by Alan Russell
“Start moving,” said Baer, yanking her to her feet. “That is if you don’t want to get frostbit.”
Nina swayed, barely keeping her balance, and staggered around. Unevenly she made her way over to the shoreline. In the middle of the lake, a plane was on fire, and she stared at the flames and dark smoke, trying to comprehend what she was seeing. She looked to Baer for some explanation.
“We crashed,” he said. “Put these on.”
He handed her a jacket, vest, and thermal pants. Numbly Nina obeyed. She was already wearing warm clothing Baer had provided her, but was glad for the extra layering. The garments made her feel as if she were in the midst of a growth spurt; the sleeves and pant legs were too short, but the clothing was thick enough to easily fit over what she was wearing.
Her mouth was dry; her head felt disembodied. She licked her lips and tried to find words. “What happened?” she asked.
“The plane’s engine cut out,” said Baer, “and the pilot had to do a crash landing. He didn’t make it.”
The meaning took a few seconds to register. “He’s dead?” she asked.
Baer nodded.
“Where is he?”
Baer tilted his head toward the burning plane. “He’s getting a Viking funeral.”
Nina stepped back from the shoreline as if trying to remove herself from the presence of death. She was getting over her physical shock, but what she saw around her was in no way reassuring. There was no sign of anything human. Around them was a kind of landscape she had never experienced; it looked like a frozen hell.
She hugged herself. “Where are we?”
“About thirty miles away from the drop spot where they’re supposed to be leaving the ransom money.”
“How—how do they know where to leave the money?”
“I gave them GPS coordinates. A bush plane is supposed to make the drop three days from now. They do as instructed, you’ll soon be a free woman.”
Nina tried to take all the information in. It was difficult processing what Baer was telling her. Her mind kept drifting, and she didn’t like not having control over her thoughts. It was why she’d never really liked drugs or alcohol. But something was nagging at her, something that clamored to be heard over her stupor and all the aches of her body, something that made her feel sicker than she was, even if she didn’t understand it yet. She tried desperately to concentrate on the elusive notion of her freedom, tried to anchor her thoughts to that.
“How are we going to make it to that drop spot if it’s thirty miles away?”
“We’ll have to hoof it a ways. Then we’ll ride a raft. Then we’ll do some more walking. A dog team’ll take us the rest of the way.”
Nina tried to concentrate on what he was saying. She raised her hands to her temples, forgetting for a moment her missing ring finger. The movement made her remember, the pain bringing tears to her eyes.
“Shit,” she said. “Shit, shit.”
The throbbing lifted her lethargy and gave her an adrenaline rush. She turned angrily on Baer and hissed, “You drugged me and put me in a fucking body bag. What the hell is wrong with you?”
Without flinching, without even looking bothered, Baer said, “I had to take whatever precautions were necessary to get you here unnoticed.”
“Here?” She gestured around them. “There’s no goddamn here.”
He said nothing, just stared at her with his hard eyes. She tried to match his stare, but finally turned away. As much as she hated to admit it, she couldn’t look at him for more than a second or two without getting scared.
Instead, she studied her bandaged hand and took notice of the blank space where her ring finger used to be. Suddenly all she felt was regret: “They won’t be able to reattach my finger.”
“Not if you don’t do as I tell you. And not if we don’t get moving soon.”
At her skeptical look, he said, “Don’t worry. Like I told you, your finger is on ice. It will keep for a week.”
Nina didn’t know if that was true or not, only knew that she wanted it to be true.
Baer handed her something that looked like tree bark. “Jerky,” he said. “You’ll need energy for the walk.”
She handed it back. “I already told you, I’m a vegetarian.”
“I hope you like eating ice.”
He turned away from her and finished up his salvage work. He’d taken everything he could out of the plane. She watched as, using his knife, he gutted wiring and some hard plastic and was able to construct a makeshift sled from the seat and seat covers. Atop the sled he secured a yellow bag stamped “Emergency,” a big bag of beans, a few cans, and other odds and ends.
