Part Three
ICE
Chapter Twenty-One
* * *
The first sign of the ice sheet was a few broken pieces of ice as slick and white as marble floating on black water, and though the Polar Star with its company of four catcherboats moved easily into a north wind, there was a general sense of heightened apprehension and isolation. Belowdecks was the new sound of ice scraping the waterline. On deck the crew leaned back to study the gear that surmounted the bridgehouse and gantries: the slowly turning bars, the interlocked rings, the star-shaped, whip and line antennas that provided radar, VHP, short-wave, radio and satellite direction. The sense of a distant reality was increasingly important as scattered ice turned to an endless maze of ice rafts, circular and smooth. More and more the trawlers fell in line behind the Polar Star, especially the Eagle, built for the warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico, not for the Bering Sea.
By evening the wind had increased, as if sliding faster over ice than over water, and brought a fine rain that froze on the windshield of the bridge. Through the night, crewmen hosed ice off the Polar Star's decks with water from the boilers. The trawlers, even more vulnerable to the destabilizing weight of ice, did the same, and so they moved as a steaming parade through the dark.
The Alaska Miss, its screws dented by a floe, turned back at dawn. The others stayed because the fish were there. In the morning light the boats found that the ice had melded into one solid sheet. Ahead lay a white and featureless shell under a blue arch; in the Polar Star's wake stretched a fairway of carbon-black water into which the trawlers, spaced a mile apart, dipped their nets. For some reason, groundfish, particularly sole, chose the ocean floor just inside the ice sheet to mass practically in tiers. Nets thirty and forty tons heavy rose from the water, fish and mesh and plastic chafing hair immediately covered in dazzling crystals of ice, so it appeared that the trawlers were literally hauling gems from the sea. In a way it was true. The Americans were getting rich and the Soviets were doubling their daily plan.
All the same, the Polar Star's flag hung at half-mast. The voyage's entire quota had been dedicated to the memory of Fedor Volovoi. Messages of sympathy were sent to the dead man's family; messages of support were received from fleet headquarters in Vladivostok and the company offices in Seattle. The Party cell had nominated a gloomy Slava Bukovsky to carry out the duties of political officer. Volovoi would be riding home in the No. 2 food store in a plastic bag next to the one containing Zina Patiashvili, who had been transferred; all the space in the fish hold would be needed. It was whispered on board that the first mate's throat was more than simply charred. In his capacity as trade union representative charged with writing death forms, Slava denied the rumours, but with all his new duties, the third mate seemed to be more afflicted with depression than inspired by opportunity. Arkady himself ached after the beating from Karp, but no worse than if he had fallen down a very long staircase.
On the slime line a half-ton of yellowfin sole poured like a quickening flood down the chute every ten minutes to be gutted, cleaned and trimmed. The fish were so laced with ice that Obidin, Malzeva, Mer and the others were numb from hands to shoulders. Over the sound of the saws and the incessant murmuring of cheerful tunes from the radio came the thumping of ice along the hull. The ice-breaking bow of the Polar Star had been designed to ride up and crash through ice a metre thick. Still the hull protested. The whole bulkhead would shudder, and individual plates bowed in and out like drums.
As she steered fish through the saw, Natasha again and again raised a questioning look at Arkady, but he was listening to the progress of the ship, to the ice resisting and then exploding under the bow, a sound like the earth splitting.
Marchuk looked as if he had been climbing mountains. Fog, never far away, had returned as a mist that froze on the windshield of the bridge and the captain had gone out on the flying bridge. His greatcoat, boots, open-finger gloves and captain's cap were lined in every fold with ice, and his beard had the shimmer of melting rime. As he stood now behind his desk, water began to pool on the floor. By the evidence of his red ears it was plain that Marchuk had not traded his cap for the flapped woollen cap of lesser men. Anton Hess had not been out on deck; still, he was padded with two sweaters and the same sort of gloves as Marchuk. A Soviet ship is overheated – the glory of a Russian home is heat – but nothing stayed warm on the ice sheet. Under his forehead and wild hair, Hess's eyes were hollowed by exhaustion. Two strong men, yet each seemed uncertain, even frightened. For the first time in their lives they were sailing on ships without a watchdog of the Party – worse, with a dead watchdog in the freezer.
