The Kingmaker

by Ryan, Kennedy

  “Lennix?” A smooth, deep voice comes over the line.

  “Uh, yes, Mr. Nighthorse?”

  “Please call me Jim.”

  “Alright. Jim.”

  “Thanks for talking with me. I understand you’re on spring break in Europe.”

  “Of course.” I allow a beat before going on. “Mena has told me a lot about your campaign, and I’d be honored to work with you.”

  “I’m the one who would be honored. I remember the Cade Energy pipeline protests and I’ve read about the sacred runs you organized throughout college on other projects. Your transcript and resume are outstanding. You’re an impressive young lady.”

  A smile spreads over my face and I lean against a nearby glass showcase counter. “Thank you, sir. That means a lot to me.”

  “Just the truth.”

  “Mena said you need me to come there Friday? Like—”

  “Tonight if you can,” he interrupts. “We have a situation down here I think you’re uniquely equipped to help us with. A young girl is missing.”

  That was how the police described my mother at first.

  Missing.

  We’ve lived in the agonizing limbo between missing and murdered ever since.

  “She went missing two days ago,” Jim continues. “Her family is Cherokee and they live not too far from one of those pipeline construction sites. Third girl to go missing this year from this community. I don’t have to tell you what this could be.”

  No. Tales of young girls missing, held hostage, raped by horny men far from home for long stretches of time, certain if they could hurt any woman with impunity, it would be one of ours.

  “Time and visibility are of the essence,” Jim says. “We need as many people to hear about this as fast as possible. The longer this goes, the less chance we find her.”

  “Yes, for sure.”

  “This is happening all the time to our women. Underreported. Undervalued. We want to make some noise and get her face everywhere. Any leads we can find. Anyone who can help. At the town meeting, I’ll talk about her, but I’ll also talk about how she’s one of too many.”

  “What do you want me to do?” I ask, keeping my voice level even as panic rises on the young girl’s behalf.

  “Speak. I want you to tell your story, Lennix. I want you to tell your mother’s story.”

  My mother’s story has no end. Her life was interrupted mid-sentence—a dangling participle. An infinite etcetera of dots, but no period. I know what this girl’s family is feeling right now, and I can only pray they won’t have to live with the unending mystery of what has happened.

  “I don’t want to seem like I’m exploiting this situation,” Jim goes on, “but I do believe gaining visibility for this case may help us find her, and also raise the issue of why this keeps happening. With the election coming up, I want people to know I care about this—that if they elect me, I’ll work hard for our women. I want them to know that I see them. I hear them.”

  Can you see me? I don’t think you can.

  My own words from the pipeline protest four years ago drift into my memory. That moment and this one feel like two ends of a cord finally tying together. And at that point, in that knot, my passion and my purpose meet.

  “Jim, I’m on my way.”

  23

  Maxim

  “You’re distracted.”

  The words come from one of the most formidable men I’ve ever met. Brock Grimsby stands about six inches over six feet and as wide as a billboard. Think The Rock, but without a comic eyebrow. Without a comic anything. I’d hate to meet him in a dark alley, but I’m happy as hell he’s coming with us to Antarctica.

  “Excuse me?” I fake imperiousness and obliviousness.

  “You’re distracted,” Brock repeats. “I can’t afford it now and I for damn sure can’t afford it in the middle of Antarctica. I know what you look like focused, and you ain’t focused, brother. I need to know your head’s gonna be in the game.”

  “My head’s in the game.” I glance at my phone to see if I’ve missed a call from Lennix. “Don’t worry.”

  “Oh, I do worry. That egghead may be the leader, but you’re the smartest man in the room.”

  I glance over to Dr. Larnyard, the professor who funded this expedition with a hodgepodge of grants from the British government, endowments from a climate change research foundation, and donations from select private benefactors. He’s a brilliant scholar, but he’s no Shackleton. I’ve read Shackleton’s journals. He combined the physical prowess, innovative brilliance and unassailable will it took to lead his team through the worst conditions. Convincing his men they would not die in the frozen wasteland of the Antarctic when there was every indication they would stretched his leadership to its limits, but he was up to the task.

