White Heat (36 page)

    Below
her, she saw innumerable fragments of something or other caught up in a kind of
current, whirling around a central axis.

    'Garbage
gyre,' shouted Hans, picking up on her interest. 'Cruise-ship junk, most
likely.'

    The
thing looked more like the pictures of galaxies Edie had seen in school
textbooks. Or a black hole.

    They
gradually lost altitude until, at Qaanaaq, the plane passed low over the source
of the gyre, a giant hull of a ship in a deep-water harbour. On the quayside
knots of camera- wielding
qalunaat
milled about.

    'Like
he said, garbage,' observed Moller drily.

    Edie
and Hans stood at the entrance to the storage facility building while Moller fiddled
with the padlock on the door.

    'The
boss says you've got family here,' Hans said. 'I was born in Siorapaluk, less
than a sleep away.' He was speaking in a kind of Inuktitut that Edie found
easier to understand than the native dialect in Nuuk. He said it was Inuktun,
the dialect of the polar region.

    'What
took you down south?'

    'I
guess I sold out,' Hans said. 'And now I work for this jerk.' He gave her a
penetrating stare. 'You're not really here to hire a plane, are you?'

    Edie
hadn't anticipated this. She began to fumble for an answer, but he said, 'Don't
sweat. It's not like I'm going to tell anyone.'

    Moller
prised off the padlock and threw open the door to reveal a gloomy single room
stacked with boxes behind which he had set up a tiny and rudimentary living
area with two sleeping bags, an electric heater and a primus stove. While
Moller went inside, Hans went to the ATV and started hauling boxes. Edie
followed him.

    'How
did you know?' she hissed.

    'On
the plane,' he said. 'I could smell your fear.'

    Moller
reappeared. 'Without wishing to disturb your cosy native get-together, Hans and
I have work to do.'

    Hans
flipped a thumb at his boss, and said in Inuktun, 'He can't understand and it
drives him crazy.'

    Moller,
to Edie: 'Any case, don't you have family to go to?'

    She
darted a glance at Hans but he gave no sign that he was about to give her away.

    'They're
out at summer camp,' she lied, then, trying to sound casual: 'I'm gonna hang
out in town till they come for me.'

    Moller
gestured towards the interior of the unit. 'You want to make yourself useful
before you go, put some coffee on.'

    The
two men returned to the plane. Edie stepped into the shed and took in the
interior. Immediately inside the door was a series of hooks on which hung
ropes, waterproofs and a harpoon. Below them was a shelf holding a couple of
discarded primus stoves and a box of ammo. On the floor resting on a tarp,
between an assortment of rusty cans, was an ancient-looking .22, barrel-up and
covered with dust. Moller's bag was lying on the table next to a camp bed.

    Quickly,
she opened it and slid out the file of flight manifests she'd seen on the
plane. She flipped through to April, running her fingers down the lists of
clients and their bills of lading. Her fingers chased forward through the
pages. Then she saw it. 'April 22, Qaanaaq-Craig 0, R. Raskolnikov, P.
Petrovich.' The word
'kontanf
followed, along with a figure in US
dollars. She recognized the two names from the records in Autisaq as the same
fake ones used by the two duck hunters who went to Craig with Sammy. It seemed
overwhelmingly likely now that the two men digging up graves were the same as
those who had passed over Craig the day Andy Taylor disappeared.

    The
sound of boots came from outside. Scrambling to replace the file back inside
the bag, Edie managed to wheel round just as Moller appeared through the door.

    'That
coffee ready?'

    'Make
your own coffee. I just remembered my cousin said she might come in early. I
have to go.' She was already wondering how to get herself out to the dig site.
'I'll catch the scheduled flight back next week. I'll be in touch about the
charter.'

    An
airport worker gave her a ride into town. Qaanaaq itself was the usual
Greenlandic configuration of jauntily painted wooden A frames fixed to the rock
substrate. There was a serviceable-looking harbour and what appeared to be a
store and a church. Edie was struck only by the number of
qalunaat
decked out, for the most part, in new and expensive cold weather gear roaming
the streets like hungry bears and among them, Inuit.

    She
walked along with her backpack slung across her shoulder, unnoticed in all the
busyness, and after a short while came to the local post office and telecoms
centre which served as an information point for tourists and scientists.
Conscious that she would pass as neither, she pushed open the door and walked
in.

    An
Inuk man looked up from his desk and greeted her with a quizzical smile, which she
met with a relaxed one of her own.

    'I'm
working in the ship's laundry,' she began in Inuktitut. 'But I do a little bit
of guiding on the side, earn some extra cash.'

    'Right,'
the man replied in Inuktun, smiling more broadly now. He introduced himself as
Erinaq. 'From across the water, aren't you?'

    She
could see he was already on her side.

    'Originally.'
Trying to put on her best winning look. 'I need a boat, a bit of fishing
equipment.'

    His face
fell. 'Nothing doing. Every single craft that's not already out is full with
tourists. You won't get a boat in Qaanaaq, or not till the
Arctic Princess
sails in a couple of days.'

    She
saw him looking at her hands. There was a moment of tension.

    He
said: 'Look, I may work at a desk, but I'm still Inuk.' He pointed to her
hands. 'I know rifle callouses when I see them. Unless you've found a way to
shoot laundry clean, I'd bet any money you're a hunter without a permit.'

    Edie
shrugged: 'And if I am?'

    Erinaq's
face split into a smile. 'Good luck to you. Ask me, permits are for
qalunaat.'

