Daughter of the KGB: The American Wilderness

By S.D. Shadden

KGB Agent Anya Ruslanova is forced to defect to her sworn enemy: the United States of America. However, the KGB "never forgets." Soviet sleeper agents within the borders of the United States are activated with the chilling orders, "Find her, kill her, make an example of her."Follow Anya's journey as she struggles to survive in a foreign culture, to find a sense of freedom, to kill or be killed. Someone must live; someone must die—a twist of fate will decide.Anya Ruslanova, struggling to survive in the American wilderness, as a daughter of the KGB.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098038960

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Daughter of the KGB

The American Wilderness

S.D. Shadden

Copyright © 2020 by S.D. Shadden

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

This novel is a work of fiction. Although the story draws on the historical record, the characters, incidents, and conversations are invented.

Most Scriptures taken from the New King James Version. Copyright ©1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Printed in the United States of America

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To those who dare to dream, who brave the wind and waves of life’s unknown sea, who sail beyond the safe horizon

Other books written by S.D. Shadden:

Child of the Forest: Daughter of the KGB

You can never cross the ocean unless you have the courage to lose sight of the shore.

—Christopher Columbus

Part 1

The New World

To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven:…A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

—Ecclesiastes 1

1

The submarine rose from the cold depths of the North Pacific within sight of Alaska’s Aleutian Islands in the Bering Sea. In the distance, the large, deep cove of Dutch Harbor awaited the submarine’s precious cargo: a Russian scientist and his family, an agent of the CIA, and an officer of the KGB, Agent Anya Ruslanova.

Dutch Harbor was a lonely outpost and a strategic center for operations during the Second World War. The Japanese Marines and the United States Army fought over it; the Americans kept it. Now the forgotten battleground was used as an observation area, a listening post for Soviet traffic, and an early-warning station in case of a nuclear attack. On that misty gray morning just before dawn, the only observation, listening, and warning would come from a United States Coast Guard cruiser waiting at the entrance of the harbor.

The submarine signaled three flashes of light from the tower of its periscope. The coast guard cruiser returned the same signal and proceeded toward the vessel. In the blue gray before dawn, no one would think twice seeing a coast guard cruiser in these waters. Coast guard duties required their constant presence to monitor fishing boats and sometimes to rescue them in the fierce cold waters of the Pacific throughout the chain of islands. The coast guard had the authority to inspect and protect the coastline of the United States of America. Approaching the submarine from its port side, it was performing those duties: to protect and to serve.

The coast guard’s boarding party expertly helped the five refugees to safely enter their cruiser, where they were whisked out of sight as quick as possible. Time was of the essence. An airplane on a deserted airstrip was waiting for them.

As soon as the coast guard cruiser pulled away, the submarine sank like a stone, back into the dark depths from which it had come—all secure, package delivered, no contacts or conflicts with enemy vessels, mission accomplished.

Two civilians, a man and a woman, dressed in army officers’ uniforms, waited by two military cars with white stars on the doors. Both were armed, both were experts in weaponry and martial arts, both were agents of the CIA.

As soon as their feet touched the wooden dock, the scientist Yuri Yegorov, his wife, Lyola, and their ten-year-old daughter, Tanya, were placed into the first vehicle. A driver already had the engine running. The female agent welcomed them to America, quickly entered the passenger’s seat next to the driver, and ordered him to proceed to the airstrip. Two soldiers in a military jeep, with a .50 caliber machine gun, led the way.

Agents Paul Adams and Anya Ruslanova entered the second car with the male escort. The car proceeded before the doors were shut. KGB agent Anya Ruslanova’s first impressions of America were security and haste. The haunting whispers of the unknown made her lips tremble.

2

As the three vehicles raced toward the isolated landing strip, the CIA escort, Marcus Sterling, formerly of Miami Beach, Florida, decided to ease the tension and to test the KGB agent’s English-speaking skills.

My name is Marcus. Paul, I know you from my briefing information. And you are—

Anya Ruslanova, she interrupted, former officer of the KGB, Russian from head to toe and Siberian until I die. Any other questions will be answered at my debriefing, where your masters will be waiting.

Sorry, Anya, I did not mean to pry. I just noticed that you are carrying a rather heavy pack all the way from Russia.

