Chapter 2
Igor and Boris
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“THE SUN IS GOING DOWN,” Igor said. “It’ll make it easier to move about unnoticed.” After briefly fingering the bruise on his temple, he raked his fingers through his barely-there crewcut.
“I don’t understand why you’re so worried,” Boris said. “We got out of our Soviet uniforms. In these civilian, and might I add ugly, clothing, no one would ever suspect we’re communist agents.”
Igor glared at him. “And you don’t think our Russian accents might tip them off?” But he grew concerned with the haircut that was a dead giveaway. They’d neglected to Americanize their hair. “Tensions between our countries are heightened. The Cold War had started, we must be inconspicuous.”
Boris shrugged.
“Keep moving,” Igor said as he walked on. “We need to find a vehicle before dark.”
Keeping stride with Igor, Boris looked around. “What kind of deserted hell hole did we land in?”
“Land?” Igor said, shooting him another glare. “We crashed. There was no landing that plane. You crashed it.”
“Fine. Crash... land... whatever. Where the hell are we, because this sure as hell doesn’t look like South America.”
“How the hell would you know? You’ve never set foot outside Russia.”
Boris had no reply.
“Judging by the latitude we’d reached just before we began to have trouble, we’re probably somewhere in North America.”
“Canada? Oh, hell. Please tell me that we’re not in Canada. I hear the winters are even worse than back home.”
“Most likely the United States,” Igor said.
Boris slammed the palm of his hand against his forehead. “Even worse. What state, you think? Texas? New York?”
As they walked on, Igor pointed to a street sign. “There’s your answer right there. San Diego that way and Los Angeles that way.”
“What does that mean?”
“We’re in California. We’re in sunny California.”
Unimpressed, Boris pulled a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his camel hair blazer. “Well, at least I still have my smokes. Beside the two of us, this is the most important thing to have survived that plane crash.”
“Ha,” Igor snarled. “That crash was nothing. We’ve survived far worse these past months.”
“These damned Americans,” Boris said as he lit a cigarette. “So arrogant. They say the war is over. They think they’re such heroes. Damned Yankee bastards. They may have helped win the war, but now we are a Super Power, too. And we will spread communism around the world, like we did with China.”
“Yes,” Igor said. “Our Soviet Marxist-Leninist ideology and its model of a one-party dictatorship state formed the initial theoretical basis for the Chinese Communist Party. And, Boris, the Communist International, our group, played a direct role in the formation of the CCP in 1921.”
“We have our puppets. Now we shall do the same by infiltrating America,” Boris muttered softly.
“America and all its freedoms! Bah,” Igor spat. “I prefer letting our state decide for everyone. Who needs private ownership? The state owns everything.”
“But, seriously,” Boris said, puffing on his cigarette. “What do we do if someone suspects anything? Like you said, our accent. I can’t fake an American accent. Damn. If the American authorities catch us, we’re just as good as dead.”
“First off, I doubt any American would suspect that we’re Russian agents. Secondly, if they do suspect us, we’ll make sure they don’t live to tell anyone about their little discovery.”
They walked on in silence for a while, each lost in their thoughts. Boris finished his cigarette and quickly lit another.
“Hurry up and put that out,” Igor ordered.
“Why? Are you my mother now?”
“It’s going to be dark soon, in case you haven’t noticed. The glow of your cigarette will be visible.”
Boris hurried through the cigarette then tossed it. “Getting a little paranoid, no?”
“Shut up and walk.”
A slight crescent moon rose to offer minimal light while the setting sun lit the path, they were on with a warm glow.
Caught up in thoughts of food and shelter, Igor barely noticed the stark beauty of his surroundings.
With the last rays of the sun, he glanced at the endless orchards that spread far and wide until they reached the bald mountains of red rock in the distance.
“How much longer?” Boris said, finally breaking the silence. “I don’t even know what we’re looking for.”
“Shelter,” Igor reminded him. “We need to find a safe place to hide. Then and only then can we slip out and go looking for that buried gold.”
Boris let out a sardonic chuckle. “Yes, the gold those two Nazi soldiers we caught spoke about. They said Adolf Hitler had buried all the gold they’ve confiscated. How much do you think is there? Millions?”
“Plenty,” Igor said. “The two Nazis said they stole as much gold, jewels, and art when they plowed through Poland... not to mention France. Not to mention all the gold rings that were taken from the fingers of...”
“Anyone who opposed them,” they both shouted.
