Arctic Rising: A Constable Maratse Stand Alone novella (Guerrilla Greenland Book 3)

by Christoffer Petersen

  “My point?” Downs laughed, then nodded at the police cutter just visible as it sailed to a new position in sight of the path. “We just shot at a bunch of Greenlanders. And we did that after Mitchell tackled that poor woman...”

  “Hey…”

  Downs raised his finger, cutting Mitchell off with a shake of his head. “No, you have to think about this. We all do. Forcing people out of their homes is bad enough, but I can live with that. We’re giving them better homes. I get it. But we just beat up and shot at unarmed U.S. citizens.”

  “You mean Greenlanders,” Isra said.

  “No,” Walcott said. “He’s right. They are U.S. citizens. At least, that’s what they’ll call them on CNN.”

  “And you just shot at them in full view of the Greenland police.” Downs pointed at Sisak III.

  “And sent them fleeing into the wilderness.” Walcott turned to look at Downs. “You’ve made your point. But right now, our priority is putting a muzzle on Maratse. Taking him out of the picture. You saw the look on the woman’s face.”

  “She’s pissed,” Isra said, with a nod at Mitchell.

  Mitchell frowned and said, “What did I do?”

  “You frightened her,” Walcott said. “You scared the crap out of her kid. And then I did the same, only I made her angry now, and that anger is what we need. It’ll bring Maratse out of the mountains.”

  “Yeah, and that I still don’t get,” Mitchell said. “This guy – this constable. I think we’re overestimating him.”

  “Overestimating?” Isra laughed. “That’s an awfully big word for you, Mitchell.”

  “Yeah? You think so?” Mitchell spat, and said, “Fuck you, Isra.”

  “Knock it off,” Walcott said.

  He turned to watch the woman lead the man and her daughter further along the path, until they dipped below a rise and out of sight.

  “Whatever we think of Maratse,” he said, turning back to his team. “He has reach. He’s reaching out to his people from these radio shacks in the mountains.” He pointed along the path. “They turned to him. How many others will?”

  “We don’t know…”

  “What? Isra? What don’t we know?” Walcott took a long breath. “Here’s what we do know – Maratse has the ear of the people, and we have less than three days to cut it off. The clock is ticking, and we need results. That little family is going to provide them.”

  “And Maratse?” Downs asked. “What do we do with him when we get him?”

  Walcott shrugged. “Honestly? I don’t know. And I’m not even sure it’s up to me. All I know is we have to get him. It’s that simple.”

  Walcott gestured for the team to head back to the settlement. He took a last look along the path, then another at the police cutter. The figure in the bow wore black, contrasting sharply with the white wheelhouse behind it. Walcott waved, but the figure made no move to wave back.

  “Right,” Walcott whispered as he lowered his hand. “Not so simple after all.”

  Part 5

  ________________________________

  “The problem is not what you’re talking about, but how you’re talking about it.” Kamiila led the way along the path, checking the map, the horizon, turning her cheek to the sun, sniffing the wind. Maratse followed, hands in pockets, a cigarette trapped between his teeth. Kamiila stopped at a steep section of the route. “It’s like you haven’t grasped it yet.”

  “I haven’t grasped it?”

  “Naamik,” Kamiila said with a shake of her head. “You’re just playing at it.”

  Maratse snuffed his cigarette between his finger and thumb, then tucked the remaining half back into the packet. He slipped his hands back into his pockets and waited for Kamiila to continue.

  “The Americans took our country,” she said.

  “They bought it.”

  “From the Danes.” Kamiila stabbed her finger in the chill air between them. “They had no right to sell it.”

  “I agree.”

  “And the Americans… They have no right to move us from our homes.”

  “Iiji.”

  Maratse watched Kamiila’s brow knit into a deep frown. He took a long breath as the tears welled in her eyes.

  “They killed Nukappi,” she said. “Killed him.”

  “I know.”

  “And you…” Kamiila caught her breath, took another, and then said, “You talk about sledging, hunting, kaffemiks, and…”

  Maratse waited.

  “… little things. Inconsequential.”

  “It’s the little things that hold us together,” Maratse said.

