Running Off Radar, page 16
Maji bore Dee’s advice in mind and waited for the elder to talk in her own way and pace. The story she got was long and meandered through time and place. Someplace back an indeterminate number of generations were Aleut relatives who hunted sea otters under duress for the Russians, when Baranov and the Russian American Company colonized as much of the west coast of Alaska and the towns of Southeast as they could to profit from the pelts prized as soft gold.
Maji knew from Heather’s tour about the 1804 battle for Sitka, when the Russians brought hundreds of Aleut down in kayaks alongside their cannon-bearing tall ship. And that Sitka remained the capital of Russian America until the US brokered a deal to buy the territory from Russia in 1867. Seward’s Folly, as the papers of the day called it, turned out to be a huge score when mineral gold was discovered, and later petroleum—black gold.
“Down here,” Nettie said, “some of the Russian sailors ran off and married into the Tlingit. Their children were raised in the clans of their mothers, but with Russian last names, like me.” She paused. “But the ones that come down later didn’t want to be part of our families. They just wanted to party with our girls, drive around their big boats, show off their money. My nephew, he left the sawmill to work for that man, but he didn’t like the way he used the women, so he was going to tell about the gold. When I saw that sub out there, I knew he was back. And sure enough, he killed Charlie. Kills anyone gets in his way.”
Maji waited until she was sure the old woman had shared what was on her mind and then tried a couple questions to pry out why Nettie connected a long-ago death with the recent one. All that approach yielded was a lecture on fish camp and the importance of teaching young people traditional skills and values before they get too old to leave. “They have to feel how they belong to this place, or they’ll leave us. Move away or get into booze and drugs. Either way.”
Or sometimes they stayed and got killed, like Charlie, Maji thought. Move on, Rios.
* * *
On the trip back to the Community House to return the coolers, Dee asked, “You make any sense of Nettie’s story?”
“A little. I get that she saw a sub. I take it a sighting down here is big news?”
“Big news anywhere, if you think it’s Russian. We might have intermarried a long time back, but nobody forgets they enslaved the Aleut and made them hunt the sea otters almost to extinction. Or how they took what wasn’t theirs down here.”
“You know, Heather mentioned that on the tour. What I don’t get, though is…how?” Maji struggled to reframe that. “I mean, that’s a hell of a long way to travel in kayaks, plus fight for somebody you hate already.”
“Oldest trick in the book. Russians pretended to be just traders at first. But then kidnapping the women was cheaper than paying for otter pelts, and got them soldiers too. Even the toughest warrior can’t let his wife and kids get killed.”
“Ouch.” A technique still popular today. Maji recalled how Sirko had gotten Ricky to betray his father-in-law the Mafia boss last summer, just by threatening his parents. History always fucking repeating itself. “Nettie mentioned Charlie’s death like it was a repeat of older history. Something about a nephew and Russian party boats. I couldn’t follow that part so well. Any ideas?”
“Sure. Back in the eighties, a handful of rich Soviets came down here a few summers in a row. Huge boats, played at fishing but…well, nobody talks about it much now.”
“Drugs, sex, and rock ’n’ roll?”
“Like that. Guns too, I hear. The cops didn’t do anything, maybe got paid off. Maybe didn’t care.”
Maji waited. When Dee’s silence stretched out, she prompted, “Nettie’s nephew cared, though?”
“Oh, yeah. His girlfriend got pregnant. Wilbur—the nephew—had been working for the rich guy, wouldn’t talk about what he was doing for him. Stayed on the boat and partied some nights, until the thing with his girlfriend. Then he went to the cops and said that one of the crew had raped her. They blew him off, so he told them about messing with the new cable lines too. Thought that would get the Russians in trouble, but they laughed at him. New cables worked fine. Accused him of being a druggie and a bad loser.”
Maji hoped today’s police relations were better, but she could see why the community might harbor a grudge. “You happen to know who Wilbur was working for?”
Dee shook her head. “I could find out. Older folks know—they just don’t talk about it.”
“Well, Nettie seemed sure the same guy was back.” And there are different ways of knowing.
