Running Man

By Wesley Don Lawrence

William Aaron Watson III is a brilliant, retired scientist who occupies his time in a remote part of Maine viewing the Orion Nebula which contains NCG 1977 with his newest telescope. This bright blue nebula named Running Man is 1500 light from earth. One night, he observes a small, faint light leaving NCG 1977. A week later, he realizes it is fast approaching our own galaxy. Now, there was no question in Dr. Watsons mind that the point of light is an alien spacecraft. Two nights later, the spacecraft arrives here and sends a small capsule down from the mother ship that land somewhere in the mid-west

Meanwhile across the world in the Soviet Union, a sinister Russian despot hidden from the public eye is secretly pursuing his dream to rule Europe. In the United States, a pretentious, religious autocracy is seeking absolute control over all citizens. Two beautiful women torn by one fleeting love for the same man are bound together in an explosive struggle of passion, betrayal, and punishment. Now one man and his surreptitious followers must work together to turn the tide against the ominous forces seeking to dominate the masses.

Running Man is a timeless story that reveals secrets, terrors, hopes, and heroes as a man struggles to survive in a complex world primarily of his own making.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Apr 17, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491899809

Wesley Don Lawrence

Wesley Don Lawrence graduated from the Maine Maritime Academy. He has an Associate’s in Engineering Technology, a Bachelor of Science in Electronic Engineering from Grantham College of Engineering in California and it a 1956 graduate of the Famous Writers School in Westport Conn. After his time in the US Navy, he spent many years in the US Merchant Marine sailing around the word as Chief Engineer with various companies. He has written technical on various engineering and electronic subjects and has published three novels: He is a United States Navy veteran and author of three other novels: Eternity is Ours -1999, Invitation to a Killing- 2013 and Running Man -2014 and has done writing for other authors. Wesley currently resides in Maine.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

I t has been said man cannot live with bread alone; he cannot. He demands adventure, innovation, amusement, diversity and romance. What is true for the individual is also true for all societies. Once again in the early decades of the twenty first century, we find man standing at the crossroad facing a new impasse, profoundly different from his past predicaments and customary dilemmas which have plagued and tormented him down through the ages. His everyday routine will be minuscule in comparison to the grim days ahead. Amidst the general chaos and usual uncertainties, inauspicious policies, new laws were secretly instituted unnoticed by the world’s masses. Surreptitious evil, diabolical chicanery was inexorably sweeping across the free world and, if left unchecked would imperil every nation’s freedom taking away many fundamental rights. This new and deadly peril would soon become the song of the times.

The essence of civilized society continued with no major transitions in the waning decades of the twentieth century where this story begins. The next century began with many radical changes. Man, of course, was still preoccupied with the occult, religion and prodigious superstitions which have followed him down through the centuries. His home was a planet in the universe residing along with millions of celestial bodies which he chose to call Earth, where he soon became lord and master presiding over all other living species; however, his habitat was soon to be over populated by this frivolous, indifferent, biped. There were already streaks in the sunset across the human landscape. Slowly, the destruction of his home commenced in earnest. He killed the wild life for food, sport, money and body parts. He cut down the forests to build new cities and grow crops and killed millions of inhabitants living on his planet without compassion or justification. Our record of abuse to animals coincides with our abuse and destruction of our own kind. We live in a universe of order & disorder, among billions of other celestial bodies ruled by chance. However, since his existence man has failed to learn from history, neglecting to modify his choices oblivious to the disastrous consequences.

This story begins in the 60’s to present day. It is the timeless story of man’s struggle to survive in a complex world primarily of his own making. The story portrays the efforts of one man, who with a gathering of surreptitious followers attempts to turn the tide against the ominous forces seeking to dominate the masses. In the Soviet Union, a sinister Russian despot hidden from the public eye was secretly pursuing his dream to rule Europe. In the United States, an autocracy group hidden under the disguise of religion had seized power. Two beautiful women torn between the love for one man all bound together in an explosive struggle of passion, betrayal and punishment.

What terrible secrets and sinister terrors lurk in the soul or lie buried deep within in the human mind. We have the charlatans who hide behind cloistered walls and the do-gooders who attempt to force their narrow, opinionated belief on others. A few people were aware of the threat and attempted to correct the malady, which left to grow unchecked would enslave all mankind. They were not content to ride the crest of the wave to the far shore, but chose to swim against the popular tide of the times. In every era of human history down thought the long, forgotten ages, the world has had paladins; the majestic Christian knight wheeling his broad sword against the streamlining Moslem hordes in a far off land, or the scientist bent over his microscope in a laboratory in search of a cure for a disease. However, when this same premise is applied on a grander scale, man tends to ignore its significance and fails to acknowledge his monumental exploits and continues on his mindless path when his folly could mean disaster. Of all earthly disorders, humans are the most deadly species on the planet.

Yes, heroes still do exist. This story it about such people. When the darkness fades and only shadows remain, hope still prevails.

Voltaire ‘It takes twenty years for man to rise from the vegetable state in which he is within his mother’s womb, and from the pure animal state which he is the lot of early childhood, to the state where maturity of reason begins to appear. It required thirty centuries to learn a little about his structure. It would need eternity to learn something about is soul. It takes an instant to kill him’

Job 14:12 So man lieth down, and riseth not: till the heavens be no more, they shall not awake, nor be raised out of their sleep.

Proverbs 29:18—Where there is no vision, the people perish: but he that keepeth the law, happy is he.

Enjoy: Wesley Don Lawrence

CHAPTER 1

RUNNING MAN—ARRIVAL

W illiam Aaron Watson III, who held a PHD Astrophysics and Cosmology retired from NSA’s space program at the age of 77. He worked on both the Voyage One and Two missions and the Moon landings in the sixties and seventies. However, the most ambitious space project he managed was the top secret program created by Paul Stormes—‘ The Universe One Project ’. There were many rumors surrounding this space project, a few engineers hinted the project was using alien technology, but this was never proven.

Mr. Watson now retired, lived alone in a remote part of Northern Maine. He built his own lab with a high-tech equipment which included the latest deep field telescope. His wife passed just before he retired and they had no children. Alone now, he spent most of his time in his lab working on various projects to keep busy.

