Siberian Red

take part in the Ghost Dance. The prophesy spread quickly from tribe to tribe. Wearing buckskin clothes decorated with the most powerful symbols of their tribe, the dancers assured themselves that even bullets could not penetrate their sacred ghost shirts. But when, in the winter of 1899, soldiers of the 7th Cavalry unleashed their Gatling guns upon the Navajo at a place called Wounded Knee, the dead fell in heaps upon the frozen ground.
    Pekkala wondered if Kolchak had become, for the last remaining men he had abandoned in this camp, an illusion which would lead them to their deaths‚ as it already had done‚ Pekkala now felt certain‚ with the murdered Captain Ryabov.
    *
     
    The next day, at noon, Pekkala made his way across the compound, struggling under the weight of soup rations as he carried them up to the mine.
    Arriving at the entrance, he called into the dark and waited.
    A cold and musty breeze blew past him from the gullet of the mine, smelling of metal, dirt and sweat.
    Eventually, he heard footsteps. Then a man appeared out of the shadows, a pickaxe slung on his shoulder. It was Lavrenov.
    ‘Put down those buckets,’ he said, ‘and follow me.’
    ‘In there?’ Pekkala hesitated. ‘Why?’
    ‘You ask a lot of questions, Inspector; too many, as far as I’m concerned. Now some of them are going to be answered.’
    With his eyes on the huge, arcing blade of the pickaxe, and certain, by now, that Lavrenov was unwilling to take no for an answer, Pekkala placed the soup cans beside the wall of the tunnel and followed him into the darkness. He felt like an insect which had strayed into a spider’s lair.
    The entrance to the mine was lit by kerosene lamps, but further in, the light source came from bulbs strung like Christmas lights along a sagging electrical cable.
    The deeper they travelled into the mine, the narrower the tunnel became. The dirt floor angled downwards into the earth, spliced with puddles and tiny streams that glimmered eerily when their footsteps broke the surface.
    Pekkala struggled to understand why the Comitati would bring him to this place. What strange rituals, he wondered, do these men perform down in the bowels of the earth?
    In spite of the cold, Pekkala began to sweat. His breathing grew shallow and fast. He thought of the mountain of rock above him. Unable to shake from his head the thought of it all collapsing on top of him, he stopped and lurched against the wall, as if the ground had suddenly shifted.
    Lavrenov went on a few paces‚ then halted. ‘What is the matter with you?’
    ‘Give me a second.’ Claustrophobia swirled inside Pekkala’s brain. He felt as if he were choking.
    ‘Keep going,’ ordered Lavrenov.
    They passed intersections in the tunnel system, from which new passageways branched off at angles, some climbing and some descending. Handcarts filled with chalky slabs of radium ore stood parked against the walls. In the distance Pekkala could hear the sound of rusty wheels turning and the clink of metal on stone. Now and then he caught a glimpse of silhouettes, as men moved about in the shadows.
    They reached a place where the tunnel was blocked by wooden pallets and metal-reinforced buttresses which propped up the ceiling.
    Lavrenov twisted his body around the barricade of pallets and slithered into the darkness. ‘This way!’ his voice hissed out of the black.
    ‘Why is the passage blocked?’
    ‘Last month, this tunnel caved in. It leads to the part of the mine where they dig out Siberian Red.’
    ‘What’s to stop the tunnel from caving in again?’
    ‘Nothing.’
    Forcing himself onward, Pekkala angled past the crooked beams.
    Just ahead the tunnel turned sharply to the right. As soon as they rounded the corner, Pekkala noticed a faint glow, which seemed to be coming out of the wall.
    Suddenly, Pekkala realised why Lavrenov had brought him here. They must have dug a way out, he told himself. Even if it took years, these men are stubborn enough to have done it.
    Lavrenov came to a halt and Pekkala found himself opposite a small opening which led into a naturally formed cave. The space inside was large, more than twice the height of a man, and filled with ancient pillars formed out of sediment drips coming down from the ceiling. Pillowed hummocks of stone bristled with crystals of Siberian Red. Some were short and sharp‚ like barnacles on the hull of a shipwreck. Others resembled bouquets of glass flowers. All of them were tinted the