Chapter 13
Arrangements had been made for Eugene to board a fishing vessel docked in the Avacha Bay, a Pacific Ocean Bay on the southwestern coast of Kamchatka Peninsula in the port city Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky.
More than five hundred miles needed to be traversed to reach the Avacha Bay from the underground laboratory that burned outside Talovka, Kamchatka.
A plane ride would have been the quickest and safest method of travel for Eugene, but driving posed the least questions.
Instead, Eugene traveled in his rugged all-terrain vehicle. His Hummer H1 Alpha negotiated the hostile landscape with little effort. Torrents of heavy snow pelted the windshield and winds whipped and gusted up to thirty-five miles per hour throughout much of the trip.
Unpaved roads crusted with black ice and covered in snow failed to provide sufficient traction. Eugene, responding to the inhospitable conditions, employed his superior genetic attributes, his enhanced vision, quick reflexes and instinct to guide him.
Requiring infrequent rest stops, Eugene closed the vast distance between Talovka and the Avacha Bay which featured fierce blizzard conditions in less than ten hours. Later than originally planned, he arrived at Petropavlovsk Harbor just before midnight.
Eugene searched for the dock where he was to meet a man named Sasha Titov, a Pacific salmon fisher headed to the rugged coastline of the Aleutian Islands. Eugene had never met Titov. Dr. Terzini had made the arrangements prior to his departure. He was to meet the mystery fisherman and his small crew at a numbered slip where the craft was moored.
Parking his Hummer in a designated space, Eugene walked out on to the pier where half a dozen ships were birthed.
As he strode along the jetty, the only sound he heard was his own footsteps on the sturdy structure below. All else was still and silent. Darkness enveloped the wharf, hushed it. Each ship loomed lightless, ensconced in the thick, velvety shadows. Eugene wondered whether the captain and his crew had left without him as his arrival was several hours behind schedule.
Checking the number on the paper Terzini had given him, Eugene moved toward the corresponding slip. He was relieved to find that a ship still awaited him.
As he looked to its bow, a burly, bearded man lumbered toward him. Cloaked by a navy woolen hat and matching parka, Eugene presumed the robust man to be Sasha Titov.
Removing his glove and thrusting a beefy hand at Eugene, Sasha Titov moved with a pace that betrayed his heft. He spoke Russian, one of many languages Eugene was fluent in as he rapidly approached. Eugene clasped the brawny fisherman’s hand in his. Sasha Titov smiled a genuine, affable smile.
Titov’s proximity enabled Eugene to inspect his appearance closely.
He was surprised to see that nothing about Titov was weathered. His features were not hardened like other fisherman but, rather, softened. His plump, pink cheeks were round and gave the appearance of a perpetual smile. His abundant facial hair, all a reddish brown, curved and arched. Beneath his cheeks sat an auburn beard filled with hairs that hooked and bowed, swirling into an unexpectedly neat arrangement. The curved line of his nose ended with a bulbous formation. Bushy eyebrows curled toward vibrant blue eyes fringed by eyelashes that arched up and outward. His every attribute was rounded, merry. Eugene could not deny how the sum of his features lent him the appearance of a brunet Santa Claus.
In keeping with his Santa Claus facial composition, Sasha Titov’s body was rounded as well. His pudgy build was barely contained by his winter coat. His belly strained and pressed against the zippered material and threatened to separate the teeth that interlocked to hold it closed.
Pumping Eugene’s hand, Titov said, “I am so pleased to meet you. I saw headlights in the lot and figured it must be you.” Titov laughed, a deep bass timber resonated in his throat. “After all, who else would be traipsing around this place in the middle of the night?”
“I’m sorry for holding you up. The weather was far more treacherous than I had expected. Please accept my apology,” Eugene offered, curiously held by the stranger’s rotund and jolly manifestation.
“That’s not necessary,” Titov said pumping Eugene’s hand.
“Thank you for being so understanding,” Eugene said as he reciprocated the enthusiastic handshake.
“Wow, you’re a big man, and strong, too. I was told you were tall but I never guessed you would be so big,” Titov continued, smiling broadly.
“So I’ve been told,” Eugene responded with a half-smile. It was rare for anyone to merely comment on his size. He awaited further remarks on the subject.
“What is your name, my big friend?” Sasha inquired
“Eugene. And you are?”
“Sasha. Sasha Titov.”
