Expedition Beyond Page 18

  Anastasia spoke and Alée glared.

  “When all the warriors have boarded, they move forward, find the most important beasts, the captains, and shoot them. Then they must quickly swim away. We’ll need fishing boats stationed out at sea for them to swim to. Can the beasts swim?”

  “Abba,” Anastasia snapped.

  Des wondered why she seemed so angry. “The rest of Alée’s warriors will attack with war clubs any beasts that follow.”

  The cow sizzled and the smell of cooking beef began to make Des’ mouth water. He tried to ignore stray fantasies of barbecue.

  Alée said something to Anastasia that sounded like a retort.

  Anastasia eyes narrowed. “Des, she wants to know if she can speak at the rally.”

  “Absolutely! Of course she can.”

  “She wants to know if she can speak with the thunder sticks.”

  Des smiled. “Anyone who speaks can use the soundsticks. Oh, by the way, have you seen Itar?”

  “Yes, he is feeling better.”

  “Ask Itar if he would speak at the rally; that would be great. Also, ask Alée to bring all the captains to Say-ance today at noon. She should leave two warriors here to finish up, and the rest should go down to the water. Also, tell her that, when they are on the beast boats, to light fires to create chaos.”

  “Chaos?”

  “Yeah. They should do it silently, completely quiet, like a silent breeze. Does she know silence?”

  Anastasia clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Of course we know silence.” If anyone needed lessons in silence, it would be Des.

  “Sorry, love, you don’t have to translate the silence thing. I know she knows.”

  Anastasia and Des walked down to the beach. She still seemed troubled, but his mind was miles away, trying to put together a proper defense against the beasts—contingencies and plans.

  “Des, you know Alée is my best friend,” Anastasia began, her voice unsteady.

  “Well, then she is my best friend, too,” Des replied somewhat absently.

  “Best friends don’t...”

  Finally noticing that she was befuddled, Des withdrew from his mental engagement with the enemy.

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “I know we cannot stay together—” she said.

  “It’s only temporary.”

  “No. You don’t understand.”

  “Understand what?”

  Her face contorted with frustration. “Alée is a good choice.”

  “I understand you are concerned about Alée, but I’ll watch over her, keep her out of harm’s way as much as possible, but remember that she is a warrior, a leader. I like her a lot, she has many admirable...characteristics.” When this didn’t appear to calm Anastasia, he added, “By the way, I’m making arrangements for a place to stay. I can’t sleep on that stone bench, and I realize that you can’t kick your sister out. Besides, it’s only temporary; it won’t be so bad.” He patted her ass.

  “Not so bad for you,” she whispered.

  Des stopped at a large rock outcropping that projected into the sea and sat on a flat stone. He pulled out parchment and pen from his backpack.

  “Now, how do you say—”

  Anastasia squatted. “This again? I’m tired of your speech. Do you want to play?” She rubbed his feet.

  Des barely noticed. “How do you say, ‘If the enemy advances, we retreat. If the enemy camps, we harass. If the enemy tires, we attack. If the enemy retreats, we pursue.’”

  “Oh, Des, this is so hard,” she complained.

  As she worked through the translation, Des transcribed, with the Anasazi phonetics above, and the English translation underneath. He hoped he would do justice to Mao’s philosophy of war.

  “How about, ‘Wars are, of course, as a rule to be avoided, but they are far better than certain kinds of peace.’” He thought Teddy would be proud to be quoted in this speech.

  Des continued to press Anastasia with historical war quotes he’d learned from his militant high school history teacher, and she stumbled through the translations.

  He ended with, “’United, we stand; divided, we fall.’”

  “You are finished?” Anastasia asked.

  “Yup.”

  “Read it to me,” she said.

  “No, not yet. I have to practice and get the lines right, then I’ll read it to you. Besides, it’s time for the captains’ meeting at Say-ance.”

  The meeting lasted for four hours as they discussed plans and contingencies. Each captain spoke, and Anastasia translated.

