Calamity

by Gail McCormick

  “Should be easy to fix that,” Barbara said, and then she started to follow Camellia.

  They were both surprised when Camellia stopped suddenly, bent down and picked something up.

  Kyle dashed after her, When he reached her, he said furiously, “Damn it, you idiot, I thought I told you…” He stopped when he saw that she was holding a tiny bird with white inner wings, black wingtips and a black and white tail.

  “She’s injured,” Camellia announced angrily, still annoyed by his earlier insult. She handed the bird to him. “Hold her for a minute,” she commanded. He did so without a word. She yanked the scarf off her head, folded it to make a cushion for the quivering bird, then took it back from him and inserted her gently into the soft fabric.

  Kyle frowned. He wasn’t accustomed to being ordered around. “What are you planning to do?” He was more puzzled than angry.

  She was furious, assuming that he thought she should abandon the bird. “I’m going to find a vet, of course. But no doubt you think I plan to have her cooked for dinner.”

  “He isn’t likely to…” Kyle started to say.

  “It’s a she, not a he. Breeding female snow buntings are mostly white with a streaky brown back. But don’t worry, if you don’t understand that, you won’t have to mention it, according to a brilliant professor I met recently,” Camellia said with biting sarcasm. She was referring to his attack on her the day they met. “Be so kind as to hold her again,” she added with only slightly less sarcasm. When he hesitated she said, “I’m sure she won’t bite you.”

  “Your scarf was coming unfolded,” he retorted as she handed him the bird. “I was planning to fix that before I took her. And, when I said he, I was about to observe that the vet I met in Salekhard might not be able to see her right away. I was not inferring that you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Camellia ignored his response, bent down and scooped up some blades of grass and passed them to Owen who had just joined them. She retrieved the bird, glanced at Kyle, and said, “Food for her, not you. That’s one of the things this breed eats. Some poison ivy would make better sense in your case.” She turned away and headed back to the 4Runner, this time treading carefully to be sure she wouldn’t fall and add to the bird’s injuries. Owen was right behind her.

  Kyle followed in their wake, so baffled he didn’t notice that Barbara was only a few feet behind him and had witnessed the whole incident. She was actually relieved to see how badly it had gone. Maybe Kyle wouldn’t be entranced by Camellia after all.

  Owen was thinking that he’d never seen such sparks between Camellia and any other man. He guessed it wasn’t just anger. In the years he’d known her she had never let anyone matter, discarding men easily, especially the ones whose sole desire was to get her in bed. He might be the only one who knew she had been broken hearted when her father abandoned her as a child and guessed she wasn’t about to trust any man as a result. She had never been willing to talk about it.

  On the return to Salekhard Camellia sat in the back of the 4Ruuner next to Owen and Barbara while Kyle drove with the Senator in the passenger seat. He avoided Kyle and kept trying to get a signal for his phone. “Damned wilderness,” he mumbled when he had no success.

  Camellia tucked the bird carefully in her lap and pulled a paperback out of her bag entitled “The Sixth Extinction”. It isn’t such a tight space in this vehicle, she told herself. Really it isn’t. She would read. But when that didn’t work, and she started to panic, she opened the window, leaned out and took a deep breath. Owen gave her hand a reassuring pat. Kyle caught a glimpse of that and the book’s title but was too busy navigating the rough road to sort out what to make of her nonfiction choice. Although he hadn’t read it, he knew it maintained that human beings are almost entirely responsible for another impending extinction. He’d already decided what he thought about her relationship with Owen.

  Back in the hotel Owen went to the front desk and tried to convey to the manager that they wanted to find a vet. Camellia took a seat in the entry and waited for him. He returned just as Kyle arrived having taken time to park the vehicle. He was pulling out his phone to call the vet he’d met when he saw that Camellia had her head bowed with tears streaking down her cheeks. She held out the bird. “She didn’t make it.” Before Owen could react, Kyle lifted it from her hands.

  “Your dinner, miniscule as it is,” she said angrily as she stood up and scowled at him, wiping away tears. “You can have the grass too. She won’t be needing it.”