“Nice to meet you.”
To Eugene’s astonishment, he did not pursue the typical course of conversation concerning his appearance, or more specifically, his build. During the few instances he encountered a member of the general populace, the focus centered on his looks.
Sasha Titov did not.
If Titov was repelled by Eugene, or distracted by the dark sunglasses he wore at night, he did not appear as such. Instead he gave the impression of immediate acceptance, welcoming him as a shipmate. Such courtesy perplexed Eugene.
As they ambled along the length of the ship, Titov engaged Eugene in light conversation.
“I hope our accommodations will be suitable. The cabins are a quite small,” Titov rambled.
Eugene’s mind struggled to understand how a common human being could be interested in the comfort of another, least of all his comfort. After all, he had long-considered human beings the most selfish of creatures. Titov’s concern for his lodging implied generosity, kindness. Eugene found himself calmed by his new acquaintance’s bighearted attitude. Such calm confused him. He sought to redirect the conversation.
“I am sure the cabins will be just fine. By the way, where is your crew, Mr. Titov?” Eugene asked. “I don’t see anyone on deck.”
Eugene assumed that more people would be present. To his knowledge, when a ship was departing for a long journey such as the one they were embarking on, there would be a buzz about the boat-longshoremen loading it with supplies, families seeing their kin off-yet Eugene observed that no one lingered about the pier. The deck was deserted.
“Please, call me Sasha,” Titov appealed before adding, “I told my men to get a few hours of sleep before we sail, that I would wait for you alone.”
Eugene considered the plump and perpetually smiling man’s explanation for the deserted deck and deemed it commendable. Sasha Titov appeared to be truly concerned with the welfare of others, a fact that puzzled Eugene.
“Again, I’m sorry for being late. I’ll apologize to your men when they wake,” Eugene found himself saying without prior thought.
“Don’t trouble yourself. The weather is not your fault. They were happy to rest before our journey.”
“I look forward to meeting them. How many men are there?”
“We have one member who does most of the cooking,” Titov began. “We think of him as our chef, and then there are three other crew members. Including me, there are five members total. They’re all good men. We’re like a family.”
Titov spoke of his crew warmly, protectively. It was the first affectionate words Eugene had heard a human being speak of people not bound to them by blood.
Sasha Titov was not related to any of his fellow fishermen, yet he felt a kinship with them that surpassed that of familial constraints. He embraced outsiders. Such a notion intrigued Eugene.
“I hope I can be helpful. I am not a fisherman, though. I’ll likely be most helpful to you and your men by just staying out of the way.”
“Nonsense! A strapping man like you will be very useful.” Sasha Titov said walking toward the boarding ladder of the ship. “Let’s get off this dock and onto the ship.”
“Sounds good,” Eugene said as proceeded up the ladder of the small trawler.
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The modest craft was painted a simple white with the name Titov painted in black at the bow. Large fishing nets, used to ensnare the intended catch, occupied either side of the boat. The ship was meticulously maintained but old.
Eugene assumed that the portly fisherman could likely afford a better vessel. Yet much to his puzzlement, Titov opted to retain his humble ship. Such humility was not in keeping with Eugene’s perception of the human species. He was baffled, but not displeased.
“Let me release the bow line from the berth,” Titov declared as he released the stern line and bow line from the quay.
The vessel was adrift.
“I will give you a tour of the ship and make introductions as we cruise. Okay?”
“You’re the captain,” Eugene conceded.
Titov embarked. Standing on deck, Sasha Titov took a deep breath. “Ahh! There is nothing like filling your lungs with good sea air, huh?”
“No, there’s nothing like it,” Eugene agreed and mimicked Sasha’s action of profound inhalation and exhalation though he loathed the smell of decaying marine life and presumed only a human could enjoy such a foul stench.
The vessel groaned and complained as it drifted beyond its slip farther out into the bay. Both men stared reverently into the blackened abyss.
Titov broke their pensive silence by offering, “Come. Let me show you the state-of-the-art bridge.”
Eugene allowed himself to be ushered by Sasha Titov to the ultramodern compartment that functioned as the control room of the ship. Various sophisticated nautical electronic devices occupied the console.
“Wow,” Eugene marveled as he picked up a small rectangular object. “What is all this stuff?”
Proudly, Titov began describing its purpose.
