CHAPTER TWELVE - "Now What?"
Comrade Bratsk moved easily in the crowd at the station. His uniform, although not a high ranking one, commanded enough respect for the crowd to give way to him and offer no resistance to his train hopping. He waited on the platform for the next one, bouncing slightly on his heels. Something inside told him this was the one; his very own device had told him so. He patted the detailed manual tucked inside his shirt. When he had the device in hand, he could go directly to Thrush with everything and leave this demeaning assignment. He hadn't seen Asikov in days, but his patrols had been evident everywhere, which had worked for him. The public assumed he was part of them and kept silent. The patrols had been searching the crowds at the platforms, but not the trains.
He heard the train whistle in the distance and moved to the front of the platform. He'd searched three trains so far, and now had a system, confident that every square inch would be covered.
************
The train had come down the other side of the foothills and was traveling along at a nice clip. After a cursory search, they had settled into the car to wait. Illya had reluctantly agreed to tell Trudy some of his history with the gypsies. He hoped it would be enough stop her from prying into his past; she hoped to figure out what made this man tick.
His story was short and vague, as she expected. Apparently Illya had helped the clans navigate around the military squads that, at one time, had been assigned to 'clear out' the gypsies from certain parts of the country. The exact meaning of 'clear out' wasn't defined, but Trudy figured it was not a pretty procedure if they were that indebted to this mysterious man. Curious, she peppered him with questions.
"How did you help them get around?"
"I didn't. As you saw, they get around quite well on their own."
"No, I mean, did you offer information? Services? Maps? Guides? What?"
"Yes."
"You physically helped them? You acted as a guide?"
Illya began to squirm under the questioning. "Sometimes. Don't you have something else to do? Interrogate the passengers, perhaps?"
"But this in interesting! Were you armed? Did you ever have to fight? Were you ever caught?"
"Yes, yes and almost. I don't recall the details. It was long ago."
Trudy laughed shortly. "I think you remember more than you want to. How long ago was this? How long did you do this?"
"It was when I was young and a lot more idealistic, and I did it until I was not in a position to help them anymore." The Russian had settled back into their little cavern, unconsciously rubbing his fingers and hands, his mind wandering. He saw Trudy looking at his hands, and immediately stopped. "Joseph said the next station was fairly close. I think the train is slowing."
Trudy agreed and they began to conceal themselves better. We will return to this subject someday, she thought as the train whistle shrilled, announcing its arrival at the station.
The train slowed and bumped to a stop. They could hear the shouting and general talk of the people outside as well as the milling of the crowds as they moved off and on the train. Some things were taken from their car. Illya had guessed that the things to be removed would be near the doors and the items going all the way to the coast were in the middle. He had guessed correctly, and after what seemed like forever in the cramped space, the train moved again.
Illya crawled out first and inspected the car. "It's clear. The next stop won't be for many hours, so I think we can move around a bit. There should be other food and water to buy in the other cars if you want to stretch your legs.
Trudy touched her face. "No disguise?"
The corner of Illya's mouth turned up in a small grin. "Not if we are careful. Head scarves will do if we keep our heads down. We can find appropriate clothes around here. These things are a bit too bright for the regular crowd.
They found bundles of clothes packed for shipping and sales, and selected a few items to cover up. "I feel like I'm shoplifting," Trudy said as she tied a scarf over her head."
"We can return them before we leave. Or leave an IOU," he replied in a dry tone, not missing a beat as he changed. Trudy laughed when she finally realized he had told a joke.
Illya stashed their things in the small opening, hesitated, then picked up the grenade and stuffed it in a pocket.
"Blowing something up?" she asked.
"I always like to be prepared," he said lightly.
Trudy shook her head. "I am glad that I don't have to think the way you do, Mr. Kuryakin."
"If you did, you wouldn't be here in the first place," he instantly replied as he moved off.
Stumped, Trudy's mouth fell open, and then she closed it with a nod. "You are probably right," she mumbled. "Does your partner think like you?" she asked conversationally.
"No. And that delights him to no end."
Trudy fell in behind the stoic Russian. "I like him already," she quipped. "And can't wait to meet him."
Following the slim Russian was not easy. He seemed to blend in with the crowd immediately, and moved easily, his eyes not missing a thing. Trudy likened him to a cat, but also noticed that he still tended to drag one leg a bit; he wasn't moving as easily as the 0il-on-water figure she remembered from days ago. That's not saying he wasn't getting along. He weaved expertly in the packed car and took advantage of every opening with hardly a pause between cars.
