Under The Midnight Sun

by Marilyn Cunningham

  “I doubt you missed much,” Wilson said. “We’ve been out looking over the town, and it didn’t take long.”

  “Won’t you join me?” The offer was perfunctory, and she was relieved when the men thanked her, but moved on to another table.

  Trying not to be too obvious, she watched them out of the corner of her eye. They bent their heads close together, apparently discussing a private matter. Nothing unusual; lots of people didn’t care to announce their business in a public place. She wondered, though, if she was the subject of their discussion.

  Seeing them now, two seemingly ordinary businessmen consuming a breakfast of eggs and hash brown potatoes, it didn’t seem realistic to believe either was a thug who would break into her bedroom. Yet who else knew of her presence here? And more, that she was in possession of something someone wanted badly.

  She wished she knew what it was. The dragon that hung heavy and warm between her breasts? She had scrutinized it carefully, and although something about it seemed different, she couldn’t put her finger on it. Or could it be the envelope from the Department of the Army that they had discovered among Dimitri’s files? Neither seemed incriminating. What was she missing?

  She patted her wallet, secure in the knowledge that the envelope was still hidden in the secret compartment, missed by the intruder. As clues went, it wasn’t much, but it was all she had.

  She took her check to the counter and gazed thoughtfully at the cashier who was also the waitress. She appeared to be a Native; would she have known Dimitri?

  The two men still sitting in the booth behind her made up her mind. She didn’t want them listening to her questions. She could talk to the girl later.

  She stepped out into the street, bracing herself against the chill. Patches of snow still clung to the sides of the walkway. A bitter wind blew down the narrow black-topped street, and she drew her jacket more closely around her. Spring in Kotzebue could have passed for winter in nearly any other place.

  A few people, some clad in mukluks and fur parkas, others in modern nylon down jackets, strode briskly along the walkway. Shops—a clothing store, a bar—were open, but didn’t seem to be doing much business. Since she didn’t know where to begin, this was as good as any.

  She went into the first shop—Kotzebue Mercantile—and wandered to a rack of fur parkas. Riffling through them, she surveyed the store. She was the only one here. A few minutes later a tall thin man, probably in his fifties, with blue eyes and a white beard, moved toward her.

  “Something I can help you with?”

  “Oh, I’m just looking—” She paused. “Actually, I’m looking for someone who might have known a friend of mine”

  “I’ve lived here for twenty years. Who is your friend?”

  “He was a Native artist. Dimitri Stanislof. I heard he was here attending the Eskimo rendezvous.” She watched closely for a flicker in his eyes, an uneasy movement, but there was nothing.

  “Dimitri Stanislof. Seems I heard the name someplace, but I’m not sure. I never met him, anyway. If he was at the rendezvous, he might not have been here in town. That’s a few miles farther out on the coast. But you might ask over at the Northern Lights Bar. Fellow who runs it is an Eskimo.”

  “Thanks.” Malinche walked the few yards to the Northern Lights Bar. She was probably going to get nowhere, but at least it would fill the time until Brian returned. And she might get lucky.

  She glanced over her shoulder, half expecting to see Pasco and Wilson ambling along behind her, but the walk was empty. She would have almost preferred to see them. It would account for her feeling of menace, her sense that her every move was watched.

  The Eskimo tending bar was also the owner. He listened to her query, then shook his head. “Sorry. I never heard of him.”

  It was the same in the next few places. Sometimes she thought she detected a hesitation before the reply, but the reply was always the same. No one had known Dimitri.

  That seemed strange. The town wasn’t that large and most of the people seemed to know each other, judging from the greetings on the street. Perhaps Dimitri hadn’t come into town, and had spent all his time at the rendezvous.

  She reviewed what she’d heard of the rendezvous. The Gathering had gone on for centuries, Eskimos from Siberia and Greenland meeting with friends and relatives in Alaska once a year for trading, visiting, renewing old ties. During the Cold War both the United States and Russia had forbidden travel to the other side. When tensions eased, the event was joyously renewed.