“This is a Garmin GPSMAP 5215 Chart Plotter,” he began. “It features a highly detailed Blue Chart g2 marine preloaded cartography to the Alaskan shoreline. It also has a worldwide base map with high-quality satellite images instead of more traditional maps.”
Next, Eugene retrieved a bulky object resembling a 1980s car phone. “This looks like the original model for the cell phone,” he joked.
Sasha Titov laughed a jovial, full-bodied expression. “No, no, not an early cell-phone design. This is actually an Inmarsat Isat Phone Pro, a global handheld satellite phone capable of voicemail, e-mail and text messaging and GPS location data.”
“Wow, but it’s so small,” Eugene wondered aloud. “Amazing!”
Eugene found Titov’s congeniality infectious. He began unconsciously mirroring the pleasant fisherman’s enthusiasm, smiling even, though cautious to conceal his sharp teeth. Titov did not recoil in horror as all others did. Instead, Eugene watched as the rounded, russet-haired man, unbothered, moved effortlessly and excitedly about his workspace. He wondered how, despite his cumbersome build, Titov was so light-footed, unburdened by his generous insulation.
With lithesome steps, Sasha Titov darted to a metal desk in the far corner of the bridge and selected a piece of apparatus similar to a high-tech flashlight. He held it out, his face the embodiment of pride.
“This, Eugene, is my newest acquisition,” Titov beamed. “It is a high-performance handheld waterproof thermal imager that provides superior night vision.”
With a grin that broadened, dangerously skirting the border between acceptable and frightening, Eugene gaped at Titov’s trinkets then spoke. “Such sophisticated technology. I was unaware that all of this equipment even existed,” he offered.
Smiling broadly, Titov said, “We have some of the finest maritime technology available.”
Interested in maintaining their conversation, Eugene continued, “Being a career fisherman must warrant such technology. You are out at sea three out of four seasons, right?”
Sasha Titov deftly navigated the tight confines of the cramped quarters, replacing his beloved equipment to its rightful place. As he returned, his demeanor had transformed slightly.
“Sometimes we are gone for months at a time. It is not an easy life,” Titov offered solemnly as his expression became melancholy. “I’ve missed much.”
“Do you have a family?” Eugene asked spontaneously.
“I’ve been happily married for twenty-two years. We have four boys, all strapping young men,” he beamed, pride swelling in his every feature. “But I have missed many birthdays, many holidays. My absence is necessary to put food on the table, so they forgive me.”
He considered the idea of kinfolk, of the profound interdependence that exists among its members. Eugene also reflected on Sasha Titov’s profession, how it affected his domestic arrangement before adding thoughtfully, “You’re lucky to have such wonderful people to go home to.”
After a pause, Sash Titov continued in earnest. “After this trip I will return home to my wife and children, settle in to my life as we brace ourselves for the long winter when it becomes too cold and I cannot fish, when money will become scarce.”
Eugene’s expression was solemn. He believed Sasha Titov to be not only a likable man, but a decent man as well. He came dangerously close to experiencing genuine regard for Titov.
He offered his large hand to the fisherman.
“You are a good man, Sasha Titov. I am happy to be aboard this fine vessel.”
Titov extended his hand and clasped Eugene’s. Eugene’s hand dwarfed his. The men shared a sincere handclasp.
Eugene stared at Sasha Titov. His gaze zeroed in on his round face. Titov’s features withered slightly and began to display concern. Eugene did not relinquish his grip. Instead, he held tightly.
Eugene considered Sasha Titov a likable human, the most likeable he had encountered yet. But he was still a useless human, nevertheless.
He glowered down at the fisherman, watched as Titov’s eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed in confusion. Confusion quickly transformed to alarm as Titov tried desperately to remove his hand from Eugene’s vise-like grip.
Every cell within his construct hummed and vibrated as he tightened his grip. He savored the seconds that the plump, perpetually pleasant man ceased smiling and winced in pain. But Titov’s wounded cries did not deter him. They encouraged him. Eugene grasped even harder as his thin lips spread across his abnormally sharp incisors and twisted into a cruel smile.
Sasha Titov’s pallor blanched as Eugene wrung his hand. Within his crushing clutch, Eugene could feel the small bones in his hand yielding under the tremendous pressure being applied. He basked in the paling complexion of the enervated fisher.
Titov stared up at Eugene, his eyes bleary and unfocused. Eugene glared back at him from behind his dark glasses.
