Napoleon and Peter settled in on their flight, which required a brief but welcome stopover in Seattle before proceeding onto Anchorage. It allowed them a few minutes to exit the plane to get some fresh air but not much more than that.
At least being on board one of the Command's private Lear Jets gave them time to review layouts of the island and the village of Diomede as well as to relax and catch up on their sleep.
This was one of the rare occasions that a female attendant wasn't on board to see to the passenger needs. The one scheduled, Mandy Dearing, with whom Napoleon was well acquainted, fell ill at the last minute. It was too late to find a replacement.
Not that the men couldn't pour their own drinks and warm their TV dinners themselves. They managed to do that as well as to take care of the pilot and copilot.
Once in Seattle, an attendant finally arrived. It was Louise Masterson from the UNCLE office in the state capital of Olympia. The sight of her made Napoleon cringe just a little.
Their last meeting, a date, if you wanted to call it that had not gone well. He stood her up actually, having disappeared with another woman, and airling stewardess he'd met at a hotel bar. To this day he regretted abandoning Louise, and had vowed since then to never again do that to a woman. So far he'd been a good boy and kept that promise to himself.
"What's wrong?" Peter asked, seeing the uncharacteristic nervousness of his partern
"Don't ask." Solo tried burying his face behind a magazine.
"Why hello Na-poleon," Louise said. Her voice was definitely on the cool side.
"Umm, hi Louise how are you? It's been a long time."
"Yes," she looked at her watch." I've been waiting a long time for that date haven't I?"
"Louise, I apologized to you. I sent you flowers and candy...can't you find it in your heart to forgive me...please?" He practically purred to her."You can't stay mad at me for ever can you?"
Though part of her was enjoying seeing him squirm, she was still quite enamored of him.
"Tell you what, you can make it up to me now," she smiled, wiggling her index finger, indicating for him to follow her.
They disappeared to the galley; drawing the curtain closed behind them.
Peter shook his head, mumbling to himself."Now I understand how Kuryakin feels...the man must have the patience of a saint."
Galey, channeling Illya perhaps, rolled his eyes.
As the jet taxied, readying to take off, Napoleon returned to his place beside Peter; buckling his seatbelt with a satisfied sigh.
"You have lipstick on your cheek," Peter whispered.
"Errr, thanks," Napoleon wiped it off with his handkerchief, not offering an explanation; there was simply no need.
Once in the air the two agents concentrated on working out a cover story, keeping it simple; they were two men just looking for work, and word was out that men were needed for some sort of project on the island.
The fact they both spoke Russian would hopefully make their story more believable, allowing them to blend in with the residents and be accepted as 'one of their own.' There was a fair number of people with Russian background living there along with native Inuit people as well.
Solo's new identity was Eddie Vasilovich, Peter kept his own name, given it was Russian. It wasn't as well known as the names Solo and Kuryakin and he felt comfortable with the decision not to use alias. If asked, both would simply explain they were from a very small town called Nikolaevsk located on the Kenai Peninsula and were down on their luck.
Once arriving at Anchorage, they transferred their belongs with little to no fuss from the Lear Jet and found what the locals referred to as bush plane.
The pilot, named Buzz Brown, was already making a routine trip to Nome so taking on a couple of passengers for a modest fee would help his profit margin and keep his costs down. He was scheduled to deliver supplies to those living off the grid known as bush people.
They'd come into Nome once every few weeks to pick up their goods and would disappear back into the wilderness with barely a word spoken.
The pilot asked what his two passengers were planning to do, and sticking to their cover, Napoleon told him, "Just looking for work."
"Maybe we'll make our way up to Dutch Harbor and find some work on the fishing boats," Peter suggested, just to make casual conversation.
"Well," Buzz said."If you're going to be wandering these parts I'd recommend you getting yourselves a couple of hunting rifles. If you end up traveling on foot anywhere, there's a chance you could run into bears or even moose. Mighty dangerous, as are some of the bush people. They don't take to outsiders, if you know what I mean?"
"Thanks for the advice," Napoleon said. "I think we'll do just that. After offering to get Buzz some coffee, the agents headed off to a local gun shop.
"Better we look the part," Solo nodded to Peter. A short while later, the two returned with the coffee and each carrying an Enfield rifle slung over their shoulders. The shopkeeper told them this model had probably accounted for bringing down more deer, moose, caribou and bears than any other. Solo didn't doubt him, and the price was right at only ten dollars each, plus the ammunition.
Though not a recreational hunter, Napoleon imagined going up against a brown bear with this baby…
"Know how to use those things fellas?" Brown asked, thinking these two were a pair of Cheechakos...what Alaskans called greenhorns."
Napoleon spotted a tin can lying on the far side of the two asphalt air strips. Swinging the rifle around; he released the safety and pulled back the bolt, loading a bullet. In the blink of an eye, he aimed and fired; hitting the can square on and sending it ricocheting up in to the air.
"Well that answers my question, doesn't it?" Buzz chuckled as he downed his coffee. "Okay boys we better get going; there's a storm brewing and we want to stay ahead of it...looks like snow."
