Winter Storm by John Schettler Read Free Book Online

kind of traitorous spy for the British?”
    “That
wasn’t the Captain—not the one we left on the ship when we went ashore. That
was the man who fired that gun at you on the bridge.”
    Now
Fedorov laid out his theory, that somehow, by some strange twist, the other
Karpov, at large in Siberia, had managed to survive the hour when the ship
appeared on July 28th.”
    “I once
thought that would be impossible,” he said. “How could that man survive, as
well as the Captain still being here on the ship? You remember my saying how
stunned I was when I first saw the Chief here, and then also learned Karpov was
here as well. I think that literally drained the blood from my head, I was so
shocked by it, and that’s what caused me to keel over! From my perspective,
Karpov was long gone the last time we shifted. He was not on the ship, but I
knew he existed, at large in Siberia, and a very meddlesome presence there. He
had worked himself into a position of great power.”
    “That
doesn’t surprise me,” said Zolkin.
    “Yes,”
said Fedorov, “I even had evidence of that, and how we first learned of his
existence. You see, after that incident in 1908 on the bridge, we all thought
he had perished. Then we find he was alive in Siberia, and had positioned
himself as Admiral of the Free Siberian Air Corps.”
    “He’s a
power grubbing monster, in any form,” said Zolkin.
    “Have
you seen him since he came aboard?
    “Only
from a distance, in the dining hall. I saw that gauze on his cheek, and meant
to ask him about it, but you know how he keeps to himself when he eats.”
    “True,
well it may be that he is hiding something with that. When I saw him ashore at
Severomorsk, it was very obvious to me, knowing all I’ve told you, that this
was the Siberian Karpov, and not the Captain that shifted here with us just
days ago. He said things to us that he could not have known unless this was so.
And so the shock of that was on me again, to realize both men must have
survived that hour on July 28th.”
    “Are
you certain? Might it be that he simply remembers things, just as you do… Just
as I struggle to recall things when something suddenly hits me, like when I first
touched that bloodied bandage.”
    “No,”
said Fedorov. “I’ve spent a good long while with him since then. In fact he was
just visiting me in my cabin for a little chat. I think he was still probing to
see if I might know more than I let on. While ashore, I realized how dangerous
that would be for me, and the Admiral, bless his soul, realized it too. We both
played dumb, and I think Karpov bought our act, but he remains leery about me.
I could sense that when he spoke to me in my quarters. He’s still probing;
still suspicious. I let a good deal slip when I was trying to convince the
Admiral of what had really happened. I was afraid I may have said something to
compromise my real identity.”
    “Your
real identity? What do you mean by that?”
    “I mean
that I am not the same man who left Severomorsk on this ship a few days ago
either, Doctor. I know this to the depth of my bones. I sometimes bite my
fingernails when I am thinking or worried about something. Before that last
shift, we were in battle, and things on the ship were very serious, very
dangerous. Look…” He held out an index finger and Zolkin could see how the nail
was bitten down so far that the fingertip had bled.
    “I
remember doing that before… But in the Atlantic, right before that final shift.
Then I found myself here on this ship, but look at that finger. It may seem an
insignificant testimony to what I am saying now, but I know it to be true, just
like everything else I’ve said. I am the man who was at sea in the Atlantic, in
May of 1941 when we made that final shift. I am not simply Fedorov, remembering
things I once lived through. I’m the man who lived out each and every one of
those moments, and up on the bridge, Karpov is the same. That man wasn’t with
us when we sailed