'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.