“Why would any of them come back after all this time?” Dee asked. “And why mess with me?”
“Dunno. You’re connected to Charlie. And what if, whatever they left behind down there, he saw them pulling it up and putting it on their trawler?”
Dee smacked a hand on the steering wheel. “He said there was a boat out in the channel, just sitting. He was going to check if they were okay, after he got his haul in. If they were still there.”
“How’d he contact you? Cell phone?”
“No—coverage is too patchy, especially when the cable goes out like that. They have to move satellites around, and calls drop worse than normal. We keep a radio in the house, ship to shore.”
“Could anyone else have heard what he told you?”
“Sure, if they were monitoring the channels. Other boats, the Coast Guard. But if it’s not a Mayday, nobody pays the noise much mind. We’re busy out there.”
Maji made a mental note to mention this to Lt. Green. “Okay. But say you brought a load of something valuable into the harbor and needed to offload it.”
“Something you wanted to send to Russia, or what?”
“Maybe. Or just get out of town before the law came looking.”
“Well, you’re not going far by land. The road goes seven miles in either direction. And the only highway here’s the Marine Highway—the state ferry. You could put a truck on that though and take it to Bellingham.”
“What about air?”
“Depends on what this sunken treasure is. Can’t fly commercial to Russia from here, so even if you could put it on a freight plane, you’d have to send it to the US.”
“And a private plane would need a flight plan logged, I suppose,” Maji said, thinking out loud.
“Plus be able to handle the size and weight. You take a floatplane out of here, it’s got to be balanced. And have enough lift and range. Go down in the Bering Sea and you’re dead.”
Maji knew the SEALs had probably worked through all the likely scenarios, factoring the gold’s weight and volume and what it might be packed in. She could see why the Russians had planned to use a trawler. Fishing boats, under many countries’ flags, would be in this area around herring season. It wouldn’t be so hard to slip away with a cargo that looked like lead weights and make a slow, safe run across the International Marine Boundary Line. Even if you were stopped for some reason, a search wouldn’t turn up the kinds of contraband that anyone’s navy or law enforcement would be looking for. “How hard would it be to steal a boat, this time of year?”
Dee laughed. “Jeez, I dunno, Officer, I always joyride in the summer.”
“Seriously. A private boat would still be the best transport—the safest and most direct route to eastern Russia.” And if mine were up in dry dock, I’d hide my loot until I could transfer it to another. One not traceable to me.
“Must be interesting, thinking like a crook,” Dee muttered, not looking over at Maji. She backed the truck up by the kitchen door at the rear of the Community House. When the engine had stuttered to a halt, Dee turned and looked at Maji with a surprising intensity. “Herring season puts everybody into high gear. And in this harbor, we all look out for each other. Plus we have alarms and GPS on our boats, so we’d know pretty quick if one went missing.”
“What about a pleasure craft? There’s some pretty cush trawlers in Crescent Harbor. Would their owners be as vigilant?” People who could afford a something-million-dollar boat just for fun didn’t always use them often, or pay as much attention. Maji’d stuck to cars and sailboats in her wayward youth, but she’d noticed what all her options were in New York harbors.
Dee clucked. “Maybe. Hard to figure what rich people do.”
“Could you buy a reliable trawler in the middle of herring season?” Proof of ownership would help you stay off the radar too, if you had a trip to make across the boundary seas.
“Mm, unlikely.” Dee paused. “I could ask around though.”
“No. I can take care of that. You’re better off away from the harbors and your normal contacts and routines, for now.”
Dee opened her door, got out, and slammed it. When Maji closed hers and looked over the roof, Dee glared at her. “I’m not running, I’m not hiding. They come for me again, I’ll be ready.”
Chapter Fourteen
Rose stepped into the cool, clear air the afternoon had brought with it and felt no reluctance to leave the stuffy conference rooms. Dev had stuck to her the rest of the day, except when he slipped into the hallway during presentations to make phone calls. The presentations inspired him to doze off. Like Maji. Rose recalled Angelo joking about the sleep patterns of combat vets, about how they could conk out anywhere, anytime—except at bedtime.