  Why had Dimitri come here? Had he really been a spy? With the Cold War over, why would anyone be spying, anyway? He’d told George he’d come here looking for someone…someone dangerous.

  It was late afternoon when she entered the Whale’s Tail Bar and Lunchroom. The aroma of frying meat reminded her that it had been a long time since breakfast. She glanced at the bar. It was empty except for the heavy woman bartender. She found a table at the far end from which she could see the specials listed on a blackboard.

  When the bartender came for her order, she asked her usual question and received the usual negative answer, then ordered her sandwich. Waiting, she glanced around the darkened interior. Except for a Native at a far table, she was alone.

  So, why didn’t she feel alone?

  She sighed, sipping the coffee the woman had thoughtfully brought her. She had wasted an entire day with fruitless questions. Maybe Dimitri hadn’t even come to Kotzebue; perhaps he had told George that to cover his trail. Or perhaps George—

  “Mind if I sit down?”

  Startled, she jiggled her coffee cup, spilling some of the liquid on the oilcloth-covered table. The man she had seen sitting at the far table was standing beside her.

  She took in his appearance at a glance—a Native, wearing the traditional garb—leather boots, a fur parka open in the warmth of the room. He had coarse black hair and black eyes. Her pulse slowed; he didn’t appear threatening.

  He didn’t wait for a reply, but glanced over his shoulder, then slid into a chair. “What are you asking questions about Dimitri for?”

  Her heart leaped with excitement; her quest was finally paying off. She answered his question with one of her own. “Did you know him?”

  “I said, why are you asking?” His eyes narrowed to slits and his gaze bored into hers. He would give nothing until he was sure.

  She studied him closely His eyes held a clear intelligence as well as wariness and he was frowning—a worried frown.

  “He was my brother,” she said simply, her voice cracking.

  The man hesitated. “I’m Charlie Frank. He was my friend.”

  She stared at him and he stared back. A standoff. He was taking her measure, wondering how far to trust her.

  “If you are his sister you must know he’s dead,” he said. “You’re not looking for him. What are you really doing here?”

  “I know he’s dead. I want to find out why—and who killed him.”

  “So, you don’t think it was an accident, like they say.”

  “No. I don’t think anybody really believes that. There’s a cover-up, but I don’t know why.” She pulled the envelope from her wallet. “Dimitri was apparently corresponding with the Department of Defense. Do you know why?”

  Charlie stared at the envelope, then glanced furtively around the room. “We need to talk. But not now. Not here.”

  “Where, then?” She leaned eagerly toward him.

  “I’ll meet you tonight at the rendezvous camp.”

  “How can I find you in a crowd?”

  “There’s not much of a crowd there now. Most everybody comes by dogsled across the ice and goes home before the ice breaks up. I’ll find you.”

  She opened her mouth to ask another question, but he was gone as quickly as a shadow.

  “Here’s your sandwich, Miss.”

  “Thank you.” Malinche’s eyes were still on the door through which Charlie had just vanished. “Do you know that man?”

  �
��Charlie Frank? Sure. He lives out at the Eskimo village. He wasn’t bothering you, was he?”

  “Oh, no, not at all.” Malinche munched on her sandwich, making her plans. She could easily find out where the village was, but she didn’t want to go alone. Charlie’s eyes had registered fear when he glanced around the room. He had been hesitant to talk to her. As much as she wanted to be independent, to show Brian he couldn’t boss her around, it was wiser to wait for him.

  She was sitting in the lobby of the hotel when Brian swung through the doors, lean and vital and exciting. It was ridiculous how her heart leaped in her chest and her throat tightened just at the sight of him. His gaze swept the lobby, ignoring the stuffed caribou heads with the sightless eyes, the baleen fastened to the wall, and came to rest on her. He halted in midstride, as though unable to take his eyes from her. An elemental force seemed to arc between them, holding them both very still. Then he broke the spell and strode across the bear hides covering the floor to her side.

