The sun had dropped toward the horizon, and shadows were gathering as they saw the lights of the camp glimmering on shore. They all breathed a sigh of relief as the boat drew nearer the beach. They would have been less assured if they knew that a birdlike speck in the sky high above them was a helicopter equipped with high-powered optics.
PROFESSOR ORLOV WAS waiting on the beach. He waded into the water and pulled the boat into shore. "Hello, my friends. I see that you've met my son, Yuri."
"He was kind enough to take us on a sightseeing tour," Gamay said. She slipped over the side and used her body to hide the hole gouged out by the bullet. "We had a nice talk about now and the future."
"The now is that you go back to your cottage and get ready for dinner. The future is a wonderful meal and talking about old times. Our accommodations are primitive, but we feed ourselves well." He patted his expansive stomach.
The professor ushered the Trouts back to the main clearing and instructed them to return in a half hour with their appetites. Then he hustled off with his son. As he walked away, Yuri looked back over his shoulder and winked. The silent message was clear. Their secret was safe with him.
Paul and Gamay returned to their cottage and showered away the salt and sweat from their nautical adventure. Gamay changed into designer jeans that emphasized her long legs, a blazer and lilac camisole. Paul had not left his fastidious sartorial habits behind. He wore loose tan slacks with a Gatsby-style pale green shirt and a violet bow tie.
Some of the other inhabitants of the camp were assembled at or around the picnic table. The Trouts were greeted by the middle-aged couple they had met earlier, a tall intense-looking physicist who resembled the writer Alexander Solzhenitsyn and a young married couple, both engineering students at the university in Rostov. The table was set with an embroidered tablecloth and colorful china. Japanese lanterns lent a festive air to the gathering.
Orlov broke into a beaming smile when he saw the Trouts' approach. "Ah, my American guests. You look lovely, Gamay, and you are handsome as usual, Paul. A new bow tie? You must have an endless supply of cravats."
"I'm afraid my addiction is starting to get expensive. You don't know anyone who makes cheap throwaway bow ties, do you?"
The professor roared with laughter and translated for the others. Then he directed the Trouts to the seating that had been saved for them, rubbed his hands in anticipation, and went into his cottage to start the meal moving. Dinner was salmon-filled pirogi, basically Russian turnovers, served with rice and a clear borscht. The professor also had a case of the famous Russian champagne that was made in nearby Abrau-Dyurso. Even without vodka and a common language, dinner was loud and friendly and extended late into the evening. It was nearly midnight when the Trouts pushed themselves away from the table and begged to be allowed to go back to their cottage.
"The party is just starting!" Orlov bellowed. His face was red from alcohol and sweaty after serenading the other diners with an energetic rendition of a bawdy Russian folk song.
"Please don't stop on our account," Paul said. "We've had a long day, and it's starting to catch up with us."
"Of course, you must be very tired. I've been a poor host, making you sit here and listen to my attempts to sing."
Paul patted his stomach. "You've been a great host. But I'm a little older than I was when we used to drink the night away at the Captain Kidd."
"You're obviously out of training, my friend. One week here and we would have you back in shape." He hugged both Trouts. "But I understand. Would you like Yuri to escort you?”
"Thank you, Professor. We'll find our way," Gamay said. "See you in the morning."
Orlov let them go after another round of hugs and kisses. As they made their way along the path toward the single light glowing on the porch of their cottage, the Trouts could hear Orlov belting out a spirited but hardly recognizable rendition, in Russian, of "What Should We Do with the Drunken Sailor?"
"I don't envy Vlad for the hangover he's going to have," Gamay said.
"There's no party animal like a Russian party animal." They laughed as they climbed onto the porch. They weren't exaggerating their exhaustion. They brushed their teeth, stripped down to their underwear and slipped beneath the cool sheets. Within minutes, both were asleep. Gamay was the lighter sleeper. Later that night, she sat up in bed and listened. Something had awakened her. The sound of voices. High-pitched and excited. She poked Paul out of his slumber.
"What's going on?" he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.
"Listen. It sounds like... children playing."
But just then a loud shriek of unmistakable terror echoed through the woods outside.
"That was no kid," Paul said, vaulting from the bed. He scooped his slacks off a chair and jumped into them, nearly falling on his face. Gamay was one second behind, pulling her shorts over her slim hips and throwing a T-shirt over her head. They burst out onto the porch, where they could see a reddish glow through the trees. The smell of smoke hung heavily in the air.
"One of the camps is on fire!" Paul said.
They ran along the path in bare feet and almost mowed down Yuri, who was running in the opposite direction.
"What's going on?" Paul said.
"Don't talk," Yuri replied breathlessly. "We must hide. This way."
The Trouts glanced at the fire, then followed Yuri's lead. He moved fast in a long, loping gait. When they were deep in the pines, he took Gamay by the arm, pulled her onto the soft Cover of pine needles and motioned for Paul to duck down. They could hear branches and twigs snapping and rough voices. Paul started to get up to look, but Yuri pulled him back down. After a few minutes, the crashing stopped.
Yuri spoke from the darkness.
"I was asleep in my father's camp," he said, his voice ! hoarse from tension. "Men came in the night."
"Who were they?"
"I don't know. They had their faces covered. They dragged us out of bed. They wanted to know where the red-headed woman and the man were. My father said that you had left to go home. They didn't believe him. They beat him. He yelled in English for me to warn you. While they were busy, I ran to tell you."
"How many were there?"
"A dozen, maybe. I don't know. It was dark. They must have come by water. Our camp is right by the driveway, and we would have heard someone come in."