For the last week he was viewing Orion Nebula M42 (also known as Messier 42) focusing on The Hunter, a constellation visible in the Northern Hemisphere which contains NCG 1977, a bright blue nebula named ‘Running Man’. The point of interest was approxmately1500 light years distant and little was known about this nebula. On the third evening of his nightly visit, he observed a small point of light leaving the NCG 1977 nebula. The very next evening he was disappointed, the object had disappeared from view. However, after many long hours of searching the general area near the nebula to his surprise, he found it again, but now it was many light years from its home in Running Man. Later that evening, he calculated the object had travel more than 200 light years in twenty four-hours.

He plotted the speck of light for several days and to his amazement it now was fast approaching our own galaxy. After many calculations on his computer, he estimated the object would pass very close to earth in approximately ten days. His estimate was close, and the object was on a collision course with earth. Eight days later the object was visible to the naked eye. It slowed, streaking across eastern the United States approximately one hundred-miles overhead. The object was huge, cigar-shaped with bright lights on both sides. It slowed, hovering for a few moments before ejecting a small craft from its underside which appeared to be looking for a landing place somewhere in the Midwest. The main craft began to increase speed and promptly vanished

The next morning the local Maine paper released a story about the mysterious light. The article was on the national and local news for a few days, then it became old news and was forgotten. The government claimed the object was mistake for a weather balloon or perhaps a meteoroid. Of course the UFO’s enthusiasts claim it was a UFO.

However, William Aaron Watson knew otherwise, since he had been tracking the mysterious object from its home in the Running Man Nebula. It was unquestionably an alien craft. Yes, he was positive it was alien. The object had jumped the time dimension—he remembered ‘Star Trek and ‘warp factor’—and yes, anything was possible. He wished he had an opportunity to study the craft’s unique propulsion and control systems. Perhaps the space craft was on an exploratory mission? Although he would never know why it came here, he had witnessed a most remarkable phenomenon. The purpose of the alien rendezvous with our world would remain an unsolved mystery.

In the vast darkness of interstellar space the alien craft crossed the void as a singularity, universe by universe at a speed incomprehensible by our principles, where our physics and mathematics breakdown and do not apply. When it reached its destination, one of the craft’s occupants prepared a small escape vehicle for the voyage to the unknown planet below. The farewells were brief as the craft was moved into position for launch. A few minutes later the vehicle departed from the mother ship to the alien planet below.

The journey starts here.

CHAPTER 2

THE ESCAPE

N ight had arrived from the darkened east, the earth below was airless and still. The temperature was freezing, hovering near zero for the last week. Suddenly, without warning, a light breeze began to blow, raw, penetrating, the kind that can produce a numbing sleep. One large dark cloud covered an indifferent moon. High in the northern the sector of heaven a shooting, moving slowly at first, then swiftly gaining speed as it crossed the grand expanse, disappearing over the horizon, leaving a thin, white line behind. It was an exceptionally clear night, with a multitude of stars busily twinkling back and forth between each other, but there was one lone star riding high in the night sky, much brighter than all the others hovering over the white scene below, perhaps acting as a sentinel… waiting… watching…

Under the dark and endless sky below, on the snow covered frozen earth held in winter’s frigid grip, three burly figures with heads bowed as if in prayer trudged across the field toward the huge forest looming in the distance. Behind them was death, head the Duben uncertain and unknown. The forest offered the fleeing men temporary sanctuary, if they could reach it in time. The refuge was less than one hundred yards away and for the moment their chances for freedom appeared assured.

The Duben began near the Russian town of Segezha, a giant forest extending for more than one hundred and eighty miles across Finland to the Gulf of Bothria, ending near the Baltic Sea. It was a bitter cold waste land with many deep swamps scattered throughout the thick woods consisting mainly of evergreen with a sprinkling of pine, spruce, cedar and yew. Adventurous men, equipped against the intense Arctic cold, schooled for the rigorous trek often perished in the dark, perilous depths of the huge, white wilderness leaving no trace or clue to their fate. However, the Duben on this night was their sanctuary from certain death.

The three exhausted men stopped to rest when they head it! Behind them on the road somewhere off to the left, the ominous sound of a whining truck engine moving toward the field on the same road, they traveled only a short time ago. Hence, once again they pushed forward toward the giant forest so close, yet so far way.

Colonel Karl B. was busy fighting the wheel of the bouncing army truck staring straight ahead into white landscape ahead desperately attempting to make time and keep the vehicle on the slippy road. His passenger, Heindrick Pavarich was holding onto the overhead safety-bar, also with eyes glued on the road. For a man in his late sixties, he was in excellent physical condition; square face set off by closely cropped, thin grayish hair, neatly trimmed mustache and countenance accentuated rather than diminished by the black penetrating eyes, a stern mouth with its perpetual and disarming smile. He was six-foot-two and trim for his height. Usually, his attire was immaculate, but on this particular evening, he was dressed like the rest of the soldiers in the Retrieval Team in the standard Soviet winter uniform, but with the blue star sewn on the right sleeve of his khaki parka, which set him apart from the rest of the soldiers.

Heindrick Pavarich was not in an amiable mood on this particular evening. His unexpected presence in the cold, cramped truck cab was upsetting, chasing after escaped prisoners was not on his agenda, for it was function of the Retrieving Team. Most of the few who did manage to escape were apprehended shortly after fleeing the Compounds. The escaped prisoner was quickly rundown and hauled back to the penal colony at Segezha, or cut down in a hail of bullets and killed. If the escaped prisoner managed to reach the Duben, he was doomed and perished in the uninhabitable wildness. But there was one small hitch, Russian law required that every escaped prisoner’s body be return to Segezha for Identification. Thus, if one of the prisoners did escape into the immense forest, although his fate was sealed, an intensive search was made until the remains were found. Light search planes, snow machines and teams of soldiers accompanied by tracking dogs were employed to hunt the forest and countryside until the frozen corpse was found. Many times, the fierce wolves from the Duben who patrolled the outskirts of Segezha got to the prisoner before the soldiers and there was little left of the body to retrieve for identification. However, no prisoner who escaped from the compounds at Segezha survived the Duben

