The Kill Switch (Page 42)

Tucker quickly tossed the keys into the creek, got behind the car, and shouldered it into the water. He waited until the Peugeot sank sullenly out of view.

He then turned to Kane.

“Feel like a walk?”

8:30 P.M.

Captain Vadim stood on the dock, a glowing stub of a cigar clenched between his back molars. The stocky, hard man, with a week of beard scruff and hardly more stubble across his scalp, stood a head shorter than any of them. Though it was already growing colder following sunset, he wore only a shirt and a pair of stained jeans.

He waved Tucker and the others toward a plank that led from the pier to his boat. He grumbled something that Tucker took as Welcome aboard.

Anya helped Bukolov tiptoe warily across the gangplank. Kane trotted across next, followed by Tucker and Utkin.

Vadim yanked the mooring lines, hopped aboard, and pulled the gangplank back to the boat’s deck. He pointed to an outhouse-like structure that led below to the cabins and spoke rapidly.

Utkin grinned. “He says the first-class accommodations are below. Vadim has a sense of humor.”

If you could call it that, Tucker thought.

“I should take my father to his cabin,” Anya said. “He still needs some rest.”

Bukolov did look exhausted, still compromised by his concussion. He slapped at Anya’s hands as she tried to help him.

“Father, behave.”

“Quit calling me that! Makes me sound like an invalid. I can manage.”

Despite his grousing, he allowed himself to be helped below.

Tucker turned to find Kane standing at the blunted bowsprit, his nose high, taking in the scents.

That’s a happy dog.

To the west, the sun had set behind the bluffs. The afternoon’s brisk wind had died to a whisper, leaving the surface of the Volga calm. Still, underneath the surface, sluggish brown water swirled and eddied.

The Volga’s currents were notoriously dangerous.

Utkin noted his attention. “Don’t fall in. Vadim has no life rings. Also Vadim does not swim.”

“Good to know.”

With everyone aboard, Vadim hopped onto the afterdeck and took his place behind the wheel. With a rumble, the diesel engine started. Black smoke gushed from the exhaust manifolds. The captain steered the bow into the current, and they were off.

“How long to Volgograd?” Tucker asked.

Utkin glanced back to Vadim. “He says the current is faster than normal, so about ten hours or so.”

Tucker joined Kane, and after twenty minutes, Anya returned topside.

She stepped over to him. Chilled, she tugged her wool jacket tighter around her body, unconsciously accentuating her curves.

“How’s your father doing?” he asked.

“Finally sleeping.”

Together, they stared at the dark shoreline slipping past. Stars glinted crisply in the clear skies. Something brushed Tucker’s hand. He looked down to find Anya’s index finger resting atop his hand.

She noticed it and pulled her hand away, curling it in her lap. “Sorry, I did not mean to—”

“No problem,” he replied.

Tucker heard footsteps on the deck behind them. He turned as Utkin joined them at the rail.

“That’s where I grew up,” the man said, pointing downstream toward a set of lights along the west bank. “The village of Kolyshkino.”

Anya turned to him, surprised. “Your family were farmers? Truly?”

“Fishermen actually.”

“Hmm,” she said noncommittally.

Still, Tucker heard—and he was sure Utkin did, too—the slight note of disdain in her question and response. It was an echo of Bukolov’s similar blind condescension of the rich for the poor. Such sentiment had clearly come to bias Bukolov’s view of Utkin as a fellow colleague. Whether Anya truly felt this way, Tucker didn’t know, but parents often passed on their prejudices to their children.

Tucker considered his own upbringing. While his folks had died too young, some of his antisocial tendencies likely came from his grandfather, a man who lived alone on a ranch and was as stoic and cold as a North Dakota winter. Still, his grandfather treated his cattle with a surprisingly warm touch, managing the animals with an unusual compassion. It was a lesson that struck Tucker deeply and led to many stern conversations with his grandfather about animal husbandry and responsibility.

In the end, perhaps it was only natural to walk the path trod by those who came before us. Still . . .

After a time, Anya drifted away and headed below to join her father.

“I’m sorry about that,” Tucker mumbled.

“It is not your fault,” Utkin said softly.

“I’m still sorry.”

9:22 P.M.

Belowdecks, Tucker lounged in what passed for the mess hall of the boat. It was simple and clean, with lacquered pine paneling, several green leatherette couches, and a small kitchenette, all brightly lit by bulkhead sconces.

Except for the captain, everyone had eventually wandered here, seeking the comfort of community. Even Bukolov joined them, looking brighter after his nap, more his old irascible self.

Tucker passed out snacks and drinks, including some jerky he’d found for Kane. The shepherd sat near the ladder, happily gnawing on a chunk.

Eventually, Tucker sat across from Bukolov and placed his palms on the dining table. “Doctor, it’s high time we had another chat.”

“About what? You’re not going to threaten us again, are you? I won’t stand for that.”

“What do you know about Artur Kharzin, a general tied to Russian military intelligence?”

“I don’t know anything about him. Should I?”

“He’s the one hunting us. Kharzin seems to think your work involves biological weapons. So convinced, in fact, he’s ordered all of us killed—except you, of course.” He turned to Anya. “What do you make of all of this?”

“You’ll have to ask my father.” She crossed her arms. “This is his discovery.”

“Then let’s start with a simpler question. Who are you?”

“You know who I am.”

“I know who you claim to be, but I also know you’ve been pumping me for information since we met. You’re very good at it, actually, but not good enough.”

Actually he wasn’t as confident on this last point as he pretended to be. While Anya had asked a lot of questions, such inquiries could just as easily be born of innocent curiosity and concern for her father.

“Why are you doing this?” Anya shot back. “I thought such suspicions were settled back in Dimitrovgrad.”