Free Shadow Pass by Sam Eastland

he’d do. I waited to see if he could get it out of there, but then I began to think that something might have gone wrong.”
    “What gave you that idea?” asked Pekkala.
    “To begin with, the engine wasn’t running. Nagorski wouldn’thave cut power to the motor under those circumstances, not even for an experiment. The whole tank could sink into this mud. If water flooded the engine compartment, the entire drive train could be ruined. Even Nagorski wouldn’t take a chance like that.”
    “Anything else?”
    “Yes. The turret hatch was open, and it was pouring. Colonel Nagorski would have closed the hatch. And, finally, there was no sign of him.”
    “What did you do then?”
    “I went in and fetched Gorenko,” said Ushinsky.
    Gorenko took this as a sign that he could speak at last. “We both went out to take a look,” he explained.
    “First we checked inside the tank,” Ushinsky said. “It was empty.”
    “Then I spotted the body lying under the tracks,” added Gorenko. “We ran and found Captain Samarin, the head of security. We all came back to the tank and Samarin told us to stay here.”
    “Not to touch anything.”
    “Then he went to call the ambulance.”
    “And we’ve been here ever since,” said Gorenko, hugging his arms against his chest.
    “Shouldn’t we get him out from under there?” Ushinsky was staring at the colonel’s hand, which seemed to tremble in the wind-stirred puddle at their feet.
    “Not just yet,” replied Pekkala. “Until I have examined the area, no evidence can be disturbed.”
    “It’s hard to think of him like that,” muttered Gorenko. “As
evidence
.”
    The time would come, Pekkala knew, when Nagorski’s body would receive the respect it deserved. For now, the dead man was part of an equation, along with the mud in which he lay and the iron which had crushed out his life. “If Nagorski was here byhimself,” Pekkala asked, “do you have any idea how he could have ended up beneath the machine?”
    “We’ve been asking ourselves the same question,” said Ushinsky.
    “It just doesn’t seem possible,” Gorenko chimed in.
    “Have you been inside the tank since you got here?” asked Pekkala.
    “Only to see that it was empty.”
    “Can you show me the driver’s compartment?”
    “Of course,” replied Gorenko.
    At the opposite end of the tank from where Nagorski’s body had been pinned, Pekkala set his foot on one of the wheels and tried to lift himself up on the side of the tank. He lost his balance and with a groan of frustration fell back spread-eagled into the water. By the time he emerged, Gorenko had gone around to the front of the tank and put his foot up on the fender. “Always board from the front, Inspector. Like this!” He scrambled up onto the turret, opened the hatch, and dropped down inside.
    Pekkala followed, his soaked coat weighing on his back and his ruined shoes slipping on the smooth metal surfaces. His fingers clawed for a grip as he moved from one handhold to another. When he finally reached the turret hatch, he peered down into the cramped space of the compartment.
    “How many people fit in here?”
    “Five,” replied Gorenko, looking up at him.
    To Pekkala, it didn’t look as if there was even enough room for himself and Gorenko, let alone three other men.
    “Are you all right, Inspector?”
    “Yes. Why?”
    “You look a little pale.”
    “I’m fine,” Pekkala lied.
    “Well, then,” said Gorenko. “Down you come, Inspector.”
    Pekkala sighed heavily. Then he clambered down into the tank. The first thing he noticed, as his eyes grew accustomed tothe gloom, was the smell of new paint mixing with the odor of diesel fuel. Cramped as it had appeared from above, the interior space seemed even smaller now that he was inside it. Pekkala felt as if he had entered a tomb. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He had struggled with claustrophobia ever since he was a child, when his brother, Anton, as a joke, had locked him in the