  “I was going to call the vet and find out where we could bury her,” he snapped, stung by her ridicule.

  Camellia turned her back on him and headed for her room. Owen followed. “You need something to eat,” He said. She shrugged, so he had sandwiches filled with sauerkraut, pastrami and caraway seeds brought to her room. She didn’t care that it was a common Russian food and delicious. What she ate tasted like sawdust to her. After lunch they set out to see more of Salekhard. When they returned it was after dark. They found the others had already eaten dinner, so they took a corner table by themselves.

  “Nice timing,” Owen remarked.

  “I’m sure you realize I planned it that way. As I said, I’ll be glad when this trip is over.” She picked up her cup of Russian tea flavored with cloves, cinnamon and orange. “Although I’m fascinated by everything we’ve seen, so I’m glad we came, no matter what I think of a couple of the people we’ve had to deal with.”

  “Trotford certainly doesn’t grow on you,” Owen said. “But Hardin has a lot going for him. Seems very competent. His commitment to his work is impressive. And he certainly wasn’t planning to eat the bird. You were really hard on him.”

  “Granted,” was her response. I have to admit that kind of passion is admirable, she thought. Even if she wasn’t willing to admit it to Owen. And she knew she probably should apologize. Still, his scorn was intolerable.

  In the morning they took the same table away from the others. Dudley kept to himself in the hotel and in the dining room too. He was heard muttering, “This place is a hovel, but at least I got my phone to work here.” They didn’t hear him say, “Nobody gets away with calling me a fool. And nobody messes with my plans.” He fired off a bunch of texts in rapid succession.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  NEXT DAY

  MOSCOW

  THEY FIGURED THEY SHOULD SURVIVE since the return flight to Moscow was on a newer, larger plane, and the weather had improved. Camellia had a window seat but she spent a lot of time working on her breathing despite the greater space. It was still an enclosure. I am such a pathetic wimp, she accused herself.

  There would be eight hours before they took an overnight flight back to New York. They decided to head into the city and find a good restaurant for lunch, then check out tourist sites. The heat blasted them when they emerged from the airport, so they removed their jackets. All but Kyle and Camellia wore ordinary shirts. His t-shirt read ICE HAS NO AGENDA, IT JUST MELTS. She took off her jacket and the shirt below it. Under that she was wearing a rayon chemise with narrow straps. Owen noted it and shook his head. She gave him a dirty look and shrugged. I refuse to sweat like a pig, she told herself. And she would beguile every man in sight just to show Kyle that other men wouldn’t treat her like an idiot or a tramp.

  A friend of mine recommended Piccolino,” Kyle said as they stood in line for a taxi. “He says it’s a cozy, unpretentious place with great Italian food. He’s going to meet me there. Anybody want to join us? I’ve worked with him before on the thawing permafrost.”

  Even though Camellia didn’t want to spend more time around Kyle she was intrigued, so she agreed. All but Trotford were enthusiastic.

  “I have other plans,” he said. He walked off, got his phone out and texted someone. While they were waiting, he was met by a large town car with dark windows, so they couldn’t see who picked him up. The others managed to squeeze into two taxis. Camellia was relieved to be abl
e to sit by an open window. Claustrophobia is really debilitating, she thought. Maybe I should try hypnosis. Nothing else is working. She shifted focus and struck up a flirtatious conversation with Kyle’s grad student. When she smiled at him, he beamed. That made her feel slightly guilty since she had no intention of following up.

  Piccolino was homey with brick walls, small tables covered in long tablecloths and cloth napkins. There were mismatched armchairs and lamps with shades that had differing fringe hanging from them. Assorted plates displaying a variety of European motifs were propped on a cupboard’s shelves. A waiter passed them carrying a tray loaded with Italian dishes. The aroma of oregano, basil and thyme trailed after him. He was humming an aria from Verdi’s Aida.

  Anatoly was waiting for them. “Good to see you, old friend,” he said as he clasped Kyle in a crushing embrace. He was a tall man with bushy black eyebrows, a thick head of dark hair and sideburns that reached below his ears. His jeans were American. His continental shirt was bright red silk with brass buttons.

