Authors: John Schettler
Yes, I
was planning to see if I could slowly convince some of the other officers and
crew of what has happened, and Karpov has just given me the perfect cover to do
that. He’s asked me to go about the ship and brief the crew, but is he handing
me the rope he will use to hang me? Suppose I tell Nikolin, to begin with
someone I think I can work with here, or Zolkin. What if the Captain pulls
Nikolin aside and grills him about things I’ve said? It was chilling there as
he left, reminding me to bring him the reference on the Royal Navy message I
sent. Now how in the world will I do that?
He
thought for a moment, then realized what he might do.
I will
simply have to fabricate this evidence. I can take a reference passage from one
of my books and generate that content as a PDF. Then all I need do is edit that
document. I can do the same with the Royal Navy code words, and simply add the
word
Geronimo
, and I had better get that work done before I do another
thing.
Lord…
It was an eerie thing to sit here with Karpov, both of us knowing everything
that has happened, and yet both of us playing as though we were oblivious. Karpov
is very clever. He’s changed, so very different now. He seems quieter, calmer,
yet sinister in a way that is difficult to grasp. Does he know the real truth
about me, or does he merely suspect? And I wonder what happened to the Captain
we left here aboard the ship when we went ashore? That wasn’t the man I just
spoke with. No. The man aboard this ship now is the Siberian Karpov. I’m
certain of that. What has he done with his other self?
And as
for my situation, how much can I really divulge to anyone else here now? Who
can I trust that would not break under Karpov’s suspicion, or interrogation? Nikolin
is an easy man to convert to my side, but perhaps not reliable. Can you imagine
what might happen if Karpov put Orlov onto him, or worse yet, that monster
Grilikov? I think Zolkin would stand firm, and possibly Rodenko, and there is
one other man I might go to—Troyak. The Sergeant was instrumental in our
foiling Karpov’s first bid for the ship. I need Troyak more than ever now.
But
this is going to be very dangerous. First things first. Let me doctor those
PDFs to clear up that threat, and then I’ll see what I can do with Zolkin and
Troyak.
“Sit
down, Mister Orlov. We need to talk.”
“As you
wish, sir. About that incident in the Helo Bay—”
“Forget
that. Just be careful to listen to my orders when I give them, and carry them
out to the letter. I could see what happened there in a heartbeat. You got into
something with Zykov, yes? He stood his ground, as any Marine would, and you
put Grilikov on the man.”
Now
Karpov leveled a finger at the Chief.
“Don’t
ever do anything like that again. The Marines are a special detail aboard ship.
You don’t supervise them, discipline them, or manage their work for them. You
merely tell them what we want done, and then they do it. You are Chief of
Operations, Orlov. Get that through your head and start acting like a senior
officer, not some stupid lout willing to roll around in the mud with the likes
of Zykov. He’s a fucking Corporal! I don’t know what you did there, or why, but
you put yourself in a very bad situation just now. Start using your head with
the men, and not those big arms and shoulders. Your authority here comes from
the stars and bars on your shoulder, not the muscle beneath them. You don’t
strong arm this crew, unless I give you a specific order to deal with a man
that way. Understand?”
Orlov
nodded. “Like Fedorov,” he said sullenly, well chastened by the Captain’s
remarks. He could still not understand why he felt so cowed by Karpov now. Yes,
he looked a little different since he returned from that brief excursion
ashore, but it wasn’t the subtle physical difference he noted—it was something
else. Before, with Volsky here, Orlov felt himself almost an equal with Karpov,
just a rung down on the ladder of command, even though he was really two grades
in rank beneath the Captain.
Yet
now, with Volsky gone and Karpov elevated to full command of the ship, it was
as if the man was a demigod. He was, in fact, the sole and final authority on
the ship, and Orlov could feel those two grades of rank become a great chasm
between them now. Yes, he was Chief of Operations, Chief of the Boat as the men
sometimes called him, but he was at Karpov’s beck and call, and now there was
another factor in the power equation here—Grilikov.
I was
just about to let that monster square off with Troyak, he thought, and God only
knows what might have happened there in the Helo Bay if the Captain had not
come along.
He
understood what Karpov was saying to him now. Yes, he was Chief of the damn Boat,
and yet there he was, wrangling for a girly magazine with Zykov, a fucking
Corporal, just as Karpov said. Orlov was suddenly ashamed of himself, and knew
what Karpov was trying to say to him. He had to start acting like the officer
he was.
“Fedorov?”
said Karpov. “Explain.”