  Des walked Anastasia home. Alée followed behind them.

  Bethenna was planted firmly on the porch.

  Des clasped Anastasia’s hand. “Good night, my dear.”

  “Good night.” Anastasia hesitated, then went inside.

  Des continued walking toward the village with Alée, when he heard Anastasia scream his name.

  She burst past her sister, nearly knocking her over, and ran into Des, pushing him backward. She kissed him hard, with both arms and one leg wrapped tightly around him. When she finished the kiss, she continued to hold him, glowering at Alée.

  Des was flabbergasted by her weird behavior. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning. It’s not like I’m going far.”

  Tears filled Anastasia’s eyes. She let him go and ran back, past her sister.

  Des stayed in Oom’s hut that night. He delivered his speech to Oom, and Oom had seemed quite enthusiastic. Des knew it was a killer speech.

  He didn’t know Oom would be the only person who would ever hear it.

  Chapter 24

  EDMONTON, ALBERTA, CANADA

  LATITUDE 53° 33’ NORTH

  LONGITUDE 113° 30’ WEST

  Month 3, Day 3; 0330 UTC, 9:30 AM LTD

  Mitch pressed the phone receiver hard against his ear, straining to hear; the line sounded hollow. He had explained his plan three times to Colonel Wingert because Wingert kept saying, “Tell me again.”

  “Sir?” Mitch finally prompted.

  “Yes, I’m here. I’m thinking. Can we trust Bearters with this? Jack said he was loyal to the Inuits.”

  “Yes, sir. I have that report here, but I’m convinced that we can trust Bearters. He’s in this up to his fucking eyeballs. I’d trust him with my life.”

  Mallory beamed a smile at Mitch from across the room.

  Mitch added to Wingert, “I’ve come up with the name ‘Operation Scorpion’ for it.”

  “Because of the sting?” the colonel asked.

  “Yes sir, because of the sting.”

  The phone was quiet for several seconds before Mitch heard Wingert sigh and say, “Let me see if I have this straight: You want me to withdraw the negotiating team from Nunavut and tell the Inuits it’s over, that we decided not to pursue this mission because the Australians are too far ahead.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And, without the USA standing next to them, the Canadians will also withdraw?”

  “Yes, sir. Bearters confirmed that they would—they need our money.”

  “So, we’re to give you two checks for one million dollars each, and we’re just going to trust that you do right by us?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll return the money if the plan doesn’t work.”

  Wingert grunted. “And you want the helicopters recalled?”

  “Yes, sir, all but one. Lieutenant Mallory can handpick a special-forces team for that one. And don’t forget the paint.”

  “You know, the Australians are about to reach zero gravity,” Wingert said.

  “Yes, sir. The lieutenant told me. You have nothing to lose but two weeks, I’ll swear to it. The vents have closed only a few centimeters this past week, so things seem pretty stable for now; maybe Anderson was right abo
ut that. And the original expedition members are vested in finding Des.”

  “Vent stability could change.”

  “Yes sir, it could.”

  There was more dead air over the phone line, then Wingert said, “Let me think this over. There are some others I need to contact.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  After Mitch hung up, Mallory asked, “Well?”

  “He’s thinking...maybe yes, maybe no. What do we do now?”

  “If you sit on a plan, it won’t happen. We move all the needed equipment to B-37, then I’ll reassign flight crews. Once I get the new team on B-37, I’ll brief them. After that, we retrofit the false doors. What we do now, Mitch, is prepare.”

  Mitch and Mallory were sharing drinks with two Canadians at the officers’ club that evening when there was a sharp rap on the door. Sergeant Crow entered with an envelope in his hand. Mitch tensed; he knew a decision had been made.

  “Sir, orders,” the sergeant said, snapping to attention.

  Mallory opened the envelope, read the orders, then showed them to Sergeant Crow, who saluted and left.

  “What was that all about?” one of the Canadians asked.