  “I see you’re still here. I thought you might have changed your mind.” In spite of his brusque words, she thought she saw relief in his eyes. Was he glad she had stayed?

  “No way. But I did find out a few things. Are you starving, or can we go someplace and talk?”

  A hint of wariness showed in his eyes. What egotism. Did he think she wanted to talk about their relationship? If he didn’t wish to discuss it, she certainly didn’t, either.

  Yet they had to acknowledge what had happened. They couldn’t continue to shy away, neither mentioning what was paramount on both their minds. On hers, anyway, she admitted

  “Let’s go into the lounge,” he said. “I’d like a beer.”

  The bar, almost deserted at this time of day, was a good choice for an intimate conversation. Brian chose a table near the back, and pulled out her chair. “Will this do?”

  She surveyed the room, satisfied that no one could overhear. She had seen no one following her, but she had never gotten over the feeling that she was under surveillance.

  She had meant to tell Brian immediately about the intruder in her bedroom. She had been bursting to tell him ever since it happened. In light of this, she was surprised by the words that actually came out of her mouth.

  “Brian—about what happened in the cave—”

  He glanced down at his hands, refusing to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry about that, Malinche. I apologize. I should never have taken advantage of you when you were so frightened and vulnerable.”

  Apologize! The nerve of him! The words were insulting, an affront to her intelligence and will. She wasn’t a child, taken advantage of and seduced by an older, wiser man. She wasn’t prey. She made her own decisions.

  “I wasn’t that frightened,” she said coldly. “If you’ll recall, I made the first move.”

  “Then let’s say it was mutual. It happened because of the time and place and circumstance. Perhaps it’s something we should put behind us. Neither of us planned it.”

  Put it behind him, as easily as that? She’d meant nothing to him? Damn him, she certainly wasn’t going to admit it had meant more to her. “I’m glad you feel that way. We weren’t ourselves. It can’t lead to anything. I just wanted to be sure you knew that.”

  It hurt to think the man with whom she’d experienced the most wonderful moments of her life could just forget it, but it was better this way. They both saw it for what it was, a lovely interlude, not something to build a life on.

  “Was that what you wanted to talk about?”

  “Yes. No.” She stumbled over the words. “I wanted to tell you about my nighttime visitor.” As she told Brian all that had happened, his gray eyes darkened to near black. When she finished, he reached across the table and grasped her hand. “Did he hurt you? Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. I was frightened, but I’m over that now. He was after something, and he wanted it badly.” She leaned forward, her eyes bright with excitement. “And we may be close to finding out what it is. I did some investigating today.”

  His grip tightened until she winced. “Out alone asking questions?” he exploded. “After being assaulted m your own room. How dumb can you be! Malinche, this isn’t a game. Anything could have happened to you. You could have been killed. You should have waited for me.”

  “Brian, I didn’t ask you to help me so you could take care of me or make my decisions for me. Dimitri was my brother, and I’m responsible for finding out who killed him.”

  “Yeah, well, just remember somebody wants to kill me, too.”

  “Okay, I can’t do it without you, I know, but please remember, I asked you to help, not take over.”

  “I’d have made sure you stayed in Anchorage if I’d known you would take such fool chances.”

  They stared at each other across the table. Brian appeared to be as angry as she was. As she stared into his eyes, her anger slipped away, replaced by a cold knowledge. Brian couldn’t help feeling that he always had to be in charge. It was part of him.

  She withdrew her hand from his and sighed. “I’m sorry I worried you. But let me tell you what I found out.”

  Brian frowned as she related her conversation with Charlie Frank. “Can you trust him?”

  “I don’t know. He seemed sincere. I don’t think he liked my asking questions about Dimitri at first. I’m not sure he was going to tell me anything until he saw the envelope. That must mean something. And he was very nervous. He kept looking around as though he expected to see a demon come out of the woodwork.”

