The Bone Seeker (33 page)

They'd reached the turn-off to Lake Turngaluk before they heard the vehicles, a thin line of ATVs rumbling out from the Camp Nanook gate, moving at a pace towards them. In front, Willa jammed his foot on the accelerator but the ATV was underpowered for its load and it was clear that if they didn't come up with something, they weren't going to make it back to Kuujuaq.

‘You got a rappel rope and anchor?' Edie yelled above the sound of the engine. Willa turned his head and blinked away the wind. ‘Always. In the pack at the back.'

‘You think we can fast-rope the bird cliffs?' she shouted.

‘Probably.'

‘Good. Head there. Don't worry, I have a plan.'

Willa steered the ATV 360 degrees and began to backtrack towards the lake turn-off, the engine on full throttle, black, charred fumes rising from the exhaust. The track here was little more than a gap in the willow, the surface so pocked with frost boils that the vehicle began to sway and bump alarmingly and Derek, Sonia and Edie were forced to cling to their makeshift positions. Reaching the perimeter of the Glacier Ridge containment fence, Willa told them to hold on tighter as he routed around a stretch of muskeg until they came to the slick rock and wind-dried sedge meadow of the clifftop. Before them the waters of Jones Sound sparkled like a dewy web in the afternoon sun.

Willa jammed on the brake and the vehicle came to a screeching halt. One by one the passengers slid off. A hundred metres below them the beach shingle glinted soft grey in the sun. In the distance, to the
northwest, three military ATVs were still heading along the main track to the settlement. In a moment they, too, would pull off onto the side track.

Quickly, Edie outlined what she had in mind.

‘This rope should really be braided for fast-roping,' Willa said, fishing out a coil of nylon rappel rope, a length of webbing and a rappel ring. ‘But we don't have time.' At the bottom of the pile he pulled out a single pair of gloves and handed them to Gutierrez.

‘You're gonna need these.'

They moved towards the edge of the cliff. Derek looked over and came back, nodding.

‘He's still there. Or enough of him, anyway.'

The two men went over to the cliff edge to find an anchor. Derek located the ledge and they walked back from the spot until they came to a large boulder. Together they strung the length of webbing around it, doubled the rope through the rappel ring and tied it off, pulling to test their weight against it. To finish off, they grubbed up some cotton grass and camouflaged the webbing. If they were lucky, the men wouldn't see it.

From their perch a few metres from the cliff edge Edie and Sonia continued to keep their eye on the convoy. The vehicles slowed on the main track, then, as predicted, they turned off towards the cliffs.

‘It's time,' Edie said. The two women moved to the cliff edge to join the men and waited in the order they'd agreed. The blood had bleached from Sonia's face. Edie laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She could feel the trembling of her flesh. They continued to watch the vehicles heading towards them, tense and silent now, counting down the moments.

In forty seconds, as the ATVs rounded the lake, Klinsman and his goons would be blinded for about two minutes by the low, Arctic summer sun in the southern sky. By the time the cliffs came back into clear view, if everything went according to plan, their quarry would have disappeared.

At the exact moment Edie gave the signal, and Derek immediately
dropped to the ground, grabbed the rope and, locking his right leg around it, disappeared over the cliff edge. The anchor strained but held. Sonia shuffled up and found her position, with her legs over the cliff face, and sat there, her breath coming in short pants. She curled her right leg around the rope. They counted fifteen, then Edie shouted:

‘Now!'

Sonia took a deep breath then suddenly swung her head around. Her eyes were full of fear.

‘I don't know if I can do this,' she said.

‘You want me to push you off?' Edie's face gave Sonia reason to believe she was serious. ‘I'll be right behind you. Don't look down and remember to slide with your hands. Just keep going, even if it burns.'

The lawyer closed her eyes for a second to gather herself, then went over. Edie watched her disappear, crouched and took her place. Sonia was three metres down now, her hands clutched tight on the rope, the top of Derek's head just visible below her. Edie gripped the rope and braced herself. With no gloves and with hands damaged from frostbite, this was going to hurt.

About two metres down she began to feel the skin peel away. By three metres the rope was slick with her blood. Above her she could see Willa had managed to pull his sleeves over his palms and was using the fabric to reduce the friction. She tightened her jaw and carried on, using her feet to push herself gently off the limestone face. Below her Sonia hesitated.