“Well,
you asked me to keep an eye on him sir, and go have a little chat with him. We
both know he was mouthing off on the bridge, and I had a mind to swat the man
down right then, except the Admiral was there.”
“You
had a chat with Fedorov?”
“Of
course, sir. I told you all about it. You said you suspected he was a mole, but
I thought he was something worse—a goddamned
Zampolit
, even though they
say we don’t have that sort aboard any longer. Yet look how he was sticking his
nose into things the minute that accident happened.”
“Go
on,” said Karpov, listening with his eyes closed now, thinking. “Tell me about
this meeting you had with Fedorov again. I’ve been so busy that I forgot all
about it.”
“I sat
down with him, and told him to mind his mouth, but the little shit had some
backbone. I guess he thought he had the Admiral’s protection. I went to put the
fear of the Lord into him, but he as much as told me to go fuck myself. You
were right about him, Captain. He’s different now. He isn’t the same man at
all, at least not the nerdy little rat he was before all this happened. You
want my take on it? I still think he’s a stinking
Zampolit
. How else
would he know all the things he’s been spouting? He can’t get everything out of
his history books. Why did he ask us to investigate that outpost on Jan Mayen?
Was that a setup of some kind?”
“Tell
me about Jan Mayen again.” Karpov’s eyes opened now, like the dark eyes of a
snake, watching, marking its prey.
“You
heard my report, sir. The whole place was gone—not destroyed as you thought—but
simply gone. All we found there was that tiny little weather station, not the
big MET facility that should have been there. All we found were those two
Norwegians and their damn dog. You saw that identity card I gave you.”
“Identity
card?”
“Yes
sir, the one Troyak found on one of the Norwegians. You said yourself that
Fedorov predicted that was exactly what we would find, right down to the man’s
name. You still have that card?”
Karpov
took a long breath. “I put it aside,” he said. “Too much going on of late to
worry about things like that. Refresh me again, Chief. What was it Fedorov
predicted?”
“The
whole damn thing! The Norwegians, their dog, and even that man’s name. It was
right there on the ID card I fetched. So that was when you became suspicious of
that little rat—Fedorov and his secret little code signals to the Royal Navy.
You know he put Nikolin up to that. I choked that out of our young
communications officer when you told me to see what was going on with Fedorov.
Karpov nodded.
“Yes, Chief, that brawn of yours is good for some things now and again. But use
it with a well measured cup.”
Karpov
realized a good deal here. His other self had been more than annoyed with
Fedorov’s behavior. He was becoming very suspicious of the man. Now the Captain
began to reason it all out. Fedorov was different… Fedorov had spoken out of
place on the bridge, curried favor with Volsky, conspired with Nikolin to send
secret coded messages to the Royal Navy, and more…
he had predicted things
that would happen, almost as if he had lived through them all before….
Just
like I have, thought Karpov. Oh, he covered his tracks very well just now when
I met with him. He’s very clever, very resourceful, but he hasn’t taken the
full measure of me just yet. He doesn’t know who he is dealing with. I wonder,
does he know I am not the man he left aboard this ship when he went ashore with
Volsky? Did he buy my little ploy with the gauze on my cheek? I wonder…
“As to
Fedorov,” said the Captain. “I just had a chat with him myself. Yes, do keep an
eye on him, Chief, but be very discrete about it. Don’t square off to him, or
make it obvious that you’re watching him. And by all means, don’t threaten the
man. If he is up to something, we need to catch him in the act. Don’t bluster
about and play right into his game. You forget how smart he is.”
“Too
smart,” said Orlov sourly. “When he gave me that lip in the dining hall, I
wanted to put my fist right down his throat.”
“That’s
the sort of impulse you must learn to control,” said Karpov. “Remember what I
said, Chief—stars and bars. That’s where your authority lies on this ship, and
that is why I don’t want you to take Grilikov with you on your daily rounds.
You don’t need Grilikov, or even your surly temperament to get what you want
done, you just need those stars and bars. Give an order, be professional about
it, and if it doesn’t stick, then come to me. All it will take is one little
transgression, and a man called in here to sit across that table with me before
they learn their lesson—that when you open your mouth on this ship, you are
speaking with authority that descends from god almighty on high—that’s
me
.
I am the final authority on this ship, not Grilikov, not Troyak and his
Marines, not those sixty security men I brought aboard at Severomorsk. They all
answer to me. Understand?”
“Yes
sir. But Zykov was being a real smart ass.”
“Perhaps
so, but you made the mistake of elevating him to your level in the way you
handled the matter, or worse, you got down on his level. What you should have
done is go to Troyak. Chain of command, Orlov, chain of command. Troyak handles
the Marines. Zykov gets out of line, you walk over to Troyak and damn well let
him know about it. If you don’t feel that settles the matter, then you come to
me.”