  Brian took a deep, ragged breath. The woman drove him absolutely crazy with her inability to understand the kind of danger she was in. Running around town alone asking questions about a murdered man, when she had already been run down by a car, shot at, and attacked in her room, was asking for trouble. And if anything happened to her—

  He cut off the thought. It didn’t bear thinking about. But she had certainly seemed eager to dismiss their lovemaking. How coldly she’d told him to forget it. Now that she’d had time to think about it, she realized she’d made a mistake, what life with him would be like. He was lucky she’d realized it before any harm had been done. Before he had learned to love her, for example.

  So why did it hurt so much?

  THE FOUR-WHEELER sped across the tundra, bumping and slipping on spots of still-frozen ground. Malinche, placing her cheek against the back of Brian’s down parka, was glad he was in front to deflect the wind. The solid feel of his body gave her a sense of security, even knowing it was an illusion. She chanced a glance around. Although wildflowers were blooming in places that only a few days ago were still covered with ice and the sun shone down from a cloudless sky, summer in the arctic was relative.

  Conversation wasn’t possible over the roar of the motor. To her, the flat, bleak landscape looked featureless and foreboding. The sea was out there somewhere, blending into the land, but she couldn’t say exactly where one ended and the other began.

  The desolate landscape didn’t seem to bother Brian. He’d made a few inquiries, hired a vehicle, and they were now on their way to the Eskimo rendezvous camp located at the edge of the sea.

  They heard the village almost as soon as they saw it. A cacophony of barking dogs announced their arrival. As Brian skidded to a stop, she gazed with keen interest around the settlement. The wooden houses grouped on the shore of the Bering Strait marked the village as permanent, although several tents a short distance away attested to a partial nomadic life-style.

  The sun made the bleak landscape almost pleasant, as it glistened off the rocky shore and fingered the ice floes in the process of cracking apart. Several hundred yards out the sea was visible, streaks of intense blue appearing between huge fields of solid ice, while closer to shore, chunks of ice surged and ground against each other in constant complaint.

  She was surprised that no one came to greet them. The dogs had certainly announced them, and in her experience, everyone always rushed out to greet visitors.

&nb
sp; “Where did Charlie say he’d meet you?” Brian asked, his expression puzzled as he glanced at the empty houses.

  “He didn’t say precisely—just that he’d meet me at this village. He said he’d find me. I assumed he’d meet me or send someone to bring me to him.”

  Brian started the engine and they cruised slowly down the narrow strip between the short row of houses. “I’m beginning to get a bad feeling about this,” he said, more to himself than to Malinche.

  She didn’t reply. She, too, was beginning to feel that something sinister was going on. Had Charlie led them into a trap? How could an empty village be a trap? Or had he planned to get them here in order to divert them from something else? None of that seemed reasonable. She remembered the fear in his eyes, the furtive way he had glanced over his shoulder when he whispered the meeting place. Charlie was afraid of something

  “Wait,” she shouted into Brian’s ear. “I think I see something over there.”

  Brian brought the four-wheeler to a halt, and he gazed in the direction she pointed to.

  “Yeah. It looks like our missing villagers.”

  A large group of people huddled along the shoreline, milling about and gesturing at something at their feet, something invisible at this distance to Malinche.

  “Maybe somebody killed a whale or a walrus,” Brian said, speeding toward the group.

  As they neared the knot of people, it became clear to Malinche that whatever had brought the Eskimos to the shore wasn’t a happy occasion. Instead of eager shouts of triumph, she caught the sound of high-pitched wailing.

  Several people glanced up at their arrival, but made no move to speak. Brian and Malinche pushed their way through the crowd, then stopped abruptly at the sight of the figure sprawled on the sand at their feet.

  A terrible knowledge rose in Malinche when she saw the figure crumpled like a piece of driftwood on the shore The man was obviously dead.

  The men were already lifting the body, exposing the battered face Malinche had known she would see. She gave a strangled cry.

  “It’s—it’s Charlie!”

  “You knew him?” A large woman with tears in her eyes turned to Malinche. “You were a friend?”