Under the Ice

“I’ll bet you anything my guests are aboard that vehicle,” observed Mikhail to the wind.

“Some host I’m going to turn out to be, when I’m not even there to welcome them to my very own home!”

A new sense of urgency hastened his step as he pushed on down the pathway. Five minutes later, he anxiously broke out of the treeline and entered a wide, spacious clearing. In the center of this clover-filled tract was a cozy log cabin, that had a plume of gray smoke contentedly pouring from its stone chimney.

Parked beside the dacha, appearing like a beast from another world, was the helicopter that he had spotted earlier.

A tall erect figure wearing the light gray greatcoat and cap of a Soviet Army officer suddenly broke from the opposite woods that stood beside the Mi-8.

This solid individual sported massive shoulders, and Mikhail was able to immediately identify him.

“Ivan, my friend!” shouted Mikhail.

General Ivan Zarusk heard this salutation and raised his own gravelly voice in greeting.

“So there you are, Misha. Anna thought a bear might have gotten you, so I volunteered to lead the rescue party.”

The two met with a warm hug.

“Actually, I was just enjoying some of this wonderful fresh air,” added Zarusk, the Motherland’s Minister of Defense.

“Your grounds are as delightful as I remembered them during my last visit.”

“And that was over two years ago,” reflected Mikhail.

Ivan shook his head.

“Has it really been that long, Misha? Where does time fly to, old friend?”

“At least you can watch it pass in the faces of those spirited grandchildren of yours,” observed Mikhail.

“And how is Sasha?”

“As fat and sassy as ever. She sends her love, and her regrets to Anna for not being able to accept your gracious invitation to stay with you during the conference.

Right now, she’s being the typical grandmother, babysitting and spoiling the children rotten while their parents are on vacation in Odessa.”

Mikhail grinned.

“Anna sincerely missed her, but I’m glad she’s keeping herself busy.”

Taking his guest by his arm, Mikhail led him toward the dacha, his tone turning serious.

“So tell me, my friend, did our two respected colleagues from the Politburo join you on this visit?”

Ivan Zarusk nodded.

“That they did, Misha. While Anna was in the process of giving them the grand tour, I stepped out here to regather myself. Comrade Kasimov is as stubborn and obstinate as ever. During our short flight from Irkutsk, it was all I could do to keep from grabbing him by that scrawny neck of his and beating some sense into him.”

Mikhail stifled a chuckle.

“I’m glad you were able to contain yourself, Ivan. Otherwise our little session here would have been doomed before it even started.”

“I still say we’re merely wasting our breath with that one,” the general muttered bitterly.

“Though Comrade Tichvin is another story. Our esteemed Minister of the Interior seems to be a bit more receptive. Why, on the limo ride to the heliport he actually asked me if I thought it possible for the Flying Kremlin to have been downed by some sort of missile.”

“You don’t say,” observed Mikhail, his eyes wide with interest.

“And may I ask how you answered him?”

“Misha, I merely advised him that until we recovered the airliner’s cockpit voice recorder, we have to be open to a variety of possibilities.”

Mikhail Kharkov made certain to meet his old friend’s penetrating glance before replying.

“That’s indeed most interesting, comrade. For him to have even mentioned such a thing is an excellent sign.”

“But even if we were able to win him over, that still makes us a vote short,” protested Ivan.

“Come now, my friend. Have you no faith in my oratorical skills? Whatever you might say, Yuri Kasimov is still a reasonable man, and as such, there’s always the chance that we’ll be able to win him over.”

Shrugging his massive shoulders, the Minister of Defense sighed.

“I only wish that I could be so optimistic.”

As they stood by the dacha’s front door, Mikhail affectionately patted his old friend on the back.

“Relax, Ivan Andreivich, and leave all the worry to me.

Besides, I was able to purvey you a very special treat for this occasion. Do you remember your last visit here, when you ate all the appetizers and spoiled your appetite for dinner?”

The Defense Minister’s eyes gleamed.

“I certainly hope it’s Baikal caviar you’re talking about, Misha. To my taste, there’s no finer delicacy in all the world.”

“So we’ve noticed,” reflected Mikhail with a grin as he turned the door handle and gestured for his guest to enter.

Ivan Zarusk did so, and led the way into a warm, spacious hallway. Adding his coat and cap to the two that already hung there, the seventy-one-year-old Defense Minister uncovered a uniform filled with dozens of colorful campaign ribbons and other decorations, all proudly displayed on a solid, muscular chest. With his thick head of black hair and bushy eyebrows to match, it was easy to see why he was often mistaken for a man twenty years his junior.