Season of Death (47 page)

“Really the best thing is to give yourself up. Place yourself in my custody.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you’ll be facing a long list of charges: fraud, conspiracy to commit a felony, not to mention first-degree murder.”

“Murder?”

“Of your husband.”

She cursed the sky. “If you had gone home, like you were supposed to, none of this would be happening. I was really hoping I wouldn’t have to kill anyone.”

“Besides Mark, you mean?”

“I didn’t kill Mark,” she said, her face curdling, as if the accusation were an insult.

“Okay, so you had the terminators do it. Is that the way it was?”

Shaking her head slowly, she said, “Mark died of stupidity. He was too dumb to know a good thing when he saw it. Get in the boat.”

Ray followed the shotgun’s directive, splashing his way toward the Zodiac that Janice had been hiding in. “You’re talking about the scam with Hunan?’’

“That … and me,” she added with a sneer of contempt. “The sap was too idealistic to accept a payoff. Yet he had no qualms about playing night games with coeds.”

“So you killed him.”

A head shake. “No.”

“Had him killed?”

“No!” The shotgun jabbed against the plastique. Ray could feel the claylike substance molding itself around the twin barrels.

Janice swore. “What the …”

“Nice, huh? It was Chang and Chung’s idea, the latest in outdoor wear.” He waited as she cursed again. “Don’t suppose you’d like to unhook me?”

“Get in the boat.”

Ray slipped a leg over the side and rolled into the raft. Janice waited until he was propped against the farside before joining him. “Start the engine.”

“Where are we going?”

“Start the engine.”

Ray yanked the rope, waiting as the motor sputtered and failed. “My buddies will be in Kanayut within the hour. If I were you, I’d give up, before things get nasty.”

She laughed heartily. “This from a guy with a bomb strapped to his back and a gun aimed at his belly. You’re not exactly in a position to negotiate.”

Janice was right, of course. But he had to try. “If I were you …”

“You’re not me. And if your buddies really are coming to the rescue, which I seriously doubt, I’ll need someone to help me get out of the Bush.”

“Kidnapping is a felony,” Ray told her.

“So?”

“So let’s say that you didn’t kill Mark,” he suggested, frantically brainstorming. “You might only be looking at a few years in prison. But take me hostage and …”

“Shut up and start the engine!”

Ray shrugged and gave the pull cord another try. The motor responded this time, whining like a hyperactive dragonfly. “Which way?”

Janice produced a hunting knife and, balancing the shotgun on her thighs, cut away the restraining rope. “To the village,” she said, pointing with the blade. Returning the knife to its sheath on her belt, she refolded her arms around the gun.

Ray revved the motor to ensure that it wasn’t going to die. He was in no mood to go whitewater rafting without propulsion. After performing a tight 180, he gunned the throttle, and the boat bounced into the rapids at a perpendicular angle: bow toward the west bank and the passable channel. Despite the Evinrude’s enthusiasm, they slipped downstream like a dry leaf. Gleaming rock teeth jutted up to snap at the raft. Ray jerked the handle of the engine, dodging and jinking through the obstacle course.

“Nice driving,” Janice observed. “Try to keep it steady. I wouldn’t want this thing to go off.”

“Neither would I.”

They floated the next thirty miles without comment or conversation. Janice stared at him with blank, cold eyes while Ray focused his attention on the wiles of the mercurial Kanayut.

Fall, he mused, the season of death. The transition into darkness. It seemed fitting somehow that he would be forced to abandon the circle of life at this stage. Fitting, yet nevertheless unexpected. Untimely. He wasn’t ready to leave.

“Why can’t you let me off out here somewhere?” he finally asked. “By the time I make it to Kanayut, you’ll be gone.”

She sniffed and began stretching her neck. “What about your friends? If they’re waiting at the village and they know
everything
, I’ll never make it out.”

Touché! His bluff was backfiring. “They aren’t really coming. I made that up.”

“Maybe. Probably. But I have to be sure.”

Ray steered the raft left, around a wide, excited section of water. When they had passed a thin island of willows, the village came into view in the distance.

“Did Hunan pay you?” Ray asked. “I mean, besides funding the dig.”

“You better believe it. You think I’d go to all this trouble for a crummy grant?”

“How much?”

“None of your business.”

“They paid you to manufacture a fake Thule site at the base of Red Wolf?”

Janice glanced over her shoulder and gave the buildings of Kanayut a half smile.

“Did Mark help? Oh, that’s right. He wouldn’t cooperate.So … what? They paid you something extra to kill him?”

“I didn’t kill him! I wanted to. Believe me. But I didn’t do it.”

Her head jerked around for another quick look at the village. “I only see one floatplane. And it’s Mark’s.”

“I told you I was lying,” Ray confessed. “No one’s coming. Let me off. I’ll sit in the bushes until you’re long gone.”

“And then come looking for me? No thanks.”

When Ray angled for the docks, she said, “No. Stay north.” The gun rose to emphasize that this was not a request.

“Fine. North it is.”

Kanayut slid by: deserted beach, neglected stick-dance pole, empty dirt streets. Except for a few smoking chimneys the village could have been abandoned. Ray checked his watch: 7:40. Apparently it was too early for the festival to kick into gear.

The green Otter bounced gently at the dock, pulling at its fetters like a spirited stallion. Ray could hear the cushions groaning as they rubbed between the dry wood pilings and the metal pontoons. He eyed the plane longingly as it fell behind them, wishing he could leap overboard, swim to it, crank the engine, and fly away from this place. The Kanayut River efficiently delivered them up to the Anaktuvuk, a wider, more serene waterway. Despite the absence of rapids, boulders, and overhanging branches, it possessed the quiet power of two rivers unified. The Zodiac was propelled effortlessly, a tiny petal on its mirrored, silver surface.