  “It changes nothing.” Kamiila turned to look down the side of the mountain at the fjord, and the corner of Kussannaq, just visible in the distance. “They told us to move. You told us we didn’t have to.”

  “Iiji.”

  “Then,” she said, whirling back to Maratse, taking a step closer, fire in her eyes. “You saved Nukappi – fought for him. Then sprung him from jail.”

  “From the ship.”

  “Jail. Ship. It doesn’t matter. You did it, and now…” She took another breath, counting, slowly.

  “You’re angry.”

  “Aap,” she said. “Because you’re not.”

  “We won’t change anything with anger, Kamiila. The people…”

  “People? What people?” Kamiila looked down. She scuffed her boots in the dust on the path. “There is no people. They put down the resistance in Nuuk before it really got started. If they can do that there, where everybody lives, how are a handful of people going to make a difference in a settlement? Or a village. A small town. How?”

  “By keeping the old ways alive.”

  “I don’t believe that.” Kamiila turned her back on Maratse. She walked to where the path dropped down a steep section of split boulder. She started to climb down, only to stop and stare at Maratse. “You don’t believe it either. But that’s not why you’re talking about the old days, our cultural and traditions.”

  “It’s not?”

  Kamiila brushed at the last of her tears on her cheeks, then lifted her chin. Defiant – dangerous, even. “You won’t talk about resistance, because you’re scared of what will happen if you do.” Kamiila caught Maratse’s eye, and said, “I’m right. Aren’t I?”

  Maratse took his hands from his pockets. He pressed his hand to the nearest boulder, brushing his palm over the black lichen, nodding as the crisp surface dug into his skin. He lifted his head, drawing a long breath through his nose, filling his lungs with dry mountain air spiced with tart juniper leaves, chill damp earth hoarded in the shadowed cracks in the rocks. He looked past Kamiila, blinking in the sun sparkling on the deep blue waters of the fjord.

  “You’re right,” he said, as he climbed down to join Kamiila on the path at the foot of the boulder. “I’m scared.”

  “Of what?”

  “Losing this,” he said, with a nod to the fjord, the mountains.

  “It’s already lost. We have to fight to get it back.”

  “People will get hurt.”

  “And they will die.” Kamiila stabbed her finger to the west. “Nukappi died. More will die.”

  “But for what?”

  “For what?” Kamiila laughed. “This.” She grabbed a handful of grit from the path. “This is the land we live on, the land we live with.” Dust blew from her hands, coating her sweater, adding another layer of dirt to Maratse’s jacket, as she brushed the grit from her fingers. “People die in Greenland. We die on the ice, drown in the sea, fall in the mountains. But that’s our choice. These people…” Kamiila spat the words. “These Americans, they think…”

  Maratse tucked his hands into his pockets as she paused, listening, waiting for her to continue.

  “… they say they are doing us a favour, giving us a better life.” She shook her head, laughing. “I sound like my father.” She looked at Maratse. “I sound like you.”

  “Eeqqi,” Maratse said. “Not like me. More passiona
te than me. You sound like Inniki.”

  “Rasmussen?”

  “Iiji.”

  Kamiila smiled, nodding slowly, before saying, “I like that. I want to be like her. I mean, now I do. Before Nukappi… I don’t know what I wanted. It was confusing.” She looked at Maratse. “You were confusing. And now I’m angry and I want…” Kamiila frowned, staring at Maratse as he dipped his head, gesturing at something behind her. “What?”

  “Look,” he said.

  Kamiila turned around and looked down the path. She reached for her rifle, only to pause, then pass it to Maratse as she hurried down the path to the woman making her way towards them.

  “Innuina,” Kamiila said. She dropped her pack on the ground and ran the last few metres, pulling Innuina into her arms, holding her as they both sank to the path. “She’s hurt,” Kamiila said, calling up to Maratse, glancing at her pack.

  Maratse picked up Kamiila’s pack on his way down to them. Innuina caught her breath, brushing dust from her mouth as Kamiila pressed a water bottle into her hands.

  “Drink. Don’t talk.”

  Innuina nodded. Water dribbled from her lips as she tipped the bottle to her mouth. She choked, caught her breath, then lowered the bottle.