On this cold night in a remote part of Russia on January 11, 20… something unusual was about to take place which would extend far beyond the confining walls of the human holding pens at Segezha. The escape was planned in advance and executed with precision during a routine prisoner transfer at Compound Number Four earlier that evening. The guards in charge of the transfer were taken by complete surprise and only quick action of the guards manning the compound walls prevented what could have resulted in a mass exodus of fleeing prisoners. The resulting confrontation between the rioting prisoners and the guards was brief, but costly, leaving four guards and twenty-eight prisoners dead and many others injured. The last report Heindrick Pavarich received said three escaped prisoners were on foot and were headed for the Duben on the western exit of Segezha. It got worse. The Intelligence report stated there was reason to believe one of the escaped prisoners was a man whom he planned to interrogate. This man was on the top of his list; a faceless, drifting shadow, a voice from the darkness urging the people to feel, to see, to be aware, and most distressing and menacing supposition of all—to think! An invisible phantom seeking to disrupt the very foundation of constituted law with his atrocious lies and false promises. However, only he and a few of his most trusted associates knew the purpose of this man’s mission in Russia: to destroy or render unusable the Soviet satellite design to destroy any American space probe or satellite, if considered a threat to the Soviet Union. Whoever this mysterious man was he must be stopped

As the groaning truck lurched and swayed on the narrow, snow-covered logging road, Heindrick tried to reconstruct the events leading up to the escape at Compound Number Four which forced him out of his warm, comfortable quarters at the Institute in Segezha into this bitter cold winter night. It was possible the last shipment of suspects arrested in Leningrad two weeks ago harbored this valuable prize, but many of the details about this prisoner were missing from Segezha Intelligence. The reports of the escape from Segezha’s prison complex conflicted with the reports originating at Central Command in Leningrad? Was this escape planned in advance? One of the men who escaped was next on the list to be integration. If this man was the person of interest, then he must be returned alive. This was the reason he decided to accompany the Retrieving Team on this bitter cold winter evening.

Heindrick’s pondering was rudely interrupted. Suddenly, the truck struck a pot hole. The force of the blow lifted Heindrick Pavarich off his seat. The top of his head struck the low metal roof of the cab.

God Dammit!

Sorry, Comrade, yelled Colonel Karl B. over the roar of the laboring truck engine as he reluctantly slowed the truck.

Take it easy, warned Heindrick. We will get there shortly. The prisoners can’t get far on foot.

Karl acknowledged Heindrick’s remark with a nod of his head and returned to battling the wheel. Heindrick braced himself by tightening his seat belt staring ahead into the evening whiteness and once again began to speculate.

If the escaped prisoners could be apprehended and forced to surrender before they reached the Duben they would answer only to him and his interrogators. Yes, once he had them at the Institute, then . . .

Heindrick Pavarich—Director of the Institute for ‘Enemies of the State & the Mentally Impaired—during Segezha his long reign as the Institute Administrator confronted only a handful of suspects who were resisted his special types of treatment. He still was able to recall their faces and most of their names; the ones who fought a valiant, but a losing battle to save that small piece of invisible grayish matter which distinguishes each individual from all others. His patients were special in a stratum above the uniform mediocrity. Some of the expression on their terrified faces seemed comical at the times, and the memory brought a wily smile that went unnoticed by Colonel Karl B, who was concentrating on his driving. Many of his colleagues called this special essence, which he so carelessly destroyed—the soul. But Heindrick did not believe in such pathetic nonsense, because it did not matter what one chose to call it, for once it was smashed, crushed and ripped out of a person it left an empty cavity to be filled. Now, the empty shell could be easily replenished with something new with anything he chose to implant and after it was completed, no matter what discomforts the subject may have endured, they were bound to embrace you and thank him from saving them. Next came ‘Programing’. The actual creation of something new, alien but pliable, totally different from the person who was hostile in the beginning and fought so desperately to maintain its own singularity. It was almost like painting a picture, writing a book; he was the Creator. Oh yes, he was proud of the final product which would be used to serve the State as instructed with fanatical obedience and absolute devotion.

But the Administrate at Segezha in charge of the nebulous facility was not a vain man and would admit the systematic destruction of a person’s mind was the most enjoyable and entertaining cycle of the long and complicated procedure his subjects were forced to endure before were returned to society, but it did have its setbacks. Men were his best patients for you could do more things to a man… a woman, well that was something else.

Suddenly, along with his thoughts, Heindrick once again was propelled forward into the dashboard. The truck gave one violent shudder before coming to a complete stop

Damn-it, Karl, he yelled more in surprise than pain as his right leg was pushed against the heater, vent.

What the hell… you’re going to get us killed!

God-Damn roads, muttered Karl under his breath also shook up.

Well… Now what? Are we stuck? Carefully, Heindrick felt his left knee for signs of injury. Nothing appeared serious, rubbing his knee, he looked over at Colonel Karl. B. with a grimace

The road ends here, Comrade.

Where the hell are we?

About one hundred meters from our destination, Karl replied adding, This is as far as we can go by truck.

Then we better get a move on, said Heindrick unbuckling his safety belt

I’ll get the men to started unloading the snow machines and dispatch the scouts. When they pinpoint the prisoner’s position, we will know what steps to take.

OK, snapped Heindrick, but remember, I want them alive.

Releasing his grip on the wheel, Colonel Karl B. opened the cab door disappearing into the dim evening light. Heindrick remained in the truck listening Colonel Karl B. barking orders to the Retrieving Team as they formed up with the troops from the second truck and began undoing the heavy lashing holding three snow machines. The two trucks were parked at the end of the road behind each other near the edge of the large field which led to the giant Duben forest in the distance. Four of the soldiers began moving ahead of the main body of troops searching for signs of the escaped prisoners. Heindrick peered out the dirty cab window observing the preparations. He was satisfied everything was starting to fall into place after a slow start.

