Gray Shadows: Russian Historical Thriller

Chapter Six

Nikolai took his cup and got up. “Thanks for the tea, Natalya, but I’d better go to bed. You should, too. It was a long day, and we both need some rest.”

Nikolai said goodnight, walked into his room, put the cup on the bedside table, lay on top of his bed, all his clothes still on and his Makarov still in the shoulder holster, and closed his eyes. He thought about doing the stretching exercises for his leg that the doctor taught him but felt too tired. He decided to rest for a few moments. What felt like minutes later, he heard loud music. It was making Nikolai’s head throb. The melody sounded familiar, but he couldn’t figure out where it was coming from or why it was so loud. He opened his eyes and saw his phone. Fighting off the grip of sleep, Nikolai stretched his arm towards his phone on the nightstand and quieted the alarm. He felt a movement next to him in bed and jumped up. Instinctively, he checked his holster. His pistol was still there.

“Natalya? What are you doing here? Get out of my bed,” he said, averting his eyes from the little lacy thing she was wearing. “And get dressed.” He threw a blanket over her.

She smiled sweetly but did not move. “I just thought you would want some company, with Olga not here and mad at you.”

“Olga is not mad at me. And that’s none of your business anyway.”

“I was just trying to help,” Natalya said.

“I thought we had already agreed that you will not be trying to help,” Nikolai said.

“You’re quite a sleeper,” Natalya said. “Nothing could wake you up.”

“I can wake up when I need to. Enough of these games. And enough of your help, really.” He stepped out of the room and into the kitchen. “Get dressed,” he called out to Natalya.

He was obviously mistaken about Natalya. Again. After their conversation the night before, Nikolai had thought she could behave like an adult, and that her promise not to make this job difficult for him was honest and sincere. He no longer thought that. Her interpreting skills aside, she was childish, self-centered, and immature. The only thing he believed now is that she would be looking for a way, any way, to entertain herself, just like she told him. Nikolai picked up his phone and dialed Olga’s number. No response. He clicked off. No point leaving a message.

“Olga’s not there again? It’s dangerous to leave women alone, you know.” Dressed in tight jeans and an oversized navy-blue sweater, Natalya walked into the kitchen.

“You need to get to the office,” Nikolai said. “Let’s go.”

More snow fell overnight, covering the roofs, the parked cars, obscuring the paths, and making the snowplows inside and outside the compound work even harder to make the roads usable. Nikolai and Natalya had to find the path in all the blowing snow and newly formed ice. Twice, Nikolai had to pull Natalya out of the deep snow when she stepped off the path. The wind that picked up in the early morning hadn’t died down. Despite the thick parka, the hat, and the scarf, the snow blew into Nikolai’s collar, freezing his neck. Natalya was shivering. Finally, the familiar entrance with a spotlight on either side came into view.

“Can’t wait to get inside,” Natalya said.

“My sentiments exactly,” Nikolai said.

They came up to the entrance at the same time as Pyotr Alekseevich did. He held the door open for them. “I’m glad you’re here early,” he said to Natalya. “I’ll need your help talking to the Canadians. We have to get a lot done before the board meeting next week.”

“Sure,” Natalya said. “How are the computers?”

“Great,” Pyotr Alekseevich said. “Oleg fixed everything, so you’ll be able to use your computer again when we get back.”

“I’m coming with you to the meeting,” Nikolai said. “You don’t object Pyotr Alekseevich, do you?”

“Fine with me,” Pyotr Alekseevich said and the three of them headed up the stairs.

“You can sit there, Nikolai.” Pyotr Alekseevich pointed to an armchair in the corner of the small conference room. Next to it, a small couch was piled high with heavy coats and hats. Nikolai took his coat off, tucked his cap inside the sleeve, added his coat to the pile, and looked around.

A table with eight chairs was in the middle of the room, with maps of the oil field and various other papers scattered around. Three Canadian men, all dressed in jeans, big boots, and fleece jackets over their shirts sat on the right side of the table. Across from them sat two Russian men, dressed in dark pants and thick sweaters. Each group was quietly talking among themselves. Nikolai poured himself a cup of coffee, grabbed a local newspaper off a side table, and settled in the chair.