Nina kept turning her head to look around. Never in her life had she been in such a remote spot. There were no roads, no towers, no telephone lines. There was nothing. The silence added to her sense of overwhelming isolation. To her own ears, her ragged breathing was overloud. It sounded as if she were hyperventilating. Maybe she was.
She watched Baer doing his salvaging. No, what he was doing looked more like cannibalizing. This is my chance to get away, she thought. But where was away?
“If you’re going to make a run for it,” said Baer, not looking at her, “I’d head that way.”
He pointed to a direction, but Nina couldn’t even be sure if it was north, south, east, or west. She’d never really had to pay attention to directions before.
“Where are we?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I couldn’t give you a name. This place might or might not have one. You could make a circle fifty miles around from where we now are, and you wouldn’t find a single person living within that circle.”
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
“One way to find out,” he said, and motioned toward the landscape. “Of course, I’m betting hypothermia will kill you within a day. That is if you don’t drown, or if a griz or a pack of wolves don’t find you.”
Nina didn’t want to be scared, but she was.
Baer started pawing through the emergency bag. “Looks like you’re in luck,” he said. “Our pilot had himself a sweet tooth. He packed himself a stash of big Hershey bars. You want one?”
Nina was already salivating. She went over to him and extended her right hand, holding it out like a beggar might. Baer gave her the chocolate. She used her teeth to tear into the wrapping. It was a Hershey Bar with almonds, and as she bit into it, she thought she’d never tasted anything so good. In moments the chocolate was gone. Nina began licking clean the little bits of chocolate slivers that stuck to her glove. Learning the social graces had been a part of her growing up; her etiquette teachers would no doubt be aghast to see her now. That thought didn’t stop her from taking a final lick.
“You better drink up,” said Baer.
He handed her a canteen, but instead of doing as he said, Nina sniffed the liquid, seeing if she smelled anything other than water.
He watched her, amused. “It’s not drugged,” he said.
Nina took a tentative sip, didn’t detect anything out of the ordinary, and took another gulp.
“Keep drinking,” he said. “You’re probably already dehydrated and don’t even know it. Our next water break won’t be for a while. By the time we stop, it will be colder, and we’ll probably have to start a fire to melt ice.”
It wouldn’t make sense for him to drug her now, thought Nina. He would have to carry her. She tilted the canteen back and thirstily drank.
“There are a few reflector blankets in the emergency bag, some water purifiers, waterproof lighters. He gave us everything we need to survive, including a nice .45 with extra ammo. We’re going to set out at an easy pace. I don’t want you sweating. If that happens, you better tell me.”
“Why?”
“You don’t want to get your clothing wet in this country. Your body’s already working hard to stay warm, and if your clothing gets wet, it will have to work twice as hard. The wind’s going to start kicking up later, and when it
does, we’re going to be hit by windchill. That’s when sweat becomes icicles, and the cold becomes deadly. And that’s why you don’t sweat.”
She nodded.
“It’s out there,” he said, lips stretched in an unsettling grin. “Can you feel it stalking? Hypothermia is the ultimate predator in these parts. It’s the wolf pack that’s always on your heels. It’s the grizzly who’s always waiting in the shadows.”
Nina shivered; she wasn’t sure whether it was from the cold or his description of the cold.
Baer went to get his makeshift sled. He started pulling it behind him, and as he moved, he began reciting the same poem he’d been uttering the first time she’d laid eyes on him:
“There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.”
Nina wondered how long Baer had planned her abduction. Only a handful of people had known about her Fairbanks trip, and there certainly hadn’t been any media waiting for her. How was it that Baer had arranged ransom drops, transport, and waiting dogsleds?
He must have known that abducting some rich Alaskan would have been much less problematic. Why had he picked her? Nina’s engagement to Terrence Donnelly made her high-profile and a greater risk. Of course, that hadn’t stopped the Lindbergh baby kidnappers. Still, by now the Alaskan press, as well as the authorities, would be asking what had happened to her. Terrence would be making her disappearance a state and federal priority.
