Murder in Mongolia by Fritz Galt

Author:Fritz Galt [Galt, Fritz]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-06-25T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Monday

Jake woke up with a start. This time it wasn’t his own snoring that awoke him. It was the Russian calling hogs on the bunk below.

He looked around to orient himself. Water had condensed on the window of the steaming hot train car. Beyond that, the night was still dark. He checked his phone for the time. It had automatically adjusted to Irkutsk time and read 8:34 a.m. That seemed late. Would the sun ever rise?

Then he remembered the true question before him. The train would reach the border by the end of the hour. He needed to find an American passport before then.

He rolled off the bunk to go in search of the Americans from Brooklyn.

A minute later, he entered the dining car. The fluorescent light hurt his eyes, but the smell of coffee, tea, and food was appealing. Although the Brooklyn kid’s passport would be perfect, the young pair wasn’t there. Still, the presence of many passengers gave him hope that he could find what he needed among them. He had only to ingratiate himself with someone who was preferably half asleep and relieve him of his passport in the next thirty minutes. Any victim would do.

All bench seats were occupied, and everyone was wide awake as if they’d never gone to sleep. Some were still drinking beer while others had transitioned to coffee and breakfast. All were engaged in animated conversation. Travelling across Siberia was a once-in-a-lifetime trip for many, so people were making the most of it.

Jake sidled up to the table with the most Americans, a group of middle-aged men in trucker hats.

“Mind if I squeeze in?” he asked.

“No problem.”

They stared at him as if he should be familiar, and he instantly wondered if joining them was a mistake. Maybe they had seen his mugshot on the news.

“Did you just get on the train?” one asked.

Jake faced him squarely. “Why? Have you been on since Moscow?”

“Damn right we have.”

That was a relief. It meant they probably hadn’t seen a television in days. Still, they were clearly proud of their long journey and might reject him as a greenhorn.

“I jumped on board in Irkutsk,” he said. He wondered if his materializing in the middle of Siberia might give him some mystique. He let them imagine that he was a great arctic explorer.

“How can you scrounge up eggs around here?” he asked, eyeing their empty plates.

“Grab her,” one fellow said, lank hair falling over his eyes.

Jake nabbed the waitress and pointed to one of the plates on their table. She understood and left.

The coffee, fresh omelet, and hash brown potatoes hit the spot. While he ate, he learned about rail gauges and soon realized that he was among train buffs.

The big discussion was whether the train had to resize its axles at the border to Mongolia or the border to China. No one seemed to know, but they’d be out there observing the process.

Unfortunately, Jake had yet to spot a stray passport at his table or anywhere in the car.

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