“What we need to discuss today,” Pyotr Alekseevich addressed the group in Russian, and Natalya repeated his words in English, speaking clearly and confidently, “is the proposed schedule for repayment of the old taxes. This is our last chance to show the government that we are serious about keeping this company alive. The other pressing issues are the evaluation of bids from two environmental consulting companies and replacing sections of the old pipeline.”

Nikolai kept listening to the conversation while leafing through the newspaper. Unpaid taxes was serious business. Apparently, the previous director did not think that paying taxes was necessary, and that’s what almost closed down the company. No wonder Pyotr Alekseevich was revered by everyone so much: it sounded like it was his hard work and his good reputation that convinced the regional authorities to appeal to the central government to keep the company alive and allow Pyotr Alekseevich and his board members to come up with a schedule for repayment of the old taxes. The previous director was now under investigation for tax evasion, and big money was at stake for many people.

About half-an-hour into the meeting, Nikolai’s phone buzzed quietly in his pocket. He glanced at the number and stepped into the hallway.

“Any news?” Anatoly said.

“Not much.” Nikolai told Anatoly what he had learned about the unpaid taxes, the previous director, and the upcoming board meeting.

“How’s Natalya? Nothing dangerous around there, I take it?”

“She’s the dangerous one.” Nikolai chuckled. “I don’t envy her dad. Or any of her boyfriends. But anyway, in the interests of due diligence, can you check the backgrounds of a few characters for me? I don’t think any of them have any ties to Natalya or any reasons to want to harm her, but I want to make sure.”

“Of course.”

Nikolai gave Anatoly the names of the people who were coming to the board meeting from Moscow and walked back into the conference room. The meeting was breaking up. The Canadians were heading out, and Pyotr Alekseevich was busy talking to the Russian group.

Natalya came up to Nikolai. “So how’s your girlfriend?” she said. “You couldn’t even wait until the meeting was over to talk to her, could you?”

Nikolai was about to tell Natalya that it was not Olga he was talking to but changed his mind.

“No, I couldn’t,” he said deciding that playing along with Natalya and letting her believe he was focused on Olga would be a good idea. Misdirection could come in handy. Natalya was manipulative and, like all manipulative people, looked for vulnerabilities in others so she could use them to her advantage. Nikolai did not yet understand what advantage she was after, but leading her to believe that he was more concerned about the situation with Olga than he actually was could prevent Natalya from searching for other vulnerabilities in Nikolai. And it might keep Natalya out of his bed, an added bonus.

Natalya smiled coyly. “Must be true love. I hope she feels the same.”

“I hope she does. But Moscow can be exciting, you know,” Nikolai said. “Of course, excitement is about people, not places. Even small towns have plenty of exciting people.”

“Just don’t think I’m interested in you,” Natalya said. “Now that I know you better, I see why Olga is losing interest in you and looking for excitement elsewhere.”

“And why is that?” Nikolai asked.

“You’re too safe, too reliable, too predictable. No sense of adventure, no spontaneity. And what girl wants that? We like excitement. Like you said, excitement is about people.”

“I see. I’ll have to think about it.” Something seemed strange about Natalya. He could not figure out why she kept bringing up Olga. Jealousy? But Natalya did not seem interested in Nikolai, and she probably knew she was too young for him. Her comments seemed purposeful, but Nikolai did not know what that purpose was. He had always thought he could read people pretty well, but this wasn’t the case with Natalya. At least not yet.

Pyotr Alekseevich came up to them. “Thank you again, Natalya. With a different interpreter, we would be here for another hour or more. You did a great job.”

“Would you like me to finish those written translations now?” Natalya asked.

“Yes, please,” Pyotr Alekseevich said. “On second thought, no. The translations can wait. Why don’t you come with me to look at the pipeline progress. There’s nothing there to translate, but it will be a nice break from the office. You’ll get to go outside the compound and see the real north. And the real oil field.”

Outside, Pyotr Alekseevich led them to a company-owned Land Rover parked in front of the building. He sat down in the driver’s seat.

“Do you often drive yourself?” Nikolai asked Pyotr Alekseevich.

