— Gdye mozhna koopit blue jeans?'
The woman turned to her companion. 'What did he say, General?'
'I didn't catch it all, but the man likes your blue jeans,' Elliott said. He turned toward the double doors. 'Patrick!'
Crouching low, McLanahan rushed through the doors, a.38 caliber survival revolver clutched in his hand. He ran over to the Russian and pointed his revolver at the man's temple.
Sergei closed — his eyes.
'Search him,' Elliott ordered. McLanahan quickly patsearched Sergei, keeping his revolver aimed at his head. Elliott then turned Sergei around and backed him into the bench, forcing him to sit. With both his own and McLanahan's guns still pointed, Elliott took Sergei's hands and put each one on top of his head. Sergei sat on the wooden bench, eyes tight shut.
'Vi gavariti pahanglivski?' Elliott was asking if he spoke English.
Sergei opened his eyes, forced himself to look at each of the strangers.
'A@vet. Please don't kill me 'Pazhaloostal gavariti myedlinna, Elliott said, telling him to speak slowly. The man looked less terrified now, though very confused. 'Kagda polizei virnyotsa?' Elliott asked when the police would be back.
'No police,' Sergei replied. He kept his hands up, but his shoulders visibly relaxed. Slowly he said in Russian, 'Police… do not come… to base.'
'I understood the no,' McLanahan said, taking a doublehanded grip on the pistol.
'I think he's saying there are no police,' Elliott asked. 'This asking if we have fish?I don't Then he did. He nodded at the Russian, who nodded in return. Elliott pulled him up off the bench and allowed him to lower his hands.
McLanahan didn't lower his revolver. 'What's the story, General?'
'Black market,' Elliott said, smiling. The Russian smiled back. 'This gentleman runs some kind of black market out here. If my guess is right, he trades fish, meat, cheese, and stuff for gasoline.'
Sergei let out a sigh of relief when the younger man finally lowered his revolver-his eyes had looked scared, but his hand didn't waver and Sergei had no doubt he would have pulled the trigger in an instant.
Followed by the younger man, Sergei went to a locker behind his desk and pulled out his hat, mittens and coat. As he pulled them on he had a chance to examine the young man's coat. It was thick, dark gray, and it didn't look like cotton or leather.
Slowly, carefully, he reached over to the man's collar and touched it.
It looked like cloth but felt like plastic. A plastic coat?It had pockets on the front and arms that fastened with strange zipperless fasteners. Who were these men?And why were they wearing plastic and warm while their women wore rare expensive cotton denim but was freezing to death?
'This is going to be rough-I can understand about every fifth word.'
He leaned forward, still aiming his pistol at Sergei's forehead.
'Binzuh, binzuh. Gasoline. Binzuhkalonka?'
Sergei looked relieved. 'Pazhaloosta!' Sergei asked. 'Don't worry, tovarisch. Put down your gun, I won't turn you in, I know the routine 'Whatever you said, General,' Angelina said, 'the man looks happy now.
What'd he say?'
'Hell if I know. I just asked him for gasoline. I'm his comrade now, that's all I understood.'
They were speaking English, Sergei said to himself.
Obviously only the old man knew any Russian at all-the younger ones still wore blank expressions.
Sergei winked and tried to stand. McLanahan pushed him back down.
Sergei looked at the strangers with a mixture of surprise and humor.
'Yest 1i oo vas riba?' Sergei asked. 'Sir?Kooritsa?I will 9 trade. No problem.'
'Fish?Cheese?Chicken?' Elliott said to himself. 'He's Elliott saw the fur-lined coat the Russian wore and glanced at the shivering Angelina.
— Mnye noozhnuh advezhda, ' El said. He pointed at the fur billowing out from the Russ' collar. 'Baranina.
Sergei nodded, reached into his locker and took out a severe-weather coat, a long, heavy sealskin greatcoat wolf-fur lining the hood, then went over to the woman and it out to her. Angelina, noticing the man's obvious interest in her denim jacket, slipped it off and held it out to him.
The Russian acted as if she had just given him the crown jewels.
Sergei examined every seam and stitch in the jacket, muttering the strange English words he found on the buttons, then carefully folded it and hid it far back on the shelf of his locker.
'I can make a fortune here,' Angelina said as she pulled the coat over her shivering shoulders. 'I've got a whole closet of those old beat-up jackets. 'Her face brightened as, for the first time in hours, she felt her body warming up.
'Come,' Sergei said in Russian. 'Back to business. 'He led the group outside. They climbed into a waiting Zadiv p truck and drove down the flightline.
Over the clatter of the truck's ancient heater, which stubbornly refused to emit any heat despite the racket, E said, 'Keep an eye out for a fuel truck or fuel pumps 'What do they say on them?' McLanahan asked, keeping his hand on the Smith and Wesson revolver in his pocket.
'I don't know.'
Elliott breathed on the side window of the truck, which instantly froze.
Against the rumble and crunc motion of the truck he drew five Cyrillic characters-an with a flag on top of it, an 'E,' a backward 'N,' a c backward 'E,' and an 'O.'
'Binzuh,' Elliott said.
means gasoline.'
Sergei nodded and smiled… the old man was givin the youngsters a lesson in Russian. 'Da,' Sergei said in Russian. 'We are going to get you gasoline.'
'Look,' Angelina said, pointing to the right.surrounded by a tall barbed-wire fence, was a white cylinder twenty feet high and about thirty feet in diameter A lone white tanker truck was parked beside it.
'Binzuh?' Elliott asked the Russian, pointing to the tank. The Russian glanced at the tank but continued driving, 'Niyet,' Sergei said, pointing ahead. 'Not gasoline. Kerosene. Elliott showed his puzzlement, not understanding the words. Sergei kept on driving.
'Pahvirniti napravah,' Elliott asked. 'Turn right. 'He pointed at the tank once again. Sergei shook his head.
McLanahan pulled out his revolver and held it to the Russian's temple.
'Do as the man says, tovarisch. 'Sergei stiffened. Elliott nodded and pointed to the tank.
Sergei turned toward Elliott, clearly puzzled. What did they want?
'Does your boat use kerosene?' Sergei said in Russian.
'That will do you no good.'
'Boat?' Elliott said, trying to decipher the words. 'I understood boat but nothing else.'
Sergei was pointing more emphatically toward a road nearb that headed east. 'Diesel,' Sergei said in Russian, pointing.
This way. Don't worry. I won't cheat you.
McLanahan pressed the revolver's muzzle against Sergei's head.
'Pazhaloosta,' Sergei said, holding up his hands. 'All right. 'With a shrug of his shoulders he bullied the old truck into a right turn and headed for the tank. A few minutes later, ith McLanahan holding his revolver in sight but not aimed at him, Sergei had opened the gate to the tank compound and led the group inside.
Now he opened a belly valve on the tank truck parked next to the large above-ground tank and a few gallons of liquid spilled onto the snow.
Angelina bent down and sniffed.
'It smells like kerosene,' she asked. 'It's not jet fuel or gasoline.
What do we do?'
'We may have lucked out,' Elliott said, reaching into an inner pocket and taking out a yellow hand-held survival radio.