  No, Dr. Larnyard is not Shackleton.

  “He’ll be fine, Grim,” I say, using the shortened version of his last name that also describes his general demeanor.

  “I know he will because you and I will make sure, but I need your complete focus. This isn’t something you do lightly. Make no mistake about it. We’re on the last flight in until November. Anything happens once we’re there, we’re on our own. Men have died in the Antarctic, and if you aren’t prepared for the worst, you could, too.”

  He doesn’t have to remind me of the risks involved with this expedition. I’ve taken every physical, emotional and psychological test they could come up with to ensure I’m prepared and suited for the isolation of wintering over. I’ve signed every waiver ensuring if I die, no one is to be held responsible but me.

  Our team consists mostly of scientists and doctoral students like me. There are a few unexpected additions. Kind of like when we send teachers up into space. An everyman’s perspective on something extraordinary. This will be our rocket ship. Because of the extreme isolation, psychologists actually do study these conditions to analyze how astronauts are affected in space.

  There’s a congresswoman from Kansas who has been a proponent of climate change legislation. I’m looking forward to talking with her. A school teacher from Iowa is joining us. And then there’s Grim, who, I can only assume as former special ops, could survive on Mars if he had to. Antarctica isn’t space, but there is more of it that has never been seen by human eyes than any other place on Earth. Close enough.

  “Gentlemen,” Dr. Larnyard says in his clipped, British accent. “Shall we proceed?”

  I nod, tossing a cup of long-gone-cold coffee in the trash, when my phone rings. It’s on silent, but it’s Lennix. I assigned a picture of us from the tulip field to her contact. She’s looking into the camera, standing in front of me with my arms wrapped around her. I’m looking down at her like none of the glorious flowers around us is worth a glance when she’s with me. That’s how I felt. I’ve wanted to talk to her all day.

  “Kingsman,” Grim says sharply, glancing at my phone. “It’s time. Let’s get back to it.”

  I look from my phone to the map of Antarctica on the wall, tiny red flags marking the spots where we’ll collect data and samples for our research. Gritting my teeth, I send the call to voice mail.

  * * *

  “Hey, there’s been a change of plans,” Lennix says on her voice mail when I finally get to listen. “I’m leaving, um, today. I’m trying to get an earlier flight out. Mr. Nighthorse needs me there by Friday. There’s this special town hall meeting he’s called, and he wants me to speak. I was hoping to see you before my flight leaves. Maybe I still can. I may not be able to get a flight out until tomorrow anyway.”

  She pauses and I hear the shaky breath she draws. “Look, I haven’t forgotten what you said. You know. About not getting attached. About walking away, even if it feels like more. I just wanted to tell you that it, well, it does feel like more. It feels like . . .”

  Everything. It feels like everything.

  The whisper comes from a subterranean place inside me.

  “Anyway,” she continues, “I wanted yo
u to know that this week with you was really special to me. I don’t regret one minute of it.”

  Her broken laugh comes over the phone. “Guess we never got that canal ride, huh?” she says softly. “If we never see each other again, I’m glad it was you. I’m glad you were my first and I’ll never forget you, Doc. Goodbye.”

  I’ve listened to Lennix’s message a dozen times since the meeting broke. Since I rushed to Heathrow for an earlier flight back to Amsterdam. Since I landed, caught a cab and generally bent and broke every rule to get here in record time.

  “Here” is the hostel where Lennix has been staying. I’ve called her several times and kept getting voice mail. She said she was trying to get an earlier flight out. Maybe she didn’t. Maybe she’s still here. Maybe . . .

  “Maxim?” Kimba asks the question from the top of the steps leading from their hostel. She and Vivienne meet me at the street, their glances as curious as they are cautious.

  “Is she gone?” I ask. No need for pleasantries. They know why I’m here.

  “Yeah,” Vivienne answers first. “She found a flight. She’s on her way to Oklahoma.”

