“Good. After my walk, I’m going to order supper in the room and try to catch up on my sleep. Tomorrow Colt and Whitney will meet with the managers of the seed vault over breakfast and in the afternoon we’ll tour the seed facility.” She picked up the wool pea jacket Dinah had thrown across the foot of the bed. “Is this flimsy thing the only coat you brought?”
“It looked warm as toast in the shop window. And you have to admit, the buttons are adorable.”
Erika opened the door and smiled back at her. “You should turn down the thermostat, Dinah. Too much warmth will only make it worse when you have to go outside.”
Chapter Four
“Is it true that bananas are radioactive?” asked Herr Dybdahl’s assistant, a ravishing blonde with eyes the color of morning glories and an expression of rapt interest.
“Now, now, Ursille. It can’t be or monkeys would glow in the dark.” Norris Frye chortled and patted her hand. He had recovered from his fright at the airport and had been flirting openly with Ursille from the moment they sat down to dinner.
“But that is what I have heard,” said Ursille. “Is it not true, Dinah?”
Dinah swallowed a mouthful of mashed rutabaga and washed it down with red wine. She was trying to chat up the geneticist on her left, a man named Peder Halverson, and she resented the interruption. “Small amounts of the isotope potassium-forty occur naturally in bananas, making them very slightly radioactive. It’s hardly enough to measure and the banana…”
“Some say it’s an aphrodisiac,” chortled Frye. The senator knew more banana lore than he’d let on. He dug into his reindeer steak with gusto and Dinah noticed the band of white, naked flesh on the ring finger of his left hand. “Ever been to the U.S., Ursille? You’d love Hawaii. We call it the Aloha State. I could show you sights that would amaze you.”
Dinah returned her attention to the geneticist. He was a fleshy man with a bulbous nose crisscrossed with red and blue spider veins like streets on a city map. “How long have you been in Longyearbyen, Peder?”
“Not yet one year.”
“What is it that you do, exactly?”
“Genetics.”
“What kind of genetics?”
“I have rendered Hungarian oats immune to the Fusarium. The same technique will be applicable to millet. With the new genes I have inserted, spoilage will be retarded.”
“You do this work for the Svalbard Vault?”
“No, I am employed by…” His words were drowned out by a cacophony of riotous laughter in the main hotel dining room.
The senators’ dining area had been sectioned off by mirrored privacy screens, but the screens didn’t shut out the noise. And with fourteen diners at the senators’ table and multiple conversations, some of them in Norwegian, Dinah found it hard to hear.
“What did you say?”
“The Griegs Foundation. We study the effects of Stachybotrys mycotoxins in wheat, maize, and vine fruits.”
“It must be fascinating work, tinkering with genes and DNA. Will you be experimenting with the wheat and pumpkin seeds that the senators brought for deposit in the vault?”
“Nei. It is strictly forbuden unless…”
There was another burst of noisy laughter.
“Unless what, Peder?”
A gaunt-faced man sitting across the table from Halverson said something to him in Norwegian and the two of them began to jabber excitedly, forgetting Dinah. She would have to pry the answer to “unless what” out of somebody else.
At the far end of the table Colt Sheridan, Whitney Keyes, and Jake Mahler of Tillcorp were engaged in a discussion with a man who had something to do with the Global Diversity Trust whose name she’d missed. Senator Sheridan still looked confident and presidential, but Dinah thought she detected a trace of unease in the way he kept eyeing his watch. Tipton Teilhard III ignored his food and appeared to be taking notes on his iPad.
She strained her ears. Mahler said something about cigars, which seemed to elicit frowns all around. After that, all she heard from that end of the table was an undifferentiated drone. Directly across from her, the gaunt-faced man had drawn Mahler’s attorney, Valerie Ives, into the conversation with Halverson. She sounded fluent and friendly, but she didn’t seem happy with the seating arrangement. Her eyes kept skewing down the table to Mahler. After a while, almost absent-mindedly, she transitioned to English. “Is the market for reindeer expanding since the Chernobyl disaster, Herr Gjertsen?”