“Yes,” Igor said with a smirk. “They got a lot of nice artwork out of those who didn’t get on board with the regime.”
“But waiting could take a long time,” Boris cut in. “Too long. I say we go straight for the gold, the jewels, the art... all of it. We cross over to South America and set up a nice cushy life with a senorita.”
“Yeah, right,” Igor said with disgust. “You, with a senorita. Right.”
“Just because you want to live alone with your ego, doesn’t mean that I have to.”
“Just shut up already. In case you’ve forgotten, they’ve captured our leader Vladimir Spitin, pupil to Grigorii Naumovich Voitinsky, the Soviet agent who successfully arrived into China, met with their intellectual leaders, and helped organize the initial communist groups in Shanghai and Beijing.
They captured him before he could spread our propaganda, and now there’s a price on our heads.
The American government is now aware we are trying to overthrow America and turn it into one of our communist states. ”
“It used to be so easy,” Boris said. “Just show up and rile up a crowd at these youth events. We can do more by being loud and in front of people.”
Igor snickered. “For the last time, we have to lay low until this all blows over.” Igor looked out at the sparse lights in the distance. “I think we’re finally reaching some sort of civilization.”
As they approached the small town, Boris read the sign on the side of the road. “Welcome to Clementine.”
They entered the town. Quiet, with few people walking about, the atmosphere was serene and peaceful... hopeful even.
“I hate it already,” Boris snarled beneath his breath.
“Look for any opportunity for food or money,” Igor said. “But no matter what you do, don’t speak to anyone.”
Boris nodded as they walked past the post office, bank and general store. After only a few more buildings, including a church and tavern, the small town gave way to more farmland.
“We’re back in no man’s land,” Boris said. “We need to go back.”
“Not really,” Igor said as he spotted a lone house in the distance, a faint light on in the upstairs window. “Look at that house over there. There’s no other house within shouting distance.”
“And there’s a vehicle in the drive,” Boris added. “Not the sort of thing that I would want to drive back home, but it will suit our needs fine for now.”
A brand new 1954 Chevrolet sat in the drive.
“Where in the world did they learn to make cars?” Boris whined as they neared the car. “Look at that thing.”
“Never mind that,” Igor said as he walked up to the driver side and tried the door. It popped open. “Silly Americans. So trusting. He got in and tried to hotwire it.
“Shoot!” Boris cried out suddenly as he tried to slide into the car next to Igor.
“What the hell are you doing? Get out of here.” Igor then looked up to see a large black dog running up to them. “Damn it.”
As the animal approached it began to bark viciously.
“Shut that damned thing up,” Igor ordered as he pushed Boris out of the car.
“How the hell do you want me to do that?”
The dog reached the door and continued to bark.
“Get out of the way,” Igor said as he pushed Boris out of the way. “What’s the matter, doggie. Come on, nice doggie.”
The dog quieted down and tentatively approached Igor. The moment the animal was within reach, Igor grabbed it and swiftly broke its neck. “There. He won’t be barking again any time soon.”
“Hey! What’s going on out here?” an older man cried out as he stepped out on the front porch of the house. Wearing only an undershirt and boxers, the man aimed a shotgun at the thieving pair.
“Your dog attacked us, sir,” Igor said with his best attempt at an American accent.
“Where you boys from?” The older man stepped down from the porch and approached his car. Only when he came around the front bumper did he see his dead dog on the ground. “Coach! You killed Coach! Why the...”
Igor took two big steps toward the old man and slammed his fist as hard as he could into the older man’s face, sending him falling back. He landed hard and lost hold of his shotgun.
“You boys should...” the old man said as he tried to get up.
Boris quickly grabbed the shotgun, pointed it at the old man’s head and fired. “Never try to tell a a Bolshevik what he should or shouldn’t do.”
“Damn it, Boris,” Igor said. “Now you’ve gone and alerted the nearby neighbors. Hurry. We’ll go inside and I’ll try to grab some food. You try to find the car keys so that we can leave this place before the neighbors arrive.”
Igor rushed into the empty house and headed straight for the kitchen. He opened one cupboard door after another, finding dishes, glasses, coffee cups and more dishes. “Damn American. Where do you put your food?”
Then he turned to the refrigerator, something that few households had in Russia. He opened the door. Beer was the first thing he saw. He turned to spit on the floor. “American beer,” he growled with disdain. But he reached in for a platter of sliced roast beef.
“Found the car keys,” Boris called from the front hall.