The Peril of Kamchatka Peninsula
7 a.m. Pete and I have never seen anything like this. We couldn’t have, during the Cold War years. The bureaucracy forbade side excursions, no matter how many times we nipped in and out of Russia. The rugged mountain terrain is steeper than any of the Colorado fourteeners we’ve scaled. Pete’s been quiet this morning.
12:30 p.m. We’ve made it up to one of the peaks. There are active volcanos up here, and we saw one bubbling. “Got marshmallows?” Pete quipped. We had a good laugh at that one. It seemed to break his morose mood from the morning hike. We’re going to pitch our tent at 4 p.m. We break camp tomorrow at 5 a.m.
5:35 a.m. I’m sorry, dear comrade Roger. I have lied to you these many years and will now be honored at a ceremony next week. I wish you could see the Kremlin in all its splendor, and I’ll be sure to drink a shot of Stolichnaya in your honor. You were a most formidable spy. I hope the bubbling volcano caused the quickest demise. I’ll burn your log, marry your ex-wife next year, and your secrets will remain safe with me.
Petrov Kalinskaya
