Ice Hunter

by Joseph Heywood

  Scientists loved theories, big-picture crap.

  “How long will tests take?”

  “A few days.”

  “Then what?”

  “Not all pipes have diamonds. Most don’t. To find out you have to drill down two or three hundred feet with a five-inch-diameter bore. You take a couple of tons of rock from each boring, break it up, examine the contents, and analyze.”

  Nantz listened attentively, but didn’t interrupt. Not even with her usual one-liners.

  Service said, “Chances are there’s nothing here?”

  Rocky Lemich nodded. “If you believe the odds, that’s right, but I’ve been in this game a long time and you just never know. People in the diamond hunt take it real slow. And they tend to be very cautious and extremely thorough. It doesn’t cost much to send out mineral cruisers to scope formations, but it costs heaps to do even rudimentary exploratory drilling.”

  “But if somebody got a wild hair and started to drill here, it could start a rush.”

  Lemich agreed. “True enough. Diamonds send dreamers off the deep end. But,” he added, “this is wilderness and the law doesn’t allow drilling.”

  “Laws can be changed,” Nantz said.

  Service looked at her and turned back to the old goalie. “What does a diamond mine look like?”

  “Well, it’s somewhat like standard hard-rock mining, like copper and iron used to be up here. A kimberlite pipe tends to be ragged and ziggy-zaggy. The pipe is twisted like a strand of broken DNA and narrows the deeper you go. Think of an askew funnel, all bent to hell during the violent uplift. You never know exactly where diamonds will be in the pipe. Usually they’re dispersed and found in pockets in different parts of the pipe. Magnetic readings can help identify target sites. You bore sample holes. Poke around, look in water for evidence of gems being spit out and eroded by hydraulic pressure. Most diamonds are first found by some schmuck, and then engineers follow the diamond trail back to the original source. If you decide you want to dig for real, you offset and dig vertically. Once you have the shaft in, you dig sideways to intersect the pipe. Some mines in Africa go down three or four thousand feet. Here in the U.P. we have old iron and copper mines that go down as deep as nine thousand feet. But you don’t sink a shaft until you know you have a bloody good chance for the gems.”

  “How far away from the pipe would the shaft be?”

  “That can vary. Three hundred yards, four hundred. The farther away it is, the more expensive the cost of engineering and extraction. In mining, depth and distance are money.”

  “Is there a limit?”

  Lemich pursed his lips and squinted into the smoke. “If you have stable bedrock below you, the only limit is how much dough you want to spend to get at it.”

  Meaning the leased properties Knipe had were close enough to where Newf had found the diamond. If Knipe had his eye on diamonds here, he had access. A chopper could bring in construction equipment and people and haul out rock. They would never have to touch public land, so they couldn’t be gotten for trespassing. And there was nothing to stop them from digging if the DEQ approved a development plan and granted them a permit, which under the Bozian regime was a paper requirement. This was shaky ground. Knipe had a loophole and Bozian had weakened the state’s environmental agency to the point where it was rubber-stamping everything. Service felt his stomach roll.

  “What about garnets?”

  “Nature’s way. If you find diamonds, you usually find garnets. Yin and yang.” Lemich looked at Service. “Do you want my opinion? I couldn’t care less if there are diamonds here or anywhere in the Yoop. I like it the way it is and I know history and what a bloody mess copper and iron brought. You want me to forget all this, it’s forgotten. But it’s gonna cost you.”

  Nantz and Service glanced at each other. “What’s the price?” he asked.

  “You gotta get back into hockey, eh? Coach some kiddies.”

  Nantz frowned. “What hockey, you guys?”

  Kids? Service thought. “Deal,” he said reluctantly.

  The two men shook hands.

  “What hockey? C’mon you guys,” Nantz said with a mock whine.

  Service grilled the tenderloin steaks for them, cutting his in half to share with Nantz. Lemich ate heartily while Nantz chattered away in the flickering light of the fire. The wild strawberries were so sweet that the three of them closed their eyes and let themselves get lost in their thoughts.

  After dinner Service walked into the woods and used his handheld radio to get a phone patch to Kira. There was no answer at his place. He wondered if she was still ticked off.

  When he got back to camp, Nantz was helping Lemich put up his tent. Hers was already up. Service put his on the other side of Lemich.

  When they were in their tents Service doused the fire, leaving a pall of smoke lingering over the camp. Frogs peeped. Way off in the distance a coyote yipped. Sometime in the night he heard a rustling sound and woke up, but before he could react a hand closed over his mouth.

  “Not a word,” Nantz whispered as she wriggled into position beside him. “Are you serious about diamonds?”

  “One diamond,” he said.

  “Don’t niggle,” she scolded. “Where there’s one, there may be more.”

  “Get out of my tent,” he whispered.

  “Okay, call me crazy, then live with it. I listened patiently all day and kept my mouth shut, now I want answers.” She was behind him, her breath on his neck. “How many of the stones were garnets?”

  “Seven of them,” he said.

