Alaska Republik-ARC by Stoney Compton Page B

obviously don’t know you very well.”
    Wing grinned but her tone bore an edge. “And you’re not trying to manipulate us?”
    “No, Colonel Grigorievich, I’m not. I might try that with your government, but not with the two of you.”
    “Thanks, Benny,” Grisha said. “We appreciate that. Now get back to your command.”

19
    Tim McDaniel’s odinochka
    Although feeling the room was far too small for all the people jammed into it, Cassidy pulled the door shut behind him and stood quietly, assessing the scene.
    Timothy McDaniel’s odinochka , situated three miles outside Chistochina on the edge of the Saint Elias Mountain Range, occupied a prosperous location. The twenty-meter-by-twenty-meter building was sectioned off from the entrance by two long counters. One served as a bar, now thick with loud inebriates.
    The second counter served for dry goods and other merchandise and was populated by two patient Indian women who waited for the proprietor’s attention. A pall of tobacco smoke wreathed the heads of those who stood. Cassidy didn’t like the stink. Never had.
    Stale beer, unwashed bodies, and the sharp bite of cheap whiskey also mingled to overwhelm his nose.
    “Yukon Cassidy? We haven’t seen you around here for at least a year!” Cristina Petitesse seemed ageless. He remembered she had looked this wrinkled and jaded ten years ago.
    He had never seen her inhale her trademark Russian cigarette. It was as if her lungs filled through her nicotine-stained fingers. She blew out a cloud of acrid smoke.
    “What can I do for you?”
    “Petrol for my utility, a mug of beer, and some answers.” He noticed the drop in conversation around him as more of the denizens quieted to hear the stranger’s words.
    “Petrol is six coppers a liter, and four coppers for the beer,” she said, waiting for payment.
    He slapped money on the bar. “And how much for the answers?”
    “That all depends on the questions.” She turned and pulled a tap handle over a smudged mug. She set it on the bar as if making an offering, but the four coppers disappeared before his hand touched glass.
    “Looking for a man called Riordan, Major Tim Riordan.”
    He drank off half the beer without examining the mug.
    Cristina frowned at the name, but Cassidy recognized her I’m thinking about it look and waited. Her eyes returned to his.
    “Never heard of him. Is he in this area?”
    “He’s somewhere in Russian Amerika, that’s all I know.”
    “Well, for once you know more about the situation than I do. No charge. I’ll have Boris top off your utility.”
    She turned away and the ambient conversation resumed its previous volume. Someone nudged his left elbow. He looked down at a small, heavily bearded man. No, small didn’t come close. This person stood barely more than a meter and a quarter.
    “Who are you?”
    “Someone you need to know!” The surprisingly deep voice held no question, only assertion. “You’ve got one chance in four to get out of this room alive.”
    “Wha—”
    “And one chance in six to get back through the gate before you bleed to death, no matter how fast you drive.”
    Cassidy glanced around. Nobody paid them the slightest heed. He tried not to grin as he lowered his gaze to the man. “Nobody seems to give a damn whether I’m here or not.”
    “Just for drill, shut up and listen. Two of Riordan’s men are in this room. They’ll want to know why you’re looking for their boss. If it’s not to give him, and them, a job, it means you’re one of the growing throng who wish to see that bastard Irishman dead. So, which is it?”
    Cassidy surreptitiously glanced around again.
    Still no detectable interest .
    He looked back to his informant, no longer feeling like smiling.
    “So which ones are they?”
    “The first one will remain unknown for the moment. I’m the second one.”
    Cassidy grinned. “You’re looking for another job, aren’t you?”
    The beard moved and Cassidy saw a flash of