“Why?” Titov pleaded in an unsteadied voice. “Why are you doing this to me?”
Fueled by the misery he was inflicting and still, grinning maniacally, Eugene employed every ounce of his superior strength squeezing and twisting Titov’s hand. He felt knuckles shattering under the crippling compression as every bone in his hand splintered and fractured. His stomach quavered as he witnessed the loss of consciousness instigated by the excruciating pain of the pulverizing pressure.
When Titov regained cognizance, Eugene took the bowed man’s face in one hand. Squeezing his cheeks with his thumb and index finger, he removed his dark lenses forcing Titov to look into his feline eyes.
His face was stricken as he questioned Eugene one last time. In a weakened whisper, he asked, “Why?”
Eugene spoke with rancor lacing his every word as rage welled within him.
“You’ve seen my face, friend,” he said, his voice low and maleficent. “You also know who sent me. I cannot allow anything that could lead back to him.”
He stared at Sasha Titov with hatred as the fisherman managed to murmur, appearing to struggle against succumbing to blackout.
“What about my crew?” Titov begged feebly. “They’ve never seen you.”
“I will tend to them as I am tending to you. Make no mistake about that,” Eugene growled. ?
??Although I intend to make their suffering far greater.”
“No, please, don’t! They don’t know anything. You can’t do this!” Titov begged with sheer terror in his voice.
Ignoring his pleas Eugene cupped his hands around Titov’s face and cocked his head to one side to observe the burly, cherub–faced fisherman. Disgust brimmed and boiled beneath the surface of his skin as he regarded the loathsome human who enjoyed the rancid odor of fetid fish. Then in one swift motion he snapped Sasha Titov’s head sharply to the left, breaking his neck and severing his spinal column.
An involuntary shudder passed through Eugene’s body as the nauseating twinkle left his exasperatingly merry eyes, replaced instead with a fixed and vacant stare. Sasha Titov’s lifeless body lay inert, with mouth agape in horror, on the floor of the bridge. Eugene trembled a moment longer, his body overcome by exhilaration. He delighted in the seconds that life escaped Titov, allowed himself the privilege of lingering longer than he had with past killings. Such protraction was a treat he afforded himself on rare occasions, but knew that in this instance such an indulgence was unnecessary. He did not need to savor the fisherman’s death as the remaining four crew members slept in cabins below. Eugene would be able to take his time with them and appreciate their deaths.
The thought of more murder frenzied his senses. His insides buzzed and hummed alive, teeming with fervor. Eugene relished in his body’s impassioned response to the crew members who unknowingly awaited his wrath. He did not need to focus on any other aspect of his journey. Fortunately for him, the vessel captained by the late Sasha Titov was operating on autopilot. The steering mechanism was guided by a control positioned in the helm and interfaced with the ship’s GPS navigation system. The system did not require further interference unless he deemed it necessary. A course had been plotted by Titov prior to their encounter. The automatic pilot would steer the ship on the intended course. The vessel was headed for the Aleutian Islands, a chain of small islands in the Northern Pacific Ocean that separated the Bering Sea from the Pacific Ocean. Once it reached the preordained destination, however, Eugene would change the coordinates and head to the United States of America.
As the ship headed out of the Avacha Bay, an inlet large enough to accommodate any ship in the world, Eugene glanced out of the port hole at the horizon. Tri Brata, a set of three rocks at the entrance to the Avacha Bay, could be seen, their outline blacker than the darkness of the night sky. The usually picturesque arrangement was considered a symbol of Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky. Local lore suggested that they were the three brothers who went to defend the town from a tsunami and turned to stone. In the obscurity of the nightfall, the array looked sinister and foreboding. Eugene smiled broadly at the dark, stony brothers; their fate was far kinder than the one the remaining men aboard the Titov would receive.
Eugene headed out of Avacha Bay past the “Three Brothers” rocky pinnacles, through the mouth of the bay past Starichkov Island. He was destined for Alaska. Once on American soil, Eugene would travel to Port Angeles, Washington and refuel. He would be at sea covering nearly one thousand nautical miles.
In Port Angeles, Washington, a Hummer H1 Alpha identical to the one he abandoned in Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky awaited Eugene. He would drive close to three thousand miles and cross through eight states to New York. He would travel a great distance before taking up residence in the rural town of Stonewall in upstate New York.