Things will work out, she told herself. He’ll get his ransom money, and then I’ll be free of this nightmare. He will pay for his crime. His ransom money will do him no good. She would testify against him. She would show the jury where he’d cut off her finger. She would describe her ordeal, and justice would be meted out. Just the thought of her hand made it throb with pain.
Before being abducted Nina hadn’t believed in capital punishment—had even argued with Terrence over his position supporting it. She hadn’t thought the government should be in the business of murder.
Now she wasn’t so sure. An eye for an eye didn’t sound so unreasonable anymore, or at least a finger for a finger. The thought of revenge warmed her when nothing else could.
Ahead of her, Baer kept walking. He never turned around.
He was humming now, or maybe just reciting his rhyme, oblivious to the elements. No, not oblivious, she thought. He actually seemed to like the cold. It didn’t matter to him that it was freezing and that the wind was now gusting.
She had no choice but to hurry after him.
The thin layer of snow had iced up, and with every step, it cracked under her feet. The sun was setting, but there was still enough light to illuminate the bleak landscape.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“You think I carry a watch?” he asked.
When she didn’t answer, he said, “It’s around six thirty. That’s when the sun sets during the fall equinox. It wasn’t that many weeks ago when the sun didn’t set until midnight. Now the days are getting shorter. Like my father used to say, ‘The curtains are closing.’”
Once again Nina began to shiver.
CHAPTER FIVE
Kenny Ryan didn’t liked being pulled off a fishing boat, didn’t like cops, and didn’t like having to cooperate with them. Seated in Hamilton’s cruiser, he was making all of that abundantly clear. Hamilton worked him with a stick and then a carrot. Even though they were a two-hour drive away from his jurisdiction in Seward, that wasn’t something he’d bothered to tell Kenny.
“Maybe I should lawyer up,” Kenny said once again. He’d been dangling that threat from the moment Hamilton had picked him up on the docks.
“If I had something to hide,” Hamilton said, “that’s what I would do.”
“Who says I got anything to hide?”
Kenny had dirty blond hair in need of a premium shampoo. His teeth were yellow and his fingertips brown from chain-smoking. He was skinny and couldn’t keep still, was always shaking his knee or tapping his fingers. Hamilton figured him for a meth user.
Even though it was snowing outside, the driver’s window of the police cruiser was wide open. Between Kenny’s smoking and body odor, the car felt claustrophobic. Hamilton kept the heater running. With the promise of freedom just an open car door away, he figured Kenny might be more inclined to talk.
“You pawned the jewelry, Kenny. It’s your ID that’s attached to the items. Maybe you knew the jewelry was hot when you bought it, maybe you didn’t. Frankly, Scarlett, I don’t give a damn. My interest is in the seller, not you.”
“If I help you out, what’s it worth to me?”
“A lot of goodwill, Kenny. It always helps to have a friend with a badge.”
“Shit. Give me cold cash any day over goodwill.”
“Help me, give me something to work with, and I’ll get you some money from our discretionary fund.”
“What kind of money are you talking?”
“A hundred bucks.”
He snorted. “That’s not worth my time.”
“I can also make sure the handling-of-stolen-goods charge that’s hanging over your head gets waived.”
“You know that’s bullshit.”
Hamilton shrugged. “How do I know you’re not the one who stole the jewelry in the first place?”
Kenny shook his head in disgust. “Yeah, like I would have used my real name pawning the stuff if I knew it was hot.” He hesitated a moment, probably considering whether he really could be in trouble, then finally said, “Gizzard was with me. He’ll confirm my story.”
“Gizzard?”
“Real name’s Gifford.”
“Address and phone number?”
Reluctantly Kenny gave them to him.
“How do you know Gifford?”
“Giz and me work charters and fishing boats. We string bait, throw chum, untangle lines, shit like that.”
“And what is Gifford going to tell me about the jewelry you pawned?”
