Polar Star

by Martin Cruz Smith

  His jacket and clothes fell, sloughed off like an old skin. Perhaps this was what being alive was like. The heart hammering within the chest, a second heart answering outside, being doubly alive. His body was like another man who had been entombed and, now let free, was in control. He himself was swept along. She clung to him, climbed him, wrapped herself around him. They tottered dizzily against the bulkhead and then he was in her.

  At what point does antagonism twist, turn and become desire? Is heat so interchangeable, or only masked? Why do suspicions already bear their answers? How did he know she would taste like this?

  'I knew I was in trouble,' she whispered, 'when I heard about Volovoi and Mike and my first thought was, How is Arkady?'

  She curled against him as if dying even while, inside, she held him tighter. He held her and helped her move. Standing, they were like two people walking a tightrope in the dark, so high up that they preferred the dark.

  'Susan –'

  'Another first,' she said into his ear. 'My name.'

  They slowly sank to their knees and then to her back on the deck. He felt her wide brown eyes watching. Cat's eyes, night eyes. Her legs spread like wings.

  As he had borne her standing, she carried him now, both on top and deeper within, to the unseen torch in the dark, as if the cold metal of the deck were warm water.

  'I like the name,' he whispered. 'Susan. Soo-san. Was it Susannah and the elders?'

  'A virgin, I think. You know the Bible?'

  'I know good story with elements of voyeurism, conspiracy' – he stopped to light his cigarette from hers – 'seduction and revenge.'

  They lay on her bunk against her pillow and another one made of her blankets. Despite the cool, he wasn't cold. Her cassette player now stood on the floor, aimed at the door. Every time the tape ended, she turned it over and started it again.

  'You're a strange detective,' she said. 'You like names?'

  'There's Ridley. A riddler, someone full of riddles. Morgan? Wasn't there a pirate named Morgan?'

  'Karp?'

  'A fish, a big fish.'

  'And Renko? What does that mean?'

  'Son of. Fedorenko would be son of Fedor. I'm just son of... something.'

  'Too vague.' She ran a finger around the line of his lips. 'A stranger detective by the minute. But then I make a strange virgin. The two of us are a perfect pair.'

  At least for one night, Arkady thought. The door existed as a thin line of light in the dark. If Karp was still waiting outside, his team was probably up on deck. They could try to look in through the porthole, but all they'd see was a drawn curtain.

  Arkady picked up the glass. 'We didn't finish the game.'

  'Being honest? Look at me, isn't this honest enough? I'll be more honest. My door was open just on the chance you'd go by. I didn't know what I'd say. You make me mad.' In a softer voice she said, 'You made me mad. Then I admitted to myself that this ritual of animosity between us was because you were the last person I wanted to be attracted to.'

  'Maybe we make a perfect pair of moths.'

  But it was more than that, he knew. He'd been coming back to life and when he held her he found himself at last fully alive, as if her heat had melted some final frozen lock inside him. Though they were trapped in a small steel cabin in the middle of the ice, he was alive, even if just for a night. Or was that a moth's rationale?

  'He recruited me in Athens,' Susan said.

  'Morgan?'

  'George, yes, I was doing a graduate course in Greek, which was the passion of my life – or at least at the time I thought it was. He was the captain of a yacht that belonged to some rich Saudi. He'd send telegrams to George to meet him here or there. The Saudi never showed up, but George had to move the boat from Cyprus to Tripoli and then back to Greece. He recruited me when I finally realized there was no Saudi.

  'Slavic Studies were my next great passion. George said I had a talent for languages. He doesn't himself, though his Arabic is passable. He paid my way through school in Germany. I'd see him at Christmas and for a week in the summer. When I got out of school, though, he said he'd gone private. No more government hassle, he said.

  'He had a small shipping company in Rhodes that specialized in beating embargoes. We re-labelled canned goods from South Africa, oranges from Israel, software from Taiwan. We always had buyers from Angola, Cuba, the USSR. George said that Communists trust you as long as you're making a profit, and that they'll trust you even more if you give them a kickback.