Following the curving giant, Ray fought to keep the bow downstream. The Evinrude was sufficient for a modest river, even at flood stage. But this … The engine was struggling against the deep, prevailing current.

A quarter mile ahead, the dark orange tundra heath bore a dusting of snow. Or so Ray thought at first. It took a moment for him to realize that the termination dust glinting in the sun was moving, animated, alive … He smiled at the sight.

“What?” Janice wanted to know.

Ray pointed, eyes on the approaching blanket of white cotton. “Nomads.”

Janice craned her neck. “Huh?”

“Caribou. The herd’s coming.” The festival had been perfectly timed.

After giving the animals a cursory look, Janice grunted, “Yep.” She squinted at something off to her left. “That way,” she said, gesturing with a thumb.

Ray placed a hand to his brow. Glimmering under the glare of the morning sun was a lagoon bordered by half-naked poplars. A clear-water brook fed the south end. It looked like a good fishing hole, the kind of place that Arctic char called home. The kind of place that silvers went to spawn and die. The kind of place where he was going to die.

He had to hold the throttle full-out in order to make the lagoon. Even so, the Zodiac barely beat the current. Twirling, stern downstream, the motor whined as if in pain. Quaking, chugging smoke, it finally pushed the raft into the still water.

“Now what?” Ray groaned.

“Get out.”

Killing the Evinrude, Ray flopped out into the lagoon and pulled the Zodiac onto the nearest sandbar. Panting, he repeated, “Now what?”

“Now it’s time to say good-bye.”

Ray sighed at the gun as it bobbed toward him. “You can’t just shoot me.”

“I could. But I’m not going to.” With the shotgun aimed at Ray, she slowly reached inside a pack lying in the floor of the raft and withdrew a revolver. After loading it and checking the chamber, she switched off the safety. Next she opened the shotgun, removed one of the shells and stuffed something into the empty barrel. Hopping from the boat, she ordered casually, “On the ground, hands on head.”

Ray knelt, reeling from a sense of déjà vu. Hadn’t he already been in this position today? “If you’re not going to shoot me, what are you going to do?”

“You’re going to have an accident.” She pressed the revolver against his temple, then carefully laid the shotgun on the ground in front of him. “A hunting accident.”

FIFTY-TWO

“P
ICK IT UP
.”

Ray’s eyes darted down to the shotgun, up to Janice. “Why?”

“You heard me.”

Reaching a trembling hand toward the gun, his mind raced to figure out what was going on. A hunting accident? “What did you put in the barrel?”

“Now pretend that you’re shooting at something.” Lifting the gun, he snugged the butt under his armpit. “You put in a plug, didn’t you? So when I shoot, this thing will blow up in my face.”

Janice blinked sleepily. “Pull the trigger.” “What about the bomb? If it goes off, your mock accident will kill us both. There’ll be nothing but a crater right here where we’re standing. If it doesn’t go off … Well, the authorities might wonder why a hunter is packing plastique.”

After a pause, she grunted, “Good point.” With the revolver still resting against his temple, Janice withdrew her knife and cut the ropes holding the bomb.

“Be careful with that,” Ray cautioned. He heard the final strap snap and the brick plopped into the mud. The relief of being disengaged from the explosive was shortlived, the cool barrel of the 357 reminding him that death by another means was imminent.

“There.” She put her knife away. “Now, pretend you’re shooting something.”

“They’ll still figure it out,” Ray argued. “A ballistics expert will be able to tell that you shoved a wad in the barrel.”

“Right. And they happen to have several in Kanayut,” she offered sarcastically. “Hunting accident. That’s how it will be classified.” Janice nuzzled the gun against his skull. “We’ll do it nice and easy. On the count of three, you’ll pull the trigger.”

“And what if I don’t?”

“Then I will. And your brains will be splattered all over this sandbar.”

“But then it won’t be an accident.”

“Tough.” Leaning forward, she pecked his cheek. “For luck. It’s really too bad that it had to come to this, Ray. You and I … we could have had some fun.”

“Yeah. Fun.”

“Ready?”

“No.”

“One …”

Ray’s throat was a desert, his stomach ready to twist itself into a half hitch.

“Two …”

He cursed and prayed in the same breath.

“Three.”

Sucking in air, he hesitated, finger frozen on the trigger.

Janice cocked the pistol.

There was a crack, a throaty grunt.

Ray saw something out of the corner of his eye. Movement. On the bank: a gangly figure silhouetted by the piercing rays of the sun. At the same instant, there was a hum and a shadow passed over, blinking out the light. Ray glanced up and an image burned into his retina: a young face gleaming at him, hps curled into an infectious smile.

“Keera?”

Startled, Janice swore and raised a hand, squinting to see who or what was approaching.

The milliseconds that followed were distorted, dreamlike.

Ray could hear his heart thumping as he swung the rifle and ducked forward. When the revolver went off, he felt pain. For an excruciatingly long moment, he was unable to determine the cause so he continued his attack, moving with what seemed like the speed of a man encased in a heavy diving suit at the bottom of the sea.

The rifle hung in the air, traveling almost imperceptibly toward Janice. Twisting in horribly slow motion, Ray saw her reach to recock the gun. At the edge of his vision, he noted spindly legs, a barrel chest, short snout nudging the ground. A bull caribou with an impressive rack. When the shotgun finally completed its trip, Ray failed to make contact with anything but air. Janice had dodged, backing away.