Catching a few minutes here and there, he’d explained, became a habit to carry one over for times when sleeping in shifts was required. Or when the job at hand kept you up for days in a row. It bothered her that the duties of Maji’s work, whatever they were, wore on her body and, at the same time, made her feel she needed to apologize for any little inconvenience her condition caused Rose. Especially when Rose knew in her heart that someone’s life was saved, or at least improved, by the cost Maji paid. She turned to speak with Dev about supper.
But Dev stepped abruptly between her and the curb, standing taller and wider as a throaty pickup pulled up in front of them. Around his one-man blockade, Rose watched the passenger window slide down and Maji grin at them. “Is there a doctor in the house?”
Maji hopped out without waiting for a reply and held the door ajar, motioning Rose to get in. “Want to cook dinner with a Tlingit family?”
“Really?” Rose glanced into the truck and recognized the woman from the marina incident. Heather’s sister? She looked much better. Not friendly, exactly, but well.
Maji nodded, looking pleased with herself. “Hop up. I’ll be right there.”
Rose climbed in, aware of Maji talking with Dev in low tones on the sidewalk. “Hi. I’m Rose.”
“Yep. Deanne. Well, Dee.” She didn’t take her hands off the wheel, just looked past Rose as if to make sure Maji didn’t disappear and leave her obliged to make conversation.
Fortunately for both of them, Maji climbed in a moment later. “Okay,” she said and closed the truck door behind her. The lengths of their thighs pressed against each other.
Maji didn’t ask about her day and had probably just gotten the scoop on Javi from Dev. Rose didn’t want to ask about what the Army had or hadn’t assigned her to do, especially not in front of a stranger. So instead she asked, “Is your day over?”
Maji slid one hand under Rose’s, on top of her thigh, and their fingers laced together as if they always did. “Probably not. But Heather invited us for dinner, and it seemed rude to refuse. I’m not up on Tlingit culture, but I’m guessing hospitality’s a thing, yeah?”
“Yep,” Dee replied. “And Mom’s venison stew and fry bread is a can’t miss.”
Rose hadn’t thought Maji was asking her expert opinion as an anthropologist. Still, it felt odd to be in the middle of such a familiar exchange between her lover and a woman she’d only seen once before. Needing hospitalization. “How are you feeling, Dee?”
Dee’s profile was blank, like Maji’s when she had lots of thoughts and no intention of sharing them. “Not too bad. Good enough to work.”
Her tone didn’t invite further inquiry, so Rose just squeezed Maji’s hand and enjoyed the view from the truck in their shared quiet. They passed landmarks that seemed familiar after only a few days, the cathedral and Castle Hill, Naa Kahidi Community House and ANB Harbor. And Ludvig’s, which Rose resolved she would return to before she left Sitka, whether Maji could join her or not. Just a few minutes later, they pulled up at a two-story home that looked like the others near it—except for the art. Nearly all of the side facing the street was covered in carvings. Rose suspected they were decorative boards, like the much larger ones outside the Community House. Other than a sort of symmetry fitting them into the slope of the roof’s eaves and around the front door and windows, they were a gloriously unmatched collection. Rose recognized some of the birds and animals. “Wow.”
Dee turned the truck off and made a clucking sound. “That’s Nate for you.”
“You met Nate at the airport,” Maji reminded her. She opened the passenger door and slid out, waiting to give Rose a hand down. “Simon’s uncle.”
Dee didn’t wait for them as they walked around the front of the truck, heading for the house. She paused though, when Maji called, “Hey!” and pointed at the metal boat on the trailer in the driveway.
“Knock yourself out,” Dee said, and proceeded up the stairs into the house.
Rose followed Maji to the metal-hulled boat and watched her climb up onto the trailer to look inside. “Can I help?”
“No, thanks—I’ll just be a sec,” Maji answered without lifting her head or shoulders. Then she swung a leg up over the side and was lost to Rose’s view. Shuffling sounds of items being moved around and a metallic thunk followed. Maji’s head popped up. “Actually, can you lend me a hand?”
