Running Off Radar, page 7
“Well, I didn’t play very well. I always told him I didn’t need anything.”
“See? Some people immediately think of the responsibility that wealth puts upon them. And others just want to self indulge.”
But Maji had never wanted that kind of power, or the responsibility. She’d locked the remaining principal away and conservatively invested it. Even so, the interest was more than her pay as an active-duty sergeant had been. Probably more than Rose earned at a small university. Not the fantasy millions that bought yachts and big houses, but enough for Maji to decide whether to work or not while pursuing her PhD. “I’d really like your help figuring out what to do with the part that doesn’t go to Uncle Sam. If you don’t mind.”
Rose stopped and looked at Maji, her head tilted a little to one side. “Me? You have Hannah, and Sal, and a Nobel laureate to advise you. What could I possibly add?”
“Hell, I could just turn the whole thing over to one of those green-investment consultants,” Maji conceded. Yet she hadn’t. Nor asked her godmother, father, or mother to advise her. “But I want to think about it for myself, make up my own mind. And you…you’d listen, and ask me good questions, and—”
“Make it fun?” A playful look came into Rose’s eyes. “Like floating in the pool watching clouds drift by, and talking about a whole world of possibilities, without the weight of the decisions pushing you underwater?”
“Like that. But in the shallow end, please. ’Cause I’m a sinker.”
Rose broke into laughter. “Come see me in California. We can lie in a hammock instead.”
Chapter Six
Three Tribal Tours buses waited outside the conference center. Clusters of attendees waited on the sidewalk, ready to board and see the local sights. As before, Maji noticed some of them standing with their eyes closed, faces turned to the sun. “Sunflowers,” she said, nudging Rose.
“Mm. They must be from farther north. Athabascans, Yup’ik, Inupiat—you know.”
“No, I don’t know. I’m not a real anthropologist—I only play one on TV,” Maji countered. “What about Norwegians, or Icelanders?”
Rose gave her an I’m-humoring-you look. “One Swede and a Dane. The program has short bios for the panelists.”
“Including you?”
“Of course. I may be a small fish, but I’m still in the pond.” Rose looked at her suspiciously. “Why?”
“Was the lineup posted online, ahead of time?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“A month or two ago, I guess. The keynoters were announced nearly a year in advance, but not the rest of the schedule.” Rose frowned. “Is this about Javi?”
Of course. “I’d like to disprove my hypothesis as much as you would, Doc. More information is always better than less.”
A stout, sixtyish man with a conference lanyard sidled up to them as Maji was about to dial Hannah. “Now those would have made decent jungle boots,” he said, pointing to her Xtratufs.
Maji just squinted at him. He had no way to know she’d just come from the Philippines.
“In the Mekong Delta. You know—’Nam. Sorry…you were up onstage with us, weren’t you?”
Maji nodded, relaxing. The veterans’ honoring dance.
“George Koreki, Notre Dame,” he said, offering his hand. After a quick, strong shake he asked, “So, where are you?”
“Columbia.” In linguistics, but true enough. She could walk the graduation stage in May, if she wanted the recognition for her master’s degree. A quiet celebratory dinner sounded better, though.
George grunted his approval. “Good school. Do you know Gunderson? Taught physical anthropology for ages. Haven’t heard anything since he retired.”
“Sorry, I didn’t study with him.”
“Just as well—probably dead now. What about—”
Maji spotted the drivers coming out of the conference center, ready to claim their vehicles and the milling groups that had self-selected which bus or van they wanted. Javi didn’t appear to be among any of them. “Excuse me,” she said, heading Rose on an intercept path with Heather. “We promised that driver we’d ride with her.”
Heather smiled when she saw them. “My favorite couple. I have a spot up front for you.”
Maji and Rose took the seats she offered, and Maji dialed Hannah while the others filed in and filled up most of the remaining twenty or so seats. She gave Hannah the new bits of information and promptly hung up. Rose was looking at her sideways.
