Troubling a Star

by Madeleine L'engle

  “S-Sam,” I stuttered. “H-how’s Sam?”

  Adam said carefully, “I don’t know. He’s sort of vanished, and Papageno thinks Captain Nausinio took him so they could give you that cock-and-bull story about his falling.”

  “Benjy? Siri? Esteban?” Then I realized that Otto had finally met Esteban, and in all the excitement maybe didn’t even realize it.

  “Save the questions for later,” Adam said. “Cook and Papageno will be coming any minute, and we can get you back to the station, where we can take care of you. Hey, look, here they come!” But he stopped abruptly, his hand tightening on my arm.

  Suddenly I was again so cold I felt I’d been frozen into a statue, like the prince with the marble legs in the fairy tale. The boat coming toward us was not Papageno’s shabby old Portia. It was a gleaming white motorboat, a large one.

  Adam swore.

  The boat approached us, and I could see Esteban and Captain Nausinio. Nausinio held the rudder, and brought his boat close to the Zodiac.

  “See!” Esteban cried out, and said something in Spanish.

  Adam said, “He says he promised to come for you. Do you know what this is about? Can you trust him?”

  Esteban had given me a warning postcard. Esteban did not wish me evil. If he had been alone, I would have believed him. But not with Captain Nausinio.

  The small Zodiac from the Portia was safely on the iceberg with us. Captain Nausinio urged the motorboat closer, so it scraped gently against the ice.

  Esteban was speaking rapidly, and I could tell that he was urging us to get into the motorboat. He was pointing to the Zodiac and I more or less gathered that he was telling Adam he could pull it behind the motorboat.

  “Miching mallecho. Miching mallecho.” I hardly realized I was saying it aloud.

  Then Nausinio was pointing a gun at us, just as Jack had, but it wasn’t a pistol. It was the big rifle he usually had slung over his shoulder. Esteban leaped onto the iceberg, again speaking rapidly in Spanish.

  Adam looked at me. “I think they want us as hostages.”

  “No,” I said. “I won’t go with Nausinio.”

  Esteban grabbed Adam and began wrestling with him, and the two of them grasped each other, hitting each other, fighting as sometimes boys in high school still fight, and then I realized that Esteban was no high-school kid, that he was trained in fighting, that he was urging Adam toward the edge of the iceberg. If Adam fell into that icy water, it would kill him. Even if he could pull himself back up onto the berg, he would freeze to death.

  I pushed myself between them and the water and leaped on them with all my strength, knocking them both down on the ice. Esteban wriggled out from under me.

  “Oh, Vickee—” Suddenly, tears coursed down his cheeks.

  I heard a shot and saw Nausinio standing in the motorboat, aiming his rifle. Then I heard another motor, and I scrabbled to my feet with an energy I didn’t think I had. A black Argosy Zodiac was coming toward us. There was another shot, and I heard Adam give a yell, and Esteban jumped up and leaped from the iceberg into the motorboat as Adam fell.

  I dropped to my knees by him. “Adam. Adam.”

  “Stay down, Vicky!” It was Otto in the Zodiac, shouting to me. He had a gun.

  Nausinio grabbed Esteban so that he was in front of him, like a shield. The shot cracked the cold white air. Esteban gave a horrible jerk and then he was in the water. He went down like lead.

  Adam tried to struggle to his feet, and I rushed to the edge of the iceberg, my instinct being to jump in and try to rescue Esteban.

  Otto shouted, “Stop!”

  Captain Nausinio was turning the motorboat away and taking off.

  Otto raised his gun.

  “No.” Adam’s voice was a groan. One hand was pressed against his shoulder and I could see blood. “Don’t. Let him go.”

  “Esteban!” I cried. “Esteban!”

  “Esteban?” Otto asked. His eyes were wide and suddenly without color.

  “Yes.”

  Otto groaned. “It is too late. Oh, God.” He groaned again. “He would have killed you.”

  “Who’re you?” Adam asked.

  Otto was trembling violently. “Otto of Zlatovica.” He sat abruptly on the side of the Zodiac. And then, once again, we heard an engine.

  The Portia. Cook and Papageno in the Portia.