  “I’m okay,” she said, the words rasping over her lips. “Kaatsiaaja is here. She’s with Kilaasi.”

  “On the mountain?”

  “Aap.”

  “Why?” Maratse asked.

  Innuina looked up and said, “Because they came to Kussannaq. The Americans told us we had to leave, that there was no choice.” She stared at Maratse, and the same fire that had sparked Kamiila’s eyes, now burned in hers. “One of them attacked me. Then another fired his gun at me, at my daughter. They shot at us.”

  “Then you’re hurt,” Kamiila said. She tugged at Innuina’s clothes, looking for blood. Innuina brushed her hands away.

  “I’m tired, not hurt. Only my feet.”

  Innuina’s hair was caked in dust, twisted into long tangles. The dust on her cheeks filled the pores of her skin, with dark spots where the water splashed from her mouth. Maratse crouched beside her and she reached out for his hand.

  “They talked about you,” she said. “My English is not so good, but I heard your name.”

  Kamiila shot a glance at Maratse, but he focused his attention on Innuina. “Tell us what happened.”

  “But Kaatsiaaja and…”

  “Are they coming up the mountain?” Kamiila asked.

  “Naamik. I left them in the shade of a boulder. Kilaasi is weak. Kaatsiaaja is hungry and tired. I told them to stay there, that I would find you, and that they would be all right. The Americans will not follow us into the mountains.”

  “Why not?” Kamiila’s brow pinched with another frown. “Did they say that?”

  “Not that,” Innuina said, with another glance at Maratse. “They said something else.”

  “They think I will come to them,” Maratse said. “Don’t they?”

  Innuina nodded. “Aap.”

  Kamiila grabbed Maratse’s arm, pulling him away from Innuina. She gritted her teeth and said, “You can’t go.”

  “They forced them from their homes.”

  “I know. To get you to react.”

  “And if I don’t, if I don’t give myself up, they will take another settlement, and force them to move.”

  “And have you thought about why?”

  Maratse shrugged and sat down on a boulder. “Does it matter?”

  “It matters because it’s working.” Kamiila curled her fists into her short hair, her eyes wide as she stared at Maratse. “It’s like you choose not to understand. And I just don’t get it.” She let go of her hair and dropped her arms to her sides.

  “They shot at her,” Maratse said. “Because of me.”

  “Aap, because of you, of what you’re saying. They don’t like it. They think you’re a threat, and that means it’s working. Even the good old days crap. It’s working.” Kamiila sat down beside Maratse. “I didn’t think it was enough. I was wrong.” She took Maratse’s hand, traced the tiny scars and scratches from fishhooks and needle sharp puppy milk teeth on his fingers. “You’re getting to them. People are listening.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  “We do know that.” Kamiila pointed at Innuina. “She’s listening. Kilaasi’s listening. Then there’s Inniki, late at night. They’re listening to her, too. And now these men…”

  “Walcott,” Maratse said.

  “And his goons…” Kamiila laughed. “Aap, I said goons.”

  “I don’t know what they are.”

  “Because you don’t watch TV or superhero movies.”

  “Hmm,” Maratse said. “I like science fiction.”

  “And there are bad guys, right?”

  “Iiji.”

  “No brains. Lots of muscle. Goons. And Walcott and his goons are looking for you.”

  “And they will keep looking.”

  “And we keep moving… Maratse?”

  “Eeqqi,” he said, pushing himself off the boulder to stand. “I will go down to meet them.”

  “And that is just stupid.” Kamiila cursed and then looked away. “Selfish.”

  “How is it selfish?”

  “Because,” Kamiila said, standing up. She jabbed her finger into Maratse’s chest. “This isn’t about you. It’s about Greenland. But if you feel bad about bad things happening, and if you think going down there and giving yourself up is going to stop it, then you’re thinking only of yourself. You’re giving up on Greenland, the people – your people.” Kamiila lowered her voice. “And you’re giving up on me.”

  “Kamiila…”

  She shook her head. “I believed in you. It took me a little while, because I didn’t trust you. Then you promised to look after Nukappi, and you brought him back to me. I believed in you then. I followed you into the mountains…”

  “You led us into the mountains, Kamiila.”