Standing on the carpet next to Arkady, but not with him, as far as he could suggest by expression, was Slava Bukovsky. It was the same group that had assembled in the captain's cabin before, with one obvious exception.
'I apologize for not meeting when we raised anchor,' Marchuk said. 'Matters were unclear. Also, my attention is taken with the radio whenever we approach ice. Americans are not used to ice, so I have to hold their hands. Now, Comrade Bukovsky, I have read your report, but the others might like to hear it.'
Slava took the opportunity to step forward, a step further away from Arkady. 'My report is based on the American report. I have it here.'
As soon as Slava opened his briefcase, his papers escaped on to the carpet. It occurred to Arkady that if Marchuk had a tail it would be twitching.
The third mate found the paper he wanted. He read, 'The competent authorities in DutchHarbor –'
'Who are the competent authorities?' Hess interrupted.
'The local fire chief. He said it appeared to be an accidental fire,' Slava went on. 'The native called Mikhail Krukov had been warned many times about the danger of using volatile materials in the construction of his boats, and there was evidence of a kerosene lamp, of gasoline and of alcohol. The accident occurred in a concrete construction dating back to the war, a bunker without sufficient ventilation and without safeguards for the generator that Krukov used. Apparently the natives have taken over a number of abandoned military structures without permission. Krukov was well known locally as some sort of boatbuilder. The Americans assume that he was showing one to Volovoi, that the two men shared a bottle and that in the closed space there was somehow an accident that broke a kerosene lamp, igniting toxic material which, in turn, exploded. Fedor Volovoi, apparently, was immediately killed by flying glass. The native, it seemed, died of burns and inhalation.
'Mikhail Krukov?' Marchuk raised his eyebrows. 'A Russian name?'
'He was called Mike,' Slava said.
'They were drunk?' Hess asked. 'Is that what the competent authorities suggest?'
'Like our own, their natives are known to be abusers of alcohol,' Slava said.
Marchuk smiled like a man who had heard a joke on the way to the gallows. He turned the smile towards Arkady. 'Volovoi didn't drink and he hated boats. But that's the report; that's what I'm supposed to tell Vladivostok. Somehow I have the feeling that you have something you could add.'
The ship trembled as it hit a larger ice floe. Arkady waited until the grinding slid past. 'No,' he said.
'Nothing?' Marchuk asked. 'I think of you as such a reliable source of surprises.'
Arkady shrugged. As an afterthought he asked Slava, 'Who found the bodies?'
'Karp.'
'Karp Korobetz, a trawlmaster,' the captain explained to Hess. 'He was searching for Volovoi in the company of an engineer from the Eagle'
'Ridley,' Slava said. 'He showed Karp the way to the bunker.'
'What time did they discover the bodies?' Arkady asked.
'About ten,' Slava said. 'They had to break the door in.'
'You hear that?' Marchuk underlined the words for Arkady. 'They had to break in. It was locked from the inside. That's the touch I like.'
'Karp and Ridley entered the bunker?' Arkady asked Slava. 'They looked around?'
'I suppose.'
Slava jumped
as Marchuk slapped his cap against a boot and shook off water. The captain replaced the hat on his head and lit a cigarette. 'Go on,' he encouraged Slava.
'Volovoi was found in the main room of the bunker and the American was found in a second room,' Slava said. 'There was a trapdoor of sorts in the second room, but no ladder was found.'
'There was no way up from the inside,' Marchuk said. 'It's like a mystery.'
'I didn't see much of DutchHarbor,' Arkady said.
'Really?' Marchuk said.
'I didn't notice much in the way of medical facilities.' Arkady continued. 'Did a doctor examine the bodies?'
'Yes,' Slava said.
'In a laboratory?'
'No.' Slava became defensive. 'There was clearly a fire and explosion, and the bodies were almost too badly burned to be moved.'
'The Americans accept that?' Arkady asked.
