Edge of Valor (61 page)

“Yes, sir.” Boland turned and bawled at his men. In a flurry they attacked the pile of weapons and equipment, and pried the bazooka from the hands of a reluctant Soviet soldier. In two minutes the pile was reduced to nothing. They fell into a single rank, one or two Marines still dabbing at blood running from cuts and bruises on their faces.

Ingram said, “By the way, where's Mr. Blinde?”

“In the command bunker, waiting for you,” said Dezhnev.

“Just like that? No excuses?”

“You scared the hell out of him. He thought you were dead. He decided to get out while the going was good.”

“You're talking in riddles,” said Ingram. Images of Walt Hodges and then Sally flashed through his mind; they had barbecued hamburgers with the Ingrams in Mrs. Peabody's backyard. They drank Mrs. Peabody's beer and got silly. And again Sally, soon to be mother of a fatherless baby.
You're getting hot
. He controlled his breathing and jammed his fists in his pockets.

Dezhnev stepped close so he couldn't be overheard. “Remember when I said at Landa's wedding that they're trying to kill you?”

“Yes.”

“You didn't take me seriously, did you?”

Ingram knew what he meant. Unfortunately, he had read Toliver's message too late—after Blinde had left the plane. “No, I guess I didn't.”

“Well, I'll let him explain it to you. Then you must leave.”

Ingram said, “This I gotta see.”

Chapter Forty-Nine

4 December 1945

Shakhtyorsk Air Base, Sakhalin Oblast, USSR

D
ezhnev and six Russian soldiers escorted Ingram to the camouflaged entrance of the Japanese command bunker. Dezhnev stopped. “He's inside.”

“You're not coming in?”

“No. I'm to wait out here.” Dezhnev lit a cigarette, something he did when he was nervous.

“What's going on, Ed?”

“Todd, just go in there. Be nice and keep your mouth shut.”

“My orders are to return him to the United States.”

“That won't happen.”

Ingram's eyes swept over Dezhnev and his NKVD soldiers. They were tall and intelligent looking, and one or two looked as if they understood English. He was outnumbered in more ways than one. “All right.” He turned and went inside.

Three portable lanterns provided the only light in the room. It was barely recognizable from the last time he had been there. Furniture was tipped over, cabinet drawers left open, papers strewn about. The large map table was tipped on end and lay against the far wall.

A figure was bent over a desk examining something. Ingram couldn't see who it was in the dim light. The man raised his head as Ingram started across the room. He turned. It was Colin Blinde.

“Come on in, Todd.”

Ingram sniffed and said, “Your Aqua Velva and the rest of your gear went out on the C-54.”

“I'll get by.”

Something rustled behind Ingram. He looked behind him to see two Russians in leather jackets. One wore a slouch hat. The other had a blond crewcut. Both men were large, but the blond was enormous—at least 6 feet 5 inches and 250 pounds.

“Your friends?”

“In case you develop a bad temper.”

“That could happen. You might say treason aggravates it.”

“Todd, look. I'm leaving now. You're staying here. I wanted to tell you what this is all about.”

“Finally, someone is giving me the dope.”

“It's simple. I'm claiming what was mine in the first place.”

“You have a funny way of claiming things. Walt Hodges was about to become a father.”

“Who is Walt Hodges?”

“The man you killed—excuse me, the man you had killed.”

Blinde stood straight and rubbed his chin. “What do you mean ‘had killed'?”

Ingram said, “The torpedo you had do the job for you with that poison. Ricin. Is that what you call it? It seems your boy was a foreign national who got caught. And now he's dead, by the way.”

Blinde sat heavily. “I . . . I can't go back.”

“What made you think you could?”

“I didn't know until you just told me.”

It hit Ingram that Blinde had been planning to return to OSS after this and pick up right where he left off. But Ingram had just told Blinde the essence of Toliver's message that he'd received on landing here. Blinde realized the game was completely up. He could not return. Then came the horrible realization that Ingram had overplayed his hand. He'd popped off like loud-mouthed Jerry Landa. Instead, he should have acted stupid, like Dezhnev said.
I just signed my own death warrant
.

A chair squeaked in a far corner. Someone was over there in the shadows sitting on a crate. Seeing Ingram's stare, he stood and approached, pulling on gray gloves. He walked a complete circle around Ingram, trailing a faint odor of garlic. It was Kulibin, the captain who had agreed to release the Marines. He barked several Russian phrases at Blinde.

Blinde said, “He's impressed with you and compliments you for your tenacity, Todd.”

Ingram demanded, “Just tell him to let us go.”

“May I introduce Captain First Rank Gennady Kulibin, commanding officer of the
Admiral Volshkov
?”

Ingram stood still. “We've already met.”

“Oh, I see. Well, isn't it military courtesy to acknowledge his presence? After all, he outranks you.”

Ingram looked over to the two goons in leather. The shorter man covered him with a pistol. “Tell him, Mr. Blinde, that military courtesy went out the window when he refused to honor an agreement between our two governments. And courtesy is certainly not called for when one of your thugs is pointing a pistol at me.”

Kulibin's eyes narrowed.

“Easy, Todd,” said Blinde.

Ingram was worked up. “And what would you know about military courtesy, Mr. Blinde? How much military service did you give to your country? What uniform did you wear?”