“What?” Maji asked.
“You’re very curt when you talk shop. All shorthand, no pleasantries. I was wondering what you’re like to talk with on the phone when it’s just, Hi, honey, how was your day?”
“I wonder too. Would be nice to find out, huh?”
Heather pulled the little bus away from the curb and launched into her talk over the PA system. They stopped first at the National Historical Park, with its Totem Trail and Southeast Alaska Indian Cultural Center. The wooded path by the waterline looked perfect for a morning run, and Maji felt the itch to lace up her new shoes and get out to explore. She needed the exercise, if nothing else.
Heather told them about the history of the totem poles in the park, collected from Haida and Tlingit villages all over southeast Alaska and brought to Sitka in the early 1900s for restoration. When the park ranger met them at the visitor center and started to field the group’s questions, Maji kept one eye on Rose but dropped back to speak with Heather.
“How’s it going?”
Heather shrugged. “My sister finally got her boat back from the state police. Spent all day cleaning it up. But at least she can get back to work now.”
“Her boat?”
“Oh, yeah—sorry. I forget you don’t know who’s who here. Dee and Charlie—”
“Simon’s dad?”
“Right. He’s our cousin. Was. Anyways, Charlie owned half the boat. Dee’s been hiring out the last few days with other skippers. Not the same, but she’ll make rent at least.”
“Why the state police? Didn’t Charlie live here in town?”
“Where he died, pulling downed cedars off the shore for the herring egg harvest, you can only get to by water. When Dee couldn’t raise him by radio or phone, they sent the Coasties out to search and found him right away. Since he was dead when they got there, the troopers took their marine enforcement boat out to work the scene and bring him back.”
“So did the state police field the whole investigation? Tox workup and everything?”
Heather snorted. “If you can call it an investigation. Tox screen was clean, of course, and they still won’t call it a homicide.” Heather paused, looking uncomfortable. “Wait. You’re not a cop, are you?”
Maji’s mouth twitched. “No. Definitely not.”
* * *
At the next stop, the Alaska Raptor Center, they saw eagles, hawks, and owls that had been injured and were being nursed back to health. Most would be released back into the wild, but two eagles that couldn’t be rehabilitated were permanent residents.
“Lifers,” Maji joked.
Rose smiled at her dark humor and noticed that Heather did as well. Might the driver have a crush on her girlfriend? Her girlfriend. That still felt too new to be true, yet too thrilling to dismiss. She watched Maji soaking in the zoologist’s spiel on the center’s attempts to mimic the habitats specific to each raptor.
Maji looked completely at home in rubber boots with jeans and a pullover, like she might pick up one of the five-gallon feed buckets and get to work as soon as the tourists cleared out. She could probably look at home like that just about anywhere, Rose guessed. It had something to do with being so self-contained. What Maji didn’t seem to understand was why that quality drew people to her. Everyone crushed out on her in their own way—the students at the dojo, her Army buddies who called her dude but treated her like a sister, even Rose’s grandmother, who never liked anyone if she could help it.
And women looking for a woman, like that flight attendant, probably gave her unsolicited attention all the time. Yet Maji seemed as unimpressed with the fangirls as she was with her own ability to attract them. She wanted to blend in, not stand out. Maybe that was all she meant when she suggested acting normal.
Maji turned and her face took on a knowing look, catching Rose watching her. Well, maybe Maji did want to stand out to some people. Lucky her. Rose’s face heated, and she turned back toward the zoologist answering a question on the difference between ravens and crows. Rose raised her hand.
“Yes?”
“Raven seems to be the trickster in every culture that has them. Is there a similar sort of common mythology about eagles?”
Heather chuckled. “I’ll field that one. We never let the zoologists tackle the anthropology questions.” She paused. “But seriously, I can only speak for my clan, which is Raven/Frog. The best eagle stories belong to the Eagle clans, which hold the rights to tell them—our form of intellectual property law.” She gave Rose and the others a few seconds to absorb that concept. “But think about what you know already. What traits do people often ascribe to eagles?”