Marcus, you seem like a nice person, so allow me to explain. Everything I own or treasure in this life is in this pack. If you or anyone else tries to take it from me, I will be forced to break that unfortunate individual’s fingers one by one, beginning with his outstretched thumb.

Marcus smiled and replied, Understood, loud and clear: hands off and no more questions. Marcus thought, Well, her English is quite clear, and I certainly do not envy her debriefing officer. Good luck to both.

The driver glanced in his rear-view mirror at the tall pretty woman with the long blonde hair and the startling, sky-blue eyes. He was relieved to see the airplane just ahead on the tarmac.

Paul Adams did not even glance at his Russian fiancée. He was already getting used to her protective instincts. After all, coming from the mountains of Siberia, surviving a Soviet orphanage, and being trained by the KGB does not produce a kitten—unless, of course, it is a tiger kitten, a cub with sharp fangs and claws. Anya was certainly a tigress, and everything in her pack demonstrated that fact.

The four-engine faded-green airplane already had its propellers revved for takeoff. The five escapees from the Soviet Union and the two escorts quickly entered the airplane. No one carried any luggage, except the tall blonde woman with the KGB sword-and-shield insignia on one shoulder of her black uniform and a large pack on her other shoulder. No one offered to carry it for her; no one dared.

As the airplane lifted into the gray sky, Anya looked out longingly in the direction of Mother Russia, across the vast Pacific Ocean, from which she had just come. Once again, she felt like an orphan, a misplaced Siberian, a rootless officer of the KGB, but now in a foreign land—adrift in the American wilderness.

****

The airplane landed at a military airport on the outskirts of Fairbanks, Alaska. The aircraft was quickly directed to a large hangar on the fringe of the airport, out of sight from other aircraft or personnel. As soon as the four engines stopped and their whirling propellers ceased, the crew and seven passengers departed the airplane for a rapid refueling and a lavatory break. Sandwiches and hot drinks awaited them.

Anya approached Paul with a cup of tea in her hand and remarked, I think it is as cold here in Alaska as it is in Russia.

We are at the city of Fairbanks, more to the interior of Alaska. It is colder here than along the coastline, where it is more temperate. We won’t be here long. I am not sure where our next stop will be, but since we are refueling, I am guessing it will be somewhere in the American Northwest.

How are the others holding up, especially Tanya? Anya asked.

Paul smiled and replied, I think young Tanya is the toughest one of our party. To her, this is just one more adventure. Her parents are exhausted. They are not used to the stress and the constantly changing circumstances. It has taken its toll, but they will make it. The worst is over.

Anya thought about Paul’s last statement. The worst might be over for the scientist and his family, but she felt that her ordeal was just about to begin. The KGB used whatever means were necessary to debrief a defector and to get workable information. She wondered what was in store for her. She trusted Paul, but he loved her—his masters did not. To them, she was still just the enemy.

Anya looked at Paul with beseeching eyes and asked, Paul, what will happen to us? Will we be separated? Will I have to go to a special camp for questioning? What is the normal procedure?

Anya, I’m not sure what is ‘normal’ anymore. They did not know you were coming. The CIA only found out about your presence when the submarine flashed a message: ‘package present—plus one.’ Since Dutch Harbor, they now know who ‘plus one’ is, and I imagine they are scrambling to put everything together. Don’t worry, I will be right beside you. I will insist on it—no matter what it costs me!

Anya touched his cheek, and she knew that he meant every word, but she also knew that his hands were as tied as hers when those in complete control entered a room and demanded answers.

Besides, Anya, you are a celebrity: a KGB officer from the Intelligence Operations Division. They will probably give you the keys to the White House.

Anya forced a smile to support Paul’s optimism, but deep within, she hoped the keys presented would not place her into an empty cell with a bucket in the corner.

****

The airplane dropped through the gray cloud bank over the misty city of Seattle, Washington. Anya looked out of her window, seated next to Paul, and viewed the lush green hills and the myriad of boats in the harbor. Tall bronze-skinned Marcus with his dark hair, piercing brown eyes, and dark mustache also viewed the sight below. The female escort, Sheila Ferguson, had her copper-red hair tied back, and her ever-present smile highlighted her creamy complexion and emerald-green eyes as she pointed out different buildings to the eager young Tanya. The scientist and his wife were exhausted, quietly asleep with their heads resting on each other’s shoulders.