Colonel Karl B. stood a few meters away from the activity, observing every detail as the Retrieving Team prepared for the hunt. He was twelve years younger then Heindrick Pavarich, a 19… graduate of the Soviet Military Academy and the Soviet War College, where he was the first in his class to attain the rank of Colonel. His face—contrasted by receding, sandy, closely cropped hair touched with generous streaks of gray—was dark and weather beaten from the many years of field service. The mouth was a little too tight, but still friendly. The bright blue eyes that used to sparkle, now lacked their former luster. His accomplishments as a field commander were noted by his superiors in Leningrad and Moscow. His subordinates followed his expert leadership without question trusting his judgement. He distinguished himself in two wars and was involved in subduing numerous, violent insurrections. Thus, his current position at the holding compounds in Segezha was a routine assignment. At the moment, he was in the process of reorganizing the security force at Segezha which was the main reason for his presence at the secret facility. However, the next hour his whole life would be dramatically altered and become anything but routine.

The new assignment for Colonel Karl B. to reorganize the Institute’s Retrieval Team and to beef up security was to be temporary. He was told by Command his stay at Segezha would be for a few months. Karl heard the rumors about the Institute’s human experiments on selected inmates, but never proven, perhaps there was no validity to the wild stories about the Institute. He assumed Segezha was one of the many interrogation and deportation centers, like the one at Kursk and other towns too many to mention in the eastern sector of the Soviet Union. Here, political prisoners and common criminals were interrogated and then separated into select groups. Many were sent to work camps run by the State. However, the less fortunate were deported to various penal colonies in the western sector where various types of punishment were administered depending on the severity of their crimes against the State. Execution was rare and only employed in selected cases, since labor was needed for new constructions for many government projects.

Colonel Karl B. took charge of the one-hundred man security divisions and the Retrieving Team to overhaul procedures and plan new tactics. The security was excellent, but the Retrieving teams required new strategy for reprieving the bodies of prisoners who used the Duben escape route, which would save time, energy, expense. A special detail was created to patrol the Duben and eliminate the wolf packs which roamed the area searching for prey which hindered body identification. He beefed up Segezha’s security employing some new techniques and adding some of his own ideas for improvement.

During his stay at the Institute, he met many times with Heindrick Pavarich, the infamous and celebrated Institute’s Director. Heindrick was magnetically drawn to Karl, perhaps he found someone to confide in and made Karl a member of staff and his personal advisor.

It wasn’t long before he discovered the patients housed at the Institute were not mentally ill as proclaimed, but chosen at random for experimentation. Although he never made it a habit to pry into affairs that did not concern security, he observed many disturbing practices. Were the rumors true? Karl was beginning to think so.

A surreptitious part of the Center was for a new type of surreptitious treatment. The patient was gradually reduced to stare of somnolence for many days and often much longer. Next, came the rehabilitation phase of the program which listed for three to four months of intensive therapy and mind programing. The final product was a radical change in the patient’s personality and a complete psychological reversal of the patient’s mental state. It was here Heindrick Pavarich and his handpicked staff of specialists performed secret experiments.

Heindrick had been in charge of the Institute at Segezha for six years where he was now making history in the new field of psychological reconditioning and was famous for his unorthodox methods. His superiors in Moscow never questioned him or his methods, ignoring what took place behind the impenetrable walls of the Institute at Segezha.

Paul H. Tanner

Colonel Karl B. would never forget the day in Heindrick his office when he asked him to accompany him to a room on the top floor. He assumed it had something to do with security, but as they drew closer to the room he began to experience that same feeling he experienced before being wounded by sniper fire at Saratov while subduing a local uprising. His stomach tightened as they approached the room at the end of the corridor. Heindrick exchanged a few words with the guard at the door and turned to him.

Karl, began Heindrick, Do you remember the famous American spy, Paul Tanner?

Before Karl could answer he continued, Mr. Tanner has been my quest here at the Institute for last two years.

But I though Tanner died shortly after been captured?

No, Mr. Tanner is still with us. Let’s you and I pay him a visit. Heindrick reached into his pocket and used it to unlock the door.

Karl was unable to see anything at first. The small room was dimly lit, but he could make out a large glass-like coffin in the center of the room and to his left some type of apparatus with two dozen dimly illuminated dials and lights.

Hesitating, he followed the Institute director to the glass coffin and peered down at its contents. At first, Karl though his eyes were playing a trick on him, perhaps some sort of illusion, or a macabre joke, but a quick glance up at Heindrick told him this was no joke. He continued to stare, hypnotized by the monstrous spectacle imprisoned in the glass walls of the coffin and to his horror, it began to stir spring to life before his disbelieving eyes. Damn… It was true. The idle gossip, insidious rumors he refused to believe were real

Karl felt he was going to be sick.

All that remained of the former American spy, Paul Tanner was the head and part of the trunk; all the extremities were missing, nonexistent, they had been surgically removed—arms, legs, eyes, ears and genitals. In place of the miss extremities were hundreds of small, multicolored wires and polyethylene tubing extending from the body through the conduit attached to the coffin terminating in a large junction box suspended above the glass cage. A large feeding tube was inserted into the mouth. Only the rhythmical rising and falling of the scarred chest hinted there was life.

Heindrick took a seat at the console table and began flipping various switches and adjusting several control knobs. The unit sprang to life emitting a sound purring sound. Paul Tanner, or what was left of him entombed in the narrow confines of the glass cage, began to move, slowly at first, then the torso began to shake and tremble in step with purring of the machine as it grew louder. The limbless trunk fought against the restraining straps holding it to the cold, stainless steel table. It appeared to be in excruciating pain, but no sound escaped its lipless mouth. Suddenly, the head broke free of the holding strap and the feeding tube was dialoged from its mouth and a vile, greenish liquid ejected from the toothless, gaping hole that once was a mouth.

Karl’s mouth was dry, the palms of his hands itched, armpits sweating profusely and he felt sick to his stomach. Heindrick was saying something to him, but concentration was impossible over the machine’s high pitched whining in the background. Paul Tanner’s head and trunk continued to twitch and jerk against the holding straps. Raw and bleeding from the wild thrashing, his body was covered with a disgusting green liquid before one long painful shudder then was still, but the mouth opened and closed like it was trying to say something. A red warning light above the control panel began flashing and the machine slowly began whining down. The fiendish exhibition was too much for Karl, turning he rushed to the door and waited for Heindrick to finish the inhumane performance. Heindrick opened a circuit breaker to shut down the machine. Dimming the console lights, he switched off the room lights and got up to leave. Back at Heindrick’s office, Karl recalled asking a few questions to satisfy his curiosity and the Institute Director readily responded in graphic detail.

