“Perhaps a new viewpoint,” she suggested. “Let me work with you.”
He shook his head. “No. This” — he gestured at the room and the bed — “is one thing. Work is another.”
“I want no favors,” she replied coolly, “and would expect to be treated as the others.” Her eyes met his directly. “I, too, am ambitious. For you as well as for me. There will be times when you must be gone, and I can be there. Also, I know Comrade Shepilov.”
Zamatev shook his head, but not as decisively. “Think about it,” she added, and went into the bathroom.
He stood for a minute, undecided. It went against everything he believed, every resolution he had made, yet it was tempting to have an ally in the bureau. Or was she a plant from Shepilov himself? She had worked in his office.
It was cold in the street. He stood for a moment looking along the avenue, noting the cars that were there. It was an old practice from his days as a military attache in London and Paris, where one could almost expect to be followed. He seemed to be merely buttoning his heavy coat and turning up the collar against the wind, but his eyes were busy. The little car was there again today. He waved his driver aside and started walking briskly along the street.
As he turned the first corner he stopped abruptly, tugging on his gloves. A moment later the little car swept by. He chuckled, and crossing the street, he went on to the office.
On his desk the usual work awaited: papers to be read and initialed, others to be read and discarded. He went through the stack methodically until he came to the reports on the search for Major Makatozi. They were arranged in four neat stacks. Nothing … nothing … at Albazino near the Amur border, guards had shot and killed a Buriat attempting to escape into China … a Yakut tracker had followed tracks for some distance only to have the trail vanish under his eyes.
The American’s boots had left a distinct impression when the tracks could be found at all. Now they were gone, as if the man had been whisked away by what the Americans called a flying saucer.
Zamatev swore. Maybe he did need Kyra. Certainly, he needed somebody with brains. By this time they should have captured any number of escapees. Always before it had been a matter of hours only, occasionally of days.
Yet what could Kyra do that was not being done? What could he do? Carefully, he went
over in detail what had been done.
The quick, immediate search that caught eight out of ten who escaped from anywhere. Then the wider, more complete search, the issuing of orders to the Amur troops, search parties sent out from various centers, people everywhere alerted. Nobody had seen anything.
Alekhin claimed to have a lead, flimsy at best. The possible theft of a knife, unproved; the possible theft of canned supplies, also unproved. The remains of a sheep Alekhin said had been butchered by a hunter before wild animals reached the carcass. That was at least questionable.
The truth was they had nothing. They had seen nothing, and they knew nothing. The man might be dead. He might have drowned crossing a river, been killed by wild animals, or be dying of starvation.
It was a vast, barren land out there, and few could survive. The man had no weapons, no means of obtaining food. He did not know the country. He would have no allies among the people. Any loyal Russian might turn him in. But, he paused in his thinking, this was not Russia. This was Siberia. There were people here who did not love the government no matter how much they might love Mother Russia.
Zamatev dismissed the idea. The chances of his coming upon such a one was limited, indeed.
No, if the man still lived he was out there now, cold, hungry, and in fear of capture.
Zamatev got to his feet and walked to the window. The little car was down there. He chuckled. Shepilov was so obvious! Yet, he frowned, did they know about Kyra? If they did, and she was not already a plant, they would find the means to make her so. Or they would try.
Colonel Zamatev drew a sheet of paper from the drawer in his desk and wrote down the name Makatozi. After it he listed Alternatives: north, south, east, west.
North was impossible: cold, an icy sea, no chance of escape. West, all of Russia: very doubtful. South, to the Amur and China: probable. East, toward the Bering Strait or the Sea of Okhotsk: possible but unlikely.
Best area for concentrated search: the Amur region. Troops were alerted there, the Party was conducting a quiet but thorough search, and all officials had been notified. The man would need food, so he could not remain long in the wilderness. But what if, as Alekhin suggested, the man could hunt? What if he had actually killed that sheep whose carcass they had found?
All right, he would take that into consideration. Suppose he was, as Zamatev believed, still alive? Any man of sense must understand he could not live out the winter in the area where he now was. Much of the game would move south into warmer lands; the rest would be hard to track down. Game would move much less in the cold. The rivers would be frozen with ice too thick to cut through for fishing, unless the fugitive remained in one place to keep the ice out of the hole he would cut.
So then, the fugitive would move south into the Amur region. He might even attempt the Sikhote Alin Mountains along the coast of the Sea of Japan. There was good hunting there or had been the last he had heard.
The border was taken care of. The Army could be relied upon. Now he needed a careful sweep of the country north and east of the Olekma, largely from the Amur to the Stanovoy Range.
He went to the door and opened it into the outer office. “Yavorsky? I will speak to Comrade Lebedev.”
Emma Yavorsky arose. She was a stocky, untidy woman, but she was efficient. “The new one? She is attractive.”
His eyes were cold. “Perhaps. She is also astute. I have work for her.”
Yavorsky was well connected. She was also inclined to speak her mind. Her disapproval was obvious. “Of course.” Her smile was almost insulting.
Coolly he said, “I am sending her to Aldan.”
Yavorsky was astonished, her imaginings dashed. “To Aldan?”
“She is an intelligent woman. I need someone there who can supervise the search.” He paused and stared at her. “Did you wish to go in her place, comrade? Is that what I am to understand?”
“To Aldan? No, no, of course not. I just thought — ”
“It is a focal point,” Zamatev replied. “I need someone there to be sure the cold weather does not make them laggard.” He could see this had been the right move. No man would send to Aldan a woman in whom he had interest. “Send her in to me as soon as she arrives. ”
He went back into the office and stood before the map of Siberia. Aldan was probably too far now, but he must shake them up, get them out looking. His eyes scanned the rivers, checking the towns to the south of Aldan.
He heard a knock and turned around. Her brown hair was drawn back from her forehead. She was dressed neatly but plainly. Trust Kyra Lebedev to do the correct thing. Briefly, he explained. He half expected a protest, but there was none.
Using the map he explained his thinking. “It is a vast area, and I cannot be everywhere. Get out there. Make sure they are conducting an active search. Demand reports, detailed reports. Be sure they speak to all the hunters and prospectors, the engineers on the BAM project, and the workmen. Check for anything suspicious, even remotely so.”
“Do you want me to go out myself?”
“No, no, of course not! If he’s out there we’ve got to find him! We’ve got to get him back!” He glanced at her. “When can you leave?”
She glanced out the window. “It is too late now. I can leave in the morning.”
“Take Stegman. He is a good driver and knows how to care for a car in cold weather. He is also a strong man if you need him, and he’s no fool.”
There was a moment of silence, and then he said, “I shall miss you.”
“And I, you. But I asked to help. I wanted this.”
“Fly to Aldan. You can get a car there.”
He took her to the map and discussed the possibilities. Her questions were few and intelligent. “And if I find him?”