Once again, the airplane entered a deserted hangar, and the passengers hoped that this was the last stop for the long day’s journey. Coming down the steps, the travel-weary group saw three dark sedans encircled by drivers and well-armed bodyguards standing beside each car. In the center of the group stood a large man with chestnut-gray hair and a tan trench coat draped over his left arm.

The obvious leader with the trench coat stepped forward to greet everyone. He came to Paul and shook his hand, saying, Paul, job well done. A tricky operation, but you came through in fine shape. This must be our package ‘plus one.’ At Fairbanks, Marcus gave me a flash signal that plus one was an officer of the KGB. Turning to Anya, he continued, My name is Deputy Director James Anderson. Welcome to America!

Director Anderson, I never dreamed that you would be here to greet us. Allow me to introduce Agent Anya Ruslanova. Without her assistance, we would not be standing here today. I shudder to think what would have happened otherwise.

Anya, if I may call you that, you have our everlasting gratitude. Once again, welcome! If you will both excuse me for a moment, I need to greet the scientist and his family, and to ease their tensions by letting them know what happens next. I’ll be right back.

Yuri and Lyola were finally smiling. Director Anderson shook Yuri’s hand firmly, and he gently hugged Lyola while patting Tanya on her head. Yuri and Lyola kept gazing into Anderson’s face. Tanya could not take her eyes off Anya. Even the young girl perceived that a parting must soon take place.

Anya met Tanya’s eyes and saw herself: a blonde blue-eyed tomboy, ten years old, standing happily next to her parents. Only for Anya, as a twelve-year-old girl, she had lost both of her parents, had been committed into a Soviet orphanage at age thirteen, and later had been forced into the KGB training center in Moscow by the time she was fourteen. Her world became a constant struggle for survival, which led to her standing in a drafty hangar in a foreign country, wondering, just like this little girl, What will happen next?

Anya smiled at Tanya across the hangar and knew that no matter what happened, Tanya would have a better life: a life with her family, a life of advancement and free choices, a life outside a cage. Anya looked at pretty Tanya as if gazing into life’s mirror—Anya had saved herself.

Yuri, Lyola, and Tanya came to Paul and Anya. They profusely thanked Paul and shook his hand. Lyola kissed Anya on both cheeks and wiped a tear off her own. Yuri had tears streaming down his face. He could not speak, so he just kissed Anya’s hand. Tanya raced forward and hugged Anya’s waist—fiercely, not wanting to let go.

Anya kneeled down and ran her fingers through Tanya’s thick blonde hair. Looking into the child’s face, she said, Listen, my little explorer, it is time for you to discover a new world, this world, this place called America. But I need you to do me a favor: watch over your parents and help them to adjust. It will be harder for them. Study hard and make wise choices. Never forget your Russian heritage, but don’t be afraid to embrace the new and exciting moments unfolding around you. For both of us, this is our second chance, new opportunities surrounded by those we love. Can you do these things for me?

Tanya nodded her head slowly and hugged Anya’s neck. Somehow in her young heart, she knew that she would never see Anya again.

Director Anderson made eye contact with Sheila and motioned with his head toward the cars. Sheila quietly broke the spell and the tension by extending her hand and, in fluent Russian, said, Come, Tanya, your car is waiting to take you to a nice hotel, where there is a big television and all the ice cream that you can eat.

Tanya kissed Anya and proceeded toward Sheila’s open hand. Tanya looked back twice at Anya as Sheila took her small hand and led her to the car. Yuri, Lyola, and Tanya entered the sedan to enter a new world—with new identities, with new opportunities, with life in a new city. Sheila paused before entering the vehicle, stared at Anya, smiled sweetly, and nodded her head, as if to say, Don’t worry. I will take good care of them. Anya nodded her head as a return signal: I know you will.

Tanya continued to look at Anya through the back window of the car as it left the hangar. For the last time, Anya saw herself in that window—entering the gray mist of the New World.

****

Director Anderson astutely waited until the dark sedan containing Sheila’s group faded from view before approaching Paul and Anya.

Well, kids, I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is that you are safely in America, and you won’t have to ride in anymore turboprops. The bad news is that we will be traveling for several more hours this evening on the last leg of your journey. However, in another hangar, on the other side of the airport, there is a small new-fangled jet aircraft that is waiting for us—a perk for being a director, I guess. Oh well, you both have been trained to be tough. You’ll survive. What’s five more hours?