  I could hardly see them through the Antarctic whiteout that burned my eyes.

  I lay wrapped in warm blankets, propped up on a wide bunk. I was in the captain’s sitting room, which I recognized when I saw the great copper table in the middle. The cushions which made my bunk into a couch were piled up behind me.

  I was sipping very sweet tea, which Dick said would help me get warm. He and Angelique had rubbed me down with hot Turkish towels until I thought they would burn my skin off, though they told me the towels were not hot, and they were being very gentle, simply trying to get my blood circulating.

  The captain’s cabin was crowded. Angelique and Dick, sitting by me on the bunk. Adam with Cook and Papageno, on the other couch. Siri was in one of the big chairs, with Benjy perched on the arm, and Sam was standing in the doorway. Oh, Sam.

  My voice seemed to have been frozen along with the rest of me. “Sam?”

  Sam grinned. “They dumped me up in the hills. Didn’t think an old codger like me could make it back to the station. But I did.”

  “Esteban—”

  Suddenly the cabin was silent.

  Cook spoke quietly, “Do you remember, Vicky?”

  “Otto shot him.”

  Benjy said, “If Otto had not done that, Nausinio would have killed you and Adam. Esteban would have let it happen. He was helping it happen.”

  I looked at Adam, sitting between Cook and Papageno, and realized that his arm was heavily bandaged and in a sling. “Adam—are you all right?”

  “Sure. Dick fixed me up.” But his voice had less than its usual strong timbre.

  “Nausinio—”

  Benjy said, “Gone to whichever spurious Vespugian station is nearest.”

  “He just went off and left Esteban …”

  Cook said, “Even if Nausinio had not been Nausinio, Esteban was beyond saving.”

  Angelique had her hand lightly on the blanket over my feet as though she were still warming them. She said, “It was brave of Otto to do what he did. He is not a killer. He loves his country deeply and he believed when he came on the Argosy that what he was doing was right, that the negotiations with Jorge Maldonado and Jack Nessinger were legal.”

  Dick nodded. “When he realized what was involved, he could not stomach it.”

  Benjy said, “He nearly betrayed you, Vicky, but he couldn’t go through with it.”

  “But Esteban—”

  Dick urged gently, “Drink a little more tea, Vicky.”

  Sam’s voice was level. “Esteban is—was—not an evil person. He, too, believed he was serving his country. He was well taught, but what he was taught was not well.”

  “He tried to warn me.” I took a swallow of tea.

  Benjy said, “Esteban was torn between his heart and his mission.”

  “He—” Words of anguish and grief would not come.

  “Hush, Vicky,” Dick said. “Sleep now. Talk later.”

  “Let me finish the tea. Please. Jorge—” I needed to know more before I could sleep.

  “Gone,” Benjy said gently, “with Greta and Jack.”

  “Where?” My voice came out in barely a whisper.

  “Probably to that alleged scientific station where we surprised them. And from there by helicopter to Vespugia. At least, that’s my guess.”

  I looked at Adam. He was tanned, but underneath the tan he was pale, exhausted-looking. “Adam—you weren’t at LeNoir—”

  Adam said, “Cook and Papageno picked me up just before the purported Esteban–Adam exchange.”

  Cook continued, “When Nausinio came to LeNoir with Esteban, planning to take Adam, ther
e was no Adam at the station.”

  Papageno smiled. “So Nausinio had to leave Esteban and pretend the exchange had been made.”

  I pushed up on one elbow. “I don’t understand.”

  “Lie down,” Dick said gently, putting one firm hand on my shoulder.

  “I don’t understand about Esteban,” I reiterated.

  Cook sighed. “Esteban was working for his beloved Vespugia, and working mostly with Jorge Maldonado.”

  I asked Adam, “How much did you—”

  “Nothing,” Adam said. “I had suspicions that Esteban was not the simple, friendly guy he tried to seem, but I couldn’t pin down my suspicions. Now I know that when I was in San Sebastián, Esteban gave Nausinio the letters he’d offered to mail for me. He told me the mail from his army post was more reliable than the general mail service, and I bought his story.”

  Papageno nodded. “Nausinio’s knowledge of English is rudimentary, and he read into the letters far more than they actually contained.”

