“Actually, there is some scientific evidence that supports the hypothesis. For example, the fact that plankton in the ocean has the ability to affect the temperature of the earth by producing clouds. When it’s sunny, the plankton grow faster, producing the chemicals that create clouds — which, in turn, help block the heat from the sun … thus lowering the temperature. In other words, the organism is correcting extremes by itself.”
“You sound more like a scientist than a historian,” MacNeil commented, but she noticed he looked thoughtful. “So … do the Skaladeskas actually worship the earth? Like a religion?”
“I’d say, from what I remember — and this is from years ago, you have to understand — that it was more of a respectful relationship, rather than a worship. But, again, my memory is fuzzy because my father … after I was about nine or ten, we didn’t talk much about it.” Because he always had his face in the bottle.
MacNeil tucked the card into his inner jacket pocket. “Do you have your things together? I’d like to get up north to L’Anse tonight. The sooner you can look over your father’s house, the warmer the trail of his disappearance will be.”
“Yes. But I want Boris to come too.”
“All right. I won’t argue with that. Is he trained as an attack dog?”
“Boris is just over a year old, and I’ve begun Schutzhund training for him — a combination of tracking, obedience and protection-“
“I’m familiar with Schutzhund,” he interrupted. “He’s just a year old?”
“Yes, he’s still young, but he’s doing very well.”
“And you’re working on rescue training as well?” He slung up her suitcase and she grabbed up her duffel and laptop case.
Marina locked her door, although what good that would do she wasn’t sure. “I’ll need to get someone over here to fix this,” she commented, gesturing to the smashed sidelight. “And, to answer your question, yes the rescue training is just an expansion of the tracking in Schutzhund. Boris is going to be very good at it.”
They walked down the sidewalk and stowed her luggage in the trunk.
Marina looked at her house, shaded by the trees that had saved her life earlier that day, and felt a sudden sense of loss.
As if something brutal had changed.
Being in the company of an elite team of CIA officers had its benefits when traveling, Marina learned. Of course, they could also put a damper on travel plans as well; but since she was cooperating for the time, it wasn’t an issue.
A Cessna Skyplane transported herself, Bergstrom, MacNeil, and Boris to the airport just outside Marquette, Michigan, late Friday night. And early the next morning, they reassembled from outside their hotel rooms to climb into the large and comfortable Explorer, in deference to Boris.
His tongue hanging to his collar, shaking and surging with excitement, Boris steamed up the windows as he looked outside from the cargo area in the back. Slender in the flanks, but wide across the shoulders, he was a perfect specimen of the German-bred German Shepherd.
In fact, his parents had been born and raised in Germany, and brought to the US where Marina had picked from their first litter on this side of the Atlantic Ocean. She’d continued the tradition by teaching him his commands in both German and English, with an emphasis on the former.
He had the saddle-like markings on his back of a true Shepherd, and his coloring was black, tan, and a shiny copper color — brighter than Marina’s own dark auburn swag. And with his gleaming brown eyes and dark swatches of black over their lids that looked like eyebrows, he had a humanly, expressive face.
“At Dad’s house, I’ll be looking for anything that might give an indication of where he’s been taken … or anything that appears to be out of the ordinary. Not a small task, considering that I haven’t been there for over seven years.” She had to speak loudly, because the two men were in the front, and she was near Boris.
MacNeil, who Bergstrom had asked to drive so he could work, wheeled the SUV onto the curved, paved road. It would take them forty miles into the little town of L’Anse, ten miles south of where Victor’s cabin was built onto the east shore of Keewenaw Bay. “Why is that? Too busy?”
Even the CIA wouldn’t be able to understand all of the nuances of her relationship with Dad. Marina sure as hell didn’t. And she preferred not to try.
“Let’s just say that we’re not close. I talk to him occasionally on the phone — Father’s Day was the last time I spoke with him, as I mentioned to you. I didn’t have any reason to visit and he traveled so much, he rarely had time to visit me.” Time to change the subject. “So how’d you get into the CIA? I suppose you were a big James Bond fan.”
“Oh, yeah. All those women walking out of oceans in bikinis. That did it for me.”
“So was it Barbara Bach or Ursula Andress who clinched it for you?” Marina asked as the pine trees flew by on either side of the road.
State Highway 43 from Marquette to L’Anse was two-laned, curved then straight in long stretches, and cut through the deep Hiawatha State Forest. No one ever traveled the speed limit of 65, except for the semi-trucks that the locals deplored getting behind, and MacNeil seemed to be just as comfortable managing the SUV along the road as a local would. His wrist rested casually on the top of the steering wheel, and the corner of his mouth quirked with humor.
“Neither, actually. I graduated with a degree in art — It was those nude models in Drawing 102 that got me hooked on art classes. After I graduated, I started with the Agency in the Disguise and Documents Division, making fake passports and other documents, and designing disguises for our officers and agents.” He looked into the rearview mirror and his easy grin disappeared. “Hang tight.”
The Explorer leapt forward. MacNeil kept his eyes focused on the view behind him, his mouth a tense line. “I think we’ve got company.”
Marina craned her neck to look around as Bergstrom shifted in the front seat. She saw the flash of cold, black metal in his hand, then turned her attention to the large rear window. A black Cherokee raced along behind them on the two-lane, S-curved road.
MacNeil slowed the Explorer and made a quick turn down an even narrower County Road that headed off into a thickly-forested area. The black SUV screeched around behind them, barreling in their wake on the tree-canopied road.
“Sonofabitch.” MacNeil’s knee disappeared as he jammed his foot onto the accelerator. The SUV cranked up faster, bumping along the road and jolting Boris to the floor. He whined, and tried to pull to his feet, but the racing truck kept him off balance.
Marina tightened her seatbelt and stared into the side view mirror as the Cherokee roared closer behind them. The asphalt road curved wickedly, and, covered with towering trees whose branches reached across it, was more like a tunnel than a road. The early morning sun was fairly blotted out, leaving a cold, dark, eeriness surrounding them.
“Hang on.” Gabe’s voice spat, tense, like the fingers Marina had clutching the door handle. “I’m going to try something.”
She listened to him, bracing herself, and was glad she did … but sorry for poor Boris, who was slammed against the side of the cargo area as MacNeil wheeled the truck around a sharp bend, then swerved around off the road so the truck careened to one side, up onto two tires, then slammed back down to the ground as he finished a 180º turn. Marina realized for the first time how top-heavy SUVs were. It was a miracle that they hadn’t crashed to the ground.
The truck blazing behind them came along the black-topped road, pealing and spitting rocks under its wheels. Marina caught sight of the driver’s intense face as they blared past, then registered the stopped vehicle.