Chapter 28

April 20, 1987

Hooper Bay, Alaska

They'd been arrested as soon as they'd hit the tarmac, but Alexei was pleasantly surprised the Americans had let them live long enough to land. Soldiers had immediately separated everyone for interrogation. It wasn't every day, after all, that a plane full of people crossed the Bering Strait and demanded asylum.

They'd stuck him in a holding cell. It made sense. It was clear he was Russian – they had plenty of time to decide what to do with him. It was more urgent to know if the Americans were really their own, or a KGB trick. The cell was cold, though it didn't seem to bother the drunks who'd been thrown in with him. He tried to avoid their eyes.

"What're'ya in for?" a young man in a uniform slurred.

Alexei paused, then decided on the truth. He couldn't hide his accent. "I'm trying to defect."

"What'd'ya mean?"

Was that the wrong word? "I vant to join your side."

"From Roosia?" the drunk man waved his arm in a direction that might have been west.

"Yes."

"Well hell, welcome to America!" The man slapped him on the back, and promptly started teaching him the national anthem. Alexei just wanted to sleep, but he didn't dare offend the jovial drunk who'd decided they were now best friends and played along until the man was snoring. Then he pulled his arms and legs in to try to conserve as much body heat as he could. Why was he so cold?

He studied his hand in the dim light. It looked shrunken, like an old man's, the bones and tendons shifting visibly beneath the skin. He had almost no fat left to warm him. He noticed how thin his arms were around his body. The muscles were wasted. If the Americans didn't want to be bothered with him, they could just leave him in this cell for a week or two. After a few more days, he'd be too weak to even demand food from them. They wouldn't do that – would they? Before Joyce and Hopper had kidnapped him, he would have expected it. Now, he was less sure. But then again, Joyce might have been an exception, a sheltering harbor in a hostile sea. He hoped it was going well for her and the children. It should. They were innocent, beyond a doubt. He wasn't sure that he was, anymore.

The drunks were released in the morning. Alexei could hear the guard balling them out as they left, then heard his brisk military footsteps on the concrete. He lowered his eyes, just in case, but he heard the guard stop to look at him. "You hungry?"

Alexei nodded, but didn't look up.

"You answer me when I ask you a question. Yes sir or no sir."

"Yes sir."

"All right. I'll find you something. But the captain wants to talk to you first."

So the food would be his reward. He'd intended to cooperate anyway. What other option did he have? So he walked alongside the guard down the hall, until he suddenly couldn't get his breath. It felt like he'd run a mile, rather than walked a hundred yards. He stopped and leaned into the wall.

"You shitting me?" the guard asked. Alexei shook his head and tried to answer 'No sir,' but nothing came out. The guard looked annoyed, as if he thought it must be a trick, but he detoured them to the hospital wing.

Vladivostok, Soviet Union

"And now who knows where they are," Andrei finished the tale for his interrogators.

"You expect us to believe all that?"

"I wouldn't have believed it either. But you saw those things in the cellar. Whatever they were, they weren't human."

His main interrogator handed him a cigarette and let him light it. This was going well, then. He'd done this often enough himself to know how much such a little privilege meant. He took a drag, gauged the man sitting across from him, and spoke again. "As I see it, we've got two worries. One, that the CIA somehow found out about our little adventure in Buffalo. Two, that he wants to try this again."

"Who?"

"Stepanov." He hesitated, for emphasis. It was important to time this right. "I'm a man who follows my orders. We all are, aren't we? So that's what I did. But after – that – I had to wonder: how could Stepanov have made such a mistake? And then I thought – what if it wasn't a mistake?" That would be catnip to whoever his interrogator reported to. They'd all made their careers by finding enemies, real and imaginary, to satisfy their betters' paranoia. Aiming for a general was risky, but if they succeeded, it would mean promotions for all of them.

And someone had to take the blame for this fiasco. If Alyosha had been available, it would have been him. There was simply no way to protect his brother, when he was the most convenient scapegoat. But he was either dead or in the arms of his new protectors, and either way, there was nothing to do for him. So it was all a matter of saving his career, and the best way to do that was to give them a juicier target.