“Most of the time. I like driving, especially in this rugged open space.”

Pyotr Alekseevich steered the Land Rover out of the gates, waved to Vanya through the window, and headed up the same main thoroughfare that connected the airport to Luzinsk. They headed away from the airport, further north.

“This might be your last chance to see the oil field since we’re getting to the end of the driving season,” Pyotr Alekseevich said.

“What do you mean?” Natalya said.

“These are not permanent roads,” Pyotr Alekseevich said. “You can’t build a permanent road here. It’s too swampy, so all these roads out to the oil fields are made out of tightly packed snow and can be used only in the winter. In the summer, the snow and the roads melt away, so we have to plan all construction accordingly. It’s impossible to transport materials by land vehicles once the snow starts melting. The whole area turns into one giant mosquito-infested swamp. Luckily, the winters are long.”

“But what supports the oil derricks in the summer?” Nikolai asked. “How do they not sink into the swamps?”

“We put them on large concrete pads that distribute the weight evenly and allow the derricks to remain in place. But when something needs repairs in the summer, it’s a real challenge to get to these areas. Most of the time, we have to use helicopters. And that’s expensive. Really expensive.”

The Land Rover passed a plain-looking weathered sign on the side of the road. For a moment, Nikolai wondered about the need for a traffic sign in this emptiness. As they came closer, he glanced at it. It said simply, the Arctic Circle.

“We’re almost at the main oil field,” Pyotr Alekseevich said as the road curved around a large snowdrift, and the Land Rover entered a vast open space. The thin bright line on the horizon was fading, and the only light came from the bright glow of the large full moon on the cloudless sky. The snow-covered expanse around them shimmered in the light. The land looked pristine and isolated.

“It’s like a different universe,” Natalya said.

“It is a different universe,” Pyotr Alekseevich said. “I like coming out here. It’s truly a no man’s land. Civilization is barely reaching here. No cell towers and no communications here besides two-way radios. But keep your eyes open.”

He slowed down and steered the Land Rover around a large hill. As soon as they cleared the corner, bright orange flares of burning oil and black iron lattice towers of oil derricks came into view, an industrial intrusion into the Arctic wilderness. Nikolai could see workers, dressed in parkas and wearing protective helmets, move around the derricks.

Pyotr Alekseevich kept driving until the industrial structures disappeared from view. He pulled over next to a concrete pad largely obscured by a thick layer of snow, turned off the engine but left the high beams on.

“Ready to see the pipeline?” he asked.

“Sure,” Natalya said and came out of the car. Nikolai followed.

A pipeline of about half a meter in diameter came out of the ground and zigzagged through the white snow-covered hills, its weight supported by heavy metal poles on both sides. The poles were placed every few meters along the pipeline.

“Our pride and joy,” Pyotr Alekseevich said. “It’s the new pipeline. No more leaks or spills into the rivers and onto the land.”

“Were there leaks before?” Nikolai asked.

Pyotr Alekseevich nodded. “Major ones, and nobody cared. Environmental protection laws are pretty lax, and the previous management did not care about pollution. Things got really bad. You could throw a lit match into the river, and it would catch on fire.”

“The whole river?” Natalya asked.

“The spilled oil created a film on the surface, and that’s what burned, but it looked like the whole river was on fire. It was hell on earth, but Moscow managers did not care much. As long as the profit was there, they considered it a successful operation. It’s different for me. I grew up here, I know and love this land. I go fishing in the summer, skiing in the winter. This is my home, and I want to keep it clean.” Pyotr Alekseevich paused and drew in a long breath. “We still have a few more smaller pipes to replace that are getting corroded, but this one was the worst.”

“Where does this pipeline go?” Natalya asked.

“From the oil field to the terminal in Upper Luzinsk and then on to the refineries down south.” Pyotr Alekseevich took one more look at the pipeline. “Shall we?” He motioned to the car.

“That’s all you needed to do here?” Natalya asked. “Look at the pipeline?”

“I just needed a break from the office. Coming out here helps clear my mind and focus on what’s important. But we should get back. I need to read over the bids again for the new environmental consulting company. Our environmental impact numbers should be much better this year, thanks to this pipeline.”