Marchuk said, 'They would have to fly the bodies to the mainland, and we're not going to let them have Volovoi. His body will be examined in Vladivostok. Anyway, Captain Morgan has accepted the report.'
'Just out of curiosity,' Arkady said, 'who was next at the scene, after Korobetz and Ridley?'
'Morgan,' Slava read.
'You accept the report, too?' Arkady asked Marchuk.
'Of course. Two men die, one of theirs and one of ours, and nearly every sign indicates that they got drunk and burned themselves to death. That's the kind of stink the Americans and we can mutually put behind us. Cooperation is the byword of a joint venture.'
The captain swung his attention to Slava. 'Volovoi was a real shit. I hope you can fill his shoes.' He leaned forward, turning again to Arkady. 'But how do you think this will look for me, returning to Vladivostok with two of my crew in bags? Do you know what a circus it will be? What will my next command be? A garbage scow in Magadan? They still float logs along Kamchatka. Maybe they'll save a log for me.'
'You went ashore on my authority,' Hess said to Arkady. 'Supposedly you were still gathering information about the dead girl, Zina Patiashvili.'
'Thank you,' Arkady said. 'It was invigorating to be on land again.'
'But now we have three dead instead of one,' Hess pressed on, 'and since one was the vigilant defender of the Party, the Party will have its questions when we return home.'
'Somehow,' Marchuk stared at Arkady, 'somehow I connect it all to you. You come on board; there's one dead. You go ashore; there are two more dead. Compared with you, Jonah was a ray of sunshine.'
'You see, this is the question: where were you', Hess asked. 'Volovoi left the hotel searching for you. No one could find either of you, and the next time we see the commissar he's up on top of a hill and burned to death with an Indian –'
'An Aleut,' Slava said. 'It's in my report.'
'A native, whatever, to whom Volovoi had hardly ever spoken before. What was Volovoi doing drinking, which he never did, with a boatbuilder on top of a hill? Why would he be there when he was looking for you?' Hess asked Arkady.
'Do you want me to try to find out?'
Hess smiled at the answer from sheer professional appreciation, as if he had seen a goalie stop a difficult kick, then boot the ball into the opposite net.
'No, no,' Marchuk said. 'No more help from you. I can just see their faces in Vladivostok if we tried to explain why we assigned you to investigate the death of Volovoi. Comrade Bukovsky is in charge.'
'Again? Congratulations,' Arkady said to Slava.
'I have already questioned Seaman Renko,' Slava said. 'He claims that after leaving Susan, being drunk and feeling ill, he went out behind the hotel and passed out. Then he remembers nothing until he found himself in the water, having fallen off the dock.'
Marchuk said, 'Izrail, the factory manager, tells me that you were drunk in a fish hold the other day and almost froze yourself. No wonder you lost your Party card.'
'The hidden drunks are the worst,' Arkady agreed. 'But Captain, you just said you accepted the American report that there was an accidental fire. Then what is Comrade Bukovsky investigating?'
'I'm assembling our own findings,' Slava said. 'I'm not necessarily asking questions.'
'The best kind of investigation.' Arkady nodded. 'A straight line with no dangerous curves. Incidentally,' he said to Hess, 'could I have my knife back? You took it before we went ashore.'
'I'd have to look for it.'
'Please do. It's the property of the state.'
Marchuk crushed his cigarette into an ashtray and glanced at the porthole, heavy-lidded with ice. 'Well, your days as an investigator are over once again. The death of Zina Patiashvili is a closed matter until we reach home. Gentlemen, the fish await.' He rose, pulled the peak of his cap forward, picked up the twisted butt and used it to light another cigarette. Everyone had been smoking Marlboros since DutchHarbor. 'I like you, Renko, but I have to say this: if our Comrade Volovoi didn't die in the fire – if, for example, his throat was cut – I would suspect you first. We can't figure out how you could kill two men or escape the fire. I like the way you fell in the water. That would dampen the smell of the smoke and wash the grass off your boots.' He pushed up the collar of his coat. 'My Americans await. It's like leading little girls across a frozen pond.'
