Tall Tales from the Mines

“Okay, so the PFA has agreed to let us interrogate these men, but they’re not going to let insurance investigators take the reins forever, no matter how much we bribed them. I’m not sure how long we’ll be able to count on their cooperation.”

The other agent nodded. “That’s fine. We’ll work with what time we have. Let’s make this quick.” He turned to the one-way mirror. “Send in the first interviewee.”

The first Argentinian miner was led through the door. “I do not know what I’ve done wrong,” he said. “Please, I just want to go home to my family.”

“We just have a few questions and then you’re free to go home, Mister Garcia. Or would you prefer Tomas?”

“Tomas is fine,” the middle-aged man answered. His features showed a life of hard work, having spent his whole life working in the gold mines. “I’m not in trouble?”

“Of course not, Tomas,” the agent said. “We’re just trying to understand what happened a few days ago.”

The man nodded. “Okay, before we go further, I want to make one thing clear. Yes, we had some tequila. But I promise that we never drank enough while working to be a problem. We only had so much because we thought we were going to die before anyone could rescue us. We hadn’t touched a drop before the cave in. Not that day.”

“Of course, Tomas. So, you were working. And what happened?”

“We followed procedure. We were mining just as the supervisor had said the surveyor suggested. And then, suddenly, it all began to rumble. And the rocks were falling. I-I blacked out. Next thing I know, I am there, on one side of the rubble that would have fallen on my head. And Mateo and Ilya were there with me.”

“That’s Mateo Fernandez and Ilya Voznesensky, correct?”

“Yes,” the miner nodded.

“So is that when you found the bottle of tequila?”

“Not at first, no. We used a pick, taking turns, to dig at the rubble, and we uncovered my hydraulic rig, with my toolbox. To my surprise, the bottle was unharmed, as was my radio, which was our real goal. So we called for help. And no one answered.”

“So that’s when you started drinking.”

The miner laughed bitterly. “Wouldn’t you?”

The agent cracked a smile. “I can’t say I wouldn’t. Okay. Then what happened.”

“Well, I took a deep swig, then passed the bottle to Mateo. He took his drink, and then handed the bottle to Ilya. Ilya…he drank it all. It was so much, he should be dead. And then…”

“Go on, Tomas.”

“Well, it’s just…it’s not possible what I saw next. I must have hallucinated it from the tequila.”

“If that’s all it was, that’s fine, but we still need to know what you saw. If you were hallucinating, maybe it was some kind of gas from the mine.” The agent set some bills on the table, totaling over thirty thousand Argentinian pesos, nearly three month’s salary on the table. “Of course, if there was some kind of gas leak, we’d be obligated to duly compensate you.”

Tomas took the money and counted it. “Okay. So, after drinking the tequila, Ilya flexed. They make men big in Russia. That’s why his uncle thought he would be perfect for the mine. And then his shirt ripped, and he turned into a bear. And the bear cleared away the rubble with just a few swipes of his massive paws, and we were free.”

“I see. Thank you for your time, Tomas.”

** * **

I pinched the bridge of my nose with my fingers. “A bear?” I asked pointedly, looking at my partner. She was seated with her feet on a table, and seemed to only be half listening as she cleaned her nails with a large knife.

She shrugged. “We’ve met several variants of werewolves,” she answered. “Maybe in Russia they make them in bears?”

I sighed. “Okay, fair point.” I pulled out my radio. “Send in Mister Fernandez.”

Fernandez’s story matched Garcia’s up until after they began drinking. “…And then Ilya, he waves his hands, and the rocks simply vanish. Then we walked right out.”

“He waved his hands?” the agent we had interviewing him asked.

“Yes. I told you that you wouldn’t believe me.”

“It’s not that, Mateo. It’s just that Tomas told us a different story. He said that Ilya turned into a bear.”

Mister Fernandez snorted. “Tomas never could hold his liquor. I am telling you. Ilya is a brujo. A witch. His great grandmother is Baba Yaga. He has told me many times when we were drinking. Of course, I never believed him until the other day, when he made those rocks disappear.”

“I see. Thank you for your time, Mateo.”

A witch. Really?  I turned to my partner again. She looked up from her fingernail. “Officially, the Agency does not recognize the existence of Baba Yaga. Unofficially? Well, we were told not to discount anything, no matter how outlandish. We’ll have to ask the Russian.”

I nodded. “Send in Mister Voznesensky,” I said over the radio.