With the question turned back to them, the group re-engaged.
“Vision,” one woman suggested.
“Leadership,” offered another.
“Nobility,” said one of the men. “In the sense of dignity with goodness, not caste.”
“You opened up an academic Pandora’s box,” Maji whispered to Rose, slipping close behind her in the small crowd.
Rose leaned back into her, turning her head to speak softly. “You just hate it when people say nice things about you.”
“Me?” Maji’s hands found Rose’s waist and pressed lightly. “I don’t do noble. If one of us is an eagle, it’s you for sure.”
Rose felt the buzz of Maji’s phone against her ribs. Maji sighed and stepped outside, ahead of their group. When they headed outdoors again she was waiting for them by the bus, a distant look in her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Rose asked.
Maji glanced away, then met her gaze and held it. “I may get orders in the next day or two.”
“But you’re on vacation,” Rose protested. “And you’re still healing from your last…business trip.”
“I may have been on my own time these last couple days. And hopefully I will be for the next few. But I’m always on call. Twenty-four seven, three sixty-five.” There was no trace of self-pity in Maji’s almost clinical tone.
Rose stared at her in silence. How was that humanly possible?
“Hannah’s sending someone out to watch your back, just in case,” Maji said, then winced. “Don’t worry. They’ll be discreet.” She took Rose’s hand as they followed the others to the bus. “I shouldn’t have said anything, but I don’t want you to think if I pull a disappearing act that it has anything to do with you, or us.”
Rose crossed her arms and leaned back against the side of the bus. She kept her voice low. “I may not know much about the military, but I can’t believe this is how the Reserve works.”
The blankness in Maji’s expression told Rose she had pushed too far. “It is for me.”
“We’re back on you-can’t-tell-me ground, aren’t we?” Rose asked.
Maji stared back toward the Raptor Center. “That’s where I live. Come on, let’s get on the bus before Heather makes us walk.”
* * *
As she drove away from the Raptor Center, Heather announced that they would be going to the tideflats next. “We have a saying: When the tide is out, the table is set. Anybody want to guess what that means?”
The group chuckled, and Heather rattled off an impressive list of edibles, giving both the English and Tlingit names for geoduck, sea cucumbers, and kelp. Rose watched Maji listening intently and silently repeating the words.
By the entry sign for the Alaska Native Brotherhood Harbor, Heather flipped on the turn blinker and promised, “Our stop here will be brief and totally worth it. We’re picking up a local fishing boat captain to answer your questions about the range of seafood that can be caught in deeper waters around here.”
Rose noticed how Heather hesitated before turning off the bus’s engine. She leaned forward to ask, “Was the captain supposed to meet us here?”
“Yeah,” Heather answered. “My sister. Being late’s not her style.” She stood and pasted a cheerful expression on. “Ladies and gents, welcome to ANB Harbor. Feel free to step off and take a look around. But please be back in five minutes. ’Cause I will, and I have the keys!”
The first ones off the bus, Maji and Rose watched Heather stride down a gangway to a dock where mainly commercial-looking trawlers berthed.
“She’s worried,” Maji noted.
“I know,” Rose said, glad for the validation of what she’d read into their new friend’s body language. “Think we should follow her?”
Maji shook her head. “Let’s just keep her in line of sight. They might need privacy.”
As the others milled about, peering into the clear green water and checking out the fishing boats, they waited.
Barely two minutes later, Heather returned, worry etching her face. “She’s been there. Didn’t lock up, though. Could be sick. I’m going to check the restrooms.”
She didn’t protest when they walked beside her. The little concrete-block building showed no sign of activity, just the two entries at either end segregating visitors by gender.
“Check the men’s,” Maji instructed Rose as she turned the opposite direction to follow Heather into the women’s section.
Rose popped her head into the men’s area, feeling sheepish. “Hello?”