The amount of people packed in the car was amazing. All the seats were full, and there were families camped out in the aisles and in the spaces between the cars. Three cars up Trudy finally saw him approach a small gathering of young men clustered in the small space between the last row of seats and the door way. By the time she worked her way up to him, she saw their hands flash in some sort of exchange, and Illya came away with something wrapped in cloth and a flask. He nodded, shook hands with one of them and turned to face Trudy.
"Some local fare you may enjoy. It's strong, but filling and flavorful."
She took the wrapped food from him. "Strong?" She sniffed it.
"It smells like some sort of bread."
He smiled at her, and it took her breath away. "I wasn't talking about the food. I was talking about this." He held up the flask and popped the end open. The alcoholic fragrance hit her nose a foot away and brought tears to her eyes. "Vodka from the fields."
"Good lord, you aren't going to drink that are you? That smells like paint thinner! I come from West Virginia and the White Lightning there smells better than that!"
As she spoke, Illya's glance drifted over her shoulder and his smile faded. There were small windows in the doors at the ends of the cars, and he could see through the two windows into the next car. A man in a military uniform was working his way in their direction.
Trudy saw his expression harden and glanced back. "It's the man from the camp and the airfield," she whispered.
"Don't look. Come." He grabbed her arm and steered her back the way they came, trying not to look like they were hurrying. "Keep your head down."
With him guiding her by the arm they managed to ooze their way back to their enclave without garnering unwanted attention.
"Now what?" she said stripping off the extra clothes so she could move more easily. Illya was watching the doorway and working with quick, efficient moves. He took her arm and directed her to their little cave. "Hide? We're gonna hide? Is that your best plan?"
"No. You're going to hide." He had her sit as he arranged bundles around her with his good hand. Trudy saw the grenade hooked on the pocket of his loose shirt, and the stiff way he worked.
"You took off the wraps around your ribs, didn't you? When did you do that? You could puncture a lung!'
He continued to work as he replied. "No, I won't because the ribs were only cracked and I took the wraps off days ago. Now be quiet."
"You're going to kill him, aren't you?" she said softly.
His eyes flashed on her for several seconds, but he didn't slow down. Before he placed the last few bundles in place he replied. "I said I would get us to the coast, and I will." Then he blocked her view with a bale of brightly colored cloth.
It seemed liked eternity being huddled in the darkness. The gentle rocking of the train made her head bump a box by her ear in a rhythmic motion. She brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs, and buried her head in her knees. The clanking of the rails kept time with her heart as she waited.
***************
Bratsk made his way slowly through each car, making sure to look at each and every face, and to check every spot that looked big enough to hold a man. He had no idea if the woman was still with him, but she didn't matter. It was the U.N.C.L.E. agent he wanted. No one in this car looked anything like him, and he sighed.
When he reached the end of the car he turned back and gave the crowd one last look. Satisfied, he stepped out the door and into the space where the cars were connected. The door to the other car bounced back and forth out of rhythm with where he stood. His first look in the next car showed him it was full of cargo. He knew there were a lot of places to hide, and steeled himself to be careful.
He stepped over the space between the cars and entered the cargo car. Just inside the door he stopped for a moment and noticed that stacks were higher in the center. He checked the area around him first, methodically moving right to left. When he reached the center he put a hand on a stack of brightly colored baled cloth and pushed. It gave more than it should, and he was instantly suspicious.
Bratsk drew his gun and tugged on one of the bales. A motion from the top of the pile, just within his peripheral vision, caught his attention and he jumped back, firing wildly. He was hit full in the chest and bowled over into a stack of boxes, which collapsed down on him and his assailant. He swung wildly, the gun lost, but the boxes interfered.
Arms were flying as they rolled over into the narrow aisle. Bratsk's swinging fists managed few flesh-to-flesh connections. It was all over when he felt a firm bar shaped object lock over is throat from behind. Bratsk managed two well-connected jabs to the torso with his elbows and heard a satisfying exclamation of pain, but the bar tightened over his windpipe anyway, and was soon underscored with the cold, sharp edge of a blade just under his Adam's apple.
Bratsk froze. As he wheezed in air he felt a dribble of blood crawl down his neck and chest. Then he heard a chilling voice in his ear.
"I should slice you open right now but then I'd have a bigger mess to clean up." Although the breath was warm on his neck, it felt like ice trickled down his spine.
