Midnight come again (18 page)

She waited for a break in the conversation to offer Yuri her condolences.

His brow wrinkled. "What are these condolences?"

She assumed an apologetic expression. "I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't have brought it up. I saw the body when I came on duty last night." His face changed, and she added, "Alex? Burinin. He was off this boat, wasn't he?"

The sound of his name brought all other conversation to a halt. In the strained silence that followed, she realized how feverish had been the determination to have a good time. These weren't men in the mood for partying, these were men intent on burying recent events in a shroud of alcoholic forgetfulness. "I'm sorry," she repeated insincerely, looking from face to face and finding the same wooden expression repeated there.

"I just assumed --he was one of yours, wasn't he? The name was Russian, so ... " Through stiff lips, Yuri said, "It was accident." "Well, of course," Kate said soothingly. "What happened?" "He falls," Yuri said.

"Yes," Sergei One said. "He fall."

"And break his head," Sergei Two said.

"Where did he fall from?" Kate said.

"From the catwalk," Danya said.

"From the bow," Fadey said at the same time.

"Over the side, and he hits his head on the dock," Yakov said firmly.

"He never was much of a seaman."

"He hated the sea," Karol said, nodding his head vigorously. "Not like us."

"Have some more sausage," Yuri said to Kate, although this time his smile did not reach his eyes.

After that, the mood changed from welcoming to wary. Kate was beginning to think it was time to make her good-byes when the door to the galley opened.

Gradually laughter died all over the room. Yuri looked over his shoulder and leaped to his feet. "Sir!"

Everyone else followed, including Kate. She turned and beheld three men.

The first was older, shorter and heavier, with a clean-shaven jaw, neat dark hair and shoulders held with military precision. She'd met soldiers before, and this man was one or had been one very recently. The second man was younger, taller and slimmer, and the third fell somewhere in between.

All three of them were looking at Kate.

Yuri, stammering a little, said, "Kathy, this is our captain. Captain Malenkov, this is Ekaterina Sovalik. She works for Mr. Jacob Baird at Baird Air, who ships our trinkets to Anchorage for us. Ekaterina, this is Captain Malenkov." He added, lamely, "We didn't expect you back so early."

"I can see that," the tturd, intermediate man said in faultless English.

"It is very nice to meet you, Miss. Sovalik, but it is perhaps time for you to return to shore, yes?" "Yes," Kate said baldly. There was a threat behind the words that underlined just how alone she was on this rust bucket. Mutt, on her feet, eyes narrow and ears up, felt it, too, and Kate needed to get her ashore before she decided to take on the entire crew. She turned to Yuri and shook a hand that was suddenly clammy to the touch, gave a general wave to the rest of the crew, and started for the door. The captain stepped back and so did the military man, but the younger man did not.

She looked up to excuse herself and the words died on her lips.

He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen in her life. Blond hair shining like a golden helmet, eyes the color of a dawn sea, a face like an archangel. He was tall and lithe, just wide enough across the shoulders, just narrow enough at the hip, with legs that went on forever. He wore a dark red flannel shirt tucked into a pair of black jeans, and a pair of loafers that gleamed with polish.

Her jaw must have dropped, and it must have been a reaction he was used to, because the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled. He took one of the hands lying limply at her side, raised it to his lips and met her eyes over the top of it. "How do you do, Ekaterina Sovalik," he murmured, and his voice was deep and low and very intimate --they could have been the only two people in the room. "It is very nice to meet you."

She swallowed and stammered for what was probably the first time in her life. "Th--thank you, Mr.--?"

"Nikolai Kamyanka. But please, call me Nick." "Uh--er--of course," she said. "Nick. I'm Kate-- Kathy, I mean," thereby nearly blowing her cover, another first.

The smile deepened. He glanced down. "Your dog doesn't seem to like me."

Kate looked down to see Mutt eying Kate's hand, still clasped in Nick's, a low, steady growl issuing from her throat. "Mutt," Kate said. "Bad girl. Stop that."

Her voice sounded weak and unassertive even to her own ears. She looked up at Nick and was instantly snared again by that blue gaze. She knew an absurd concern about her hair; did it look all right? Had she dribbled Diet Coke down the front of her T-shirt?

Captain Malenkov cleared his throat in a meaningful way, and color rushed up into her face and the spell broke. She tugged her hand free, not without difficulty, and said, "Yes. Well. It was very nice meeting you all." She turned to see a sullen expression on Yuri's face. "Thank you for the party and the tour, Yuri, Fadey, all of you."

She turned and, prudently avoiding catching Nick's eyes again, stepped around both men and through the hatch, catching her toe on the raised lip for the second time and almost but not quite falling on her face.

She didn't breathe again until she was safely down the gangway and back on the dock. She tried very hard not to look back as she walked away.

She couldn't resist, though. She turned, and there he was outside the bridge on the catwalk, leaning on the railing, watching her walk away with that clear steady gaze.

She found the nearest corner and went around it, only to slump against the wall and take a deep breath and blow it out again. "Whew."

A forklift putted up and stopped. "What were you doing on board that processor?"

Kate looked up to see Casey scowling down at her. "None of your damn business," she said. "Come on, girl," she said to Mutt.

Mutt lifted her lip at Casey, and they left. Casey watched the two of them walk away until they were out of sight. They moved together with the unconscious assurance of a long-time relationship, the way she'd seen some human partners move on the job, secure in the knowledge that competent backup was instantly available should it be required. The fangs on that hound had to be two inches long. Casey decided she'd rather face down a perp high on angel dust holding a nine-millimeter Smith & Wesson than that hound when she was pissed off.

