Paul grabbed onto the back of Yuri's shorts and Gamay held on to her husband's other hand as they made their way through the woods, taking a circuitous path. The smoke thickened. Soon they could see the source of the smoke: the professor's cottage. They stepped out of the woods into the clearing, where students were spraying the cottage with hoses apparently powered by a generator. They couldn't save the building, but their efforts kept the fire from spreading to the adjacent woods and cottages. The older people were huddled in a group. Yuri spoke in Russian to the tall physicist, then turned to the Trouts.

“He says the men are gone. He saw them leave in a boat.”

The group parted to reveal Orlov lying on the ground, his face covered with blood. Gamay was on her knees in an instant, put her ear close to the professor's mouth and felt for a pulse in his neck. Then she examined his arms and legs.

“Can we get him somewhere where he'll be more comfortable?” she asked.

The professor was lifted onto the picnic table and covered with the tablecloth. At Gamay's request, a pot of warm water and towels were produced. She gently sponged the blood away from the professor's face and balding scalp.

“The bleeding seems to have stopped,” she said. “It's coming from the head, so it's worse than it looks. He's also bleeding from the mouth, but I don't think it's internal.”

Paul's jaw hardened at the plight of his old colleague. “Someone used him for a punching bag.”

The professor stirred and mumbled some words in Russian. Yuri leaned close for a second, then grinned. “He says he needs a glass of vodka.”

Glowing embers were coming down on them from the fire and the smoke made it hard to breathe, so Paul suggested that they move the professor to a more sheltered location. Trout and three other men carried him to the cottage farthest from the fire. They laid him out on a bed, covered his body with blankets and brought him a glass of vodka.

“Sorry this isn't champagne,” Gamay said, offering him a sip as she tilted his head up.

The vodka dribbled down his chin, but he swallowed enough of the potent liquor to bring color back to his cheeks. Paul dragged a chair over. “Do you feel like talking?”

“Keep the vodka coming and I'll talk all night long,” Orlov said. “How's my cottage?”

“The fire brigade couldn't save it, but they kept the fIre from spreading,” Yuri said.

A satisfied smile crossed the professor's swollen lips. “One of the first things I organized here was a fire company. We draw water directly from the sea.”

“Please tell us what happened,” Gamay said, as she dabbed the professor's forehead with a damp washcloth.