  'It made sense. He didn't have to clear anything any more. No oversight committee, no paperwork, just lunch in Geneva every two weeks with someone from Langley. George had to visit the bank anyway, so it was convenient.

  'George is smart. He was the first one to notice the fishing venture and the possibilities for the Soviets here, because he was sure you were doing the same thing he was. He folded the company in a week and moved to Seattle. There were plenty of boats available. I think he deliberately got a bad one so he wouldn't make too much of a splash. He certainly could've gotten a better crew.

  'So I've known George for years and been recruited for three. I was in Germany for one, worked on Rhodes for one, have been on Soviet ships for one. In all those years, he and I have actually been together for a total of six months. Two days together in the last ten months. It's too hard to stay in love with someone that way. I end up waiting for someone like you. Is that honest enough?'

  Were ships like women or were women like ships? Something to cling to in a dream?

  Outside in the hall, Arkady heard American voices, weary from the hour and the dance, staggering back to their separate quarters. He didn't have a watch.

  He ran his hand softly down from the middle of her forehead as if he were tracing her profile. At one time he had thought of her looks as thin and triangular, but now it seemed the right frame for such a mobile mouth and wide-apart eyes, the only face for such childishly cut hair. As his ringers grazed down across her stomach she turned towards him, a warm, enfolding barque with a golden sail.

  'Zina mentioned seeing something in the water, Arkady said.

  'She also mentioned a Navy officer she saw on board, the radioman.' Susan lay with her head resting on Arkady's chest. They shared a Winston, one of hers.

  'You thought she was a provocateur?'

  'At first. She did tell Volovoi about smoking grass with Lantz, just enough to keep him titillated.'

  'Just enough to give her the run of the ship,' Arkady said. He passed the cigarette back to her and rested his hand where the corner of her jaw met her neck.

  'Zina was too wild to be fake. Too bright,' Susan said. 'Men never realized that.'

  'She manipulated them?'

  'Volovoi, Marchuk, Slava. I don't know how many others. Maybe everyone but you.'

  'Did she talk about Vladivostok, about her life there?'

  'Just about waiting tables and fending off sailors.'

  'So why did she come on the Polar Star? Arkady asked. 'It was only more of the same.'

  'I wondered, too. That was her secret.'

  'Did she talk about a man in Vladivostok?'

  'Marchuk and the radioman.'

  'Guns?' he asked.

  'No.'

  'Drugs?'

  'No.'

  'So what do you think Zina was doing every time she joined you at the stern rail?'

  Susan laughed. 'You never get tired of that question, do you?'

  'No.' He felt the pulse in her neck begin to race. 'I never get tired of good questions. Was it fish? Why was she interested in fish just from the Eagle?

  'Men, not fish,' Susan said. 'Mike was on the Eagle'

  Arkady pictured Zina standing at the stern rail, waving to the American catcherboat. Did it matter who waved back? 'Morgan was on the Eagle,' he said.

  All Morgan needed from Zina was confirmation that there was something like the cable. She couldn't give him any real details. He had no other use for her.'

  'What did she
want from him?' Arkady asked.

  'Too much.'

  'Is that what you told her the night of the dance? Was that what you said to her just before she disappeared?'

  'I tried to explain that in George's terms she wasn't a valuable asset.'

  'Why not?' When Susan didn't answer, he asked, 'What did you mean when you said she wouldn't have wanted to leave an American boat?'

  'She wanted to defect.'

  He rested his hand on her shoulder. This was the most quiet, he thought, like a pillow on the moon.

  'Do you want to get off the Polar Star?' she asked.

  'Yes.'

  He heard her hold her breath before she said, 'I can help.'

  He held a cigarette in one hand and a match in the other, but he didn't light it. He concentrated on the soft tremor of her breast against his cheek. 'How?'

  'You need protection. I can ask Marchuk to make you a translator. You're wasted on the slime line. That way we can spend more time together.'

  'But how can you help me get off the Polar Star?

  'We can work on it.'

  'What would I have to do?'

  'Nothing. Who is Hess?'

  Now he struck the match, a yellow flare in the hand, and let the first sulphurous haze burn off. 'Should we stop smoking?'