From behind her Gonzalez said, "What'd she say?"

"Nothing."

"Think she's in on it?" Casey chose to answer this obliquely. "Chopin seems to know her."

"Yeah."

"According to Zarr, one of the crew off that boat goes up to see her at the hangar every time he's in port."

"Yeah."

"Could be a connection. Handy to have a friend working at an airfreight outfit. Especially when you've got something to ship. So far, Zarr says, it's been boxes of trinkets, toys, pictures, jewelry, like that. Tourist stuff."

"So far."

"Yeah. So far. Probably should keep an eye on her," Casey said, as if the idea was new to her. In fact Casey and Gonzalez intended to keep a very, very close eye indeed on the trooper's friend.

"Might be a good idea." Gonzalez got around to what they were both thinking. "Did you see the guy?"

"Which one?"

"Smartass. You think it's him?"

"Two bodies in forty-eight hours?" Casey smiled, a thin, cold smile.

"Oh, yeah. I think it's him."

"Chopin's not dead."

"A mistake. A bad one. There will probably be another body shortly, in payment thereof, if he's running true to form, and why not. It's him, all right. He matches all the descriptions." Gonzalez held up a cautionary hand, and wasn't surprised to see that it was shaking a little. "We'll need to be sure." The smile vanished. "Yes. Better call Gamble."

Kamyanka watched the woman go around the corner, and heard someone come up to stand at his shoulder. "My apologies," Captain Malenkov said. "The men are idiots."

"Yes."

"They actually took her on a tour of the boat. Do you think she saw anything?"

"There is nothing for her to see." Kamyanka turned and smiled, although this smile was nothing like the one he had given Kate. "Besides, she will be able to remember only me when she thinks of her visit here today."

"How much longer must we wait?"

Glukhov came out from the bridge. "Until Monday, Captain. Our business will be done then."

"It's a long time to stay in port at this time of year," Malenkov said.

"Especially when we have lost a crewman, which will cause the authorities to look at us more closely."

"Break something," Kamyanka said.

"What?"

"Break something. On the engine. Something that will take two days to fix."

Malenkov's brow cleared. "Yes. That will help." He looked at Kamyanka again. "No longer, though. I cannot risk the authorities looking too closely at the Kosygin." "Two days," Kamyanka said. He looked at Glukhov. "We will be done then.

One way or the other." Glukhov smiled, and wiped surreptitiously at the sweat beading his temples.

The bank was as busy as anywhere else in Bering this afternoon of the second of July, and Kate gave up her place in line several times to get the teller she wanted. No one argued, as it was four-thirty and everyone wanted their check on deposit before closing time. Banks didn't used to be open on Saturdays at all, but if they had tried to close this one down there would have been a riot. There were five tellers and a sixth window, closed until the bank manager, a pudgy, genial man in his fifties, left his desk and opened it to accommodate the crowd of customers. There were approving noises all up and down the line, which now doubled back on itself twice and pretty much filled up the lobby.

"About time," someone said, and someone else said, "That Sullivan, always happy to take your money."

The manager heard both comments and looked up with a grin. "You bet I am, Dempsey. Hand it over." He removed the next teller, please sign and opened for business.

Kate's teller became free and Kate moved up to the counter. "How may I--" She looked up. "Hey! Kate! Kate Shu--"

Before she could call Kate by name Kate held up a hand, forestalling her. Keeping her voice low, she said, "Hey, Alice."

"I didn't know you were in town!" The teller's voice dropped instinctively to match Kate's own.

"Here I am," Kate said, trying to smile. She seemed to have lost all social skills, not that she'd ever had that many in the first place, so she said baldly, "I need to talk to you about something. Ask a favor, maybe."

"Oh? Sure, whatever, but--" Alice looked at the line. "Can you maybe wait until closing time?"

"Sure."

Alice brightened. "Good, great. Grab a seat over there in front of the manager's desk. We close in half an hour, but we have to take care of the people in line first"

"Not a problem." She began to turn away, paused. "Alice?"

"Yes?"

"Is there a pay phone around here somewhere?"

"Sure, there's one on the wall outside."

"Thanks."

"May I help the next customer, please?" Alice said, raising her voice.

Kate walked out the door and found the phone. It was unoccupied. She stared at it from a distance of ten feet, thinking.

Telephones wired into individual homes had still not made it into Niniltna, but the snake had slithered into the garden by way of the cell phone. Everybody had one now; George Perry, Bernie Koslowski, Auntie Vi, Billy Mike. His son, Dandy, had been first to sign up for a cell phone, and given his overactive social life it could be argued that he stood in more need of one than anyone else in the Park, but even Bobby and Dinah had one-- Bobby, for god's sake, who was a ham radio operator and pirated his own radio station every night, who was more in touch with the outside world than any ten Park rats Kate knew.

"You gonna stare at that thing all day or you gonna make a call?"

Kate jumped and looked around to see a whiskery fisher with red-veined eyes standing next to her. "Oh. Sorry. I didn't know you were standing there."

"So you gonna make a call?" "You go first," she said cravenly.

He shrugged and walked forward to insert a quarter and dial a number.

"Hi honey, it's me. I'm on my way. You want anything from the store?"

If she called Auntie Vi, she might get tears. If she called Bernie, the whole bar would be in on it. If she called George, he would insist on knowing where she was, which meant so would everyone else.

If she called Bobby, it was entirely possible her eardrums would not survive the experience.

The fisher hung up and looked at her. "Tough one, huh?"

She nodded.

He smiled, and his broad, tired face was suddenly lit from behind with a disinterested kindness. "Just call and get it over with," he advised.

"It's never as bad as you think it's going to be."