Kenny looked like he was swallowing something distasteful. He lit another cigarette, inhaled, and made sure Hamilton got a major dose of secondhand smoke.
“That we got it from this guy.”
“Where and when did this happen?”
“Five days ago. Bar in Anchorage, a place called Taps. We got to talking with this guy. So he buys us a round, and then he goes another round, and then he pops for a third round. Giz and I both noticed that whenever he went digging for money, some real sparkly jewelry popped out of his pocket.”
He took a deep pull on his cigarette; then he emptied his lungs in the cruiser, probably knowing Hamilton didn’t smoke. “Anyway, I knew this guy wanted something, but while the drinks were flowing, I wasn’t about to hurry him along.”
“Describe him,” said Hamilton.
“Big guy. Six foot, two hundred pounds. Maybe thirty, but could be younger or older. He had this outdoorsy kind of face with a thick, black beard. That’s what Giz called him later: Blackbeard.”
“He give you a name?”
“None I’d remember.”
“Mention his line of work?”
Kenny shook his head.
“Any marks or tattoos on him, anything about him distinguishing?”
Another shake of Kenny’s head, but then he reconsidered: “He was wearing this vest, or half coat, that was the real thing, you know, a tanned hide of some animal and not an L.L. Bean kind of thing. That, and his long hair and beard, gave him an old-time trapper kind of look.”
“What did he want from you?”
Kenny took another draw on his cigarette. “Downers. Preferably roofies.”
Rohypnol, thought Hamilton. One of the date-rape drugs of choice.<
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“What did he want them for?”
Kenny smirked, offering a mean curl of his lips. “Only one thing roofies is for.”
“You get him the drugs?”
“I made a call. Gizzard was the one who went and did the pickup.”
“I’ll need the name of the dealer.”
Kenny balked for a moment and then must have decided he’d already made his deal with the devil. “I think his real name is Decker, but everybody calls him Scratch and Sniff. The Anchorage cops would know him.”
“How did you end up with the jewelry?”
“Seller’s market,” said Kenny. “I said the pills would cost him three bills. He said he wanted to barter some jewelry of his ex-girlfriend’s that was worth a few grand. I didn’t tell him that I’d already gotten an eyeful of the jewelry. He gets me to take a look at the stuff, and I act like I’m doing him a big favor and offer an even swap for the pills. Blackbeard gets all offended at that, but I tell him I’m broke. He wasn’t any too happy about it, but finally agreed to the deal.”
“How long did it take Gizzard to get the pills?”
“He was back in less than an hour.”
“So while you were drinking with Blackbeard, what did the two of you talk about?”
“He wasn’t exactly the talkative sort. He made me sort of nervous the way he kept looking around. And he only nursed one drink the whole time.” Kenny offered the last sentence as if the man was guilty of a criminal offense.
“So he was on the alert?”
Kenny nodded and then remembered something. “Damnedest thing,” Kenny said. “Out of the blue, Blackbeard tells me they got a rat problem in the bar, and he seems sort of annoyed by it, as if he found a rat turd in his drink. Then he pulls a piece of meat out of his pocket—a little piece of jerky or something—and he tosses it into the corner. All the while I just keep shooting the shit. Giz hasn’t come back yet and I don’t want this guy taking off, so I’ve got it going in cruise control, and I figure it’s all mellow and everything, when suddenly he pulls out this knife and tosses it all in one motion, lightning quick, but at the same time real casual-like, like it’s something he does every day. The knife goes maybe ten yards on the fly and skewers this rat dead center. See, the jerky he’d tossed earlier had drawn out the rat. I’m kind of wondering if I’m seeing straight, ’cuz he’s not looking over at the rat and he’s not talking about what he’s done, but a minute later, when the rat’s stopped twitching, he gets up and retrieves his knife. He wipes the blade once or twice on the carpet, then slips the knife behind his belt loop and never says a goddamn word. Gizzard got back not long after that, and we did our transaction, and then he took off.”