The Lost Throne(52)
Thankfully, the effect isn’t quite as severe in May because Payne and Jones preferred darkness for border crossings. Fewer witnesses. Fewer guards. More freedom to improvise.
As they approached the Russian coast, all three watched for patrol boats. They rarely bothered local fishermen, spending most of their time searching for drug runners and warships, but occasionally, when the soldiers were bored, they stopped boats for the hell of it. Just to be safe, Payne and Jones wore waders and waterproof jackets over their normal clothes. That way if their boat was stopped, they would look as if they belonged.
Jarkko asked, “Where you want to dock? You tell Jarkko, we go there.”
Jones had never been to this part of Russia, but he had spent enough time memorizing the layout of the city to know his best options. Located in the Neva River delta, Saint Petersburg is spread over 576 square miles, including 42 river islands, 60 river branches, and 20 major canals. Known as the Venice of the North, the city of nearly five million people is connected by over 300 bridges, some of which have been standing for centuries.
The main dockyards sit to the west of the city, surrounded by factories and warehouses. Areas like those are patrolled around the clock, so Jones wanted no part of them. The same went for anything inside the city proper. Even though it was bisected by a 20-mile stretch of the Neva River, a fishing boat would look somewhat out of place. Particularly at night. The last thing he wanted was to deal with the city police before they even set foot ashore.
“Maybe you can suggest a place around here,” Jones said as he pointed to a map of the coastline. “I’m looking for a small marina, preferably something that isn’t patrolled.”
“Yes! I know good dock. It is near bar that Jarkko go.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
The Finn laughed as he changed his course. “Jarkko work hard. Jarkko get thirsty.”
“I bet you do.”
Payne overheard the conversation. “Have you always fished these waters?”
“When ice permits, I fish entire Baltic from Copenhagen to Oulu. I have since little boy. In winter, Jarkko try to stay warm. I visit Mediterranean near Spain. Ionian near Italy. Aegean near Greece. I like girls in Malta. They keep Jarkko warm.”
He unleashed a loud belly laugh, one that was contagious. Both Payne and Jones laughed as well, enjoying this portion of their trip much more than they could have imagined. If not for their mission, they would have been tempted to hire Jarkko for a week of fishing and drinking.
Payne said, “I’m guessing you use a different boat down south.”
“Last time Jarkko check, Europe is big chunk of land. Tough to drive boat through. Or has that changed? I do not have TV.”
“Nope. It’s still pretty big.”
Jarkko smiled as he guided his boat into the river channel that would take them to a private dock. “Then, yes, Jarkko have two boats. This one is old. She is rusty and smells like fish, but she never lets me down. I will keep her till she sinks.”
“And the other?”
“The other is yacht. It has no rust and smells like champagne. Pretty girls love her.”
Jones grinned at the image. “Are you serious? You really have a yacht?”
“Yes, Jarkko have yacht. She stays in Limnos. Why is this surprise?”
“Why? I didn’t know fishing paid that well.”
Jarkko laughed. “Fishing does not. But Americans do!”
As promised, Payne and Jones were put ashore on the outskirts of the city. The marina was deserted and had no surveillance. Jarkko would sleep aboard his boat until morning, then head back to the shallow waters of the Gulf. He would, at all times, stay close enough to the coast to guarantee cell phone reception. When Payne and Jones were ready to leave, they would phone him with a rendezvous point. If Jarkko didn’t hear from them within twenty-four hours, he would assume that his services were no longer needed and would return to Helsinki.
But they assured him that they would call. One way or another.
Because of the late hour of their arrival, they were unable to use most forms of public transportation—which was unfortunate, because Saint Petersburg has an extensive network of buses, trains, and streetcars. Not only did it have more streetcars than any other city in the world, it also had the deepest subway—designed to get under all the rivers and canals. But after 1 A.M., taxis were the only thing still running. So they walked to the nearest road and flagged down a yellow cab with a green light in the corner of its windshield. That meant it was available.
Jones opened the back door and asked, “Govorite li vy po angliyski?”
“Yes,” the driver answered. He spoke English.