“Understood,
sir. I can see what I did wrong now.”
“Good…
Now as to Fedorov, be discreet; be cautious. For that matter, be clever about
this situation. If he is more than he seems, he’ll be very sly about what he
does on this ship. Watch him, but out of the corner of your eye.”
“I
will, sir.”
“Good,
because you are more important now than you realize, Chief. You are a very
essential cog in the works here, and there is something that I must tell you
now—something very important. Every man on this ship will know about it
tomorrow, but tonight, I tell it to you personally. Fedorov knows. Yes, he’s
already figured things out, and in that he was correct all along.”
“You
mean all that crap about the ship being back in WWII?”
“Exactly.”
“Come
on, sir…” The Chief smiled, but the look on Karpov’s face was so serious that
it fell away in an instant. “You mean it’s true? This is 1941, just like
Fedorov says?”
“Correct.
That accident with
Orel
blew the damn sub to pieces, and did something
very much more. It ripped a hole in time and blasted us right through it—the
whole damn ship. Were you up on deck when we pulled into Kola Bay?”
“No
sir, I was below deck making sure everyone else was staying put. Admiral’s
orders and all.”
“Yes,
the Admiral was very clever about that too. It was almost as if he knew what we
would find there, though I think he probably got that notion from Fedorov. Well
it’s all true. The whole damn story is true. This is 1941, and that’s why there
was nothing out there on Jan Mayen. Those facilities were never even built yet!
And had you been up on deck, you might have seen that Severomorsk was not the
way we left it—no, not at all. For now, since you didn’t see it with your own
eyes, all you have is my word on the matter. But God’s truth, Chief. We’re in
1941.”
“Then…
we can’t go home? Ever?”
“That
remains to be seen, but for the moment we have work to do here.”
“What
do you mean?”
“We’re
sailing east… To Vladivostok. We have business with the Japanese.” Now Karpov
told Orlov the same things he had shared with Fedorov concerning the fragmented
state of Russia, and the incursion the Japanese had made in the east.
“You
mean they pushed all the way to Lake Baikal? Damn…” Orlov was astounded.
“Yes,
it is hard to believe, but that is what happens when you let your guard down.
Someone was weak when he should have stood firm. Now the Japanese took all our
eastern provinces. They have a nice little empire out there, with troops in
China and even incursions into Tibet. And soon they will join the war, but we
are sailing east to settle accounts, Orlov. You and I will set things right.”
“We
will?”
“Of
course. You are Chief of the Boat. Don’t you understand? There is no
Severomorsk back there any longer—at least not the one we left. There’s no one
we answer to now. That whole reeking structure of the upper naval command is
gone! I am now the final authority concerning the fate of this ship and crew,
and you, as Chief of Operations, are my right arm on this ship. So I need you
to stand up now, get a grip on all of this, and get ready for what lies ahead.”
“My
God… What are we going to do?” Orlov gave the Captain a wide eyed look now,
waiting.
“Let me
put this in terms you might understand,” said Karpov. “I’ve read your file.
It’s no secret that you were once thick as thieves with the Russian Mob, the
Bravta
,
the brotherhood. Yes, I know all about it. The brotherhood goes all the way
back to the time of the Tsars. They ran the Gulags for Stalin, though I’ll tell
you more about him later, and they ran quite a bit more as the decades past.
You know the structure. Every gang has the
Pakhan
at the top, the big
boss, the ‘Godfather,’ just like in the movies. He controls the cells with his
Brigadiers, and two spies, men no one knows, watch the Brigadiers to keep them
in line. Then comes the
Sovietnik
, the chief councilor and advisor for
the
Pakhan
, and the Brigadiers run all the
Boeviks
beneath them,
the warriors in the cells who get things done when so ordered. There are many
kinds, the enforcers, contract killers, bodyguards. That was your job, yes? You
were
Byki
, bodyguard for your Brigadier. Am I correct?”
Orlov
nodded, wondering how all of that found its way into his personnel file. The
navy knew more about him than he realized! “So I was
Byki
in the Grekov
Group for an underboss, what of it?”
“Well
you are about to get a promotion. Let me put it to you this way. I am
Pakhan
on this ship now, the big Boss, Godfather of the Northern Seas, and Volsky is
out to pasture back in Severomorsk.”
Orlov
smiled at that, a little bit of a sneer in his smile, for he often thought the
Admiral was beyond his ‘sell by’ date, though he never dared say as much.