His interrogator took a drag on his own cigarette. "What if it wasn't?" he said.

Hooper Bay, Alaska

The authorities had quickly cleared Mike and Nancy to go home. Karen had had their fingerprints taken and put on file with the police, in case they ever disappeared. They'd agreed to tell Karen and Ted that bad weather had kept them in Buffalo an extra day, and yes, they were sorry they hadn't called. It seemed incredible to Joyce that the whole thing had happened over a long weekend, give or take a bit. She still wasn't entirely sure what time zone she was in.

She, the boys, Hopper and El had had to stay in separate rooms until Dr. Owens came to verify that they were Americans and could be trusted. She'd let the soldiers have a piece of her mind about that.

When it was finally over, they boarded a military plane to take them to Anchorage, where Owens had arranged tickets on a civilian flight. Joyce stopped and looked back, scanning if anyone else was coming. "What are you doing with Alexei and the others?"

"The pilot asked to be sent back, and they're arranging it," Owens said. "We've got some work for Miss Tatiana Butina. The doctor's in the hospital, so we'll see when he gets out."

"In the hospital?"

"Apparently the Russians don't think they need to feed their prisoners."

"Will he be all right? Are they taking good care of him?"

"He'll be fine. I'll make sure." Owens shook his head. "You people never stop, do you? Now I'm going to have to explain why the police chief who was dead for almost two years is back. Think you could talk him into accepting a new identity?"

"Not a chance."

"Didn't think so." Owens sighed. "I guess we say he went undercover, to root out the corruption surrounding the mall. Either that or amnesia, but that sounds too much like a soap opera, doesn't it?"

"I think undercover is the best we're going to do," Joyce said.

Owens smiled. "Better get on your flight. And please, try to stay out of trouble, Joyce Byers."

Joyce took her seat next to Will, while Hopper sat with El. Jonathan splayed out across a row and was immediately asleep. She didn't blame him at all.

"Can we go home now?" Will asked.

"It's going to be a full day of travel from Anchorage, honey," Joyce said.

"No, I mean, home. Back to Hawkins." Will sighed. "We're not really safe anywhere, Mom. I mean, the freakin' Russians broke into my bedroom in the middle of night. We might as well be with the people we know."

Joyce pulled him over to kiss his head and didn't say anything for a moment. "We'll talk about it," she finally managed to respond.

00000000

Alexei remembered sitting on a table in his clothes, then waking up in a bed, wearing a hospital gown and attached to more machines than he cared to count. He could hear American voices talking. A blond woman noticed he was awake and offered him some juice. He drank it, gratefully. "We'll start you off slow," she said.

Over the next few days, they attempted to explain the disaster area his body had become. Alexei only half-absorbed it. His system had taken a severe shock. It was important for him to take care of himself when he got out. No smoking, no drinking, plenty of rest. He understood, but he mostly wanted to know where they were going to release him. Could he go back to Buffalo, with Joyce? No one had that answer.

After about a week, when his head was beginning to clear, they sent in a man a bit older than himself. "I might have a job for you," said the man, who introduced himself as Ricci. "But let's see what Soviet physicists know first."

Ricci started with ridiculously simple questions that any high school student should have been able to answer. Alexei was tempted to point out his doctorate wasn't just a piece of paper, but it wouldn't do to offend a man who could give him a job. They progressed through higher and higher levels of theory, and then Ricci asked about his own research. Alexei explained the idea of recycling nuclear waste.

"And was that ever used for, say, removing obstacles?" So Ricci knew. Alexei sighed, and told him the rest. Ricci looked pleased as he got up to go.

"Did I get de job?" Alexei asked.

"What?"

Alexei shook his head. "Dere isn't a job, is dere?"

"There are two identical Medvedevs out there. One's a physicist, one works for the KGB. It was important to find out which we had." Alexei nodded, though he didn't bother to hide his disappointment. "That said, I think I could use a man like you, when you're out of that bed."

"Vhere do you vant me to go?" Please not underground, please not underground, he thought.

"A little town called Hawkins, Indiana. We could use a man who knows a thing or two about portals."