Anderson spread the tan trench coat open and said, Anya, if I may have the honors, the trench coat is for you. In the left pocket, you will find a pair of dark wrap-around sunglasses. In the right pocket are some nice black leather gloves and a black headscarf. I’m sure you have been trained in using disguises. Whenever we are visible in an open area, please cover your KGB uniform, and I need you to deposit that nice fur hat with the hammer-and-sickle crest inside the top of your pack. At some point, we are going to have to inventory the contents of that pack, but that can wait until another day. Anya, I just need your word that there is nothing in there that would embarrass either of us—no atomic bomb or anything like that?

Anya smiled and replied, No, Mr. Anderson, no nuclear bombs…or anything like that.

Paul, you’ll verify? Anderson asked.

Yes, sir, I verify it.

Good enough for me. Now, Anya, slip into your new wardrobe. Make sure your long hair is inside the coat, and the large front flaps are straight up. Anya complied while Anderson looked at her from every angle. Finally, he remarked, Looks nice! From a distance, with the sunglasses and the headscarf, all I can see are your elegant high cheekbones. You look like a model or a movie star. One last thing: until the debriefing is over, your cover names are Alexander or Alex McDonald and Juliette Markham. Your documents will be ready when we land, courtesy of our Documents Department at Langley. Any questions?

Paul hesitated but asked, Director, will Anya and I be separated for the debriefing?

Yes, I suppose so. That would be the norm.

Director, I must insist that I remain with her at all times.

Insist! Paul, those are awfully strong words for someone just coming off the boat!

Director Anderson, Anya is not just an agent of the KGB—she is my fiancée.

It takes a great deal to surprise Deputy Director of Operations James Patrick Anderson, but Paul’s last statement certainly raised his eyebrows. He rubbed the side of his face with his left hand and walked in a small circle with his head down. When he completed the circle, he remarked, Well, well, the other shoe drops! That explains a great deal about the package plus one. The plot thickens. It seems we have a great deal to talk about, but that will also have to wait until another day.

Anderson waved Marcus to his side and ordered, Marcus, contact documents and tell them ‘brother and sister, same last name: Markham.’ Let’s get rolling.

Marcus announced, Alex, Juliette, I will be riding with you in the first vehicle. The two bodyguards will be with Director Anderson. To the cars, if you please.

As they walked toward the vehicles, Anya asked, Mr. Anderson, can you tell me where we are going?

Anderson never stopped walking and replied, "Paul just told me that you are from Siberia, so you must like the countryside. We are going to a quaint little place just outside Washington, DC. At the agency, we fondly refer to it as the Farm."

3

Deputy Director Anderson, Marcus Sterling, Paul, and Anya arrived at the CIA training and research center called the Farm. Tall hedgerows and an ivy-covered gate disguised the nondescript entrance, making it look more like a Virginian horse farm than a secret facility. The gate was made of titanium and case-hardened steel. It could stop anything short of a Sherman tank, and even equipment and armaments were available, if that were to occur.

Two plainclothesmen approached the car. Hidden cameras recorded the encounter. Men with bazookas and heavy-machine guns available watched the screens in small steel-reinforced cabins just behind the hedges.

Deputy Director Anderson. Here are my credentials. These people are with me. Radio your watch officer. He has all the information.

It has already been verified. We have been expecting you. Please go ahead.

The car proceeded down a winding tree-lined road that had been carefully designed to promote security and cover. Even from the air, the facility was difficult to locate, and a restricted airspace was strictly enforced. Ignorance was no excuse; the Farm suffered no fools.

"Paul, Anya, here are your credentials. You are listed as Alex and Juliette Markham, brother and sister. You are to use those names and that cover during your entire debriefing period at this facility. You have been assigned a two-bedroom cabin away from the training facilities. It has a small kitchen stocked with food. Stay in the cabin unless notified. A driver and an escort will come for you. Do not take leisurely walks on the grounds. You will be arrested or worse. In some areas, they shoot trespassers on sight. I repeat—stay in the cabin.

"Juliette, I have been patient about your backpack, but this is a secure facility. When we arrive at your cabin, Marcus is going to lock that pack in a secure vault inside the cabin, which looks like a closet door. I don’t want any complaints. We will inventory the contents tomorrow, together, with or without permission—the easy way or the hard way. Cooperation is the key word in this facility. If that does not occur, things get rough.