Through his fear Bratsk realized that the bar across his throat was actually this man's arm, and recalled that Kuryakin had broken his arm in the plane crash. "You won't get out of Russia," Bratsk growled. "Thrush knows you're here and what you have."
"The same goes for me," Kuryakin replied softly as he dug the blade in a bit deeper. "If I get rid of you and the device, no one wins."
A commotion amongst the baggage gave way to a woman's voice. "Don't kill him, Illya. Please," the voice pleaded. "I have this."
Bratsk heard a click then felt a sharp prick in his bicep. Soon, his world went dark.
When the body sagged in Illya's arms, he rolled away to the side and lay on his back gasping both in pain and for breath. He clenched his teeth, forcing control to his breathing. Trudy knelt beside him.
"Are you hurt?" she asked firmly.
"I'm fine!" they both said together. She shook her head in frustration. "What about him?" She rolled the body over and clicked her tongue when she saw the fine slice in his neck. She applied a cloth to it to stop the bleeding. "Thank you for not killing him," she said softly.
Illya sat up slowly and wiped the knife blade on Bratsk's chest, then frowned. He felt the shirt front, then reached in and pulled out the manual and grinned slightly.
"I think Solo's luck is with us. This is the manual I had to leave behind."
"Is that the manual to that device?"
Illya nodded and stuffed it in his shirt. He waved off Trudy when she tried to check his ribs. It felt like thousand needles poking him when he breathed, and he moved slowly and stiffly. He removed a knife and extra ammo from the sleeping figure, and recovered the gun. "We have to hide him, and keep him quiet. You only have one more morphine dose, don't you?" She nodded, and he thought for a minute. "OK, in about 18 hours we're getting off this train. That's when we'll be crossing a river. We'll take the river to the coast, and leave him on the train. With luck, he won't be found until this car's unloaded 20 or so hours later."
"The morphine won't last that long," she said quietly.
"I know. "
They secured Bratsk's hands and feet, and gagged him, then stuffed him in their little cubbyhole.
"What about this Thrush group?" Trudy finally asked when Bratsk was stowed away.
"They want the device, not me." Illya said as he sat and leaned back on some boxes.
She looked at him skeptically. "Really!" Illya tried to look innocent, but she wasn't falling for that. "The Army is full of scammers, Mr. Kuryakin, and I can spot one a mile away. Thrush wouldn't mind having you along with the device, would they?"
Illya rubbed his fingers for a second, chastised. "They would prefer what was in my head, I think." He looked up at her through his shaggy bangs. "No matter. I plan on being away from here without any more confrontations."
"What about that General guy? His patrols are still out and about."
"Asikov still doesn't know where to look and I intend to keep it that way and leave no clues." He was looking at Bratsk when he spoke. The idea of an execution sickened him, but he knew it was a possibility.
As if she could read his thoughts, a chill coursed down Trudy's spine.
***********
Napoleon Solo finally felt like he was close. The move to the northern edge of Japan felt right, and he simply knew that his partner would be back very soon. The physical part of the move also helped to cut the edge off his restlessness.
Stevie's relatives were just as delightful as Stevie. They didn't speak as much English, but they weren't shy about trying to communicate. Between the family meals and the off shore patrols disguised as fishing ventures, he was busy and enjoying himself more than he felt he should be.
His thoughts, though, always fell to his partner. How was he faring? It had been nearly two weeks since the jet had gone down. The other passengers and crew had been returned, and the news releases never mentioned the two Americans that Solo knew were unaccounted for. That made him wonder, too; the flight crew had told U.N.C.L.E. that the woman had left with Kuryakin.
Who was Gertrude Anna Kidd? Solo had a report about her in his hand and had studied it closely. He recalled many nurses from his Korea days and admired them for more than their physical attributes. The thought of a woman tagging along with his stoic partner was somewhat amusing and he wondered how it was going and why she left with him in the first place.
************
General Asikov was running out of patience. The longer his patrols came up empty, the further away he knew Kuryakin was. That man had an irritating way of completing whatever task he put to himself.
Asikov was well ahead of his patrols, almost to the coast, trying to predict Kuryakin's movements. It was looking like he would make it to the coast after all, and Asikov had to be ready.
Decision made, he barked at the driver to take him to the communications tent where he arranged for an attack submarine to start for the nearest seaport, and a helicopter to take him there when it arrived.
If Kuryakin had to be stopped in Russian waters, he would be ready.
