This far north, the ice froze hard and it froze thick. At first, it had been a terrible feeling, knowing that he walked across the Arctic Ocean. There was no land anywhere nearby, just ice. If suddenly the sun should appear and melt the ice….
It was a foolish but atavistic fear, nearly impossible to root out completely. It was foolish because for one thing, the sun couldn’t appear for months. It wasn’t even winter yet. For another thing, even if it would appear, it lacked the heat to melt polar ice. Well, a sudden solar flare might give the sun enough heat to melt the ice. But a flare that large would also burn out almost all life on the planet just as had occurred in the old movie Knowing.
Paul scowled as he clicked the trigger, aiming the radar-gun at the ice.
Red Cloud is giving me makeshift work, hoping I get lost out here. The Algonquin wants me dead.
Paul halted and blew out his cheeks in frustration. Hooking the radar-gun onto his belt, he slid his rifle’s strap from his shoulder. He carried an old M14 rifle, a relic.
“In case you chance upon a polar bear,” Red Cloud had told him.
Yeah, right. Paul would have rather carried a big revolver with heavy caliber bullets. He certainly wasn’t going to spot a white bear at a distance. What was he supposed to do, lie down on the ice and sniper the polar bear to death? A heavy revolver or a machine pistol to pump bullets into the beast, that’s what he needed. This old rifle was only good for one thing: punishment detail, which is clearly what Red Cloud meant perimeter duty to be.
Paul wouldn’t have minded if he’d gotten full pay, and if he could have stayed here for another four months. He’d been fined, working at half pay as he waited for the mechanic to repair the plane’s engine. At half pay, he hadn’t even made enough yet to cover his various expenses.
I didn’t shoot your friends during the war, Geronimo. Why take their deaths out on me?
Paul blinked in frustration at the ice. Of all things, it appeared as if Murphy was going to stay, but not him. Paul could hardly believe it.
Staring up at the stars, Paul stood there, surprised. The stars were beautiful. He craned his neck and stared, his gaze scanning back and forth, taking in the immensity of the universe. Slowly, a feeling of awe began to overtake him. I’m just a speck in the universe, a tiny mote crawling over the surface of a spinning rock.
His problems suddenly didn’t seem so big. Compared to the size of the universe, his anger almost seemed foolish. He felt small and insignificant. It was a bad feeling. Then it hit him, a terrible feeling of loss. It had felt this way the first couple of days after Cheri had told him she wanted a divorce.
Mikey…Cheri…why am I not at home with you? Why did we ever get divorced?
Paul Kavanagh shook his head. He wanted to start over. He wanted to get it right for once. What do I have to do differently? Where had his life gone wrong? Had it been before Quebec or after it? Maybe it had been in continuation school. Maybe it had been before that.
If I can’t get it right, I can at least make sure I help the two people I love.
Nodding, he pulled off his right glove and dug into his parka. He’d walked into Red Cloud’s hut several days ago when he knew the others were either asleep or outside. Paul had the odd schedule, often working alone as night guard. Rummaging in the Algonquin’s desk, he’d found his cell phone in the bottom drawer and taken it. If he was only getting half-pay, then he was only half of the company’s employee. As he stood alone out here on the pack ice, Paul took the cell phone out of his parka and managed a sour grin.
It hurt the cold corner of his mouth. He didn’t wear a ski mask anymore, letting his growth of whiskers do the job for him.
Look at this. He had a single bar on the cell. They had a cell-phone relay cube at the base. Someone must have forgotten to take it offline, which they usually did so people like him couldn’t phone home. It was a new policy since the destruction of the Californian oil rig. Many in the business were certain the blown oil well had been an inside job.
Paul clicked off his flashlight, hooking it to his belt. He then punched in Cheri’s numbers and listened to it ring.
“Paul?” she asked, answering the call.
“Hey baby, I’m still near at the North Pole.”
“What do you mean ‘still’?” she asked. “Have they fired you?”
“No.”
“What’s wrong? I can hear by your voice that something is.”
Paul shifted uncomfortably. “Look, I’m going to give you my account number. There isn’t much left in it, maybe five hundred bucks now.”
“You got fired,” she said, sounding dispirited.
“My boss is an Algonquin warrior.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
“I’m trying to tell you. He’s Algonquin—Red Cloud fought in Quebec, in the Canadian Shield. Algonquin is an Indian name,” he said, “a tribal name. They fought with the French-Canadian separatists. I remember going up against some Algonquin soldiers during the war. They were sneaky in the woods. I remember they trapped Joe and we had to fight our way out.”
“You fought against the French Indians?” Cheri asked.
“Yeah. That’s what I’m saying.”
“So your boss is an Indian, too?”
“One that hates U.S. Marines.”
“He fired you?”
“Technically not yet, but he will soon.”
“He can’t just fire you because you’re a Marine or were a Marine.”
“You’d be surprised what these guys can do. Anyway, that’s not important right now. I’m going to give you my account number. I want you to empty it and use the money.”
“…I don’t know,” Cheri said.
“Do you have a paper and pen?”
“Okay,” she said. “Just a minute.”
“Sure,” Paul said, hearing her set the phone on a counter. He tried to picture his ex. What time was it over there?
He heard a click and then the line went dead.
“Hello?” Paul asked. Nothing—the line was pure dead. “Stupid phone,” he said, punching in the numbers again. He listened, but it was still dead. “What the heck?” he said. Then he saw the bars on his cell—or the lack of them.
Paul’s features tightened. Someone had just taken the relay cube offline. Now Cheri would think he’d hung up on her.
“That’s it,” Paul said. It was the final straw.
He thrust the cell into his parka, shoved his hand back into the thick glove, and picked up his M14. He slung the leather strap over his shoulder and started marching for the base. It was time for a showdown with Red Cloud. The Algonquin wasn’t going to fire him and the French Indian was going to pay him full wages. If Paul had to shove a gun in Red Cloud’s belly to do it, he was going to persuade the Algonquin the hard way. Whatever it took.
“Firing me is discrimination,” Paul said aloud. Cheri was right. Red Cloud couldn’t fire him just because he’d been in the Marines. That was total B.S.
Paul marched back toward the base. After taking perhaps three hundred steps, he heard crackling sounds in the distance. Before he was aware of it, Paul thudded onto the ice on his belly, the M14 in his hands. He stared wide-eyed at the derricks. The nearest one had a flashing red light that winked on and off, reminding him of an airplane warning light.