Here is your cabin. Rest and relax, for tomorrow will be a busy day. Marcus, secure that pack as soon as you enter the doorway. If Juliette makes a fuss, call in the ‘jazz band’ and make some music. Paul, stay out of it, or prepare to have a trombone in your teeth. Welcome to a brave new world.

After Marcus sealed her pack into the vault closet, he said, See you tomorrow. Good luck.

Anya, alias Juliette, sat on the sofa and stared at the empty fireplace as she heard the car pull away down the gravel drive. Paul, now Alex, ever the planner, was taking inventory of the food in the kitchen.

Anya continued to stare at the fireplace. It seemed to symbolize how she felt: cold, empty, worthless without fuel. Her heart had no wood left, just gray ashes. She loved Paul, but she felt as if she were on the dark side of the moon: Why was she here at this secret facility? Why not debrief in a CIA safe house or a secure apartment? What would tomorrow be like? Director Anderson’s tone was becoming more authoritative. The good ole’ country-boy routine was fading away. What was he really like, and what methods would he use to gain his cooperation?

Paul came from the kitchen and sat beside her. He said, I have a teakettle on the stove. There is a stack of firewood on the back porch. Why don’t we light a fire and have some warmth in here? I’ll get some wood.

As Paul walked to the back of the cabin, Anya continued to look at the empty fireplace and wondered if in her mind, body and soul—in this country—would she ever truly feel warm again?

****

At exactly eight o’clock the next morning, Marcus arrived with a car and driver at the cabin. He politely knocked on the door and waited for an invitation to enter. Upon unlocking the vault, he remarked, Alex, Juliette, it is time for your debriefing. Juliette, if you will retrieve your pack, we will lock it in the trunk of the car and proceed. Deputy Director Anderson is waiting.

After several curves and intersections, the car stopped in front of a rectangular sterile-looking building with a series of antennas on its roof. Anya looked to her left and saw two well-armed men with trained dogs patrolling a tall electrified fence completely hidden by hedgerows. Between the hedge and the fence was a space, where Anya saw slight impressions on the ground. Because of her training, she recognized them as land mines. She determined that these people took security seriously.

Glancing at the sun, Anya calculated that they must be on the outskirts of the compound, far away from the main training facilities; once again, excellent security to keep unauthorized eyes where they belonged.

Marcus opened the door to a spacious room with a long table and only three chairs: two on one side of the table, one on the other side. Director Anderson sat in the single chair with his eyes closed, listening to classical music coming from a hidden speaker.

Excuse me for not standing to greet you, but I was enthralled with this refrain, one of my favorites. Juliette, if you will place that pack at the end of the table, we will inventory the contents in a moment. Marcus, thank you. Please wait outside.

As she placed the pack on the table, Anya decided to enter the fray by retorting, "Music to calm the savage beast, Mr. Anderson. Dvorak’s New World Symphony. Nice touch."

Anderson smiled; he liked a keen adversary. He replied, Since you are new to the New World, I thought it appropriate. Much better than Marcus’s jazz band, don’t you think?

Truthfully, Mr. Anderson, I have never cared for American jazz. I prefer Shostakovich, but Dvorak will do.

Anderson lost his smile and stated, Truth is all we ask for today. Please remember that.

Round one was over. The score: zero to zero. Anderson motioned for Paul and Anya to be seated. Round two was about to begin.

****

Director Anderson turned down the music and resumed, "I hope you are both refreshed from your journey overseas. Today, I’m afraid, will be a rather long day. A few ground rules: Whenever there are just the three of us, out of respect, I will use your proper names, but around anyone else, you are Alex and Juliette, brother and sister. Only Marcus and Sheila know your real names. I want to keep it that way.

This morning, I will just spend some time getting to know you, Anya, and to determine how the three of us found ourselves together in this room. This afternoon, you and Paul will meet with only two people. They are members of our Intelligence Analysis Division and our experts on Moscow Center. Normally, you would be questioned separately, but I have bent over backward to have you questioned together, honoring Paul’s request. I hope this is appreciated. Fair enough, Paul?

Fair enough, Director. Thank you for your extra effort and courtesy, Paul replied.

Anya looked intensely at Anderson. She estimated that his courtesy was to make her more relaxed with Paul being present and, thus, less guarded in her answers. She was beginning to get a feel for how this director’s mind worked. He was not the good ole’ Southern boy he pretended to be. She determined that he would be nice, until he decided not to be nice. He did not claw his way to becoming the deputy director of Operations for the CIA by being courteous.