Comrade Bratsk moved easily in the crowd at the station. His uniform, although not a high ranking one, commanded enough respect for the crowd to give way to him and offer no resistance to his train hopping. He waited on the platform for the next one, bouncing slightly on his heels. Something inside told him this was the one; his very own device had told him so. He patted the detailed manual tucked inside his shirt. When he had the device in hand, he could go directly to Thrush with everything and leave this demeaning assignment. He hadn't seen Asikov in days, but his patrols had been evident everywhere, which had worked for him. The public assumed he was part of them and kept silent. The patrols had been searching the crowds at the platforms, but not the trains.
He heard the train whistle in the distance and moved to the front of the platform. He'd searched three trains so far, and now had a system, confident that every square inch would be covered.
************
The train had come down the other side of the foothills and was traveling along at a nice clip. After a cursory search, they had settled into the car to wait. Illya had reluctantly agreed to tell Trudy some of his history with the gypsies. He hoped it would be enough stop her from prying into his past; she hoped to figure out what made this man tick.
His story was short and vague, as she expected. Apparently Illya had helped the clans navigate around the military squads that, at one time, had been assigned to 'clear out' the gypsies from certain parts of the country. The exact meaning of 'clear out' wasn't defined, but Trudy figured it was not a pretty procedure if they were that indebted to this mysterious man. Curious, she peppered him with questions.
"How did you help them get around?"
"I didn't. As you saw, they get around quite well on their own."
"No, I mean, did you offer information? Services? Maps? Guides? What?"
"Yes."
"You physically helped them? You acted as a guide?"
Illya began to squirm under the questioning. "Sometimes. Don't you have something else to do? Interrogate the passengers, perhaps?"
"But this in interesting! Were you armed? Did you ever have to fight? Were you ever caught?"
"Yes, yes and almost. I don't recall the details. It was long ago."
Trudy laughed shortly. "I think you remember more than you want to. How long ago was this? How long did you do this?"
"It was when I was young and a lot more idealistic, and I did it until I was not in a position to help them anymore." The Russian had settled back into their little cavern, unconsciously rubbing his fingers and hands, his mind wandering. He saw Trudy looking at his hands, and immediately stopped. "Joseph said the next station was fairly close. I think the train is slowing."
Trudy agreed and they began to conceal themselves better. We will return to this subject someday, she thought as the train whistle shrilled, announcing its arrival at the station.
The train slowed and bumped to a stop. They could hear the shouting and general talk of the people outside as well as the milling of the crowds as they moved off and on the train. Some things were taken from their car. Illya had guessed that the things to be removed would be near the doors and the items going all the way to the coast were in the middle. He had guessed correctly, and after what seemed like forever in the cramped space, the train moved again.
Illya crawled out first and inspected the car. "It's clear. The next stop won't be for many hours, so I think we can move around a bit. There should be other food and water to buy in the other cars if you want to stretch your legs.
Trudy touched her face. "No disguise?"
The corner of Illya's mouth turned up in a small grin. "Not if we are careful. Head scarves will do if we keep our heads down. We can find appropriate clothes around here. These things are a bit too bright for the regular crowd.
They found bundles of clothes packed for shipping and sales, and selected a few items to cover up. "I feel like I'm shoplifting," Trudy said as she tied a scarf over her head."
"We can return them before we leave. Or leave an IOU," he replied in a dry tone, not missing a beat as he changed. Trudy laughed when she finally realized he had told a joke.
Illya stashed their things in the small opening, hesitated, then picked up the grenade and stuffed it in a pocket.
"Blowing something up?" she asked.
"I always like to be prepared," he said lightly.
Trudy shook her head. "I am glad that I don't have to think the way you do, Mr. Kuryakin."
"If you did, you wouldn't be here in the first place," he instantly replied as he moved off.
Stumped, Trudy's mouth fell open, and then she closed it with a nod. "You are probably right," she mumbled. "Does your partner think like you?" she asked conversationally.
"No. And that delights him to no end."
Trudy fell in behind the stoic Russian. "I like him already," she quipped. "And can't wait to meet him."
Following the slim Russian was not easy. He seemed to blend in with the crowd immediately, and moved easily, his eyes not missing a thing. Trudy likened him to a cat, but also noticed that he still tended to drag one leg a bit; he wasn't moving as easily as the 0il-on-water figure she remembered from days ago. That's not saying he wasn't getting along. He weaved expertly in the packed car and took advantage of every opening with hardly a pause between cars.