  She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter who was first. I was following you. And I will follow you.” She looked at Maratse, deep into his eyes, and said, “Wherever you go. However hard it will be, I will follow you. Because we’ve started something, and the people need it to continue.” She pointed at Innuina. “She needs it. She came up the mountain, left her child on the path, to find you, because she heard your name, and she thought you could help.”

  “But they hurt her, Kamiila.”

  “Aap.” Kamiila dipped her head. “But she’s alive. She’ll fight.”

  “Fight?”

  “Not for you. For Greenland. They all will – everyone. But only if you lead them. Only if you’re free. They have to have hope, and they won’t if Walcott has you.”

  “Inniki…”

  “Isn’t here,” Kamiila said. “You are.”

  “Hmm.” Maratse fell silent, turning his head, away from Kamiila’s intensity, if only for a second.

  She’s right.

  Inniki’s voice pricked at his conscience.

  You know it.

  “I have to do this my way,” Maratse whispered.

  “What way?” Kamiila reached out for Maratse’s arm, turning him back to face her. “You said something.”

  “Iiji.”

  “What?”

  “I have to do this my way, Kamiila. You want me to lead, you have to let me go first.”

  “To Walcott?” Kamiila snorted. “Naamik. No. Just no.”

  “I’ll meet with him, to hear what he has to say.”

  “He’ll lock you up – or worse.”

  “Imaqa, but I won’t know until I’ve talked to him.”

  Kamiila jabbed her finger towards Kussannaq. “If you go down there… everything we’ve done… what Nukappi died for…”

  “I have to see for myself, Kamiila. I will go down the mountain and look. I need to see what Innuina told us about. I need to see it for myself.”

  “And when you do?”

  “I’ll come back,” Marat
se said.

  Kamiila bit her lip, then nodded, just once. “Go,” she said.

  Part 6

  ________________________________

  Maratse walked beside Innuina, twisting around the mountain until the path broadened and they could see two people waiting in the shadow of a large boulder on the side of the mountain. A wall of fog pushed in from the sea, teasing the coastline with long, cool fingers, digging into the beach and pulling the thick grey mass behind it. Icebergs tall enough to poke through the fog caught the sun’s rays like candlewicks, spreading the light into the ice below, glowing inside the fog. Maratse zipped his jacket to his neck and smiled as Innuina discovered an untapped burst of energy as she ran down the path, curling her arms around her daughter when they met.

  “It’s still a bad idea,” Kamiila said, as she closed the distance between her and Maratse. “I still don’t think you should go.”

  Maratse looked over his shoulder, nodding at the young guerrilla as she carried the .22 rifle in both hands, eyes flicking back and forth from the path to the sea, back to the mountain.

  “I’ll be careful,” Maratse said.

  “Careful isn’t cautious. You need to think like a fugitive.”

  “Hmm.”

  Kamiila tutted and looked away, leaving Maratse to his thoughts before they were interrupted by Kaatsiaaja’s warm hands, as she twisted her fingers between Maratse’s in an awkward but innocent seven-year-old handshake. Maratse smiled, then stepped forward to shake Kilaasi’s hand, nodding at the older man as Kaatsiaaja teased a grin onto Kamiila’s determined face.

  “She’s like her ataata,” Kilaasi said, pointing a bent finger at Kamiila.

  Maratse looked in the direction he was pointing, catching Kamiila’s eye, if only for a second, before Kaatsiaaja and her mother stepped off the path to rest in pillows of blueberry bushes budding with under ripe fruit.

  “She lost her anaana early, and her ataata was sick. He died in hospital in Maniitsoq.” Kilaasi rested on a boulder, and said, “She’s been alone most of her adult life.”

  “But she lived in Kussannaq.”

  “She came back once she was finished with gymnasium.” Kilaasi tapped the side of his head. “She’s smart. Too smart for Kussannaq. She should have gone to university in Denmark when she had the chance, but she fell in love.” Kilaasi made a show of rolling his eyes, as if that kind of thing happened all the time.