  “Jesus,” she whispered.

  “You heard what Lemich said. There are pipes here.”

  She said, “This could be a disaster.”

  “If the governor gets wind of this, all he’ll see are dollar signs; he’ll make all the usual political noises about environmental safety, then order the DEQ to make sure mining companies get what they want as long as the state gets a fat cut.”

  “Fighting the governor could be risky. He likes to get his way, and usually he does,” Nantz said.

  She was right about that. “We have to fight silently and smart until we’re forced to go public. When that happens, we want to be set up so there’s nothing anybody can do to get at these pipes.”

  “Don’t underestimate Bozian,” she said. “He looks and talks like a clown, but he’s a heavyweight. There’s talk in his party that he could eventually reach the White House.”

  How did she know such things? “I’m not underestimating him.” He remembered Bozian’s warning that he had a long memory.

  “Can we trust the professor?” she asked.

  “We have to,” he said. His gut said yes.

  She murmured and nestled closer, and he tried to pull away.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “You can’t stay.”

  “Don’t be a worrywart. I’ll be out before daylight.”

  “We have a neighbor.”

  “He’ll never know,” she whispered.

  “Good night, you two,” Lemich called pleasantly from his tent.

  “Oh well,” Nantz said, laughing softly.

  She was warm and soft, but he slept restlessly, thinking about Kira. When he awoke in the morning Nantz was gone, just as she had promised.

  The three of them had coffee while Service scrambled Egg Beaters with bacon bits, garlic powder, and onion flakes.

  When they packed up, Nantz got Service aside. “Drop him off and come back, okay?”

  “Why?”

  “We need to look for more pebbles. If we find any we need to cache them until we figure out a more permanent solution.”

  She was right. “Quick as I can get back,” he said pulling out his folding knife and handing it to her. “Notch a boo
t.”

  Nantz stared at him. “Why?”

  He showed her the sole of one of his boots. It was marked with a tiny triangle. “When I see your tracks, I’ll know it’s you.”

  She grinned. “You’ll know mine!”

  Lemich promised to get back to him with test results in a week to ten days. He expected Kira to be at the clinic, but her truck was parked at the end of the cabin. Service took the professor to his vehicle and went inside. Newf and Cat were both glad to see him. Kira was sitting at a table looking troubled, her eyes puffy.

  “Hi,” he said.

  She answered, “Grady, I’m sorry. I think I know now how your ex felt. I’m really sorry,” she added breathlessly, “but I’m just not cut out for this. I can’t live with you. I just can’t. It’s not your fault, Grady. I think for now we shouldn’t see each other. You can keep Newf. She was yours from the beginning.”

  They’d only lived together for a week and she was already bailing out.

  “I can’t take Newf today,” he said. The dog nuzzled his leg.

  “I’ll take her for now, but I want you to keep the bed. Sleeping on footlockers isn’t healthy. I am really sorry to do this so abruptly. You made a wonderful gesture for us, and I appreciate that, but I’m just not as strong as you.”

  He hated beginnings because they inexorably led to endings.

  Her speech done, she took her purse, called Newf, went out to her truck, and drove away. Service watched until the truck was out of sight. He considered going after her, but what would that accomplish? Her mind was made up. He wished he could just sit and let Kira’s words settle in, but there was no time. He had to get back to the Tract. Nantz was waiting and duty called.

  He telephoned del Olmo. “What have you got?”

  “I can’t figure it out,” the younger CO said. “Knipe has a lot of parcels, maybe twenty-five of them, but none of them is closer than a quarter mile to any of the suspected pipe areas.”

  Service knew why. A slanted mine could intercept a pipe. “But all the parcels are in relatively close proximity?”

  “So far.”

  “Any that are miles away?”

  “Nope. If you listen to rumors over here, they’re all adjacent to kimberlites, but nobody can say for sure because the exact location of the sites is being held close.”

  It figured. Knipe was going to try to cash in, one way or another. The question was, How?

  “Here’s a good one,” del Olmo said. “He’s got one site fenced in and electrified. There are motion sensors all around, and security people are on duty around the clock. Dogs, too.”

  “Where?”

  “Not far from Lake Ellen and one of the Dow properties.”

  Did Knipe have a pipe on his property or was he trying to burrow into somebody else’s? Why the fence and heavy security arrangements?

  “Simon, how well do you know your DEQ counterparts?”

  “Well enough.”

  “We need to know if Knipe has a permit to drill.”

  “He’d need an approved plan first.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Si, jeffe.”

  “Be circumspect, Simon.”

  “Hey,” del Olmo said. “That’s my religious preference.”

  The next call went to Gus Turnage. There were no messages on his answering machine. Cleaned out by Kira?

  When he reached Gus, he sounded tired. “I was out all night.”

  Service said, “Did you call?”

  “I’m just getting in,” Turnage said. “I’ve been dogging those names. One of the three no longer works at the university. His name is Fox and he left maybe six months ago. People over there seemed pretty nervous and evasive about him. Could be he was canned. I’m trying to nail that down. The other two haven’t done a job in a year and never up here in the Yoop.”