I use Paul Tanner as an example for those who are have trouble conforming to our program and methods. Heindrick smiled shrewdly at Karl.

"Paul Tanner’s mind is still active and functional; his body is capable of experiencing various levels of pain which is controlled by the machine operator. The life support system continuously monitories his bodily functions and supplies food and oxygen. The computer recorded his every thought as well as his physical condition. Mr. Tanner will be with us for many years. We can do many things to our patients, and this only one example of what we can accomplish here at my Institute."

After Karl returned to his office, he wished he could leave this terrible place today, but it was not to be. Heindrick Pavarich was mad, ruthless, but exceptionally intelligent. Was he insane or possessed? However, there was no language that he could think of which accurately described the infamous Institute Director. With a shrug, Karl returned to focus on the pile of paperwork on his desk.

CHAPTER 3

RETRIEVAL

T he escaped prisoners were spotted. The three prisoners were approximately one hundred and twenty meters from the Retrieving Team’s position at the edge of the field and eighty meters from the Duben . Moving swiftly from his present position between the two trucks, Colonel Karl B. instinctively reached for the leather case strapped to his left side for his field glasses, an anniversary gift from his estranged wife. Carefully taking a mental note of the distance between the fleeing prisoners and their distance from the Duben , he realized his men would not have time to finished unloading the snow machines before the prisoners reached the safety of the forest. Lowering his glasses, he hurried toward his men waiting at the edge of the field.

Lieutenant Ja! Karl B. shouted in a high-pitched voice laced with anticipation

Over here… Colonel. The reply from somewhere in the crowd of soldiers waiting at the edge of the field orders.

Lieutenant Ja, a tall, thin young man picked his way through the men, stopping in front of his superior saluting smartly.

Lieutenant, we must move quickly, Karl B. began, trying not to rush his words, Take six of your riflemen and get them into position. Let me know when you’re set. He stopped to point a gloved finger in the direction of the lead truck containing Heindrick Pavarich. Comrade Pavarich and Segezha Intelligence want these men captured. This will not be an easy task. You know what to do, so let’s get started.

With a simple nod, Lieutenant Ja, saluted Karl and returned to his men. The Lieutenant was a professional soldier; alert, competent, with an eye for detail, and knew what was expected of him in situations like this. Immediately, he began barking order and instructions to his rifle team as they took up positions at the edge of the field. Immediately preparations commenced: rifle scopes were adjusted for the correct range, clips of ammunition rammed into the automatic rifles as the rifle team took up the classic prone position waiting further orders. Lieutenant Ja stood on the left flank of his riflemen and looked over at Colonel Karl B. for orders.

Karl B. was surveying the area where the prisoners stopped to rest. Carefully, he measured their distance from the Duben. Yes, it would work, but they must be accurate on the first salvo. He felt confident with Lieutenant Ja, he was an excellent officer. Karl liked Lieutenant Ja, although young and frail for his height and a bit too taciturn, he was dependable, steadfast and courageous. Only last week he’d put him up for promotion.

Karl did not see Heindrick Pavarich, who had left the safety of the truck and now was standing several yards behind him and the rifle team observing the preparations. The Institute Direction neither approved nor disapproved, for he was there as an observer. Removing one glove, he unbuttoned the top two buttons of his parka reaching into his shirt pocket for a cigarette which he lit with a gold lighter.

As he stood to one side behind the crouched shooters, his gaze traveled to the spot approximately 120 meters from their position, which should be an easy shot for any sniper. Turning, he watched the soldiers in the last truck unloading the snow machines. It was obvious the machines would not be ready in time to prevent the prisoners from reaching the Duben. It all rested with Lieutenant Ja and his six riflemen.

Under normal conditions, Colonel Karl B. would have immediately terminated the escape by ordering the riflemen to cut down the fleeing miscreants, however his orders were to prevent them from reaching the safety of the Duben. He wondered how the prisoners managed to get this far in such a short time. Damned! Now, everything depended on the success of his rifle team.

Suddenly, the scene changed, but not in his favor. Peering intently through his field glasses, Karl B. scrutinized the fleeing figures as they renewed their run for the Duben. One man a few meters ahead of the other two, appeared to be moving a bit faster than his comrades. The other two men were abreast of each other, about two meters apart. His major concern was their distance from the Duben which now was only approximately100 meters and closing. In similar situations, it usually took one fallen comrade to discourage the others from further flight, but something told his this time it would be different. Time was against him. After stopping one of the men, his team would have to wait to see the response of the other two which could give them time to reach the Duben before further shots were taken. There was only one solution to the dilemma, if the other two prisoners decided to continue their flight they must be killed. Although this would not set well with Segezha Intelligence and Heindrick Pavarich, he could not allow the escapees reach the safety of the Duben.

Colonel Karl B. decided to stop the man on the left for he was the best target. With any luck, the other two prisoners would get the message and halt their flight. Satisfied with his plan, he dropped his field glass on his chest and turned in the direction of Lieutenant Ja and his rifle team.

Lieutenant Ja? Karl shouted. Have one of your men stop the man on the left.

Understood… the man on the left, repeated Lieutenant Ja.

And Lieutenant, he hastily added, I want the other two prisoners stopped within thirty seconds after the man is hit if they refuse to surrender. Turning back to the field, he grabbed his field glasses to resume the vigil.

In a calm business voice, Lieutenant Ja relayed the Colonel’s instructions to the Retrieving Team’s top sharpshooter, Sergeant Vladimir Papov, who was an excellent shot with rifle or pistol. Since his assignment to the Team at Segezha his kill was unsurpassed. He was a short man, heavyset, bellicose with a large bullet head. Many a course joke centered around the robust Corporal’s wild nocturnal escapades. He was reduced in rank three times. In one incident, a fistfight nearly resulted in the death of the unlucky opponent and another threatening a senior officer.

Corporal Vladimir Papov was all business, crouching on one knee at the edge of the field near the Duben on this cold night of January preparing to do what he did best—shooting escaped prisoners. Carefully, he adjusted the rifle’s range finder which indicated the range was 102 meters. The man was moving to the left at a two-degree angle, but this was not a critical factor and would be accounted for in the scope’s final setting. With deft fingers, he set the rife’s scope; up three points six millimeters to allow for projectile drop at the selected range, left two points to compensate for angle deviation and finally number three magnification for viewing of his target.