  “Meet my colleagues,” Kyle said, turning to the others who were transfixed by the remarkable Russian.

  Anatoly shook their hands firmly, one by one until he reached Camellia. He took her hand in his and kissed it. “Welcome to my country, lovely lady,” he said. “I be happy tour guide for you.”

  Camellia laughed. “Aren’t you a charmer,” she said as she shook her head. “You might give us some advice as to what we should see in our limited time here.” It was her way of saying no thanks without being offensive while showing Kyle that she had made a dent on his Russian colleague. She could tell that he noticed, and she smirked at him.

  They pushed tables together and sat down. Anatoly sat next to Kyle and Barbara. Camellia and Owen were across from them with the others scattered around.

  “Order cannelloni,” Anatoly recommended. “Very good. Much of it too.”

  Kyle laughed. “Not everyone has as big a crater for a stomach as you do.”

  “As for crater, I see you have permanent mark from our explosion,” Anatoly said, noting the scar above Kyle’s eyebrow. David had a scar too but he faced away from Anatoly, so the Russian didn’t see it. He turned to the assembled group. “You not know this man risk his own life to save me.”

  Kyle shrugged. That’s cute,” he said, picking a random item to divert their attention. He was pointing to a child sized rocking horse next to the brick wall. It had huge eyes and a brightly patterned saddle.

  “You like?” Anatoly said. “I get you one.”

  Before Kyle could refuse his offer, Barbara joined in. “How did he save you?” she asked.

  “It wasn’t a big deal,” Kyle said. “What are you up to these days, Anatoly?”

  “Niet. Was very big deal. Okay, you want subject change, I see. We work with Princeton now on reviving life from thawing permafrost. Looks as if might come up with something.”

  “That’s interesting,” Kyle said. “You’ll have to let me know how it goes.”

  Camellia would have liked to hear the answer to Barbara’s question, but she wasn’t about to say so. Instead she asked Anatoly, “What do you recommend we do next?”

  “See Red Square. Go in Saint Basil’s Cathedral. I not church person but great building. I take you, yes?” he urged. He reached across the table and held out his driver’s license. “No accidents. I have very big car, fit all in.”

  Camellia laughed. “Okay, okay. Owen will want to join us. Anyone else?”

  All but Kyle and Barbara were eager to join the group. “I’ve already been there,” Kyle said. “We’re going to check out Gorky Park.”

  Before they separated, Anatoly turned to Kyle. “I hear there is new gas company planning big things in Arctic Ocean. Some say very bad people involved. I not know if that could matter to you. But maybe will if you or the others stay involved in the area.”

  “I don’t know how, but thanks for the warning,” Kyle said.

  “That sounds interesting,” Camellia said. “I’d like to look into it.”

  When the group set out for Red Square with Anatoly, Kyle and Barbara searched for a taxi.

  “Good heavens,” she said. “Camellia just added to her collection.” She shook her head. “That chemise was over the top.”

  “There’s record heat in Moscow too,” Kyle replied. “At least it was opaque.” And all too tantalizing, he thought. He had the feeling that she might be goading him. Poor David. He was certain that Camellia had no real interest in his student. Not a moth to a flame. A black widow with her victims trapped in her

  web.

  “She’s getting to you,” Barbara retorted.

  CHAPTER NINE

  SAME DAY

  ON THE PLANE AND

  IN JKF AIRPORT

  NEW YORK CITY

  CUPS FLEW OFF THE TRAY TABLES, magazines fell on the floor, and carry-on luggage shifted as the plane hit an air pocket causing it to drop suddenly without warning. Everyone was jolted awake. “Seatbelts,” the attendant said as she worked her way down the aisle. “We could be in for rough weather for the rest of the trip.”

  Kyle and Barbara sat together in economy class. Trotford was up front across from Camellia and Owen.

  She turned to Owen. “God, this is a repeat of our limo ride in Salekhard, and I’m just as tired. But when we get home, I do want to check out that new company Anatoly warned us about. It could be a compelling story.”

  Trotford heard what she said and hid a frown.