  'No.'

  He inhaled. Raw tobacco fumes, Soviet again. 'He's our Morgan, another fisherman.'

  'You saw the cable, didn't you?'

  'A cover over it. There wasn't much to see.'

  'But you were there.'

  Before he blew the flame out he reached down to the floor for the glass. It was half-full, the last of the Scotch. 'Should we stop drinking?'

  'No. Go back and take another look.'

  'Hess won't let me in again.' He killed the flame and drank half of what was left.

  'Get in. You seem to be able to go wherever you want to on this ship.'

  He passed the glass. 'Until Karp catches me.'

  'Until then, yes.' She swallowed what was left and turned her head away. 'Then we can get you off or out.'

  He rose on an elbow as if he could see her. Her hair was still damp to the touch. He turned her chin towards him. 'Off or out? What does that mean?'

  'Just what I said.'

  The bottle was empty and the Winstons had all gone up into a floating blanket of smoke. As if he and Susan had gone up in smoke.

  'I want you in, not out,' she said.

  The bunk lamp was more glow than light, but he could see her eyes looking up, and himself in her eyes. Inside of her and out.

  'Did Hess mention length?' Susan asked. 'Number of hydrophones? Range? He has computers and software. It would be good if you could bring me a disk, even better if you can get a hydrophone.'

  Arkady lit a Belomor. 'Don't you find it boring?' he asked. 'Doesn't spying ever seem like an endless game of cards?'

  'George checked your bonafides while we were in DutchHarbor. He has a secure line there. He wanted to know if you were for real.' She took the cigarette. 'The FBI says you can't be trusted.'

  'The KGB says so too. At least they agree on something.'

  'Don't you have a good reason for wanting to get out?' Her eyes were wide, trying to see into him by the sparks of the papirosa, the bonfire of Russian conspirators.

  'At DutchHarbor you suggested that Morgan and I might have murdered Zina together. You're attracted to murderers?' Arkady asked.

  'No.'

  'Then why did you say it? That's the man you want me to trust?'

  'It wasn't George's fault.'

  'Whose, then?' When she didn't answer, he said, 'You and Zina were on the stern deck. The dance was still going on. The ship was bobbing in the dark, the Eagle tied up alongside. At the rail you told her she was asking for too much. What did she say to you?'

  'She said I couldn't stop her.'

  'Someone stopped her. Did she show you a plastic bag?'

  'A bag?'

  'With a towel and clothes inside. She borrowed a bathing cap from one of her cabinmates. She never returned it.'

  'No. Besides, you're different, Arkady. You're a known quantity, and if you can bring something from Hess to me, we really can help you. There's nothing for you at home, is there? Why would you want to go back?'

  'Can you really help me? Can you really make us disappear from here and find ourselves walking on a street, sitting in a café, lying in bed on the other side of the world?'

  'You have to hope.'

  'If you want to help, tell me what Zina was doing at the rail all those other times. Before she knew anything about Morgan or a radioman or a cable, why was she at the rail?'

  She turned the lamp switch off. 'Funny, the whole night has been like holding hands over a flame.'

  'Tell me.'

  Susan fell silent in the dark for a minute, and then said, 'I didn't know. Not for sure. At first I thought she was simply being friendly, or sent by Volovoi. Sometimes you become aware of a pattern around you, but you can't tell quite what it is. After we became friends, I stopped noticing, because I liked having her there. It wasn't until you came around that I started asking questions again, and not until DutchHarbor that I knew for sure, when I was told that I had to come back to the Polar Star and help keep things quiet. We had to keep the team together and cope with problems as they came up. Adjust and resolve. That's the problem with working in the private sector. There's no back-up and nobody pulls you out. Instead, you compromise and the hands you hire for dirty work are that much dirtier. George is a control freak who's lost control. He'll clean it up. He's indestructible, not like us. He caught on before I did what Zina was doing at the rail and if he says he'll deal with his side, he will. He didn't kill her, I can promise you that.'

  'Why did you ever think I killed her?'

  'Because you were so unlikely. An investigator from the factory? And because that night she said she was coming back.'