“Ja. Not much radiation in the lichens and mosses now. Reinsdyr meat is good for human consumption. High-protein, low-fat, tender like smør…how do you say, Valerie?”
“Butter.”
“Ja, tender like the butter and very ecologically sound. Only the Sami can keep herds. Nobody else. It’s the law.” Gjertsen had been introduced at the beginning of the meal as a food safety bureaucrat of some kind. Dinah hoped it was his concern about excessive fat content and not radiation poisoning that kept him whippet thin.
“WikiLeaks? What the hell?” Mahler’s voice carried like breaking glass.
Valerie’s head snapped up. Dinah looked down the table. Senator Keyes was shushing Mahler with a finger to his lips.
Dinah pricked up her ears. WikiLeaks was the organization that published classified government information from anonymous leakers and whistleblowers.
Mahler kinked his lip and gave Keyes the back of his hand. “It’s your problem now. You hotshots best clamp a lid on it. It can’t go any farther.”
“Is your reinsdyr not godt?”
“What?”
Herr Gjertsen leaned his long, bony face into Dinah’s. “Is the taste of your steak not to your liking? Lots of iron and zinc and B vitamins. It’s very healthy.”
“I’m not really hungry.” She wasn’t, but even if she were, she couldn’t bring herself to eat the remains of Dasher or Dancer or Donner or Blitzen. “The time change has confused my stomach.”
“Ja, ja. You will be hungry tomorrow night when we have seawolf. Spesiell. Very special and nutritious. You will like.”
Dinah squeezed out a tenuous smile. What kind of God-awful creature was a seawolf?
“He means Atlantic wolffish,” said Valerie. Apart from a curt “hello,” it was the first time she’d spoken to Dinah. This sudden outbreak of friendliness made Dinah wonder if she’d poked Gjertsen under the table and the two of them were creating a diversion to prevent her from hearing any more clinkers from Mahler. Valerie looked to be somewhere in her late thirties, with steely blue eyes, thick but artfully groomed brows, and a sharpish nose. Her hair was several shades lighter than her brows and she wore it layered with backward facing curls, a sort of ersatz Farrah Fawcett.
Norris Frye had also noted Mahler’s remark. It had distracted him momentarily from his flirtation with Ursille. Valerie smiled at Frye. “Have you ever eaten seawolf, Norris?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
“It’s called stone biter in Iceland because of its fearsome fangs. They eat mostly crab and shellfish and they taste delicious. The chef here at the Radisson prepares them in a wonderful Thermidor sauce, isn’t that right, Herr Gjertsen?”
“Ja, ja. Fortreffelig.”
Waiters had begun to clear away the plates and Ursille tinkled a little bell. “If you will please to follow me, kaffe and krumkake is now being served in the bar.” She raised her arms like a kindergarten teacher and waited for everyone to push back from the table and stand to attention.
Senator Frye was the first one up.
Herr Gjertsen held up his hand to one of the waiters and stood up. “I must supervise. Please to excuse.”
Dinah watched the exodus with interest. Colt Sheridan and Jake Mahler, their heads together like parrots, strolled out in deep conversation. Although shorter and less physically imposing than Sherid
an, Mahler placed a hand on Sheridan’s back in a way that implied that he was the alpha dog. Whitney Keyes trailed after them and, unless Dinah was mistaken, the look in his eyes betrayed a glitter of malice. But whether it was directed toward Mahler or Sheridan or both, she couldn’t tell.
Valerie lingered over her wine. “What did you and Mrs. Sheridan talk about on the flight from D.C.?”
“Music, mostly, and her days traveling around Europe as a performer. She told me a few Norwegian superstitions.” Dinah wondered if she could winkle any answers out of Valerie. “You speak Norwegian very well. Were you born here?”
“My grandparents are Norwegian and I’ve traveled here on behalf of Tillcorp many times. We don’t have a field office in Scandinavia, but it’s important to maintain our lines of communication with local officials.”