Rose reached up and offered a steadying arm as Maji climbed back out onto the trailer’s edge. She hopped the last foot down onto the grassy drive, and something in her jacket clunked. Rose hoped it wasn’t her gun and…something else. “Success?”
“Maybe.” Maji took Rose in, seeming to return from somewhere else as their eyes met. “I missed you today. Like ten whole hours or whatever. Is that stupid?”
Rose wrapped her fingers around the lapels of Maji’s jacket, prepared to answer with a kiss. “Can’t be. I missed you too.”
As she pulled Maji toward her, the front door banged open. “Hey, you—oh. Sorry.”
They turned toward Heather, both smiling sheepishly. “Hi,” Rose said. “Thanks for inviting us.”
Heather moved her eyes from the horizon back to her guests in the driveway. “Dee just left you out here?” She shook her head as if her sister’s ways were unfathomable. “Come on in, already. Meet the family.”
* * *
Maji followed Rose and Heather into the house, feeling a bit self-conscious of the weight in her jacket pocket. Inside, three small children played on the floor of a comfortable living room, their toys spread across the large braided rug in the room’s center. “Watch your step,” Heather warned.
The smallest child, barely walking, held her hands out to Heather. She scooped her up and nuzzled her neck. “This is Kyla, my younger.” She extended a hand over the middle-size child. “And Danny, also mine. And Tristan, Nate’s pride and joy.” To the kids, she said, “This is Auntie Rose and Auntie Ri.”
Maji noticed just a tiny ripple of surprise on Rose’s face. “Hi,” Rose said, crouching by Danny, who looked out at her from behind a screen of bangs. “What a lovely drawing.”
Danny looked down, shy with strangers maybe. Maji took a knee. “Ooh,” she said. “Like the carvings outside. Did you do those too?”
The shy girl or boy shook their head, a little smile peeking out.
Maji looked to Tristan, whom she guessed to be eight or nine. “Must be you then.”
“My dad,” he corrected, sounding proud of Nate’s artistry.
“But you’re learning from him, yeah?”
He nodded seriously, then flinched to avoid Kyla’s feet as she squirmed her way out of Heather’s grip.
“Hi,” Maji said to her, eye to eye. When the little girl grabbed a crayon off the carpet and held it out to her, Maji held both palms flat, ready to receive. “Gunalchéesh,” she said, recalling the word for thank you.
“Gunalchéesh,” Rose repeated, accepting her crayon with a beaming smile. Her pronunciation was a tad off.
Danny stifled a giggle.
“That’s not it,” Maji said with mock indignation. “It’s goo-nal-teeth. Right?”
That earned her a real giggle, and a conspiratorial smile from Tristan as well.
“No?” Maji said, trying to sound earnest. “Um, gumball cheeks?” She stuck her tongue in one cheek, like she had a gumball tucked in there.
The two kids dissolved in giggles, and Heather said, “Okay, you two. You can coach our guests after supper. Pick up your toys and go wash your hands.”
“Dinner smells fabulous,” Rose said, taking her cue to stand back up. “May I help with anything?”
Heather smiled. “Watch what you offer. This way.”
They followed her into the eat-in kitchen, where an older woman who looked more like Heather than Dee stood over an electric fryer, her hands and apron white with flour.
“Mom,” Heather said, “this is Rose, and Ri. Ri caught those guys.”
“Couldn’t have without Rose,” Maji corrected. “Hi, Mrs. Davis.” She held her hand out, undeterred by the flour.
Mrs. Davis grabbed her by the shoulders and planted a kiss on Maji’s forehead. She let her go and turned toward Rose. “You too,” she declared, and gave Rose the same treatment. “And I’m Mom to all my kids’ friends. Including you now.”
Rose flushed, looking embarrassed by the woman’s gratitude but also pleased. Maji realized that it was the first time Rose had used her training to help a stranger and then had to deal with the thank-you part. “I’m just glad we could help.”
“Where is Dee?” Maji asked Heather. “I need a word with her.”
Heather nodded to the back door and the yard beyond it. “With Nate, in his studio.”