“I had a deferment.”

“Well, why doesn't that surprise me? What kind of deferment, Mr. Blinde?”

“Flat feet.”

Ingram slapped his knee. “My, oh, my! Flat feet. I'm so sorry. But you ran pretty fast right after the plane landed yesterday—flat feet and all. Out the door and down the runway like an Olympic sprinter. I was really amazed when—oof!”

A lightning bolt of pain raced up Ingram's back. Someone had hit him in the left kidney. He half-turned and saw the larger of the goons behind him with a doubled fist. He sank to his knees before the man could deliver another blow. He squeezed his eyes closed and braced himself from falling all the way. But then a boot was planted in his back. It pushed and he was flat on his belly. He whiffed garlic and looked around to see Kulibin, a corner of his mouth rising, shoving him down with his boot. Quietly, he asked Blinde a question.

Blinde replied in Russian. To Ingram he hissed, “Todd, you must answer if you know what's good for you.”

“Well, what the hell does he want to know?”

“He wants to know about Karol Dudek and the life raft inflator.”

“Who? Life raft what? What in the hell is he—
eyaaaaagh
!” He screamed as another boot stomped his left kidney. Everything went dark.

Ingram awoke lying on his back. Water was pouring over his face. He looked up into four shadowy outlines. Blinde leaned in close. “You claim you don't know who Karol Dudek is?”

Ingram smacked his lips. “You can kick all you want, but I have no idea who that is.”

Blinde spoke to Kulibin in Russian. Then he leaned back and stood. The two goons bent over and hoisted Ingram into a chair. He gritted his teeth as they jounced him down.

“Relax, Todd,” said Blinde.

“Relax? You and your thugs are beating me up. I'm going to be pissing blood for weeks.”

Blinde nodded to the big goon. The man lifted Ingram's chin and poured water in his mouth. It tasted wonderful. “Why are we here?”

Blinde asked, “You're sure you don't know who Dudek is?”

“I've been sitting in damned airplanes for nearly four days. Who the hell is Dudek?”

“How did you learn about ricin?”

“It was in a message I got just before we landed. By the way, you're under arrest and are ordered to return with me on charges of treason.”

Blinde paid no attention to Ingram's gallows humor. He stared at the wall, his eyes unfocused. “They know. Now what can I do?”

“Who knows what, Colin?”

“You don't understand.”

“Try me.”

“My dad was a Texas wildcatter. He did all right, but then came the depression. We lost everything. Everything except six copper mines in Mongolia that came down to us through my grandfather. Then the Japs seized the mines and we were left with nothing. Now Dad sponges off my mother's small inheritance, living in a two-story walkup in Brooklyn. They do nothing but argue all day. Dad drinks a lot. Mom sits in a corner and looks out a window.” Blinde looked into the distance.

“After Pearl Harbor we were in the thick of it. Like Dad, I had thought everything was lost until I met Walter Boring. Boring was shrewd. He knew Mao Tse-tung; he knew Chiang Kai-shek; and he was on close personal terms with Hideki Tojo. How could we lose?”

Ingram was beginning to see. “He got them together.”

“Well, no. He simply brokered a deal.”

“With whom?”

“Tojo, basically. Boring was playing Mao against Chiang Kai-shek. So Boring got Prime Minister Tojo to turn the mines over to Mao after watching the two drive up the price. Our cut was paltry. Five million in rough diamonds. And Walter's share was half.”

“And the diamonds are . . .”

Blinde pointed. “There. That's the second crate we came to retrieve in the name of an outraged free world. The Japanese unwittingly used it as one of the four legs to support that map table. Walter didn't realize it until he saw the crate as he was being carried out by your men.” He pointed to the upended table against the wall. “Five bags in the bottom.”

Ingram felt sick standing near this man. Blinde had killed Walt Hodges and who knows how many others. And all this ghoul could think about was his diamonds lying beneath a stack of grisly photographs. “So you tortured it out of him.”

Blinde stared into the distance.

“It wasn't a mercy killing. You killed Walter Boring to find out where the crate was and steal his share.”

“Um.”

“Except now, of course, you're going to split it with your captain there and those two goons. Who else?”

“Nobody else. And those two are very capable NKVD agents. Please say hello to Oleg Lepechn,” he gestured toward the blond giant, “and Matvie Borzakov.”
Lepechn glanced at Ingram and brushed dust off his leather coat; Borzakov stepped under a naked lightbulb, revealing a thin, pockmarked face.

Ingram waved, “So pleased to meet you all.”

Kulibin went back to the crate and sat.

Ingram asked, “Please tell me one thing?”

Blinde checked his watch. “Time to go.”

“Where does Eduard Dezhnev fit in all this?”

Kulibin chuckled from the corner.

Blinde said something to him in Russian.

Kulibin laughed again.

“What?” asked Ingram.

Blinde said, “Oh, it's a little joke.”

“Okay. You want to tell me?” asked Ingram.

“It depends on what his mother does.”

“Whose mother?”

“Dezhnev's mother, of course. Anoushka. Comrade Kulibin has been trying to get her into bed for months.”

It hit Ingram. “Anoushka. Anoushka Dezhnev. The actress?”