take you to a safe shore?” When I nodded, he added, “Go quickly then while the route is open. I hope you do not have trouble on the water.” He raised his voice, called for porters to put the baskets in the boat, then reached for Fleming’s hand.

The doctor didn’t give it. He sat straight and determined. “Unless you come with us, old friend, I will not leave.”

Noah was exasperated. “You don’t expect me to abandon my people now, do you?”

Arguments cost time. I took Fleming’s hand. “Noah, your people will be all right. Jerome could never dig them out. But he knows you’re harboring the doctor and you’ll be a special target.”

There was a sad smile from the old man and another bluster from Fleming.

“He is absolutely right. You are too valuable. Come with us and we will return together.”

At least, Fleming had agreed that he must leave. Now he and Noah glared at each other while precious minutes flicked by. I gestured to the girls to head for the boat, leveled the machine gun on Noah and told him flatly, “You’re going to get yourself killed one way or another. Balk any longer and I’ll knock a leg out from under you.”

I knew I’d never do it, but Noah couldn’t be sure. More peaceful souls than I had been known to lose their heads and do crazy things during moments of stress. And this was as stressful as it could get. Noah nodded assent.

He swung around to his people, thundering commands. They filed by him, listening obediently. The girls and I went down to the tug. We waited. And waited. I was back on the steps, heading up, when Noah finally showed, carrying Fleming.

I had the engine running when he stepped aboard. I’d already cast off before he found a place for the doctor and was heading across the cove toward the open sea.

Eleven

There was a headwind, enough to ruffle the surface of the water, but not strong enough to slow us. We were slow enough at full throttle. This was no racing craft. It was designed to tow the barges that ferried the produce of the back country to the port at the capital. At the speed we were going, it was going to be an overnight cruise to even the closest island. In the bright sunshine we were a sitting duck if enemy planes showed up before we cleared the cove. Once we were outside I could hug the shore and maybe escape being seen, then make the run across the open sea at a place where they wouldn’t expect us to be. The shoals were shallow all through these parts, but I was pretty certain we wouldn’t find any more subsurface walkways. If we were spotted, we’d had it.

I was following the contour of the cove, ragged at this end with dense jungle growth all the way to the water. The limestone dropped off to an undersea canyon. Judging water depth by its color, I kept as close to the shore as I dared, hoping the tug would blend in with the dark foliage. It didn’t work.

We had almost made it when the plane came. He came in low and slow, sideslipping in the air current flowing over the ridge, spotted us only after he was practically on top of us and banked away for a sweeping circle. Then he dropped even lower and came at us.

He wouldn’t be carrying bombs, but he was armed with something or he wouldn’t be making this run. The little workhorse I was commanding had good maneuverability and I tried weaving in and out. Noah shoved Fleming into the pilot house with me, pushed Tara onto the deck, and lay on top of her.

Fast lead spit a path toward us in the water. I spun the wheel and the bullets spattered past. I heard our machine gun chatter as the plane went over us for the second time. Grabbing a look toward the stem, I saw Mitzy standing, tracking the plane, the gun jerking in her hands.

She got a hit too. A wing tank exploded, tore apart. The ship peeled off and disappeared into the water. Mitzy put the gun down and tossed me a victory sign. I didn’t feel like cheering yet. The spotter probably was in radio contact with the small plane; if the pilot got a message in, there’d be others along soon with more clout. Still, they weren’t in sight yet and we wouldn’t sit here waiting for them.

At the mouth of the cove the sand bottom rushed up toward us. But the tug had a shallow draft and we slipped over without dragging. I made the curve around the land nose into open sea. As soon as we rounded it, I saw them — a pair of patrol boats frothing at the knife prow. Sleek greyhounds with bared fangs ready to run down a wallowing turtle. Our four cylinder Dodge was not going to outdistance their big power plants.