  Mallory pulled on his beer, then banged the empty glass against the table. He pushed his chair back noisily. All eyes were on him.

  “Damn. Mitch, take a look at this.”

  Mitch suppressed a smile as he read the terse note: “Lieutenant Mallory, operation abandoned. All personnel are to immediately return to base.” And, just before Colonel Wingert’s signature: “Operation Scorpion, get cracking.”

  “What does it say?” the Canadian pressed.

  Mallory replied, “We’ve been recalled—it’s over. The USA is not going to be pushed around by the Inuits anymore.”

  Within thirty minutes, the flight crews had boarded the helicopters. The sky crane lifted and headed south and the Chinooks followed—all except one. B-37’s engines whined, but its rotors did not turn.

  “Lieutenant, we have a red light up front,” Sergeant Crow said.

  “Inform our hosts that the damn engines now have trouble,” Mallory told Crow.

  When the sergeant had moved forward, Mitch said to Mallory, “Their trouble is with us.”

  They both laughed.

  It took four days for Mitch to obtain permission to reenter Inuit territory. He took a commercial flight to Denver, where he met with Thomas Backhouse, the president of his company. Mitch handed Backhouse a U.S. Treasury check for one million dollars, which Backhouse exchanged for a certified check for one million dollars drawn on the corporate account of Boster Denton, Inc., payable to the Inuit Nation Council.

  By the time Mitch had returned to Edmonton, Mallory had secured another top-secret hangar, where painters were busy spraying the masked fuselage of the Chinook with Polar Bear White.

  Chapter 25

  LATITUDE 82° 10’ NORTH

  LONGITUDE 73° 42’ WEST

  LAPTITUDE 68%

  Month 3; Day 4, 0230 UTC, 8:30 AM LTD

  Oom shook Des’ shoulder gently.

  Des had spent two nights on the cot at Oom’s. He missed Anastasia’s featherbed, but not nearly as much as he missed Anastasia.

  His stomach growled. Breakfast at Oom’s could be summed up in one word: meager. Des was not looking forward to another meal that left him hungrier than before he’d eaten. How could he starve and still lead troops? How could Oom survive on what he ate?

  Des swung his feet to the floor and noticed that Oom seemed to be excited. What could he be up to?

  In the main room, Des saw a huge watermelon on the table. It might not be very filling, but at least there was a lot of it—and, apparently, Oom was proud of his find. He posed behind the table with his back straight and his jaw tilted up. He held the pose for a few more seconds, then smiled. He raised the gleaming blade of his sword, and slid it through the melon without any pressure.

  “Holy smokes, you did it!” Des gasped.

  Oom handed the steel sword to Des. The blade was cast without pits or notches.

  Des held it over his head. “Yi, yi, yi, yi, yi, yi!”

  Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk. Like a practiced chef at a Japanese restaurant, Des sliced the watermelon, then skewered a piece and offered it to Oom.

  They laughed.

  “Come outside,” Des said.

  There, Des placed his feet wide apart and circled the tip of the sword in front of him, feeling like a samurai.

  “A-ye-ee!” He swooshed the sword back and forth, up and down. “Aye-yah!”

  When he spun around, he saw Alée standing there.

  “Follow me,” she said in English.

  “No, Alée, not now. Come back for me at noon.”

  Alée motioned for him to follow, but when Des again refused, she left in resignation.

  “Come on, Oom, show me how.”

  They worked and ate watermelon for the next three hours. Oom pounded the iron pellets on his table while Des pulverized the charcoal. Then they charged and fired the furnace with each of them working a bellows. Des got hot, sweaty and covered in soot, but he was content.

  “Oom, today’s the big day. There’s a rally at E-shandra. Big speech. I need to get cleaned up.” He made motions of scrubbing himself.

  Oom nodded and retrieved a bar of soap and a sea sponge from his hut, then pointed at the sea.

  Des bathed, then lay naked on a flat rock to dry. He closed his eyes and drifted into sleep.

