August 1971

 

Two weeks after the briefing, with all their permitted belongings crammed into three backpacks, Alex drove them down close to the border between Canada and Minnesota. Only the vast boundary waters separated the two nations. They had been well briefed. Alex’s role ended when he dropped them off beside a dark green Ford pickup truck towing a large canoe.

As soon as Georgi got their backpacks out of the trunk, Alex made a three-point turn and was gone. When he put the backpacks in the bed of the truck, Georgi noticed a man waiting there with his back against the cab.

The driver gave them no name and did not want to talk beyond giving them instructions. “In less than an hour, I will put the canoe in the water. You will put your backpacks in the canoe. My friend in the back will paddle the canoe. Do exactly what he says when he says it. He knows these waters. As the crow flies you will have only about six miles to your landing point across the border, but it will take several hours to Black Bay and another hour or so until you meet me again on Route 53 in the Rabetogama State Forest. I am going to give you a compass in case you need to be on foot after getting out of the canoe. When you reach the hard surface road, that will be Route 53. Wait on the edge of the forest until you hear my horn. I have legitimate papers to cross the border in this vehicle. Then come out quickly and get in the truck. I will drive you to the city of St. Cloud in Minnesota. Then I will leave and you will never see me again.” Georgi and Marie nodded.

The young man seated Georgi in the front and Marie in the center of the canoe. He told Marie to sit still and Georgi to paddle the canoe. “And no talking because there are park rangers as well as customs and immigration boats patrolling.”

He pushed off and nimbly jumped into the back. Georgi didn’t even think he got his foot wet. The sun had gone down and the light was fading fast. Their canoeist showed no hesitation. Only once he whispered for Georgi to stop paddling and they drifted silently for a number of minutes. Finally, Georgi heard slight engine sounds in the darkness ahead of them.

They both had passports and proper papers to use until they got to St. Cloud. Once there, Georgi had been told to destroy those papers and to use the second set in the waterproof packet in his backpack. From there on security would be his concern and he could expect no help.

After three hours of steady paddling, Georgi was told to stop paddling, and get ready to jump out and beach the canoe. “We all need to stretch and empty bladders. This small island never had any campers. You can talk in low tones and this is your last chance to ask any questions about meeting with the pickup truck on Route 53. It’s taking at least three or four hours longer because I want our arrival in Black Bay to look like we are coming from the American side.”

“It is so beautiful and quiet,” Marie said. “The water is clearer than I have ever seen. And what is that mournful sound?”

The transporter laughed softly. “That is a loon.”

Marie looked puzzled. “What is a loon?”

“It’s duck-like waterfowl that can be seen in the Boundary Waters. They are very territorial. Usually only one to a lake. Okay folks, let’s move on. I want to be in Black Bay just after first light. If you need a drink you can drink right out of the lake.”

While he was paddling Georgi thought, So far so good. Marie hasn’t even touched her scotch flask all day. The first time in months. I hope she can stop drinking. The odds are against us already. If I have to deal with her drinking, we won’t have a chance. She doesn’t know yet what’s in store for us.

 I’ll be glad to drop this dumb name. I don’t feel like a Georgi. Changing names frequently is hard psychologically, especially if the name doesn’t sit right. I can’t wait to take my old family name permanently as soon as we make a clean break. Thank God for Nana and her efforts to keep the Brandon name alive. I wish I had picture of my grandfather. He was a great warrior and my grandmother was incredibly tough. They must have made a formidable couple. I love the stories she told me about life in the Siberian tundra in the 1920s. It is really strange that the KGB is sending me first to the city my grandfather lived in before WWI. I’m sure some trace of the Brandons is still there. Probably even some gravesites.

Georgi’s musing was interrupted as the canoe reached the shore and they jumped out with their packs, leaving the canoeist behind without a word. The border crossing had gone just as the KGB planned. It was only a short hike from the canoe beaching to Route 53. Marie was strong and carried her share of the load. The driver was there waiting for them but never said a word on the trip to St. Cloud. On the outskirts of the city, he pulled up next to a dark green Ford station wagon with Illinois license plates and gave Georgi the keys. When they loaded their backpacks in the wagon, he drove off.

All of Barry Kelly’s novels are available in print and digital formats from Amazon, Barnes & Noble or your local bookstore. Visit www.factsandfictions.com for more by the author.