Coronal Vladimir Papov was almost ready. The Retrieval Team stood silent, waiting, watching…

With a critical eye, Corporal Papov rechecked his weapon’s setting before raising it to his shoulder. He released the safety. The target sprang into view in the rifle scope revealing all the graphic details necessary for a good shoot—clean, sharp, distinct. Meticulously, he centered the target in the scope’s cross-hairs on his target. Choosing a spot slightly below the fleeing prisoner’s left buttock, he zeroed the scope. Taking a deep breath, he slowly squeezed the trigger and the weapon responded against his shoulder.

Streaking toward its target almost at a velocity of 792 meters per second, the 200 grain, steel-jacketed projectile struck its intended victim a half a second later with devastating impact of one hundred and sixty-two-foot pounds of destruction.

Colonel Karl B. had the man centered in his field glass when he heard the loud report of Corporal Papvo’s rifle split the frigid night air and breathed a sign of relief as the fleeing prisoner disappeared from his field of vision. Yes, there was movement. The man was wounded and still alive. Excellent shot he muttered under his breath.

Swing his glass in the direction of the other fleeing prisoners, instantly he knew something was wrong? What to hell… ? One of the escaping men was missing? The prisoner in the middle was no where insight, and to compound the problem, the other prisoner was approaching the safety of the dense forest. Again he tried to locate the other prisoner’s position—Nothing?

After a few more seconds his search was rewarded. Quicky he adjusted his field glass for a better look, but to his amazement, the prisoner had taken the initiative. He was lying in a prone position on the snow facing the Retrieving Team and armed with a rifle and before he could warn his comrades of the impeding danger it was too late.

The first bullet found Lieutenant Ja as he turned to say something to Corporal Papov.

Clutching at his chest, he was propelled backwards, collapsing a moment later on the frozen earth. The snow around his body quickly turning crimson from blood gushing from his wide-open mouth and gaping hole in his chest. The incoming fusillade continued, another soldier fell howling in pain after his left kneecap was blown away. The Team broke ranks running for cover from the incoming projectiles which now were spraying the truck with the snow machines and the soldiers who were unloading them. However, this was only the beginning of the holocaust. One of the bullets found the truck’s exposed fuel tank with catastrophic results. The tremendous explosion which immediately followed was earthshaking. Instantly, the vehicle with the men still in the back was engulfed in the expanding ball of deadly fire which was boundless in its lust for absolute destruction. Death came instantaneously to the men in the truck and others in the vicinity of the burning vehicle.

Colonel Karl B. was knocked down by the blast, but escaped injury. Surrounded by turmoil, he staggered to his feet and ran toward a small knoll several meters to the right of the remaining truck. Laying prone on the snow, he raised his rifle taking aim in the direction of the faint, deadly flash of light busily blinking at him at the far edge of the field near the Duben. There was no time to properly line up his target, squeezing the trigger, he held it in ‘Auto’ and commenced to spray the area around the adversary’s position.

The twenty-five round ammunition clip was quickly expended. He was reaching for another clip when he realized the firing from the field had stopped. The faint specked of blinking death ceased. If he learned one thing in his many years of combat was to never underestimate your enemy, for you were in danger until your enemy lay at your feet, either dead or hands raised in submission.

Ramming a fresh clip of ammunition into his weapon, he scrutinized the man’s position with the rifle scope. The first object that came into view was the man’s weapon lying abandoned in the snow; a moment late he saw his adversary. The man was up, limping, obviously wounded, but still ambulatory. Carefully, he centered the man in the scope’s cross hair and fired. The man lurched to the left and felt forward onto the snow, but he refused to stay down and again staggering to his feet. But now he had the range, and it would only a matter of time before one of his bullets found a vital spot. He fired twice more and this time his adversary spun around, after hanging suspended in midair for one brief moment, before dropping in his tracks. Lowering his smoking weapon, he was sure his adversary was dead. He took one last look with his field glasses to view the man’s prostrate body for any signs of movement, but there were none. Another look with his field glasses confirmed it, the shooter had been killed.

Turning, Karl left the knoll and moved to the edge of the field, stopping beside Lieutenant Ja’s motionless form sprawled out on the white earth. As he stooped over to examine the body, he was interrupted by a strident voice behind him—it was Heindrick Pavarich.

Karl swung around to face the Institute Director who appeared to be visibly shaken and it was a few moments before he spoke.

I talked with the Medic, there is nothing we can do for the Lieutenant.

Yes, I know. Karl replied with a sigh of resignation.

I saw you on the knoll. I gather you killed the shooter?

Yes, comrade, the man has been killed.

Good

We do have a problem, said Karl

What’s wrong? question Heindrick.

The two men stood in silence staring at each other illuminated by the flames of the burning truck thirty meter behind them.

Heindrick Pavarich broke the silence.

"What you are trying to tell me is one of them escaped into the Duben?"

"Yes! One made it into the Duben."

Suddenly, Karl felt sick to his stomach. In all the excitement his only thought was to take out the shooter before he could create more havoc. He completely forgot the other man, the one in the middle and nearest to the Duben who managed to reach the safety of the forest.

Are you sure?

"Yes, the one in the middle is in the Duben, replied Karl. The shooter had us pinned down which allowed the other one enough time escape."

Goddamn it! hissed Heindrick.

Well… He won’t get far, said Karl adding, In a few hours we will have a dozen snow machines and a hundred trackers with dogs on his trail and scout planes too. We’ll have the prisoner by noon tomorrow, if not before.

Heindrick did not reply. No escaped prisoner ever survived the white wildness and usually was captured in just a few hours. However, this man was one Heindrick wanted returned alive.

Colonel Karl B. and Heindrick Pavarich stood staring at the empty field and the dark, foreboding forest which lay beyond each engrossed in his own thoughts.

Slowly, Karl’s gaze returned to the gutted truck still burning and then to his confused and disorganized soldiers, some of who were seriously wounded. Many bodies lay scattered near the area illuminated by the still burning truck. His next move was to assemble his men into a functional unit again. The wounded must be attended to and the dead counted and prepared for removal. Returning to the remaining truck, he placed a call to Segezha for assistance.