‘Don't look down. Keep moving!'

The lawyer looked up. Edie gesticulated with her head for her to move. The lawyer did not move. Up above her she could see Willa approaching.

‘Move!'

The lawyer gave a little cry and resumed her descent. Steeling herself against the pain in her hands, Edie carried on behind her. Sonia did not stop again until she'd reached the ledge. Coming in after her, Edie swung the rope a little and stepped off. The palms of her hands were raw meat. Right now, it wasn't hurting too much. But in an hour
or so it would be a different story. Seeing them, Derek wrinkled his nose in sympathy, though his own were just as bad. Willa brought up the rear, untied the double eight and cleaned the anchor. Quickly, he began hauling in the rope and passing it along to Edie to coil. The sound of the engines was almost on them now. Edie crouched beside Willa, Sonia and Derek on the ledge where Markoosie Pitoq had spent the last hour of his life and hoped it would not be theirs.

The wind came up, taking the sound of voices away from them, then after a brief silence, a fierce, shingly sound hit them at the same time as a shower of scree poured down, powdering their faces in dust. When Sonia gave a little gasp and began frantically scraping at her eye with her fingers, Edie frowned her back to silence. They heard a voice, shouting.

‘Christ!' It was the ape. ‘There's a body on the beach. It's a mess. One of 'em must have fallen. Hard to see who from up here. Looks like one of the men. No sign of any of the others.'

They heard the sound of engines starting up again then moving away along the track which ran parallel to the clifftop then down to link with the coastal route. Edie slid her body around Willa's.

‘We got ten minutes till they make it to the beach,' Derek said.

‘You think we should stay here?' Gutierrez said.

‘Uh nuh. We're more visible from down there. Besides, we need to get to Kuujuaq. I've clambered around these cliffs for twelve years. I know them pretty well. I think I can get us back up to the top. Just follow me, hold on to the rock and don't look down.' Directing himself to Willa he said, ‘Hand me the rope. As soon as I get over the lip I'll reattach it and send it back down. It'll give you something else to hold on to.'

He stepped out, keeping his head up, facing the rock, his bloodied hands grasping for a hold. On either side of him, startled seabirds rose, calling. Gutierrez went next, followed by Willa, Edie bringing up the rear. She moved along the rock, placing her feet exactly in Willa's footsteps. As she moved, her eye caught sight of the beach twenty metres below and she swallowed hard, then carried on. Derek had come to a
step which led up to a small rocky table. Here he stopped for a second, checking on the others coming up behind him.

On the final leg, the wind came up. Willa paused to get his balance. For an instant he glanced back at Edie and, blinking in the wind, managed a fragile smile of encouragement. A young guillemot blew from a crevice directly ahead. The sudden movement startled her. She felt her foot slide and dug in with her hands. The crosswind was buffeting her sideways now and she had to keep moving her weight to keep herself balanced. Looking up ahead she saw Derek get over the rim. Gutierrez had stopped, apparently blindsided by the wind. They waited a moment then Edie saw the rope twist down. Gutierrez grabbed it and moved forward. Derek appeared and offered his arms. Then she too disappeared over the rim.

A minute or two later Edie found herself at the same spot, but this time it was Willa reaching down for her. With his help she heaved herself up and over onto the sedge. Then the two women picked themselves up and made for the ATV.

Willa had left the key in the ignition and the engine running, hoping to convince Klinsman that they'd run off behind one of the outcrops a little further along the cliff. The key was gone now but in a blink Willa had his multitool out and, disengaging the ignition, he went around the back and connected the two solenoids with the screwdriver attachment and the engine rattled into life.

A smile came over his face. ‘Finally, my wild past pays off.'

The ATV lurched forward and in a cloud of grey smoke they roared along the muskeg towards Kuujuaq.

Edie used the journey across the tundra to do the rough calculations in her head. If it took Klinsman and his men fifteen minutes to figure out that the body on the beach was of no interest they'd almost certainly head directly for the settlement. There were two routes, the first retracing their steps back to the clifftops, the second via the more meandering coastal path. Either way they'd not be much more than thirty minutes behind.

