Benjamin smiled at her. 'You are the professional paranoid.' He tried to make his voice sound teasing, playful-but it was a distraction.
For at that moment, Benjamin had his first suspicion of what Scenario 55 might have been all about.
And, if he was right, it was monstrous.
Once they reached Achinsk, they had to give up that private compartment and the relatively luxurious accommodations of the Trans-Siberian Railway, and switch to a small commuter train for the final leg to Uzhur.
In Achinsk, Natalya saw a notice that a new, modern express rail service was coming soon to the Achinsk- Uzhur line.
'How things have changed,' she said. 'When I was a child, even this train was a secret.'
As they moved deeper into southeastern Siberia and closer to the Chinese border, Benjamin noticed that the landscape became pockmarked, as though it had been bombarded eons before by giant cannonballs.
'Something like that,' said Natalya. She explained to him that modern geologists knew this part of Siberia as one of the densest asteroid impact areas on all Earth. She opined that this was something the oldest locals understood on some instinctive level, for Uzhur had always been considered a place of dark, supernatural power. It was said that he who controlled Uzhur controlled all of Northern Asia.
But for all its supposed mystical power, the civilian Uzhur proved to be a very small town, indeed; one of only 17,000 inhabitants. To Benjamin, it looked like photographs he'd seen of old Western mining towns, with one-story houses and public buildings scattered intermittently, separated by rickety wooden fences and small kitchen gardens. Only the main roads were paved; the rest were rough lanes of dirt and gravel barely wide enough for a single car.
They asked at the train station for directions to Boris Silma's. The stationmaster knew Silma, and it was clear from the look he gave them that, if they were there to see 'Bear' Boris, he assumed they were on some sort of illicit business. Looking simultaneously curious and disapproving, he told them that they could call Silma from the station phone; the twenty-dollar bill Benjamin gave him seemed to still his suspicions.
Natalya made the call. She spoke in rapid Russian, and something Boris said made her go very quiet. Then she said a few more words, said, 'Harasho, spasiba,' and hung up.
She came to Benjamin. She looked stricken.
'Nikolai is not here,' she said. 'He called Boris from Dubna, said to expect him two days ago. But he has not arrived.'
Benjamin held her arms. 'Perhaps it's nothing,' he said. 'Perhaps he just couldn't get a flight, or he was delayed.'
'Perhaps,' said Natalya, but it was clear she didn't believe him. 'I will call him from Boris's house.'
They waited for Boris outside the station. It was cold here; not just chilly, but the kind of cold that Benjamin could feel even through his thick parka. There was no deep snow yet-Natalya said the streets would soon be impassable and everyone would move about on skis-but there were patches of snow everywhere and frost on the trees and rooftops.
By the time Boris arrived in a battered and rusting hardtop UAZ Russian jeep, Benjamin was beginning to feel like his face was an icicle. The vehicle clearly had a military past: where there was still paint, it was a drab olive green; where there was not, there was either orange rust or patches of black undercoat.
Boris bounded out of the jeep, swept Natalya up in his arms, kissing her on both cheeks and speaking in a torrent of Russian. Benjamin could see why his nickname was Bear: Boris was over six and a half feet tall, thick limbed, and with a heavy black-and-gray beard.
When Boris was done greeting Natalya-he'd looked slightly askance at her brunette hair but said nothing about it-he turned to Benjamin, removed his glove, and offered his hand. Benjamin removed his as well-he instantly felt the cold work into his exposed fingers-and Boris took it in an almost painful grip.
'Greetings to my country!' Boris said. 'Welcome, America!'
'Thank you,' Benjamin said, feeling his hand beginning to go numb. 'Spasiba.'
'Ah!' Boris's face lit up. 'Vy govorite po russiki?'
'No,' Benjamin said. 'Two words: spasiba and privet.'
Boris looked somewhat taken aback, then smiled broadly. 'Is okay. I speak American.'
He gathered their two bags and tossed them into the back of the jeep. Natalya climbed into the cramped front seat and Benjamin, pushing aside boots and traps and boxes of loose rifle ammunition, climbed into the back.
As they bounced over the dirt roads of Uzhur, and then the even rougher outskirts where Boris lived, Boris and Natalya carried on a conversation. Benjamin couldn't understand specifics, but it was clear they were discussing Nikolai's failure to arrive in Uzhur.
Boris's house was in truth a one-story cabin. 'Is only for business,' Boris said, removing their bags from the jeep. 'Real house in Achinsk.' He didn't explain what sort of business he conducted from a wooden cabin in the wild woods far outside Uzhur.
Once inside, he immediately offered Benjamin and Natalya a small glass of vodka each. Benjamin was exhausted, just wanted to lie down, but a look from Natalya told him this was a ritual they must indulge. He accepted the glass, Boris roared, 'Za vashe zdorovye!' and he and Natalya tossed theirs back in a single gulp. Benjamin started to sip his, and Boris protested.
'Nyet, nyet,' he said, and motioned for Benjamin to toss the vodka off as he had. Benjamin smiled, saluted him with the glass, and did so.
The vodka burned his throat, and he bent over, coughing, much to Boris's amusement. And then Boris poured another shot for each of them, pronounced another toast Benjamin didn't understand, and they repeated the procedure.
This time Benjamin didn't cough. And at least, he noticed, he was beginning to feel the warmth return to his hands and face.
It was then Natalya asked Boris to use his telephone.
'Da, da,' he said. 'But not always work.' He showed Natalya where it was, and she went into the other room where it was located.
Benjamin looked around Boris's 'business' house. It seemed more of a hunting lodge than anything else. There were bear and fox heads on the walls, and everything was made of either wood or stone. Boris went to the stone fireplace and began making a fire.
Natalya returned from the other room looking even more worried.
'There is no answer,' she said to Benjamin. 'Not at Olga's, not at his apartment.'
While Natalya and Boris carried on another animated conversation, Benjamin looked around the cabin. He noticed a well-stocked gun rack on one wall and a shelf lined, row upon row, with unmarked, clear-glass bottles. There were also numerous foot lockers that looked ex-military, a huge meat refrigerator, a very old television set complete with rabbit ears antenna, and what appeared to be an ancient CB radio.
Photographs were set unevenly along the walls, most of them showing Boris posing with other men over the bodies of bears, deer, and in one case a white-and-black tiger; there were also other, older photographs with Boris in a uniform of the Red Army, standing in groups of men, their arms around each other's shoulders, all of them smiling and looking young, brave, and cold. Upon closer examination, Benjamin recognized one of those men as a younger Nikolai Orlov.
Finally Natalya and Boris finished talking, and Boris turned to the stove and began making coffee.
'I told him we must continue,' Natalya said. 'Wherever Nikolai is, whatever has happened to him, it is what he would want. What he would insist upon.'
Benjamin looked at her. He thought again of how much he admired her strength, her calm resolve in the face of the unexpected. Perhaps Natalya sensed his thoughts, as she came to him and held his arms, looking into his face. He didn't need to say anything; she knew he couldn't but agree with her.
'And so, Monsieur Levebre,' she said, 'I believe we have an interview to arrange.'