“What kind of business does Tillcorp do in Norway?”
“Norwegians like to be on the cutting edge of new technologies and that’s what we offer. Tillcorp is a world player in agriscience and technology.”
“One Norwegian doesn’t approve of the company’s new technologies or its presence in the country.”
“You mean that lunatic in the airport?” She scoffed. “He’s a known troublemaker. The police shouldn’t have let him get past.”
“How is he known? Does he represent a group opposed to Tillcorp’s work with gene modification?”
“I’m sure he was acting alone. Jake thinks he’s the same psycho who’s been stalking him from place to place all over Europe, wherever he gives a speech. He’s never been violent before, or even caused a disturbance. He must’ve been drunk or stoned.”
Dinah cut to the chase. “Does the vault allow companies like Tillcorp to study the seeds? To tamper with their DNA?”
“Only the depositing country can reclaim its seeds or give permission to another country or entity to reclaim them.”
“So the U.S. could permit Tillcorp to check out its seeds?”
“In theory. But it doesn’t happen.” One fire-engine red fingernail ticked against the table and she leveled her steely blues on Dinah as if evaluating an adversary. “I saw you talking to that reporter Aagaard at the airport. What did he say?”
“He seems to think Senator Sheridan is here to lobby the Norwegian government to grant Tillcorp greater access to the vault.”
“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Tillcorp should be applauded for its pursuit of scientific advancement and Colt Sheridan is a visionary for supporting the company’s goals.”
“So Tillcorp is pursuing greater access?”
“A smart business is always pursuing more advantageous terms.” Her eyes narrowed to slits and her fingernail pecked faster. “What did you tell Aagaard about Senator Sheridan?”
“Nothing. All I know about the senator is what I’ve read in the newspaper.”
“You should have understood that Aagaard was fishing for something damaging to print about Senator Sheridan.”
“I understood. I also understood that you and the senators had run out on me and his was the only friendly face in the crowd.”
Valerie blotted her lips with her napkin, leaving a red stain. “I hope you understand that you are not at liberty to hold private conversations with any member of the press unless one of the senators or myself is present to advise you.”
“You’re the first person who’s mentioned it.”
“Somebody should have. This is a diplomatic mission. There are competing interests to be balanced and sensitivities to be considered.”
Dinah bristled. “I’ll ask Senator Frye if my conversations are restricted.”
Valerie dropped her napkin onto her plate like a dead rat. “If you’re here for some purpose other than to advise Norris on questions of botany, you’d better think twice.” And on that note, she strode off to the bar.
Chapter Five
Dinah sat for a while and seethed. It was obvious that Senator Frye had no further need of her expertise this evening and she had no taste for krumkake or further admonitions from the likes of Valerie Ives. The woman might be a good attorney, but she had a serious charm deficit and her answers to Dinah’s questions had been decidedly equivocal. If the seed vault had been a bastion of the world’s seed stocks until now, Tillcorp was scheming to change that and Colt Sheridan seemed willing to lend the power of his office to help them.
The wait staff removed the mirrored room dividers and left her feeling exposed. The dining room had emptied except for her and a pair of lovers who occupied a table in the back corner. They gazed adoringly into each other’s eyes and fondled each other’s hands. They seemed to be in a world of their own, a perfect world that needed nothing more than their mutually requited love.
Dinah shook off a twinge of nostalgia and headed back to her room. On her way through the lobby, she stopped and peered out through the glass panels of the front door. She hadn’t noticed when she arrived, but rows of blue Christmas lights had been strung around the entrance. It had started to snow and, in the glow of the twinkling blue lights, it looked like a scene in a shaken snow globe. All of a sudden, she felt unaccountably sad, as if Judy Garland were warbling “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” in her ear.
For pity’s sake. She gave herself a mental slap. There was no sense second-guessing herself. Christmas was over and she’d done the right thing when she told Jon no. She didn’t have the stick-to-it-ivity—or face it—the moral courage for marriage. And she didn’t think she would have the good grace to swallow many camels.