    She
went down to the quayside where the
Arctic Princess
was tied up and
considered her options. The most sensible one was to make some excuse to return
to Nuuk with Moller, and wait till the Russians came back through the city,
which, she supposed, they must at some point. She discounted it in a second.
Too full of uncertainties. Besides, she was in the mood for confrontation. If
Joe had been murdered, she rationalized, and Beloil had something to do with
it, it would be easier to confront the Russians here, where they were off guard
and, she supposed, unsupported. If she was lucky they would assume she was out
fishing or hunting and ignore her. If she wasn't, and they were paranoid, they
might suppose she had come to try to stop them digging up graves. Either way,
so long as she held her cover, they'd be unlikely to feel threatened by her, a
lone woman.

    She'd
need a boat and a gun. The gun was no problem. She'd already staked out the .22
rifle in Moller's shed. The boat was going to be harder.

    As
she sat thinking, a
qalunaat
man approached.

    'You
coming to the crew party tonight?'

    'I'm
not invited.'

    As
she spoke, an idea suddenly came to mind. She glanced up at the ship and
counted the lifeboat stations. There were four, each containing a Zodiac
inflatable. 'But I'd like to come,' she added.

    'Good.'
He winked at her. 'From nine. Just tell the guards that Nils sent you.'

    She
winked back.

    From
the quayside she went directly to the store and bought a few strips of maktaq,
and a half-kilo of caribou jerky. At the information office there had been a
small cafe. There she ordered hot sweet tea and some kind of stewed meat. No
one seemed to take much notice of her.

    At
six the cafe closed and she left. The moon was in its up phase, and the tide
would be coming in. She had already worked out the timing. The walk to Moller's
shed would take her an hour, maybe a little more if the going proved rougher
than it had seemed on the ATV. The walk back down the quay would take quite a
bit longer, because she would be laden. Once she'd got on board the ship and
released the Zodiac, she'd need to find somewhere close by where she could hide
until the early hours when everyone would either be sleeping or too drunk to
notice her leaving the harbour.

    She
reached the airport in good time, walking slowly to avoid breaking into a
sweat, and coming up crouched and low onto the ridge beside the landing strip
where she was least likely to be spotted. Reaching into her bag she took out
her hare-fur mufflers and tied them over her kamiks. Up here the wind hummed
and the haul ropes on the wind sock clanked against the retaining pole. There
was sufficient ambient noise to cover her, she thought, but the strip was
gravelled and would crunch underfoot and she didn't want to take any chances.

    On
the far side of the strip she turned and began to pick her way slowly downwind
towards Moller's unit. You never knew if there might be dogs. She made the
final approach as she would stalking an animal, step by step, knees bent,
breath quiet and shallow, torso perfectly still. Creeping around the back she
squatted down out of the wind, pressed her ear to the wall against which the
sleeping bags were strewn inside, and waited.

    Edie
slid round to the unit door and began very gradually to edge it open. Inside,
all was dark. When the snoring continued, she slid in. The rifle and harpoon
were where she was expecting them, on the wall beside the entrance. She reached
out for the rifle first, feeling for the carry-strap and edging it away from
the tarp. Slowly and with infinite care she lifted it and placed it over her
shoulder. The box of ammo was next. Sliding her right thumb along the shelf she
stopped at a small, crescent-shaped knot in the wood. With her thumb in the
knot she marked out two widths with her left hand. Then, with her right she
reached up and clasped the card box cover, feeling for the tell-tale fraying
along the left edge. Lifting the box with both hands she swung it slowly
through the air and into the side pocket of her pack. A close fit, it made a
rustling noise against the nylon as it slid in.

    Instantly,
she froze, peering into the darkness, listening for the sounds of sleeping at
the back of the unit. The snoring continued, tapering now into a soft hiss like
that of a surprised harp seal. Relaxing, she reached into the dark once more.
All she needed now was a length of rope, a net and a harpoon. The net was easy;
she slung it across her pack and secured it with an elastic band. The harpoon
was more challenging, the point getting stuck momentarily in the wooden shelf
above it. Edie reached down, and, working very slowly, cut a groove in the
floorboards with her hunting knife. The pole immediately relaxed and she slid
it gently from its moorings. Until she could fashion a strap from the rope, she
would have to carry it in her hand.

    Last,
she reached for the coil of rope itself, using her hands once more to measure
fifteen widths to the right of the place where the harpoon had been. At the
back, a body shifted in sleep. She waited for whoever it was to settle,
steadied her heartbeat and focused once more. Slowly, she reached out for the rope,
intending first to get its measure, knowing that she would have to lift the
entire coil up and then out from the rusty nail on which it was hanging. With
her free hand, she measured its heft. The coil was of old-fashioned hemp, not
polyester as she'd supposed, and heavier as a consequence. Edie pushed the
rifle further onto her back so that there was no danger of it falling forward,
then she leaned in and with a hand on the coil very slowly heaved it upwards.
There was a sudden twang and something metallic landed on the floor. Edie
looked up and to the back of the shed and thought she saw something glitter.
She focused on the spot, willing her eyes to find their night sight more
quickly. Gradually, two small sparkles resolved themselves. Someone was looking
at her.

    There
was a pause, an unbearable moment of tension and she found herself squinting
into a thin light. Her right hand automatically left the rope and reached up to
shield her eyes and in the shade of her palm she saw the pilot, Hans. Then the
light clicked off and she was left for a moment standing in the sea of rusty
brown and orange behind her eyes. She reached around her shoulder for the rifle
then, realizing it was too late to load it and too dark to see, she grabbed the
harpoon. The eyes continued to stare, but they did not move. Finally she heard
a whisper, in Inuktun: '
Aivuk
!' Go!