  “Des.”

  Alée stood behind him.

  “Oh my God, I must be late.”

  He dressed and ran his fingers through his long hair, conscious of Alée’s eyes on him.

  As they walked towards E-shandra, Des removed the small wooden ring box from his pocket and opened it.

  “Hey, Alée, take a look at this.”

  Alée smiled. “Anastasia?”

  “Abba,” Des said. He pocketed the ring.

  When they were almost at E-shandra, Des was startled to see tables and chairs on the beach. Thousands of women were feasting, drums were beating, and dancers dressed in silk and sequined tunics snaked past crowded tables piled with mountains of food.

  Des made a beeline for the food while keeping an eye out for Anastasia. He found her holding an earthenware pitcher in each hand. When their eyes met, she hoisted one of the pitchers into the air. Whoops emanated from tables filled with laughing women.

  Des saw Bethenna at the head of one long table, rapping the knuckles of her children with her spive when they tried to eat with their hands. She seemed to be in good spirits, but her children appeared subdued.

  Des tried not to eat too ravenously, but he was so famished, he bolted his food. Gymnasts did cartwheels past his table. A smiling dancer leaned backward towards Des while moving to the beat of the drums; her swaying breasts mesmerized him.

  His trance was broken by a cold sensation on his shorts.

  Anastasia was standing over him; she had poured coconut juice in his lap.

  “Oh, I am sorry,” she said, slamming a mug onto the table. “I seem to have missed.”

  The nearest warriors whooped with laughter.

  “Women,” Des scoffed.

  The drums grew louder, then they all stopped on some unseen cue. One drum began a somber beat that quickened in time. The drums were rolling now, from lows to highs. Eight drummers played, with Adeyo and his woman standing in the middle. Adeyo really had those skins popping. When they finished, Des joined everyone whooping loudly in appreciation.

  The drumming and dancing continued as people drifted into E-shandra. Des climbed the outside stairs and went through the small room onto the platform inside. The microphone had been affixed to a wooden stand. He switched it on.

  “Testing, one, two, testing.”

&nbs
p; The sound boomed around the arena. Des turned off the mike and looked across the coliseum. The other platform held an ornate chair fit for a queen. Everything was in place and he was ready, except...

  He had forgotten to bring his speech! It was still at Oom’s. He wheeled around and found Anastasia seated in the small room, looking angry.

  “Have you kissed her?” she asked.

  “Who?” Des asked, confused.

  “Alée!”

  Only two nights away from him, and she had already conjectured the worst. “Anastasia, who helps and watches over Itar?”

  “His guards.”

  Des guessed that she thought he was merely changing the subject. He continued to explain. “There are a lot of new faces in the village, and I don’t know them—you might, but I don’t. If I’m supposed to lead in this war, Itar thought rightly, that I should have some protection.”

  “Alée is your guard?”

  Des fingered the wooden box in his pocket, but this was not the right time or place, so he just replied, “Abba.”

  “Oh.”

  Des wrapped his arms around her. “You know I love only you, but I must go find my speech; I left it with Oom. Alée will follow, but it’s only to guard me.”

  He walked Anastasia outside onto the top of the stairway and indicated Bethenna, who was still eating. Ray-na was standing behind her, war club in hand. May-lee sat at the bottom of the steps.

  “Look. You are being guarded, too. It’s only until I’m sure that everyone is safe.”

  Des kissed Anastasia, then trotted down the steps. Bethenna playfully spived him in the butt as he passed.

  Alée followed Des back to Oom’s hut.

  Oom wasn’t there and Des searched for his speech until he thought it was nearly time for the event to begin. He concluded he would have to wing it—too bad, the speech would have been a killer. He motioned to Alée that he was leaving.

  Just then, Oom appeared, holding Des’ pack.

  “Thank you, thank you so much!” Des buried his head against Oom’s chest. When he pulled away, he had jagged streaks of charcoal on each side of his face, but nobody told him.