They swung by the detachment, picked up Gutierrez's backpack and left, double-locking the door behind them. Willa drove them up to the landing strip and dropped Edie and Derek at the terminal building then went with Gutierrez around the side to the hanger where the police plane was kept. It was the police pilot's job to keep it ready and fuelled in case of emergencies but Pol was out at summer camp for the weekend and there was no time to call him in. Thankfully, Willa had been a grease monkey ever since he could walk. He boasted he could do a basic check in under five minutes.

With no scheduled flights running that day, the building was deserted. No CCTV, no alarm system. No one would have thought to put one in. The first Klinsman or anyone else would know of what was happening would be when they saw the plane come over. The spare keys to the police Twin Otter were kept in a cabinet in the office which was, surprisingly, locked. Derek fetched a large wrench from the tool room, came back and broke it open.

Like every other ranking officer working in a remote area, Derek had his pilot's licence. Unlike most, since a near miss out of Yellowknife
fifteen years ago, he'd been stuck with a flying phobia. The tension in his jaw, the thin veil of sweat gathering on his forehead told Edie that he was doing his best to fight his demons, but also that they weren't about to roll over while he stuck it to them.

He grabbed the keys and made his way towards the back door which led out onto the landing strip and the hangar building. At the exit he hesitated a moment before turning back to Edie and saying, ‘The flying thing. Best if the others don't know.'

On their way to the hangar they paused at the weather station to check the anemometer and barometer. The wind had turned 180 degrees and was blowing in from the west now. Derek looked upwards. Edie scanned his face, trying to read his thoughts, then lighted on the barometer. Above, the sky was empty of birds. All of which meant one thing: there was a polar cyclone coming and it would be centred, as always, on Baffin Island. Exactly where they were heading.

Over at the hangar they saw Willa waving them over. They began to run.

‘Any point in trying anywhere else?' she said.

‘With the fuel we have and my navigation? Maybe Resolute.'

Edie groaned. Resolute was where the High Arctic SOVPAT military exercises were headquartered.

They stopped beside the hangar and paused a moment to catch their breath.

‘How's the weather looking?' Willa said.

‘Bumpy.'

Edie turned to her ex-stepson and clutched his arm. ‘You don't need to come with us. Klinsman knows we took the guard's weapon. You can say we forced you.' Willa blinked back his astonishment. Something passed between them. She turned away, unable to stomach the hurt on his face.

‘I'm sorry,' she said. ‘Of course you're coming.'

•   •   •

The police Twin Otter was sitting in its summer position in the open hangar, face-out to the strip. Derek clambered into the cockpit,
nervously eyeing the controls, naming each under his breath to calm himself. Airspeed indicator, altimeter, turn and bank indicator, heading indicator, artificial horizon, vertical speed indicator. Compass. He checked the fuel gauge and the time on his watch and hit the ignition switch; the propeller buzzed into action. He swung his head back to check on the others and saw the lawyer and Willa buckling themselves in and Edie behind them, locking the passenger door.

‘Hold on,' he said, throttling forward, and they began to rumble towards the landing strip. He could feel his pulse screaming, his palms, already raw from the rope, now stinging with sweat. They reached the landing strip and he aligned the plane, managing to bring it to a halt, his hand shaking on the control yoke. He could feel himself losing awareness, as though the present moment were leaking out of him. He swung around and, finding Edie with his gaze, he said,

‘I could use you up here.'

As she clambered into the seat beside him, he eased off the brake, his fingers sharp and painful on the controls. The engine roared and lurched forward and they began to rattle down the landing strip. As they picked up speed he felt the doughy feeling in his head lift. He focused his attention back on the strip then pulled up the control yoke and they were up and climbing out over the Sound. He took the plane higher. The Otter would have a hard time in cyclonic winds. It was bad luck. Summer cyclones were rare and, generally, not as severe as the winter variety. He might have trouble keeping the plane on a straight course but it was unlikely to break up. What worried him more was the possibility that the buffeting might cause them to veer off course enough to use up their fuel. If they managed to reach Iqaluit, the next big challenge would be landing in downdraughting air with strong ground winds. He could feel his fear waiting to spring.

They hit rough air and the plane shuddered and trembled. Then it dropped. Derek felt his stomach leave him. No one spoke. He held on tighter to the control yoke. The palms of his hands were burning. He
checked the altimeter and levelled the plane out. He was remembering something Pol once told him, that bush pilots never talked about what they'd do if they crashed. They only talked about when.