First things first, I’m sure you are both wondering why we are debriefing you at a top-secret facility, especially since Anya is a foreign agent. A simple safe house would be the norm. Frankly, Marcus’s flash signal that plus one was a KGB officer attached to the Intelligence Operations Division in Moscow Center caught us off guard, with little time to arrange personnel and security in a matter of hours. Also our Moscow Center specialists were already at this facility. It was easier to bring you to the mountain than bring the mountain to you, so to speak.

Paul interjected, Director, I would have provided more information, but Anya only decided to come at the last moment, and radio silence was imperative in order to escape. I am sorry for the surprise.

No need to apologize, Paul. I’ll accept a KGB officer from Moscow Center any day of the week and twice on Sunday. We just had to scramble. Another reason for being here is that we have lost two important defectors. I say lost, meaning killed, right under our noses. We’re sure they were KGB hits.

Anderson let the words sink in while he stood and stared at Anya’s pack. Anya looked up at him and said, They have a slogan: ‘The KGB never forgets.’

Yes, Anya, and neither do we, but we try to learn from our mistakes.

Paul asked, How did it happen, Director? Can you talk about it?

"I can’t say much, but one headstrong defector felt confined, and he just had to take a walk and be close to nature. He found nature all right, lying on the ground with a sniper’s bullet in the side of his head.

The second victim decided to disregard security procedures and started using his car and spending money too freely in public places. He died in a car bomb at Chicago. We colored the story to make it appear as if it were a mob hit for unpaid gambling debts, which he had. We’re certain it was the KGB, just to make examples of the two, to deter others with similar desires. Suit yourselves, but I would take our security measures seriously. Okay, Anya, today is the day. Open the pack. Let’s see what you have in there.

****

Anya opened the top of the brown weathered backpack and began placing the remnants of her past onto the table: all she owned, all she treasured, all with its own story to tell.

Anderson stared at the items and said, Anya, I know this seems like an invasion of your privacy and your past, but it has to be done. This is a secure facility, and I have already bent the rules. Out of respect, I won’t touch a thing. You just show me. Fair enough?

Fair enough, Mr. Anderson. I am used to powerful people taking things away from me. They took my home, my lands, my youth, and my dreams. I am hoping that you will not steal my memories and my future.

Paul added, Thank you, Director, for being patient. Her entire world is lying on that table. We appreciate your consideration.

All right, Anya, you have my full attention. Briefly describe each item and make sure I can see it, to protect all three of us. Let’s start with that Bible.

It was my mother’s. Previously, it was my grandmother’s, and it became mine when my mother, Sonya, died in a Siberian blizzard.

Looks harmless enough. What’s the story on the wooden figure of a tiger about to attack?

A man at the orphanage, Sergei, carved this for me. He knew my past and gave it to me as a Christmas present.

So far, so good. What’s wrapped in that oiled canvas?

Anya unwrapped the canvas and displayed a dismantled rifle and two cartons of ammunition.

Anderson raised his eyebrows and exclaimed, Whoa, hold the phone! It looks like an old single-shot rifle. Security would have raging ulcers if they knew this was in here. Give me the details.

The rifle has been handed down for generations in the Ruslanov family. It was my father’s. He was a hunter in Siberia. It provided us a living. Now it is my legacy and all that I have in which to remember him.

Anderson rubbed his hand over his thinning chestnut-gray hair and replied, Okay, for now just keep it dismantled. Maybe we can call it an heirloom. What’s in the large canvas?

Anya slowly unwrapped the square canvas to reveal a huge Siberian tiger skin. Anderson shook his head and asked, Where did this come from?

From a tiger, Mr. Anderson, came her curt reply.

Don’t get cute with me, Anya! Help me to help you! What’s this all about?

This tiger killed my father. I killed the tiger with his single-shot rifle. My mother froze to death in a blizzard that same night, looking for us. I made a travois of the skin and carried my parents on it to our home. I almost died in the process. I have four tiger-claw scars on my side to prove it. Somehow I survived.

Anderson could not stop looking at the tiger skin. He shook his head and replied, You mean to tell me that you killed a tiger and became an orphan all in the same day during a blizzard? How old were you?

"I was twelve years old. I spent the