  “Dammit.” I punch my fist into my palm. “I’ve been calling her and keep getting voice mail.”

  “Phone probably turned off for the flight,” Kimba says. She glances up the street and then, after a brief hesitation, back to me. “Look, we like you, Maxim.”

  “Thank you,” I reply, braced for their “but.”

  “But,” Kimba continues, “we don’t want to see our girl hurt. You know?”

  “I won’t hurt her.”

  Won’t it hurt when she finds out who you are? a little sanctimonious voice asks.

  She does know who I am.

  Kimba and Vivienne make me feel as bad as my guilty conscience with their pointed stares and sighs.

  “You won’t mean to hurt her,” Kimba says. “But when a guy says this doesn’t mean anything—”

  “I never said that.” I suck my teeth, exasperated. “We both have huge things going on that require our complete focus.”

  “Hey, I get it,” Vivienne says with a shrug. “But she’s a special girl.”

  “I know that.”

  “So don’t expect her to stay unattached,” Kimba picks up, “while you roam the globe hunting for icebergs.”

  I don’t reply, but the thought of someone else touching Lennix, of her hair on someone else’s pillow, of someone else making her tea the morning after—it makes me want to break something. It makes me want to abandon the trip that has been in the works for a year and fly to Oklahoma.

  But I can’t. I won’t.

  “We gotta go,” Vivienne says. “A few souvenirs to get before we leave.”

  “Oh,” Kimba says over her shoulder as they start down the street. “Tell David I had a great time and goodbye.”

  “You don’t want to tell him yourself?” I ask, following for a few steps so I can hear her response.

  “Oh, no.” Kimba laughs, lobbing an ironic look at me over her shoulder. “When we said just for fun, we actually meant it.”

  For an hour after they walk away, I sit on the wall outside their hostel. I almost fool myself into believing the door will open any minute, and Lennix will come running out. I picture her the way she looked the night we went to Vuurtoreneiland. The first night we made love.

  My mind wanders to a few last-minute items on the supply list Grim tasked me with securing. I haven’t tracked down one yet, and we leave for New Zealand, our ship’s departure point, in two days.

  You’re distracted.

  Grim said it, and he’s right. I can’t afford this right now. My life, the safety of our team, the success of our efforts all require my absolute attention. I’ll go see Lennix after Antarctica and before the Amazon expedition to see what we should do about this attachment we’ve formed.

  I dial her number. I don’t know when she’ll get this message. Whatever is between us is not for now, but it’s not over.

  “Nix, hey,” I say to her voice mail. “Viv and Kimba said I missed you. I flew back early because I wanted to see you. Look, I, uh, know we said we’d walk away, but I want you to know this week meant so much to me, too. Guess I broke my own rule, huh? I need to focus on this trip. It’s not fun and games, and there’s still a lot I need to do before we leave. And I know you have some serious shit you’re handling there in Oklahoma. Internet access and cell phone will be pretty spotty for me, but when I get back, I’d love to talk about . . . I don’t know. What else this might be. Take care.”

  Yeah, I’ll go to her after the trip.

  There will be time then.

  24

  Lennix

  “That went well.” A grimace skims Jim Nighthorse’s distinguished features. “Or as well as something like this can go.”

  “No, it did go well,” I agree, glancing around the table at the team he has assembled for his campaign. “There were TV cameras everywhere. This community definitely knows Tammara’s missing.”

  “Her family,” Mena says, brushing at her tears. “My heart breaks for them.”

  They wept openly, begged for any information that might lead to finding their daughter. The helplessness I saw in their faces was so familiar. I know that pain and that plea.

  “You were brilliant, Lennix,” Jim says.

  “It never seems to get any easier,” I say with a sad smile. “Talking about my mother. It just reminds me I’ll never see her again.”

  Jim grips my shoulder, firm, but gentle. “Thank you for doing it. I know you helped Tammara’s cause today.”

  “I just pray we find her,” I whisper.