  “Where’s Fox now?”

  “He left to quote ‘pursue other interests’ end quote. That sound like personnel-puke talk to you?”

  It did.

  “I don’t have the foggiest where he went, but I’ll stay after it, okay?”

  “Thanks.”

  The final call went to Joe Flap.

  “No blue chopper, but I found us a black one.”

  “Unmarked?”

  “Pretty much. Got a small red WC near the tail rotor. Hard to see from any distance.”

  Could WC stand for Wildcat? Service wondered. “Where were you?”

  “Way the hell up by Skanee. Buncha grumpy old Swedes up that way.”

  “Who owns the chopper?”

  “Some guy. He’s an outfitter, I think. Fishing and hunting guide, wildlife photographer, jack of all trades. He seems to jump around like a damn grasshopper. You know the type.”

  “You got a book on him?”

  “I’m working on that. He hasn’t been in this spot all that long. A few months, from what I gather. And he’s not here often.”

  “What about a name?”

  “Will Chamont.”

  WC. Will Chamont, not Wildcat. So much for wishful thinking. When would he ever learn? In college his coach had made all the players take personality tests to type their styles. He had been classified an “intuitive,” a style that applied to fewer than one in twenty people. His mind tended to jump from rock to rock, rather than following the paved road.

  “You want me drop in on this bozo? I could tell him I’m looking for work.”

  “Can you fly a chopper?”

  “Hell, I can fly a fart if it has an engine.”

  Service laughed out loud. Pranger had never lacked confidence. Maybe that was what had kept him alive through all his crashes and close calls.

  “Did you see that Nantz broad?” Flap asked.

  “Why?”

  “Just tell that little gal she can come see old Joe Flap anytime.”

  Service felt his neck hairs bristle. “I’ll tell her if I see her.”

  A small lie.

  “I’ll head back up to Skanee tomorrow, scout around, see what I can find.”

  “Thanks and take care, Joe.”

  “This’ll cost you another case of beer.”

  “No problem.”

  Service got out his topo maps. Skanee was on the northwest side of the Huron Mountains, and south of the village were the two highest elevations in the state, Mounts Arvon and Curwood. There were hills stretching almost all the way down to the Tract from the helicopter’s location. The situation looked right, and it was within the helicopter range he had calculated. There were still too many loose ends, but it felt like some of them were starting to tighten up.

  He left food and water for Cat. When he got into his truck he noticed the sky was overcast and darkening. The humidity was oppressive and air too still. He could smell rain coming. He went back into the cabin and hurriedly grabbed a rain slicker.

  He stopped at Voydanov’s on his way back to the Tract. The old gent was on the porch in a handmade rocking chair. It was sprinkling and there was no wind. Service grabbed his slicker from the backseat and realized he had grabbed the wrong one. He wanted green but had taken his bright blue one. Put it on, dummy, he told himself.

  Voydanov waved and called out, “Howya doin’ son? Nice rain comin’ in, eh? We can sure use her.”

  There was no sign of the old man’s dog. The rain felt like a sprinkle, not a soaker, but predicting weather in the Upper Peninsula was a form of roulette at best. It could pour without warning. They would need plenty of rain to knock back the summer fire threat.

  “Sir, are you sure about the color of that chopper you saw?”

  “Sure am. You still fretting about that?”

  “Just following up.”

  “I read in the papers about that D
NR lieutenant who died. That why you’re in black?”

  Service was confused. Black? He looked down at his slicker, and said, “This is blue.”

  “Looks black to me,” Voydanov said.

  Service returned to the truck and grabbed a black backpack, which he held up for the old the man to see. “Was the chopper more like this color blue?”

  “She’s pretty darn close,” Voydanov said with a solemn nod.

  Voydanov’s color vision was screwy. Service immediately called Joe Flap on the cellular and told him the chopper they wanted was probably black, not blue. It was sprinkling a little harder when he reached the trailhead and parked and locked the truck.

  There was no sign of Nantz when he got to the river, but her tent was still up. She had added a rain fly and dug a neat runoff trench around the tent. He stashed his gear in the tent and wandered around for a while. He wished she had stayed put but guessed her nervous energy made that impossible. He could relate.

  There was still no sign of her by late afternoon, and no letup in the drizzle. He admitted to himself that he was getting worried and decided it was time to look. To hell with what she might read into it.

  He took his pack and moved quickly along the river, almost at a jog, feeling like a hound with no scent and eager to get on it. He went all the way down to the log slide and up one of the fire lines before he paused. East of the burn he found a small, blurred bootprint with a tiny and unreadable mark on the heel. Farther east, under a maple tree where the ground was protected, he found a patch of damp clay with a pristine track. The mark was shaped like a Coke bottle with exaggerated breasts. He smiled. Nantz. She said he would know her mark. He was certain the print in the clay had been carefully placed for him, but why had she come all the way down here?