No one answered, and Rose saw no one by the urinals, no feet under the stalls. A scream from the other end drew her back out.
As Rose reached the other entryway, Heather emerged, stumbling as Maji pushed her out. Maji turned her, pointing across the street. “Get the police. We’ll keep her safe. Go!”
Heather nodded, looking panicked but already running in the direction of the squad car parked in front of the Pioneer Saloon.
Maji turned toward Rose and locked eyes with her. “Get me a circle.” When Rose nodded, remembering the move from training last summer, Maji added, “I’ll bring them out. Give us space.”
Maji disappeared back into the restroom. Blocking out her fears for Maji’s safety, Rose ran toward her colleagues on the dock. Get a circle. Would anyone here know what that meant? There was no time to explain and practice. She spotted George Koreki and headed for him.
“We need help at the restroom. A woman…in trouble,” Rose began.
She didn’t get any further before he nodded and called out to two other middle-aged men chatting nearby. “Peters, Nowak—with me.”
Rose wondered as they fell in without question if he had been a drill sergeant. “Ri went in after the woman. She wants a circle outside. You know how?”
“Just put us where you need us,” he replied, breaking in to a trot. “Called 9-1-1?”
Just as Rose finished arranging the three blessedly cooperative men in a half circle outside the restroom entrance, Maji emerged. With one hand in a thumbs-up and the other pressing a finger to her lips to ask them to keep quiet, Maji paused and nodded to Rose. Rose caught the gazes of the academics to either side of her briefly, while breathing in and exhaling deliberately, modeling the relaxed and ready fence post posture. They mimicked her, their hands extended, palms forward.
Maji turned back and called into the restroom, “Coast is clear. Bring her out quick.” Then she spoke to them a bit more urgently, in Russian. A repeat of last summer?
Rose took a deep breath and tried to feel her feet press into the concrete. This was no time to panic. George gave her a steadying look.
As Maji talked out a man burdened by a slumping, staggering woman, she reached out to help him. Then before he could react to the sight of the human barricade, Maji slammed the man’s head backward with one palm. As it crunched against the cinder blocks, Maji yanked the woman free, pushing her toward Rose. “Now!”
Rose stepped forward and caught the woman, pulling her backward and to the outside of the circle. “Hold the line!” she heard herself bark out, as she and the woman crumpled to the ground behind them.
Everything that followed jumbled together. Sirens grew in volume, feet pounded toward them, Heather’s voice screamed out, “Dee!” And as Rose cradled the semiconscious woman’s head and shoulders, she caught flashes of motion through the gaps between her helpers’ legs and backs. Maji’s fight wasn’t over.
“Police! Move aside,” a deep voice bellowed. Rose’s cadre shifted.
Heather knelt across from Rose, repeating Dee’s name over and over, trying to get a response. “Can you hear me?”
“There’s the ambulance,” Rose told her, relieved to see two EMTs spilling out of the van and jogging toward them. Glancing at the black-clad police officers looming over Maji and not one but two men on the ground, Rose fought the urge to spring up and go to her.
Instead, Rose backed away from Dee, settling her gently onto the ground and making room for the EMTs. “I think those men drugged her,” she told the first medic to arrive.
The pair seemed to know Heather and talked to her in reassuring tones as they efficiently got to work checking Dee for pulse, reliable breathing, and signs of injury. Rose stood and turned at last to confirm that Maji was unscathed.
Rose took in Maji kneeling on the back of one man, his arm twisted high behind him as she turned just her head to speak with one of the policemen. His partner, a woman in the same black uniform of the city police, Mirandized the already cuffed man who knelt by the wall. The male officer moved to the head of the man on the ground and tried to lift his free hand to place cuffs on him as well. The pinned man struggled, and Maji spoke to him in Russian, moving her upper body slightly. He jerked once and relaxed. As soon as he was cuffed, Maji released her grip and rocked back, stepping back and standing.
“Ri!” Rose exclaimed, moving toward her.