  'Coming back?' Arkady thought of the girl swimming out into Vladivostok bay, borrowing a shower cap, taping up a bag. Again and again, it made no sense. There were two Zinas: the Zina who mooned over Mike and listened to the Rolling Stones, and the Zina with her secret tapes. If Zina had been defecting to the Eagle she would have taken the tapes and left one false suicide note, not pages of practice notes. And she knew better than to stage a suicide when any American boat was close. 'From where?'

  When Susan spoke again she sounded exhausted. 'George said he needed more than fishermen, and that's what he got. He just needs some time to get the crew under control. He didn't know about Zina. He couldn't do anything about Mike and Volovoi; he was only surprised he didn't find you there too.'

  Arkady thought of Karp. 'Tell Marchuk.'

  'I can't say any of this again. I'll deny every word and you know it.'

  'Yes,' Arkady had to admit.

  'It was just a game,' she said. 'A "What If" game.'

  'Like, "What if morning doesn't come"?' he asked.

  Her hand sought his. 'Now you answer a question: if you could run right now, disappear from the Polar Star and go to America, would you do it?'

  Arkady listened to his answer, interested if it was simply a game. 'No.'

  On the narrow space of her bunk their sleeping bodies folded together as the Polar Star slowly rose on the angle of its plated bow and fell, crushing the ice ahead. The sound was subdued, not much more than a wind cooling the skin, or distant thunder moving farther away.

  Arkady pulled the curtain from a porthole of luminous grey. Not the glitter of snow, but denser and softer. Dawn, a new day in the Bering Sea. 'We've stopped,' he said.

  The grating of steel on ice was gone, though through his feet he felt the engines running. He flicked the bunk lamp on and off; there didn't seem to be an electrical problem. The Polar Star seemed poised in a vacuum, not silent itself but still and surrounded by silence.

  'What about the Eagle?' Susan asked.

  'If we're not going anywhere, they're not going anywhere.' He picked his
pants arid shirt off the deck.

  'It's follow the leader, and finally you people are the leader?' Susan asked.

  'That's right.'

  'So much for joint ventures. The Eagle isn't built for ice, and Marchuk knows it.'

  Arkady buttoned his shirt. 'Go to the radio shack,' he said. 'Try to raise DutchHarbor or try the emergency channel.'

  'And where are you going?'

  Arkady pulled on his socks. 'Into hiding. The Polar Star is a big ship.'

  'How long can you do that?'

  'I'll think of it as a form of socialist competition.'

  He stepped into his boots and took his jacket from a chair. In the gun-slit haze of the porthole she was motionless, all but her eyes, which followed Arkady to the door.

  'You're not hiding,' she decided. 'Where are you going?'

  He lifted and dropped his hand from the knob. 'I think I know where Zina died.'

  'This whole night was just about Zina?'

  'No.' Arkady turned to face her.

  'Why do you look so happy?'

  He was almost ashamed. 'Because I'm alive. We're both alive. I guess we're not moths.'

  'OK.' As she leaned forward the light covered her like dust. 'I'll tell you what I told Zina. I said, "Don't go." '

  But he was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  * * *

  The Polar Star lay at the bottom of a white well. Fog bounded the factory ship on every side, and the sunlight reflected by the ice sheet and trapped by arms of fog produced an illumination that was both indistinct and overwhelming.

  The ship itself glowed; ice had formed on every surface. The deck was a milky skating rink. The net around the volleyball court glittered like a house that had been built crystal upon crystal; the antennas overhead hung heavy as glass. Ice lay on the portholes in opaque, extra lenses, and glazed the wood stacked on the superstructure. The ship looked as if it had surfaced like a fish from the ArcticSea.

  'It's the cable that could not snag which is, of course, thoroughly fouled on the sea floor,' Marchuk said. He had taken Arkady to a corner of the bridge away from the helmsman. The captain hadn't slept during the night. His beard was overgrown, and when he removed his dark glasses his eyes looked scoured. 'We have to sit at dead stop while Hess is below, winding and unwinding the cable, trying to pull out his dick.'