They boarded the single engine DeHavilland DHC-2, commonly referred to as a 'Beaver.' It was apparently the quintessential Alaskan Bush plane and known as a big load-hauler.
It was indeed packed with everything imaginable, from plywood and other building materials to canned goods, bags of grain, rice, tools, and a roll top were even several framed windows wrapped to protect the glass. This all made for a somewhat tight squeeze for the two passengers; still it would do as the flight to Nome was short in comparison to their trip had been to Anchorage.
The throaty roar of the engine filled the plane as Buzz gave her full throttle. This plane was good good for short take offs and landings but in this case the asphalt runway was more than sufficient. The engine was much quieter than most turboprops Napoleon had been in.
They were airborne in no time, and the view of the Alaskan landscape was breathtaking. Buzz pointed to his left, spotting a herd of caribou gathered to feed on the grassy tundra. Not far from them were several large brown bears lumbering along, apparently not hunting.
An hour and a half later, they arrived in Nome, tired and hungry. It had indeed snowed but nothing but only a dusting covered the ground. The landing was a little bumpy. Afterwards some more words of warning were offered by Buzz before his passengers proceeded into town.
"There's been some disappearances of people from around Nome, so be careful. FBI was here looking into it, said they were probably victims of alcohol and the winter but…"he whispered under his breath." There's been them UFO's sighted round here and talk of alien abductions. Seen a few of those spooky lights in the sky myself."
Napoleon averted his gaze, not wanting Brown to see the roll of his eyes.
"Gee, thanks for the heads up Buzz, we'll be careful."
They headed to the nearest place they'd been directed to where they could catch a bite to eat.
The place wasn't hard to miss, as it was a two-story vertical clapboard building with a simple neon 'open' sign above the door. A red arrow pointed inside that read 'Cafe.' Direct and to the point.
There were a fair amount of patrons inside the simple establishment seated at half a dozen tables scattered about the room. The flooring was worn, dingy linoleum, and an obvious path lead to the back of the room where a light wood counter with stools was located.
It looked like a combination lunch counter and bar as there were a couple of beer taps behind it, but covered cake and doughnut platters graced one end of it as well.
As the agents entered with their duffels and rifles hanging from their shoulders, all conversation ceased, with every eye in the room focused on Napoleon and Peter.
"Good afternoon," Solo stepped to the counter. "I wonder if you have a menu?"
The dark-haired woman with Inuit features pointed to a chalk board behind her.
His eyebrows raised just slightly as he read the choices...
moose burger, cod sandwich, venison Sloppy Joe, halibut chowder, baked salmon sandwich, all accompanied by the usual sides such as french fries, coleslaw and pickles.
"Kitchen open?" Peter asked, putting on a slight Russian accent.
"Of course it is, otherwise we wouldn't be her," she snickered.
"You fellas ain't from around here," a bearded and near toothless old codger asked; he was seated at the end of the counter with a half empty beer mug in front of him.
"Nope." Napoleon answered.
"Hunting?" Another man asked; suspicion in his eyes..
"Nope." Solo knew to keep his answers short, just like the questions being asked.
"Where you from?"
"Nikolaevsk." Napoleon answered, keeping his demeanor cool and aloof.
"You're pretty far from home. You Rooskies?"
"What of it?" Peter finally spoke up.
"Nothing Mister, don't get your hackles up. Sally who owns this place, she's Rooshin, she might like talking to you, seeing as you're her kind of people."
The tension ceased and everyone went back about their business as abruptly as they'd taken interest in the strangers.
"You fellas wanna eat or not?" The Inuit woman finally spoke again.
"Umm, yeah that would be good. I'll have the baked salmon sandwich, and fries please?" Napoleon said.
"Coleslaw too?"
"Yes and could I have a beer with that?"
"And you?" She spoke to Peter.
"I"ll have the same, thanks."
While they were sipping their beers, waiting for the food, Solo turned to the men seated beside him.
"Is there a flight we can charter? We need to go to Wales."
"No flights today, Mac," the old one said. "Tommy Gunner will be here in the morning. He does a run to Wales and can probably help you out. Why you headed there?"
"Looking for a friend. We lost touch with him and he was headed that way. He heard there was work out there and we were hoping to find some too."
"Ain't too much work out that way that I heard of," the geezer said, taking a last sip from his beer mug. He gestured for the girl to pour him another.
"Jeez, see!" A man named Earl shouted. "Somebody else gone missing? Those damn lights were around in the sky this past week. I bet it was them aliens that did it. Too many people gone missing 'round here."
"Now Bear, there ain't no such thing as aliens. FBI said people just got too liquored up and lost in the cold. Good God man, there's 39 mountain ranges, 3,000 rivers, 5,000 glaciers and more than 3 million lakes, all of 'em have nooks where bodies can slip in and stay hidden forever."
"Nope it's them aliens, believe you me," Earl insisted.
Napoleon couldn't help but join in the conversation."People vanish by accident and by design, whether it's a fluke of nature, or unexpected circumstances. It could be foul play, or just bad luck, but I seriously doubt that aliens have come to Alaska to abduct its residents."