  By the time they reached JFK everyone was exhausted. Senator Trotford was busy texting someone as he headed away from the others to catch a plane to D.C. Camellia dashed out ahead of the rest and found a taxi herself. No way I’m waiting for these slowpokes, she decided. Patience. I absolutely have to work on that. Tomorrow. At the moment I need some aspirin for this headache.

  Barbara wasn’t far behind. She lived in DC but was staying in Manhattan for a few more days. She caught the shuttle to the nearby Hampton Inn. Aside from Kyle, the scientists shared an Uber to the Bronx where they all lived. His condo was in Greenwich Village, and Owen lived in Queens. The two of them were the last to pick up their luggage from the baggage claim. Then they headed together to the terminal entrance to find cabs.

  Owen was able to catch Kyle alone for a minute and took hold of his arm. “You’ve got Camellia all wrong. You haven’t ever watched her program, right?” he accused.

  Kyle was surprised by Owen’s intensity. But then, he figured he shouldn’t be if they were lovers. “No, I can’t say that I have.”

  “Then you must not know she’s one of the very few who try to bring a sane voice to a radical station so many people watch. She comes from a poor rural community in Alabama. Earned her journalism degree from the University of North Carolina on full scholarship. She maintained straight A’s despite having to waitress to afford a laptop and books.” He paused to take a breath. “Those are her people, and she wants to reach them. I’d be willing to bet you don’t know she set up a college scholarship fund for hard-up kids in her hometown.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Her contributions are anonymous, but I’m sure you could have found out about some of them if you had tried.” He paused again to catch his breath. “I know the way she dresses can give the wrong impression, and maybe she overdoes it. But the News Director insists it gets more viewers, and he’s probably right, damn it. This is a cut throat, dog eat dog business. She can get away with saying things that would normally get you fired by NIP because she has such a huge male following which, by the way, the News Director has made clear she can’t afford to lose if she wants to keep her job. He only cares about ratings, and he’s ruthless.” He let go of Kyle’s arm. “It’s tough to be someone whose value is determined solely by appearance. Every now and then she needs to strike back. She’s just goading you with the southern expressions.”

  “I have to admit some are pretty funny.”

 
; Owen frowned. “Not intended to be. Check her out for god’s sake. And guys like Trotford better keep their damn hands to themselves. She has a black belt in Krav Maga.”

  He started to leave, turned back. “Moreover, she rescued a Lear’s Macaw when she was in Brazil last year.”

  “A what?”

  “Lear’s Macaw, an endangered blue parrot. It has two broken wings, a damaged back and can’t fly. The wildlife traffickers were going to trash it since they couldn’t sell it.”

  With that he stepped out into the suffocating heat and hailed a cab.

  CHAPTER TEN

  SAME EVENING

  CAMELLIA’S TOWNHOUSE

  IN FRONT

  SO-HO

  MANHATTAN

  CAMELLIA’S SPECIAL SKILL SET WAS ABOUT TO BE TESTED. She stepped out of the cab in front of her townhouse, a bag slung over her shoulder and her suitcase in her right hand. It was dark, and she was jetlagged. Before she reached her front steps, a shadow loomed. Huge arms wrapped around her from behind, over one arm and under the other. She was being crushed and could hardly breathe. The assailant was immensely strong. With rising panic, she felt her feet leave the ground as he lifted her up and tightened his hold. Time slowed to a crawl. She was sure he would kill her. But without even thinking, her trained reflexes took over. She dropped her suitcase and using her free arm, pushed down on his hands enough to draw his face forward. Raising her elbow, she struck three quick blows to his head. She felt him falter, and her feet hit the ground. She reached down again and finding his hand, jammed her thumb in between his palm and arm, dislodging his pinky. She bent it back at a sharp angle until she felt it snap.

  “Damn!” Her attacker bellowed in pain. His vice-like grip on her loosened perceptibly. Her bag fell off her shoulder and now with her left arm, she drove her elbow into his floating rib. With the additional space, she rotated and used her knee to his strike his groin. He released her. As he backed away, she delivered one sharp upward, front kick, catching her foot in his neck and dropping him straight to the ground with a thud. He managed to get up somehow.