Gathering wood to load the crude sled he had built, he tried to think of every aspect of escape.
To leave here, of course, meant to abandon any help from Bocharev, so all he could do was hope that if such help was to come that it arrive before they fled from here. And the time was terribly short.
It meant crossing the Sikhote Alin Mountains, low but formidable. There were dense forests and man-eating tigers, long feared by the Chinese who lived along the Amur.
There were brigands in those forests now as there had ever been, fierce men who robbed, raped, and terrorized travelers and nearby villages.
Yet if they were to escape, it must be done, and it might be possible to secure transportation. Stephan Baronas was beginning to learn that there were many ways in which to survive and that there existed a clandestine world of which he had never been aware, a half world in which refugees, criminals, and others mingled, aided and robbed each other, and moved across borders without the knowledge of the authorities.
Human nature is such that friendships will develop even among those whose official interests are opposed, and in these days of instant communication such an understanding could possibly avoid a clash that might end in war. Trust is often based on very little more than one’s measure of a man.
He loaded his sled with firewood and drew it over the snow to the cabin. By the time he had reached it he knew they must prepare, select several possible avenues of escape and have them ready.
In the village he might establish some contact with a truck driver who would carry them to their destination or at least near to it. Also, he would take a page from Joe Mack’s book and scout a trail over the mountains toward the border.
The difficulty was that they must wait to the last minute for what Bocharev might do, while even now their arrest order might lie on a desk somewhere, awaiting implementation.
Fortunately, they had nothing that must be taken, beyond what clothing and food they possessed at the time. Stephan Baronas was beginning to learn that possessions can rob one of freedom just as much as the bars of a cage.
When Stephan Baronas reached the cabin with his sled, he was tired. He paused, waiting outside the door until he had caught his breath, not wanting Natalya to hear how hard it was for him to breathe.
To flee they must cross mountains. How would he manage that? No matter, he would manage it, and the mountains were not so very high.
When he had stopped panting, he opened the door and took an armful of the wood to its place beside the fire. Putting down the wood he brushed off his arms.
“Talya?”
There was no answer. Looking around, he saw the note on the corner of his reading table. There he left the three books he had succeeded in keeping.
Gone to the village.
He swore, exasperated. She knew he had intended to go, and he would not have wished her to climb back up that steep trail. It was a cold walk down to the edge of the bay and then around by the shore, and that was a rough, hard-drinking crowd that hung about there.
Adding fuel to the fire, he took off his coat and settled down. It would be a long wait.
Natalya arranged the few things purchased into her backpack. She was aware that several of the men who usually loafed about were watching her and talking in undertones to each other. She was about to shoulder her pack when the door opened with a gust of wind from off the bay.
The instant her eyes touched him she knew the man, but she knew better than to call any such man by name until he identified himself. It was not impossible that at the moment he had chosen to use another.
He glanced at her and then went to the keeper of the store and purchased tobacco.
Taking up her pack, she started for the door. One of the loafers sauntered over. “Help you with that?” He reached for the pack.
“I will be all right, thank you.”
“Now that isn’t friendly,” the man said. “Here, I’ll take it.” His hand closed on the pack and he jerked it roughly from her arms, so roughly that she staggered and almost fell. Somehow she kept a grip on the pack. “I do not want any help!” she said.
He laughed at her, pushing her away. “Let’s see what you bought,” he taunted. “Maybe there’s something — ”
“Let go of her.” Yakov’s tone was low, but it carried a message.
Slowly, still keeping a grip on the pack, the man turned. “Did you speak to me?” he said roughly.
“I told you to let go of the pack and leave the lady alone.” Yakov smiled. “I shall not tell you again.”
“Ho, ho!” The man sneered, jerking a thumb toward Yakov. “Who does he think he is?”
Yakov was not four feet from him, leaning an elbow on the counter, his pipe in his teeth.
“Move back, Natalya,” Yakov said. “When he falls I do not want him to fall on you.”
Two of the other men had risen, looking from one to the other, uncertain what course to choose.
“Falls? Who is going to fall?”
Yakov spoke past the pipe. “Let go of the pack,” he said, “and step back. The lady is a friend of mine.”
“And who are you?”
Yakov’s elbow still rested on the counter, his right hand lay flat upon its top. He was smiling.
“I am taking this woman and her pack with me,” the man said. He glanced at his companions. “If he gives trouble, take him. I’ll share her with you.”
Almost negligently, Yakov kicked him on the side of his knee. The crack was loud in the room. The man cried out, staggered, and fell. Yakov faced them. “He now has a broken leg,” Yakov said politely. “What do you want broken?”
Astonished, they looked from him to the man on the floor, who gripped his leg and moaned.
The others stared at him, drawing back. Yakov took up Natalya’s pack. “We are leaving now, but remember this. I do not want this lady disturbed in any way, do you understand? She is a friend of mine. If I have to come back I will find each of you; alone or together, it does not matter.”
He turned to Natalya. “Come,” he said. “Enough of this.”
They went out, and Yakov closed the door behind them. The man on the floor was alternately moaning and cursing. Now the others were crossing the room to him.
Outside, Yakov said, “Do you live far from here?”
She pointed. “Up there, in the forest. It is several miles.”
“Have you room enough for me?” he asked. “I don’t want to make any trouble, and I can rig a place in the forest.”
“Of course there is room.”
They walked on, and after a bit she said, “Yakov? Thank you. ”
“It was nothing. I have seen many such. They are all mouth and talk very loud when filled with vodka.”
He lowered his tone. “It is you and your father? What happened to the others?”
“Scattered. I do not know where.”
They were on the shore of the bay. She paused, looking back. Only the few lights were visible.
“Yakov? Have you heard of him? Of Joe Mack?”
He chuckled. “Who has not? He’s leading them a dance, I tell you. Has half of official Siberia strung out, looking for him. One part is afraid the others will find him first.
“He’s off to the northeast now, and they are mustering men. I would go to help him if I knew how, but he’s doing enough by himself.”
“Who are you, Yakov?”
“It is better you do not know. Let us say that I love Mother Russia but I do not love her government. I do not like being tied to a certain piece of work. I am a wanderer, a free soul, you might say. As you know I have helped people escape from them. Perhaps I am one of the damned capitalists they talk about, but I’ve no capital.”
“But you’re not alone?”
“Oh, no! There are others of us, but we keep out of sight. That little thing just now. I do not like such things because they attract attention.”
He looked up the steep path. “You climb this often? With a pack?”
“My father has done it, but I do not wish it any longer. His heart is bad, Yakov, although he believes I do not know it. He stops outside the door to recover his breath before he comes in. If I had not come tonight, he would have come in the morning.”