One snow machine survived, although damaged it appeared to be serviceable and was being prepared to retrieve the wounded prisoner. Shortly, additional men and equipment would be arriving on the scene to begin the search for the remaining prisoner, now somewhere in the Duben. Finally, he was going to have to deal with Heindrick Pavarich.

As he was leaving the remaining truck to regroup his men, again he met Heindrick

Well, they screwed up again, hissed the Institute Director.

Comrade? Karl assumed he was responsible for the tragedy.

Don’t you see, Karl? Heindrick bore on. It’s Segezha Intelligence who is responsible for this mess. They should have told us one of the prisoners was armed. We received several dispatches during the ride. What the hell were they doing back there, sleeping? Well, I’ll tell you, they failed to do their jobs.

Yes Comrade, you are right. We received very little useful information from Segezha, agreed Karl.

That Goddam Metcrouph is the problem with Segezha Intelligence. Heindrick continued the tirade. "Intelligence has never been the same since Metcrouph took command. I will be the first to admit he did not have much to work with, but still that’s no excuse. He sits on his fat ass doing nothing to improve Intelligence. And because of his total incompetence we’ve got an escaped prisoner in the Duben, the loss of the truck, three snow machines and many dead and wounded."

Heindrick angrily tossed his cigarette away in disgust then left to call Segezha Intelligence. He stopped, turning back to Karl B.

I’m sorry about Lieutenant Ja. I know he was a close comrade of yours and a good solider. I promise you the people responsible will pay for this, especially Comrade Metcrouph.

Thank you, comrade, replied Karl glad Heindrick’s wrath was not aimed at him or team. Yes, the infamous Institute Director was a powerful ally, as well as a formidable opponent.

If you need me, Karl, I’ll be in the truck, said Heindrick over his shoulder.

I will keep you informed to our progress, Comrade, Karl replied.

CHAPTER 4

THE FIELD

L ieutenant Barvoich, who replaced Lieutenant Ja stood next to the remaining snow machine talking with Colonel Karl B. Moving his head up and down, he listened with impatience while Lieutenant Barvoich described the damage to the remaining snow machines and other equipment. At the moment, several soldiers were struggling to push the only remaining machine onto the field. Could the machine be repaired? And if so, how long would it take to get the machine operational? Karl hoped the wound man in the field was still alive. If the man died before they reached him, then the whole mission would be a disaster. Anxiously, he stood nearby while the necessary repairs were made. Several men were laboring feverishly on the snow machine; one working on the engine, three on the left track, and two were struggling to attach the utility cart to the rear hitch which was bent. The cart held six fully equipped soldiers, but on this night it would be also used to transport the wounded prison to an ambulance already waiting nearby.

Luck was with them. Lieutenant Barvoich informed Karl the repairs to the snow machine would be finished in approximately ten more minutes.

Karl thanked the Lieutenant and left to begin the recovery operation. He dispatched two men into the field to check on the condition of the wounded prisoner and to search the area near the Duben for signs of the other prisoner. Karl accompanied by Lieutenant Barvoich, inspect the damage to the truck, which was now completely gutted and still burning, but with less intensity. The twisted remains resembled a prehistoric monster in its final death throes. Next, they circulated among men, encouraging them, helping the wounded and offering silent prayers over their dead comrades.

Staring out at the empty field, Karl found Sergeant Papov and stopped to compliment him on his excellent shooting and promised him a long weekend leave in Leningrad, but with a stern warning to stay out of trouble. Karl did not miss the wild gleam in the Sergeant’s eye. Oh well, he tried.

Karl left Sergeant Papov making his way back to the truck to help load the dead and the walking injured into the truck. He wondered how he was going to tell Lieutenant Ja’s wife, now a widow with two small children to raise alone without a husband. This was one aspect of his position he detested. He was still helping the wounded when Lieutenant Barvoich found him to inform him that the snow machine was ready. Thanking him, he left to find Heindrick Pavarich who was standing a short distance a way calmly smoking another cigarette.

Comrade Pavarich, the snow machine is ready, said Karl.

Good! Let’s go. Heindrick tossed away the cigarette, pulling his heavy parka up around his neck, he followed Karl to the snow machine at the edge of the field.

Karl and Heindrick climbed into the rear seats of the utility cart followed by four soldiers, and Sergeant Papov. After a short delay, the Okay was given to the driver to start the engine. Whining, it coughed, sputtered and then promptly died. The driver waited a few moments before restarting the engine. This time the engine continued to run, skipping noticeably at first before settling down to a steady purr. The driver let the engine idle for several moments, gunning it rhythmically before commencing the run across the field. Turning to check his passengers in the utility cart to insure everything was ready, the driver eased the machine into gear.

The single, yellow headlight sprang out of the on coming darkness as it raged forward, separating from the edge of the field onto the desolate white blanket of frozen snow as it headed toward its prey who lay trembling on the snow covered field near the Duben.

Colonel Karl B. sat in the utility cart, eyes closed, trying not to think about the tragedy which had befallen him and his men a short time ago, but the dreadful scene would not go away. The unbelievable spectacle of destruction, the screams of the wounded, sightless corpses, and the blazing truck with the snow machines—was he at fault? Perhaps over confidence or the lassitude of the day-to-day life at Segezha gave rise to ennui, or just bad luck? Of all the uncertainties of this misfortune, damage to his career was certain. Soviet justice was harsh, swift, and final.

Heindrick Paravich’s thoughts were far removed from Karl’s, for he was not concerned with the loss of human life and government property, which could be replaced with a stroke of his pen. He was already prepared to answer any questions Command may ask him concerning this misadventure. The first thing he planned to do when they returned to Segezha was to contact Moscow Intelligence. Something was missing here, and he fully intended to get to the bottom of the enigma. His first step was to severely admonish Segezha Intelligence, especially its director. Comrade Flodra Metcrouph, who not only lacked experience, the man was a poor administrator. At the moment, he planned to concentrate on the search for the prisoner who escaped into the Duben. Of course, there was no doubt the prisoner would be captured, however, the man’s safe return was questionable. Also, he wanted answers to where and how the escaped prisoners managed to obtain a weapon. Who was behind this elaborate escape? And was the escape a plot to free one man using the other prisoners as decoys? If so, which one of the three men was he, the prisoner with the weapon whom Colonel Karl B. killed, or the wounded man in the field?