As they led in the Russian, I heard a clattering as my partner’s knife fell onto the table. She got up and walked to the mirror. “They really do make them big in Russia,” she said. I could hear the hunger in her voice.

“Down, girl,” I said.

She glared at me. “I was just looking,” she pouted.

“You look any harder, you’ll fall through the mirror. Again.” I wasn’t going to relive the embarrassment I went through after Munich.

“Fine,” she said, returning to her seat, but now watching at full attention.

It was going to be one of those days.

** * **

“Hello, Mister Voznesensky,” the interviewer said.

“That is my father’s name,” the large Russian man answered jovially. “Or my uncle’s. For me, you will call me Ilya.”

The interviewer nodded. “Of course. So tell me Ilya, what’s a nice Russian boy doing in Argentina?”

The Russian laughed. “It is tale as old as time. I joined army. Met girl. She is, how you say, daughter of colonel. So I am demoted. Sent to base in Siberia. Nothing there to do but drink, and mess with cyka at local FSB.”

“Was messing with federal agents really a good idea?”

“Never said idea was good. But I figure, eh, those cyka were stationed in Siberia as well, so they are not so well connected either. In fact, if had to bet money on it, they were screw ups, same as Ilya. So, what is harm in driving tank over their car when they are on base to talk to Captain? Is nothing but good clean fun, da?”

“I take it that the agent who owned that car didn’t feel the same way?”

Ilya laughed. “That is safe assumption. He attacked me, but he was no fighter. So, I break his arm. I spent two weeks locked in brig. Then they pull me out to go to Moscow to face national charges. On flight, I escape and come to Argentina to find my uncle – well, technically he is father’s cousin, not brother, but that is not large issue. He gets me job at mine. And here we are.”

“Why did you break his arm?”

“I am not so sure. I must admit that I may have perhaps been a little drunk at time.”

“I see. So, to the day in question. I have some interesting reports from your fellow miners.”

“I would not take their word. They were drunk at time.”

“And you?”

He shrugged. “I was very drunk. So drunk that I admit that I do not recall what happened.”

“So you didn’t turn into a bear?”

Ilya laughed. “That must have been Tomas. No, I never turned into a bear. When I came to, I wasn’t wearing my shirt, and it is true that I was blessed with much hair upon my chest. So that might be where Tomas got the impression.”

“Fair enough. How about magic? Mateo says that you’re the descendent of Baba Yaga.”

Ilya laughed even harder. “Is line I use to woo pretty girls at cantina. ‘I am descendent of ancient witch. Perhaps you’d like to come to my room so I can show you great magic?’”

The interviewer nearly laughed at that one. He managed to suppress his laugh, but not twitch of the smile that pulled at the corner of his mouth. “So, how did you all get out of there?”

“As I am saying, I was blacked out. But, perhaps there was one clue. When I woke up, my knuckles were a bit bloody and bruised. I am thinking that drunken Ilya may have punched his way through the rubble.”

“I see. Thank you for your time, Ilya. I may have further questions for you after I consult with my fellows.”

** * **

I sighed. “He punched the rocks.”

My partner looked over at me, annoyance on her face. “If I told you that I punched through a brick wall, what would you think?”

I considered it and sighed. “I’d think that I needed to find somewhere to get you something to eat.”

“See. So now we just need to figure out what kind of creature he is.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” I asked her.

“Have you ever read The Cask of Amontillado?”

Had I been drinking coffee, I would have spit it out in surprise. “You want to wall him up in a stone room?”

She smiled. “Yeah. With a bottle of booze, in case he needs it to activate his powers. Good news, though. You get to be Montresor.”

“And what will you be doing while I’m laying bricks?”

She grinned. “Stretches.” She must have sensed my annoyance, because she continued. “After all, who is going to have to fight him if he comes out swinging?”

Okay.  Yeah, that made sense. “I’ll pre-arrange the meat.”

My partner, Special Agent Brenna Castle, smiled sweetly. “You know, Rook, I’ve always wanted to try cordero patagónico al asador.”

“Fine. I’ll see what I can do. Gonna take a bit to get the bricks, anyway. I’m sure they have time to slaughter and slow cook a lamb.”

“Two, please.”

I could feel something twitching behind my eye. “The agency is going to kill me when they get this expense report,” I said under my breath as I began walking from the room.

“What was that?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I said, shutting the door behind me. “Nothing at all.”