"We've got to get back to your father."
"I know a way," Yuri said. "Come."
Paul grabbed onto the back of Yuri's shorts and Gamay held on to her husband's other hand as they made their way through the woods, taking a circuitous path. The smoke thickened. Soon they could see the source of the smoke: the professor's cottage. They stepped out of the woods into the clearing, where students were spraying the cottage with hoses apparently powered by a generator. They couldn't save the building, but their efforts kept the fire from spreading to the adjacent woods and cottages. The older people were huddled in a group. Yuri spoke in Russian to the tall physicist, then turned to the Trouts.
"He says the men are gone. He saw them leave in a boat."
The group parted to reveal Orlov lying on the ground, his face covered with blood. Gamay was on her knees in an instant, put her ear close to the professor's mouth and felt for a pulse in his neck. Then she examined his arms and legs.
"Can we get him somewhere where he'll be more comfortable?" she asked.
The professor was lifted onto the picnic table and covered with the tablecloth. At Gamay's request, a pot of warm water and towels were produced. She gently sponged the blood away from the professor's face and balding scalp.
"The bleeding seems to have stopped," she said. "It's coming from the head, so it's worse than it looks. He's also bleeding from the mouth, but I don't think it's internal."
Paul's jaw hardened at the plight of his old colleague. "Someone used him for a punching bag."
The professor stirred and mumbled some words in Russian. Yuri leaned close for a second, then grinned. "He says he needs a glass of vodka."
Glowing embers were coming down on them from the fire and the smoke made it hard to breathe, so Paul suggested that they move the professor to a more sheltered location. Trout and three other men carried him to the cottage farthest from the fire. They laid him out on a bed, covered his body with blankets and brought him a glass of vodka.
"Sorry this isn't champagne," Gamay said, offering him a sip as she tilted his head up.
The vodka dribbled down his chin, but he swallowed enough of the potent liquor to bring color back to his cheeks. Paul dragged a chair over. "Do you feel like talking?"
"Keep the vodka coming and I'll talk all night long," Orlov said. "How's my cottage?"
"The fire brigade couldn't save it, but they kept the fIre from spreading," Yuri said.
A satisfied smile crossed the professor's swollen lips. "One of the first things I organized here was a fire company. We draw water directly from the sea."
"Please tell us what happened," Gamay said, as she dabbed the professor's forehead with a damp washcloth.
"We were sleeping," he said, talking slowly. "Some men came into the cottage. We never lock the doors out here. They wanted to know where the people in the boat were. I didn't know what they were talking about at first, then I realized they wanted you. So naturally I said I didn't know. They beat me until I was unconscious."
"I ran off to warn the Trouts," Yuri said. "I didn't want to leave you. They came looking for us. We hid in the woods until they were gone."
Orlov reached out and put his hand on Yuri's shoulder. "You did the right thing."
He motioned for more vodka. The drink seemed to clear his mind, and the scientific analysis of cause and effect came into play.
Looking Paul directly in the eye, he said, "Well, my friend, it seems you and Gamay made some interesting friends in the short time you have been here. On your little sightseeing trip, perhaps?"
"I'm truly sorry. I'm afraid we're responsible for this mess," Paul said. "It was entirely unanticipated. We made your son a partner in crime, too."
Paul told Orlov that NUMA was investigating Ataman and related the events surrounding their boat trip.
"Ataman?" Orlov said. "In a way, I can't say I'm surprised at their violent reaction. Huge cartels tend to act as if they are above the law."
Gamay said, "There was a strange man on the yacht. He had a thin face, long black hair and a beard. Was that Razov?"
"It doesn't sound like him. Probably his friend, the mad monk."
"Pardon me?"
"His name is Boris. I don't even know if he has a last name. He is said to be Razov's éminence grise, his mentor. Few people have seen him. You're very lucky."
"I don't know if I'd call it lucky," Gamay said. "I'm sure he saw us, too."
"He's probably the one who called out the hounds," Paul said.
Orlov groaned. "That's where we are in Russia today. Thugs advised by mad monks. I can't believe Razov has become such a powerful political figure in our country."
"I was wondering," Paul said. "How did they know where to find us? I'm pretty sure Yuri lost them."
"Maybe the bigger question is what they intended to do after they found us." Gamay turned to the professor and his son. "We're profoundly sorry for what happened. Please tell us how we can make it up to you."
"Perhaps a little help in rebuilding my cottage," Orlov said, after some thought.
"That goes without saying," Paul said.
"Anything else?" Orlov furrowed his brow. "One more thing," he said, his face lighting up. "As you know, Yuri is intent on visiting the United States."
"Consider it done, with the condition that you come along."
The professor could barely control his pleasure, "You drive a hard bargain, my friend."
"I'm a tough old Yankee, and don't you forget it I think we should be on our way the first thing in the morning."
"I'm sorry you have to leave so soon. Are you sure?"
"It might be best for everyone if we go."
They talked until the professor's weariness caught up with him and he drifted off to sleep. The Trouts and Yuri split the rest of the night into shifts, so at least one person would stand watch while the others caught some sleep in the bunk beds. The morning dawned without incident, and after a quick breakfast of coffee and rolls, the Trouts said their good-byes, vowing to get together in a few months, and squeezed into the same taxi that had dropped them off.
As the Lada bumped down the road, Gamay looked out the back window at the charred remains of the cottage. Smoke still hung in the air. "We'll have a lot to tell Kurt when we get back," she said.