  Adam said, “There was one letter to Aunt Serena, my usual chatty stuff, in which I told her I hoped to continue Adam II’s work. I meant in marine biology, but Nausinio thought I meant CIA stuff.” He laughed, but it wasn’t funny.

  Cook continued, “So Adam’s mail was checked at Port Stanley, and in the pouch that carries mail to the stations, and your warning letter to Adam about the messages in your school locker was confiscated.”

  “You never got it?” I asked Adam.

  “No.”

  Cook looked at me. “Vicky, has it occurred to you who might have written those warnings?”

  I had feared it was Cook. But suddenly it clicked. “Suzy’s Spanish teacher?”

  “Right. He’s ardently Vespugian, sees Adam as an enemy, and assumes anyone connected with him is also trying to hold Vespugia back. He faxed his suspicions to Guedder, so both of you were listed as potential dangers to the Vespugian state.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  Papageno nodded. “Of course. Much of history is.”

  Sam had come all the way into the cabin and was perched on a high stool. “Esteban was well indoctrinated into believing that whatever he was asked to do was for the good of Vespugia, but when Captain Nausinio pushed you on the pyramid, Esteban was torn, deeply torn.”

  “But why did Captain Nausinio push me?”

  My voice had risen, and Dick warned, “Vicky. Calmly.”

  Papageno said, “Nausinio is quite a stupid man, and he assumed you were a danger to the Vespugian plans in Antarctica. And men like Nausinio enjoy killing.”

  “Esteban was a musician.” Siri’s voice was deep with pain. “With a passion for his country that had nothing to do with understanding politics or economics.” She shook her head as though to clear it. “Such a waste …”

  Benjy put his arm about Siri.

  She leaned against it. “Vacillation is deadly. When Esteban decided he could not condone what Jorge was doing, he should have held to his resolve. I’m sorry, Vicky, I’m not making it any easier for you.”

  My voice was heavy. “I don’t think it was ever supposed to be easy.”

  “No. But I don’t want to add to the pain. I’m sorry. I do tend to treat you as a contemporary.”

  “Thanks.”

  Sam said, “Esteban was truly smitten with you, Vicky, and he didn’t want to hurt you. He was just beginning to see that other people’s patriotism was not as pure and simple as his own.”

  Siri looked at Cook. Blinked back tears. “Cookie, you’ll pray for him?”

  Cook nodded.

  “Otto—” I asked.

  “He is on the bridge with the captain,” Sam said. “There is a considerable amount to explain. He is very shaken by what has happened, but he will be all right.”

  There was a moment of silence. Then Cook’s voice came, utterly quiet. “Otto did what he had to do to save you and Adam.”

  “But he—”

  “Yes, Vicky, he was caught in Jorge Maldonado’s net, but he managed to get out of the net, and Esteban did not.”

  I shuddered. Felt the bile of horror rise in my throat. Swallowed. Finally managed to speak. “The net—what was the net?”

  Papageno said, “The net was money and power. Zlatovica needs money. Vespugia needs power.”

  “Jack—what did Jack have to do with all this?” Until Jack dumped me into the Zodiac, he had not fitted in with any of my suspicions.

  “The triangle,” Benjy said, “is that Jack Nessinger is a drug trafficker feeding major syndicates in the United States.” He looked at Papageno, who continued:

  “Jorge represents the most powerful drug cartel—a government monopoly—in Vespugia, controlled by Guedder. Jorge therefore had the money to buy for Vespugia what he needed from Zlatovica, and thus Otto had the hard currency to bring back to his people.”

  I made a sound halfway between a grunt and a groan. “I had this crazy idea about Otto dumping nuclear waste.”

  Benjy’s arm was still comfortingly around Siri. “Your crazy idea was not that crazy. Part of the bargain was that Vespugia would help get rid of some of Zlatovica’s weapons, including the Chernobyl-type reactor, which Otto knew was a danger to his country.”

  I said, “Otto wanted everyone to sit under his own vine and fig tree.”

  Cook said, “Special lubricants are needed for jet turbines, so both Otto and Jorge were buying jojoba bean oil from Jack, and as far as Otto knew, that was Jack’s only involvement.”