Chapter Twenty-Two
* * *
From the stern rail Susan focused binoculars on the wake of the Polar Star. Her jacket was buttoned to her chin and, like a girl on skis, she wore mittens and a woollen cap.
'See anything?' Arkady asked.
'I was watching the Eagle. A Gulf boat shouldn't be here.'
'I've been looking for you.'
'Funny,' she said, 'I've been avoiding you.'
Out of habit, Arkady checked over his shoulder to see whether Karp was near. 'That's hard on a ship.'
'Apparently.'
'Can I look?' he asked.
She handed him the glasses. Arkady focused first on the water reaching up the Polar Star's ramp, the waves almost a tropical blue as they flowed in and out of the rusty gullet. Water so cold seemed molten. Sea water started to crystallize at 29°F, and because it carried so much brine it formed first not as a solid but as a transparent sheen, undulating on black swells, going grey as it congealed.
The trawlers had to stay close to mother. Through the glasses he could see the Merry Jane slip by the Eagle as the first ship brought in a bag that lay fat and wet on its deck. The Eagle was just setting its net, and as it rose on a swell he had a clear view of two deckhands in yellow slickers. Americans didn't use safety gates. Water surged freely up and down the ramp, and the men expertly timed their every move, jumping on to gantry rungs when larger waves broke over the gunwales. The binoculars were 10x50 so Arkady could see it was the former policeman, Coletti, who was working the hydraulic levers on the gantry. The second fisherman threw loose crabs over the side, and only as the man turned did Arkady recognize the peaked brows and grin of Ridley.
'Just a two-man crew?' Arkady asked. 'They didn't replace Mike?'
'They're capitalists. One less share to give up.'
Setting a net was a delicate operation in the best of circumstances, which was a calm sea with room to manoeuvre. The Aurora had already tangled its trawl wires on a propeller and left, at a limp, for DutchHarbor. In the wheelhouse, Morgan, in a baseball cap and parka, alternately worked the Eagle's throttle and tended the controls of the winch behind him.
'Why didn't you stay at the hotel with me?' Susan asked.
'I told you that Volovoi was coming to take me back to the ship.'
'Maybe he should have. They'd be more people alive now.'
Arkady, always slow on the uptake, finally put the glasses down and noticed that Susan's cheeks weren't burning merely from the cold. What had he looked like when he suddenly left her? A coward, a seducer? More likely a buffoon.
'I'm sorry I left,' he said.
'Too late,' Susan said. 'You weren't just running from Volovoi. I watched you from the window when you crossed the road. You were following Mike
.' The steam of her breath seemed like visible contempt. 'You followed Mike, Volovoi followed you. Now they're both dead and you're taking an Arctic cruise.'
Arkady had come to apologize, but there always seemed to be a barrier between the two of them he couldn't cross. Anyway, what could he say? Mike was dead when he had caught up? That a model trawlmaster had sliced the first mate's throat, though he had witnesses where he supposedly was and Arkady did not? Or, what were you looking for in the water?
'Can you tell me what happened?'
'No,' he admitted.
'Let me tell you what I think. I think you really were an investigator of some sort at some time. You're pretending to try to find out about Zina, but you've been offered a chance to get off the boat if you can blame an American. It would have been Mike, but now that he's dead you have to find another one. What I don't understand', she said, 'is me. Back at DutchHarbor I actually believed you. Then I saw you running across the road after Mike.'
Arkady found himself getting warm. 'Did you tell anyone I was following him?'
In spite of her anger she looked back at the Eagle. Arkady looked through the glasses again. The boat went hull down, then disappeared behind a swell, and when it rose both Ridley and Coletti had climbed the gantry to stay out of water that would have been up to their knees. In the wheelhouse Morgan had already picked up his own binoculars and was watching Arkady in return.
'He'll stay close to us, won't he?'
'Or get iced in,' Susan said.
'Is he a dedicated man?'
A swell like a smooth rock streaked with foam grew between the two men, gathered momentum as it rolled to the Polar Star and then plunged up the factory ship ramp. Morgan held his binoculars steady on his target.
Polar Star Page 22