"Where you say you were from again?" Earl asked, giving Solo the stink eye.
"Nikolaevsk."
"You don't sound Rooshin."
"Pover'te mne, chto ya." (believe me, that I am)
"YA slyshal eto. Kto govoril po-russki? ( I heard that. Who spoke in Russian?)
A blonde woman wearing a green sweat shirt, pants and an apron and a pair of seal skin mukluks on her feet, called out from the kitchen. She was carrying the sandwiches the agents ordered.
"That would be me," Napoleon raised his hand.
"Otkuda ty? (Where are you from?)
For the third time Napoleon answered that question.
"Your Russian isn't bad but, you still sound like an American."
"Well I am one," he flashed the patented Solo grin at her.
"And so you are," she laughed." My name is Zoya Yazova, but people here call me Sally."
"Eddie Vasilovich at your service, and this is my friend Peter Galey.
Peter followed Napoleon's lead and smiled at the woman; greeting her in Russian.
"Ahhh, now you have a proper accent. Moskva from the sound of it."
"Da. Moy otets byl iz Moskva." (Yes. My father was from Moscow)
"Well here, eat your food before it gets cold. We can talk later, da?" She seemed delighted to have someone with whom she could speak the language.
"Of course," Napoleon took the plate from her, slipping her hand into his and bending forward; he lightly kissed it.
Sally, blushed and hurried back to the kitchen.
The café finally cleared, but Napoleon and Peter remaining at the counter chatting in Russian and English with Sally.
"Will you look at the time?" She gazed at the white clock on the wall."Got to close up. Do you two have a place to stay tonight?"
"No not exactly. We were going to go hunt down a hotel room once we left here."
"Well you'll be piss out of luck, as this place closes at night up tighter than a razor clam. Tell you what, I have a couple of spare cots upstairs, you're welcome to use them boys, and I won't even charge you."
"Spasibo, Zoya. You're an angel of mercy,"Napoleon said.
After they helped her lock up and do a little cleaning, Napoleon and Peter followed her up a dimly lit flight of stairs to the second floor.
The stairwell opened up to a spacious sitting room, the floor covered with a cozy but worn woolen rug, looking like Persian in design. The furniture was primitive, covered with blankets woven in geometric patterns typical of Alaska.
Scattered around the room were little Russian mementos, brightly painted Matryoshka dolls, enameled red and black Khokhloma bowls with matching spoons to name a few.
"Sit down, make yourselves comfortable."
There was a cast iron potbellied stove to one side, and Sally quickly opened the door, placing kindling inside. In no time she had a toasty fire burning.
"It's going to get pretty cold tonight, better to warm things up now. Vodka boys or perhaps tea?"
"Tea would be fine," Peter said, as did Solo.
She proceeded to a polished brass samovar in another corner and went about heating the water for herself and her guests.
Sally poured the tea when it was ready into tea glasses with silver plated holders she'd taken from a cabinet.
"Sugar or jam?"
"Jam please? The men chimed in together. For Peter it was tradition, for Napoleon it was part of his cover, as he'd seen Illya take his tea that way many times.
Peter continued to survey the room; his eyes becoming fixated upon a particular picture she had on the wall.
"Ded Moroz?" He asked.
"Yes it's quite beautiful isn't it?"
Peter nodded his agreement. "It reminds me of something in a book of skazka (fairy tales) my mother used to read to me as a child. I remember a story called 'Morozko and Grandfather Frost."
"Yes, I think is was the story of an old woman who mistreats her step-daughter. Morozko and Ded Moroz come to her rescue."
"I remember it," Peter responded, excitement in his voice. Looking over to Napoleon who seemed a bit lost, he blurted out an explanation. "Morozko is like Jack Frost and Ded Moroz…" He stopped himself, realizing his faux pas.
Sally looked at Solo with an impish smile. "I didn't think you were Russian; your accent was just awful. You are a cheechako aren't you?"
He shrugged his reply. "That's what my friend always tells me about my accent, but you can't blame a guy for trying." Napoleon ignored her calling him a greenhorn.
"It's none of my business why you are masquerading...though you Peter I think are not. I heard you need to go to Wales, but there is nothing there, no work."
"No, not for work. We're actually going to Little Diomede as my friend...his name is Illya, was working there and has gone missing. There's some unsavory types who are up to no good on the island and we've been sent to stop them. Perhaps they're behind these mysterious disappearances as well."
"I understand, there have been rumors about odd goings on there. Enough said. In the morning I will radio Tommy Gunner. He'll take you to Wales and from there you can go to Diomede by helicopter with Bobby Boucher. He'll be making his run there with supplies tomorrow afternoon."
"Thank you again...spasibo Zoya," Napoleon finished his tea.
"Now off to bed you two. It will be an early day for you, and your trip to Wales may not be an easy one if the weather turns."
She showed them to the back room and their cots, tossing them some extra blankets.
"Spokoynoy nochi vam oboim." (Good night you two) Sally closed the door with a smile. It was nice to have company, even if they were up to something; yet she felt in her heart they were good men.