mild climate, and the company stationed there had a reputation for informality. “I’ve read that soldiers are brought in to work the seams when there’s a personnel shortage in the mines,” Leonid replied. “That was my motivation.”
“Ah, I see.” The Colonel laid the paper aside. “I spoke earlier of vigilance. What would you say to an assignment in that field?”
Leonid made no reply. In itself, his transfer was a routine army matter, involving nothing of necessary interest to “competent organs.”
“Minusinsk is in an exposed position,” Kamarovsky said into the silence. “Any infiltration must be prevented. Our vigilance not only preserves the integrity of the regiment stationed there, but also thwarts industrial espionage in the mining areas. It’s important to identify anti-Soviet elements both among the soldiers and among the local civilian population. Such elements are troublemakers and enemies of the people.”
“What form would such an assignment take?” Leonid’s eyes fell on the book Secret Front. The title took on a new meaning.
“Your rank would entitle you to live in the quarters reserved for higher-ranking officers and to eat in their mess hall. That’s an important advantage. The assignment would also entail a flexible allocation of your duty time. And of course, your special field of activity would have a positive effect on your pay.”
“I mean the practical part of my work.” Tension made Leonid sit there stock-still with his knees pressed together.
“This intelligence work requires you to select an internal staff of collaborators, whose task it is to provide you with information. You draw the necessary conclusions, write up reports, and forward them to us.”
From the day when Anna revealed to him that she was working for the state security agency, it had been clear to Leonid that, sooner or later, he’d be drawn in, too. He didn’t condemn her, but he couldn’t forgive her for not having told him sooner.
“I’m grateful for the honor of having been taken into consideration,” he said formally. “However, I find ordinary regimental service sufficiently demanding. More difficult assignments would be beyond my capabilities at this time.”
“Ah, well, we don’t want to rush into anything,” Kamarovsky replied affably. “It’s an unexpected offer. I understand that. You should give it some thought and—of course—consult with your wife.” His smile was so insolent that it infuriated Leonid.
“Thank you, Comrade Colonel. I’ll think it over,” he said. When the Colonel nodded, Leonid rose to his feet, saluted, and made an about-face.
“Lieutenant.” Leonid, heading for the door, heard the voice behind him. “You’ve forgotten your book. I shall expect your answer in a week.”
Leonid had neither spoken to Anna about this conversation nor reported to the Colonel after the week had passed. He’d simply kept silent. His transfer to Sakhalin had come through a month later in the form of marching orders passed on to him without explanation. Leonid had never again heard from Colonel Kamarovsky.
There were sounds outside, and then men entered the building. Before the knock on his door, Leonid was on his feet, clad in his weather gear and ready to go. The first man to enter his office was Staff Sergeant Likhan Chevken, the alpha male among the men and the only Nivkh. As a member of one of the indigenous peoples of Sakhalin, he couldn’t become an officer in the Red Army, but he was the person best qualified to command Leonid’s frontier troops. Chevken had served in the company the longest; he was a soldier, mechanic, sailor, and medic, all in one person. He was familiar with all of Sakhalin’s natural phenomena and spoke all the dialects of the island. Chevken was short and round; his dexterity, tenacity, and fighting spirit were not immediately apparent. At the same time, he was the personification of gentleness, the only man in Leonid’s troop who didn’t make him feel that he wasn’t entitled to lead it. “So we’re doing the security check first?” Likhan Chevken asked in a tone that implied the existence of a better solution.
“What do you suggest?” Leonid asked.
“Maybe we could work in parallel,” the Nivkh replied. “Three men can inspect the cutter while the others prepare for the salvage operation.”
Leonid didn’t act as though he first had to ponder Chevken’s suggestion; the man was always right. The captain divided his men into groups and gave the order to move out.
The men left the barracks ten at a time, bracing themselves against the wind. It looked as though they were about to stagger straight to the edge of the abyss, but in