The amount of people packed in the car was amazing. All the seats were full, and there were families camped out in the aisles and in the spaces between the cars. Three cars up Trudy finally saw him approach a small gathering of young men clustered in the small space between the last row of seats and the door way. By the time she worked her way up to him, she saw their hands flash in some sort of exchange, and Illya came away with something wrapped in cloth and a flask. He nodded, shook hands with one of them and turned to face Trudy.
"Some local fare you may enjoy. It's strong, but filling and flavorful."
She took the wrapped food from him. "Strong?" She sniffed it.
"It smells like some sort of bread."
He smiled at her, and it took her breath away. "I wasn't talking about the food. I was talking about this." He held up the flask and popped the end open. The alcoholic fragrance hit her nose a foot away and brought tears to her eyes. "Vodka from the fields."
"Good lord, you aren't going to drink that are you? That smells like paint thinner! I come from West Virginia and the White Lightning there smells better than that!"
As she spoke, Illya's glance drifted over her shoulder and his smile faded. There were small windows in the doors at the ends of the cars, and he could see through the two windows into the next car. A man in a military uniform was working his way in their direction.
Trudy saw his expression harden and glanced back. "It's the man from the camp and the airfield," she whispered.
"Don't look. Come." He grabbed her arm and steered her back the way they came, trying not to look like they were hurrying. "Keep your head down."
With him guiding her by the arm they managed to ooze their way back to their enclave without garnering unwanted attention.
"Now what?" she said stripping off the extra clothes so she could move more easily. Illya was watching the doorway and working with quick, efficient moves. He took her arm and directed her to their little cave. "Hide? We're gonna hide? Is that your best plan?"
"No. You're going to hide." He had her sit as he arranged bundles around her with his good hand. Trudy saw the grenade hooked on the pocket of his loose shirt, and the stiff way he worked.
"You took off the wraps around your ribs, didn't you? When did you do that? You could puncture a lung!'
He continued to work as he replied. "No, I won't because the ribs were only cracked and I took the wraps off days ago. Now be quiet."
"You're going to kill him, aren't you?" she said softly.
His eyes flashed on her for several seconds, but he didn't slow down. Before he placed the last few bundles in place he replied. "I said I would get us to the coast, and I will." Then he blocked her view with a bale of brightly colored cloth.
It seemed liked eternity being huddled in the darkness. The gentle rocking of the train made her head bump a box by her ear in a rhythmic motion. She brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs, and buried her head in her knees. The clanking of the rails kept time with her heart as she waited.
***************
Bratsk made his way slowly through each car, making sure to look at each and every face, and to check every spot that looked big enough to hold a man. He had no idea if the woman was still with him, but she didn't matter. It was the U.N.C.L.E. agent he wanted. No one in this car looked anything like him, and he sighed.
When he reached the end of the car he turned back and gave the crowd one last look. Satisfied, he stepped out the door and into the space where the cars were connected. The door to the other car bounced back and forth out of rhythm with where he stood. His first look in the next car showed him it was full of cargo. He knew there were a lot of places to hide, and steeled himself to be careful.
He stepped over the space between the cars and entered the cargo car. Just inside the door he stopped for a moment and noticed that stacks were higher in the center. He checked the area around him first, methodically moving right to left. When he reached the center he put a hand on a stack of brightly colored baled cloth and pushed. It gave more than it should, and he was instantly suspicious.
Bratsk drew his gun and tugged on one of the bales. A motion from the top of the pile, just within his peripheral vision, caught his attention and he jumped back, firing wildly. He was hit full in the chest and bowled over into a stack of boxes, which collapsed down on him and his assailant. He swung wildly, the gun lost, but the boxes interfered.
Arms were flying as they rolled over into the narrow aisle. Bratsk's swinging fists managed few flesh-to-flesh connections. It was all over when he felt a firm bar shaped object lock over is throat from behind. Bratsk managed two well-connected jabs to the torso with his elbows and heard a satisfying exclamation of pain, but the bar tightened over his windpipe anyway, and was soon underscored with the cold, sharp edge of a blade just under his Adam's apple.
Bratsk froze. As he wheezed in air he felt a dribble of blood crawl down his neck and chest. Then he heard a chilling voice in his ear.
"I should slice you open right now but then I'd have a bigger mess to clean up." Although the breath was warm on his neck, it felt like ice trickled down his spine.
