Chapter 25

An Unlikely Ally

They sat at a table in the tribal recreation hall. Lunch had been served and the dishes were cleared away and the tables wiped down. The bingo game was a daily activity for the community's older women, widows mostly, with a captive husband seated here and there.

"His name was Yavinsky, the police captain told me. He and two of his men were left on foot after the helicopter dropped them to intercept Marie and her companions."

John Hawkswing sat with Marie's grandparents over a cup of coffee in the far corner of the hall, away from the bingo activity.

"We need something from him, something he has worn or touched. You and your son have searched the area, the roads, and the old mining site. Did you find anything?" the elder woman asked.

"Yes, a torn windbreaker. He became weary and overheated, and was not thinking straight. He discarded it in the dirt along one of the side trails. I know it was his; he left a motel receipt with other scraps of paper in the pocket."

"Thank you, John. It is a very good thing you have done. This discarded garment has value; more value than anyone could foresee, I think." The old woman smiled, accepted the plastic grocery bag holding a soiled jacket stinking of stale sweat and dust. She nodded politely to John and his son, stood, and walked to the door. Her husband followed.

The old Russian was having one of his weaker days. Pietor Grovsichenk worried more than usual. The old man suffered from influenza, despite the flu shots he'd received several months prior. The old man was nearly 85 and losing strength. Pietor feared they would soon lose him.

"Pietor, my faithful friend, what news do you have for me today? Something more pleasant than the disasters that have befallen another of our teams? Please remind me to inquire of the Archbishop, why it should be that everyone we've sent to apprehend this man, Hawthorne, has met such a terrible fate? Perhaps it is that odd woman, the native American. Does she have some power of which our Holy Orthodox Church is unaware?

"But never mind ... I am old and my mind wanders too much. I waste your time. You have some report for me?"

Grovsichenk nodded courteously in his reply:

"Sir, you are not that old, and I would hope that my mind might be half as focused as yours. But yes, I do have a most intriguing report from our agents in America.

"The man in Washington, D.C. reports that several meetings have occurred between Werner Schmidt and the Director of the American agency. He has not determined the purpose of the meetings, except to say there have been several that lasted for some hours. More significantly, some of the meetings have been in the Director's secret apartment, the one where he keeps his silicone-enhanced mistress, the former Texas beauty queen."

"And this is significant, why?" the old Russian asked.

"Because it is his private, personal place of which his political enemies have no knowledge. He would never take Herr Schmidt there unless he had no fear that Schmidt would use the secret against him. And only if there was the greatest need for talk away from curious ears; someplace completely unofficial. Whatever their business, it is nothing the Director wishes known outside of his circle of influence," Pietor explained.

"Yes, I agree. That is typical of the hyena; he does his best work in hiding, safe from hostile eyes and ears. And the other report, is one from the South American continent, I understand?"

"Ah, yes. This one is the most perplexing. Herr Schmidt ordered their ship, the converted freighter that carries helicopter gunships to support their mercenary operations ... the Interdictor, they call it. He ordered the ship to leave African waters where they were employed by that brutal black dictator. They sent it at flank speed across the Atlantic to Argentina. It is there now, in Bahia Blanca, being loaded with new helicopters and specialized men and equipment for a most peculiar purpose. Our agent claims they were ordered to equip for anti-submarine operations!"

The old man rocked slowly back in his chair, his fingers steeped under his chin. He remained that way for several moments, remembering and thinking.

"Ahhhh ... I do believe I can make sense of that, Pietor. Let me tell you what I think. To catch a submarine, you need two things: very good ears to find it, and very good weapons to kill it. But let us suppose it is not a submarine we wish to find, and we certainly do not wish to kill it. We want to capture it alive! So we need the very best 'ears' to find our prey, and we need fast boats and divers and some stunning or netting equipment to take it alive. Tell me, my good friend, what does this indicate to you?"

"Astounding! They are going to catch penguins!"

"Precisely, Pietor, precisely. But these penguins are not penguins!

"Pietor, please see to it that some of our people are on that ship, the Interdictor, when she sails to the frozen continent."

"My husband, I sense that this man, he is a warrior with a dark soul. He has vanquished many enemies in defense of his nation, his people, and he carries a bright torch of love for the city of his birth. But his hatred, it blackens his warrior spirit. He is a fallen man, I fear, but still ... he is a powerful man who holds the choice between salvation or doom for his people."

The old woman sat cross-legged by the open fire behind her cabin. She inhaled the mingled fragrances of the cooling evening air and the aromatic herbs smoldering in their stone bowl. She and her husband had followed the spirit trail of the mafia soldier through his discarded jacket; had read his memories of the commander who sent him on his failed mission. The spirit traces led them to a strong spirit, blazing in its flawed intensity. They watched the old Russian asleep in his lonely quarters.

"He is like two men struggling within one body, my wife. The one seeks to preserve; the other seeks to destroy. We have seen many who harbor such a conflict within themselves, the struggle between light and darkness. But this one, it is a wonder he has not already fallen into the black pit. He must be a strong one to cling to his waking days; to withstand such a terrible struggle."

"I fear he has done terrible things. He sought to take our granddaughter and her companions. He seeks the secret that would destroy all that he loves," she replied. "Do you agree, my husband, that he must choose? That his better nature might prevail?"

"Yes, wife, he must do it now. If he would accept his own doom, yet choose that the world of humanity could survive, we must confront him now. Only Coyote, the trickster, knows what he will do. Perhaps we will show him what awaits on either side of his decision?"

It was another terrible night for the old Russian. He could not remember the last time he'd slept without nightmares for more than an hour or two. He would waken in night terrors, soaked in sweat, exhausted and shaking. It was killing him, but he had little choice. The drugs that his physician offered were little more than a slippery slide into dissolution and death. No, he would prevail for a short while longer, time enough to find the way to preserve his city for the future.

He slipped into an exhausted slumber, dozing fitfully. Darkness closed in on him. He was drawn away, down a corridor; peace came over him. Two figures sat hunched over the smoky fumes of a stone bowl. He sat cross-legged on a rough mat with them, one corner of a triangle, the three of them bound together within a circle of light.

"Welcome, Viktor Lucenkovich. Please be calm. You are safe here; we mean you no mischief or harm," an ancient voice spoke.

"My name!? No one ever dares speak my name! How is it that you know my name, let alone say it to my face?"

"There is no shame in your name, Viktor. There is only the shame in your heart that has become your certain doom. We mean no insult or dishonor by speaking your name. We honor the warrior who fought bravely and well under that name; only you may decide if that name will forever carry the shame of your heart."

Viktor struggled to rise to his feet but could not. He stared at the two figures, an old man and woman, but he could not see their faces. He heard their voices, ancient and strong.

"Be at peace, Viktor. We are not here to harm or judge or punish you. By your own hands you have suffered shame and self-punishment sufficient to your damnation; there is little we may add to that. Calm yourself, and hear us. We are here to show you a choice you must make!"

Viktor saw an endless expanse of white, the frozen wastes of a far continent. He saw there the gift of technology, of unearthly knowledge, and it came into his hands. He grasped it, beheld it with amazement, and he took it to the laboratories of his city's universities.

The alien technology brought his city invincible strength. Soon its power spread throughout the nation. To his horror he saw dark tentacles of jealousy and espionage spread outward from the other nations. They stole the secrets and created weapons of horrible destruction. Hatred and distrust erupted into a cataclysm of conflict and death. The world dissolved in the fires of war, its peoples swept away like ash.