As she came abreast of the Sheridans’ door, it opened and Erika stepped out. She was dressed in the black ski pants and a thick white parka with reflective silver stripes down the sleeves. She started when she saw Dinah.
“Erika, where are you going at this hour?”
“Only for a short walk.”
“Another walk? Didn’t you get enough of the cold?”
“I need some fresh air.”
“It’ll be fresh, all right. It’s snowing like mad.”
“Dinah, you mustn’t say that you saw me. Colt will stay up ‘til all hours talking politics with Whitney and Jake and it will just vex him if he thinks I’ve gone out without his approval. I’ll be back before he comes up to bed”
“He’d be right to be concerned for your safety, Erika. You don’t know if that protester has buddies in Longyearbyen, other crazies with lasers or guns. Judging from the weaponry in the rack downstairs, guns seem to be commonplace. And don’t forget the polar bears. I saw a warning sign with a picture of a bear on the way into town from the airport.”
“Longyearbyen is one of the safest places in the world. There’s no crime here and bears rarely stray into town.”
“You should at least let the Secret Service guys know you’re out of the fold.”
“I’m not a sheep and they’re not Secret Service. They’re Jake Mahler’s hired bodyguards. This is Norway, not Afghanistan or Iraq. Colt won’t get Secret Service protection until and unless he becomes the nominee.”
Dinah felt duped. The men looked like government agents with their dour expressions and their earbuds. They acted as if they were vested with the full authority of the U.S. government. And one of the imposters still had her passport. “Why does Jake Mahler need bodyguards? Were they expecting to be greeted by anti-Tillcorp demonstrators?”
“I don’t know what Jake was expecting. But he has no right to spy on me and neither does…” She dropped her eyes and adjusted the fingers of her gloves. “If you like, I’ll tap on your door when I get back. But please, you didn’t see me, okay?” She pulled a black balaclava out of her pocket, slipped it over her head and face so that only her eyes showed, and pulled up the parka’s fur-lined hood. “I’m a mirage. Like Fata Morgana.”
If neither the cold nor the bears discouraged her, there
was nothing Dinah could do but watch her flee down the hall and disappear into the stairwell. Strange creature, Erika Sheridan. Had she lied about having no friends in Norway? Maybe she was off to a secret tryst with one of her old band mates. Between card games, she’d sent a number of text messages. Well, so what if she was off on a frolic? It was her country, her prerogative, and her husband was preoccupied with other matters. Dinah wondered if politics and carrying water for Tillcorp were his only interests. A woman named Hannalore had figured in a lamp-smashing marital fracas. Was she his mistress? A one-night stand? Or as Sheridan seemed to contend, a phantom of Erika’s imagination? Whatever. It was pointless to make assumptions about a marriage that had lasted as long as the Sheridans’. She just hoped that Erika returned before she was missed. Charming as she was, Dinah didn’t fancy having to cover for her.
Back in her room, Dinah chained her door and kicked off the clogs. The room was finally toasty and she tossed her sweater on the bed.
Something thudded. Like the thud of a plastic bottle dropped on a tile floor. Like the thud of a plastic bottle dropped on her bathroom floor.
Jerusalem’s bells. What fresh grief was this? She hotfooted it to the door and unhooked the chain. She’d learned from the Sheridans that screaming and breaking things roused no help. Hand on the knob, she eased it open and stepped into the hall, ready to run for her life.
The bathroom door opened. “Ms. Pelerin. Wait. I’m a policeman.”
Unable to resist, she glanced back. He was tall and spare with thick brown hair clipped short, prominent cheekbones, tawny skin, and wide-set brown eyes. He could have been an Apache.
“Sorry if I frightened you.” He flipped open a wallet and displayed an official looking ID with a photo. “I shouldn’t have entered until you were present, but I didn’t know when that would be and I’m pressed for time.”
She took another step backward. “You were in a hurry to search my room?”
“I’m searching the rooms of everyone who was present at the airport today. I just came from the Sheridans’ room.”
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