August 3

Dispatch 12 - Part 2 of 2
Igor

Igor was onboard the helicopter.  He is a small, non-descript looking

person who always seemed to hang out in the background on my cruise up to the Pole two weeks earlier.  I remembered him by his departing handshake which was fish-like.  Thinking back, whenever we "helicoptered" off the ship for a film shot he always accompanied us as 'the rifle man,' - the person with the gun who was on bear patrol.  Igor is KGB. 

Victor told me on the way up that Igor was suspicious of me. As his beady

eyes looked over my equipment, I thought about the many times I had

transmitted off the bow of the ship on the upward bound voyage.  Specifically, whenever we left the ship, I always took advantage of the open horizon, away from the superstructure of the icebreaker, to set up my antenna, transmitter, and computer to send out my journals and photos.  I started to see and understand what his real job was - to watch me.

I thought I'd better try to pacify the situation.  I offered him my rifle after

 taking the shells out of the chamber and magazine.  The story behind 'the gun' is a long and complicated one.  First, it almost took an act of Congress to get permission to carry it on the plane to Russia.  Then it met the iron

wall of Russian bureaucracy since possession of guns are prohibited in the

country. This is where Victor entered.  Against all odds, he pulled the rabbit

out of the hat and performed a miracle - he gained permission to allow the gun into the country along with 40 bullets. The rifle and ammunition were actually  in my possession for an hour during the trip from the plane to the ship, but at the loading dock I forfeited it to officials who locked it up behind a thick, steel door on the icebreaker.  I have to admit it looked a little strange - an American carrying a gun onboard a Russian nuclear icebreaker!  I understood why they had concerns and I was formally given back the gun on July 13 when I left the ship.

Igor seemed to be interested in more than just the gun.  I next offered him the morphine from my first aid kit, but this gesture didn't ease the curiosity that centered around my packed bags.  A discussion then began in Russian between Victor and him.  It started in slow, easy sentences and then escalated as the volume rose.  Hand gestures were also being used to emphasize key points.  Victor's face grew serious but he is always in charge of the situations which get really official.  He turned to me and said "Igor wants to arrest your equipment." It seemed absurd but I had to open up my bags for Igor's inspection.  He was most interested in my telecommunications gear.  He first asked, through Victor, to see my transmitter and antenna which I presented to him. This was followed by a full display of everything I had.  The discussion continued in Russian as I ate another piece of pineapple upside-down cake.  The good KGB agents will never let on that they can speak English so I just quietly listened to their verbal commotion as I packed up my belongings again.  Victor then said, "He is very suspicious of you.  He thinks you might be from the CIA or the American Mafia and that you had contact with a submarine during the two weeks on the ice."  It all made sense.  Although it sounded like the  story line from a good novel, there was concern because of the nuclear icebreaker. I am sure if this was an American operation, I most likely would not have been allowed on the ship.  After all,  I could have had some accomplices amongst the passengers on board and we could have hatched a plot to hijack the icebreaker and hold it and everyone on board for ransom of arms or for a statement on the dumping of nuclear waste. Who knows, but I understood the situation and I thought at the time that with a little cooperation, Igor would loosen up and return all of my stuff.

However, Igor's stone face remained serious as we unloaded the gear and

shuttled it into a small, dark passageway that was lit up by two red lights. There was a steel door that had a Guinness world record size paddle lock that was literally made from three pounds of Russian iron and took two keys to open. The heavy door creaked as it was pushed inward.  I walked in and placed my innocent belongings on the musty floor.  I was allowed some of my clothing but despite all of my efforts translated through Victor, I was not permitted to keep my computer which I needed to keep my journals updated.  Igor was uncompromising.