  My phone rings and I glance at the screen.

  “Excuse me,” I tell Jim and Mena. “I need to take this.”

  I step outside, closing the door of Jim’s campaign headquarters behind me.

  “Hey, Viv,” I say, with one of the few smiles I’ve managed over the last two days. “What’s up?”

  “Just checking on you,” she says. “I know you got tossed into the campaign all ‘sink or swim.’”

  “Yeah, but I’m swimming. At least, so far. It’ll be hard to come back to campus next week and finish the semester.”

  “I know, but you’ll be done and back on the trail in just a few months. Did you, uh, talk with Maxim?”

  I stiffen and draw a quick breath. “He left a voice mail and said we’d talk when he comes home after Antarctica.”

  “He seemed pretty desperate when he came back and you were gone.”

  My heart lifts the slightest bit, but I caution myself. “His voice mail was sweet, but not a commitment or anything. I don’t expect to hear from him until he’s back in the States,” I say, not giving away the signs of heartbreak I know Vivienne is looking for. “You don’t have to check on me, Viv. I’m alright.”

  “I know. I just love you.”

  “I love you, too, Lennix!” a guy screams from the background.

  “Oh, my God.” I laugh and lean against the wall. “Is that Wallace?”

  “Yes, you know he has the biggest crush on you ever.”

  “Is he still a brainiac?”

  “Total dweeb patrol.”

  “Shut up, Viv!” Vivienne’s older brother, Wallace, says. “And give me the phone.”

  There’s a scuffle as they apparently wrestle. Brain must win over brawn because Wallace’s is the next voice I hear.

  “My darling,” he purrs. “How I’ve missed thee. Run away with me.”

  “Oh, my God, Wall.” I giggle as only he can make me. “I don’t have time to run away with you. Didn’t they tell you? I’m that rare entity, someone who has a job all lined up before I’ve even graduated from college.”

  “Not so rare, Lenny,” he says, pride and amusement mixing in his voice. “I just got a job at the CDC.”

  “That’s amazing! I’m so happy for you.”

  “Yeah. You know what that means, right?”

  “Tell me, please.”

/>   “It means I’ll have just enough money to keep you in the lifestyle to which you’ve become accustomed.”

  “Oh, you mean cup noodles and thrift stores? So glad that MIT education didn’t go to waste.”

  “MIT was two degrees ago,” he says with false haughtiness. “Duke, my darling. Duke.”

  “Well excuse me, Mister Microbiologist.”

  “I promise it’s not as fun as it sounds.”

  “It actually doesn’t sound fun at all.”

  “Seriously? How many men could recite the periodic table to you while making love?”

  “Not enough.”

  The door opens behind me and Mena points over her shoulder. “Team meeting in two minutes.”

  I nod and return my attention back to Wallace and Vivienne. “Hey, Wall, tell Viv we’ll talk later. I have to get into this meeting.”

  “Okay. Just save me a corner of your heart, okay?”

  I laugh, but the heart in question flinches. After only a week with Maxim, I’m not sure there’s anything left.

  25

  Maxim

  “It’s cold as a witch’s tit.”

  The observation comes from Peggy Newcombe, the Kansas congresswoman who’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever met in that highly practical way that makes you realize what utter bullshit most people spout. She’s a get-things-done kind of person, and I’m glad she’s with us.

  “And apparently this is just the start,” I say. From our base’s rooftop, I take in the tarrying sun, its multi-colored brilliance washing the sky in shades of twilight. “Winter’s here to stay for a while.”

  “Yup.” She squints into the radiant horizon. “This may be our last sunset for the next four months. Now the fun really begins.”

  The space between sunrise and sunset has shortened more every day during the three months since we’ve arrived. Now there’s barely light at all. We’ll live in darkness for the rest of the winter until around September, and have very few outlets beyond the walls of the base where we’re conducting research. Our winter work focuses on greenhouse gases like CO2 and methane, measuring these particles in the atmosphere. We also study the fossilized particles found in ice cores.