Through his fear Bratsk realized that the bar across his throat was actually this man's arm, and recalled that Kuryakin had broken his arm in the plane crash. "You won't get out of Russia," Bratsk growled. "Thrush knows you're here and what you have."
"The same goes for me," Kuryakin replied softly as he dug the blade in a bit deeper. "If I get rid of you and the device, no one wins."
A commotion amongst the baggage gave way to a woman's voice. "Don't kill him, Illya. Please," the voice pleaded. "I have this."
Bratsk heard a click then felt a sharp prick in his bicep. Soon, his world went dark.
When the body sagged in Illya's arms, he rolled away to the side and lay on his back gasping both in pain and for breath. He clenched his teeth, forcing control to his breathing. Trudy knelt beside him.
"Are you hurt?" she asked firmly.
"I'm fine!" they both said together. She shook her head in frustration. "What about him?" She rolled the body over and clicked her tongue when she saw the fine slice in his neck. She applied a cloth to it to stop the bleeding. "Thank you for not killing him," she said softly.
Illya sat up slowly and wiped the knife blade on Bratsk's chest, then frowned. He felt the shirt front, then reached in and pulled out the manual and grinned slightly.
"I think Solo's luck is with us. This is the manual I had to leave behind."
"Is that the manual to that device?"
Illya nodded and stuffed it in his shirt. He waved off Trudy when she tried to check his ribs. It felt like thousand needles poking him when he breathed, and he moved slowly and stiffly. He removed a knife and extra ammo from the sleeping figure, and recovered the gun. "We have to hide him, and keep him quiet. You only have one more morphine dose, don't you?" She nodded, and he thought for a minute. "OK, in about 18 hours we're getting off this train. That's when we'll be crossing a river. We'll take the river to the coast, and leave him on the train. With luck, he won't be found until this car's unloaded 20 or so hours later."
"The morphine won't last that long," she said quietly.
"I know. "
They secured Bratsk's hands and feet, and gagged him, then stuffed him in their little cubbyhole.
"What about this Thrush group?" Trudy finally asked when Bratsk was stowed away.
"They want the device, not me." Illya said as he sat and leaned back on some boxes.
She looked at him skeptically. "Really!" Illya tried to look innocent, but she wasn't falling for that. "The Army is full of scammers, Mr. Kuryakin, and I can spot one a mile away. Thrush wouldn't mind having you along with the device, would they?"
Illya rubbed his fingers for a second, chastised. "They would prefer what was in my head, I think." He looked up at her through his shaggy bangs. "No matter. I plan on being away from here without any more confrontations."
"What about that General guy? His patrols are still out and about."
"Asikov still doesn't know where to look and I intend to keep it that way and leave no clues." He was looking at Bratsk when he spoke. The idea of an execution sickened him, but he knew it was a possibility.
As if she could read his thoughts, a chill coursed down Trudy's spine.
***********
Napoleon Solo finally felt like he was close. The move to the northern edge of Japan felt right, and he simply knew that his partner would be back very soon. The physical part of the move also helped to cut the edge off his restlessness.
Stevie's relatives were just as delightful as Stevie. They didn't speak as much English, but they weren't shy about trying to communicate. Between the family meals and the off shore patrols disguised as fishing ventures, he was busy and enjoying himself more than he felt he should be.
His thoughts, though, always fell to his partner. How was he faring? It had been nearly two weeks since the jet had gone down. The other passengers and crew had been returned, and the news releases never mentioned the two Americans that Solo knew were unaccounted for. That made him wonder, too; the flight crew had told U.N.C.L.E. that the woman had left with Kuryakin.
Who was Gertrude Anna Kidd? Solo had a report about her in his hand and had studied it closely. He recalled many nurses from his Korea days and admired them for more than their physical attributes. The thought of a woman tagging along with his stoic partner was somewhat amusing and he wondered how it was going and why she left with him in the first place.
************
General Asikov was running out of patience. The longer his patrols came up empty, the further away he knew Kuryakin was. That man had an irritating way of completing whatever task he put to himself.
Asikov was well ahead of his patrols, almost to the coast, trying to predict Kuryakin's movements. It was looking like he would make it to the coast after all, and Asikov had to be ready.
Decision made, he barked at the driver to take him to the communications tent where he arranged for an attack submarine to start for the nearest seaport, and a helicopter to take him there when it arrived.
If Kuryakin had to be stopped in Russian waters, he would be ready.