  That rang a bell. Something in one of Todd’s lectures. Yes. Jojoba bean to replace whale oil instead of—I didn’t remember what.

  Papageno continued, “Jorge needed not only to sell drugs to Jack but to buy the oil of the jojoba bean from him.”

  Benjy smiled at me. “Back to your theory, Vicky: Jorge did indeed plan to dump the residue of the Zlatovican warheads in Antarctica. But they hadn’t gone that far in their plans.”

  “What, then?”

  Papageno rubbed his hand over the bald spot on top of his head in exactly the same way that Cook did. But he did not look like a monk. “There are cities in what was the former Soviet Union which are not on any maps. Although the U.S. knew about them, they were not included in U.S. maps, either. They remained secret.”

  “Zlatovica had one of these cities?”

  “Yes. When the Soviets pulled out of their Eastern European satellites, they did not take with them all their resources, including top-secret research, because everything was happening so swiftly they could not. For instance, they left papers behind in Zlatovica with instructions on how to build a fan blade made from a single crystal of metal.”

  I looked blank, and Papageno continued, “I’ll try to simplify this for you. In the workings of nuclear fission and fusion, whether for peaceful or for military purposes, there are turbines which require fan blades. The higher the temperature at which you can burn fuel, the more effective the turbine, and these blades will take unbelievable temperatures.”

  “So that’s where the jojoba bean oil fits in.”

  “Right. It’s used for many other purposes, such as cosmetics and soap, so Jorge’s interest in it did not strike Otto as suspicious.”

  “Yes. I can see that.”

  “Also important to Jorge,” Papageno went on, “are instructions from the Zlatovican secret city on how to make helicopter blades that will rotate at twice the speed of sound, because of tiny jet engines at their tip.”

  “So the helicopters can go faster?”

  “Incredibly faster.”

  “Okay.”

  “Such new copters would require less fuel and have more speed as well. So such fan blades would be, as the old saying goes, worth their weight in gold. Actually, much more.”

  Benjy added, “It was this kind of sensitive information that Otto had in his cases, camouflaged with useless material.”

  “But the case he threw overboard—”

  “Otto is a pacifist,” Papageno said. “When he realized
that Jorge was not opposed to war, that his interest in Jack’s jojoba bean oil was military, Otto’s first act of rebellion, of separating himself from what was going on, was getting rid of the material Jorge wanted. He had copies of everything salient back in Zlatovica.”

  Benjy said, “Unfortunately, Jorge kept a watch during the entire trip. You were seen. Otto was seen.”

  There was a long silence, during which I tried to absorb all this.

  Dick patted my shoulder. “Vicky, love, we know there’s more you have to have cleared up, but let’s wait till Otto has finished talking with the captain. Meanwhile, you’ve been through a horrendous experience, and you need rest.”

  Cook’s voice was gentle. “So rest, Vicky. Dick’s pumped you full of antibiotics, and we got to you just in time to prevent frostbite. Thank God the temperature was mild.”

  Mild! I thought. But probably it was, for Antarctica.

  I felt like a small child as Cook tucked the blanket carefully around my shoulders. He put the back of his hand against my forehead. “I thought you’d be safe on the Argosy. I knew something ugly was going on in Vespugia, but I believed the Argosy was a safe place. I should have known better.”

  “Hush,” Papageno reprimanded. “Vicky knows that you would give your life for her if need be.” He came over to me, bent down, and kissed me gently. “Angels watch over you,” and I heard the echo of Aunt Serena, of Owain, of Cook, who had had no way of knowing the Argosy was a place of danger for me.

  I was hardly aware of the cabin emptying as I slid into sleep. When I woke up I saw Adam sitting across from me on the other couch. He had pushed up the cushions to prop his arm.

  “Hi!” His face lit up.

  I looked at his shoulder. “Nausinio shot you.”

  “You’d have been next,” Adam said, “after he’d finished me off. He couldn’t have left us alive.”

  “Esteban—”

  “—is dead, Vicky. We have to let him go.”

  I shuddered. “Aunt Serena said some judgments are best left to God.”