Some of Heindrick’s questions were about to be answered. He felt sorry for the Colonel Karl B. and was determined not to let Command make him the scapegoat. The fault lay with Segezha Intelligence. In the past several years the Compound at Segezha had more than a dozen escapes, but they were more of a nuisance which tied up men and equipment for a short time. But this escape had written a new chapter—lives and had been lost and one man was still on the loose The Office of Soviet Central Intelligence in Moscow would have to be informed. They would not be happy, but while they were busy investigating the enigma, he would immediately begin using his own private sources of information.

The snow machine was rapidly approaching the spot where the wounded prisoner lay on the frozen snow in excruciating pain. The driver maneuvered the snow machine within three meters of the prisoner and stopped. Immediately, the soldiers piled out of the utility cart with weapons drawn surrounding the wounded prisoner waiting orders from Colonel Karl B. First, the man was searched for weapons—none were found. The medic administered first aid to the man’s wound which was not critical, but serious enough for concern. The man was weak from loss of blood flowing from the gaping hole in his left thigh approximately 20 centimeters below the buttock.

Sergeant Papov, who was responsible for inflicting the crippling injury, bent down grinning into the man’s pain-racked face. Yes, it was a good hit for he placed the bullet within two centimeters of the spot he selected at a moving target. Papov felt no remorse, this man was no different from others he shot during his two-year assignment at Segezha. Smiling, he watched the medics attending to the wounded man. The hole in his thigh was filled with thick gauze, a large pressure bandage was applied to control bleeding and a small amount of morphine was administered to ease the pain before the integration commenced.

While the medics were attending the wounded man, Karl, Heindrick and Lieutenant Barvoich went over to examine the body of the dead prisoner. The man’s body lay face down in the snow, arms akimbo. Lieutenant Barvoich knelt down to search the body, rolling the still form over its back; nothing of interest was found, only unused cartridges, a hunting knife, and a half pack of crumpled cigarettes. A closer inspection of the cadaver revealed the man was hit four times; right wrist, upper left shoulder, center of the back and under the right armpit. Either of the last two hits was fatal.

Karl retrieved the weapon laying several meters behind the body studying the weapon with interest, examining every detail. Heindrick stood behind Karl, peering over his shoulder waiting anxiously for Karl’s opinion. The gun was a late model A-42 carbine, a light weapon to carry with a 22-cartridge magazine, it was an excellent weapon with rapid firepower. Where had this man obtained the weapon? Of course, the serial number had been removed with some type of acid. To Karl’s knowledge, there were no reports of this weapon on file. As he handed the weapon to one of his men, he shook his head in bewilderment—another mystery to solve.

After Karl finished talking with Heindrick, Lieutenant Barvoich rushed over to inform them the name stenciled on a piece of the dead man’s jacket found several meters from his body was—J. Crouse. Heindrick previously received an update for Segezha giving him the details on two of the prisoners. The wounded man’s name was, Alex Pove, a petty thief, well known to the authorities in Leningrad and many other cities which he related to Karl.

Turning to Heindrick, Karl asked, What else did they tell you?

So far, that’s it, snapped Heindrick. They’re still checking.

"Any information on the prisoner in the Duben?"

No… . Nothing yet, Heindrick responded.

Heindrick paused for a moment then bore on.

Intelligence has not been able to link Alex Pove or J. Crouse to any known conspiracy. But Crouse was a member of a minor clandestine organization. Folding his arms across his chest, he continued: Crouse was being held for questioning concerning robbery and murder in Kursk three months ago. He has a long record and was imprisoned at Ukhta three times during the past five years.

Abruptly ending the conversation, Heindrick hollered over at the medics attending Alex Pove. You… Yes you!

The medic the nearest medic stood up to face the Institute Director.

Is the prisoner ready for questioning?

Yes comrade, replied the medic blinking and nodding simultaneously.

Turning back to Karl, Heindrick said, Ok, let’s you and I get started.

The men standing around the prisoner quicky retreated. Karl & Heindrick took turns questioning the wounded man at great lengths, but was unable to learn anything they did not already know. Alex Pove confessed help planning the escape, but did not know how or where J. Crouse had obtain the weapon. He was nebulous and impatient when pressed on the subject of the other prisoner.

Heindrick tried again. "I want to know the name of the man who escaped into the Duben.

The man must have told you his name?"

There is very little I can tell you about him, Alex Pove stammered, I’m afraid…

I want answers, hissed Heindrick into the Alex Pove’s ashen face.

Please… Comrade, you don’t understand.

What don’t I understand?

You see, this is my third arrest this year. After they processed me at the Compound, I would have been sent the penal colony at Servart for many years or executed. I am in poor health and probably would not survive a year at Servant. I had no choice but to escape, since I was doomed anyway.

Alex Pove spoke through clenched teeth, the morphine was beginning to wear off and pain was returning.

You’re useless, worthless… Nothing more than garbage. Isn’t that right, Comrade Pove?

Heindrick’s dark eyes blazed with contempt, hatred at the figure laying on the frozen, snow. There would be no compromises or compassion this night.

Heindrick continued the questioning.

I am going to ask you again—the name of the man in the Duben?

Alex Pove shook his head and did not answer Heindrick’s question. The pain in his thigh was growing worse disturbing what little concentration remained. He stared back at his tormentor with blank eyes and began swinging his head from side-to-side in a futile attempt to ward off the burning pain gnawing at his thigh. What could he tell him? Well, he could lie and say something that might satisfy his inquisitor, or he could tell all he knew about the subject. If he fabricated a story, he was convinced Heindrick would not be fooled. No, he must some way convince the Institute Director that he was telling the truth.

However, this time there was no way out of the dilemma for the elusive Alex Pove, thus, he chose the latter. The media hovering nearby looked questioningly at Heindrick who motioned him to step away with a careless wave of his hand.

Answer my question, demanded the Heindrick "I must have