Edie caught his eye and threw him a sympathetic look. Since he'd met her he'd felt himself heading out to meet life and that inevitably meant coming nearer to death too. Still he hadn't regretted it. Not once. Or, at least, not for long.

The plane rocked again. He could feel the pull of the wind on the fuselage. He tried to shut down the side of himself that felt panicked by it but he felt like a whale in an ocean of air, forcing himself up to breathe. He looked at his bloody hands and steadied his thoughts. He realized that he'd never really talked to anyone about the Yellowknife accident and he made a promise to himself that, if he got them through this, he would. And there was no one he wanted to talk to about it more than Edie Kiglatuk. The woman sitting beside him knew how it felt to walk away alive; to have to live haunted by ghosts of the dead you'd left behind.

They were over Baffin now, heading into the cyclone. He considered diverting to Pond Inlet or one of the other handful of tiny north Baffin settlements to wait out the worst of it, then realized what folly it was even to think that way. If they tried to conceal themselves, Klinsman and his men would come after them. The only place to hide was in plain sight.

He did a quick calculation in his mind, plugged in the Iqaluit airport frequency, identified himself and waited for a response. Nothing. He wondered if the storm was taking out the radio, then took a breath, recalculated and decided that most likely they weren't yet in range. For an instant he let his unpreparedness get to him, then he gathered himself once more and decided that after another ten minutes' flying time he'd try again.

He felt the sweat trickle down the back of his neck. The plane was dancing about like a mayfly. Beside him, Edie seemed calm and unruffled. He glanced into the rear mirror. Willa was chewing his finger.
Gutierrez had a hand over her mouth as though she was trying to stop herself from screaming. He gripped the control yoke more tightly. The shaking was constantly threatening to loosen it from his grip. If the cyclone held to this strength, he could probably get them through, he thought, but landing was going to require assistance. They weren't expected though, so he had to hope the airport hadn't closed. His eyes flipped from the control panel to the windshield and he watched Baffin Island slowly disappear into whipping cloud.

Ten minutes later he tried the radio again with the same result. A bead of anxiety began to grow in his stomach, and he felt a tic start up in his eye. He swung his head around to look at Edie. Her eyes were closed. The plane was shaking like a cottonhead, the wings rattling, the wind screaming across the fuselage. Behind him, Willa was still chewing his finger but Gutierrez was being sick. No one had spoken for a long time.

There was a part of him, he realized, that wanted to take his hands from the control yoke and float off into oblivion. He looked over at Edie again and felt a sudden surge of resentment. It was she who had pushed him into this. Without her, he might have walked away from the case the moment the Defence Department had taken it over, allowed the Killer Whales to go down for the murder of Martha Salliaq and cleared his mind of any talk of underground tests and radioactive contamination. But he knew that, without her too, he would have carried on living in the shadows, shoring himself up with cigarettes and coffee and lemmings. The only person who'd cared enough to stop him becoming the Lemming Police was the woman sitting right next to him.

And he didn't want to be responsible for killing her.

He made another dead reckoning of their position but it was difficult to do without a confirmed forecast wind speed. Once more he tried the radio but what came back was white noise. By his calculations they were less than fifty kilometres from Iqaluit now, but he couldn't be sure. What he did know was that they were long past the point of no
return. If he overflew Iqaluit or otherwise missed it, he didn't have enough fuel to take them on to the landing strip at Kimmirut.

He dropped the plane, hoping to fly under the cloud to get a visual, without going low enough to make them vulnerable in a sudden downdraught. At the descent, he felt his stomach lurch and his pulse begin thudding again. Suddenly, the cloud cleared momentarily and he saw, far distant, the pucker on the tundra that was Iqaluit. And then it was gone once more. He pushed up his headphones, switched the comms lever, identified himself and requested a response. For a moment or two there was nothing, then a voice said,

‘What the hell are you doing? The airport is closed.'

Relief flooded across his face.

‘This is an emergency. I'm going to need to make a landing at Iqaluit.'

‘Copy that,' the voice said, adding, ‘you're lucky I had to come back for my laptop.' There was a pause. ‘What is your position?'

He felt himself smile and loosened his grip just a little on the control yoke, mentally keying himself into the comforting, unequivocal language of the control tower. He passed on the position. The controller OK'd him and gave preliminary instructions. The plane began its descent, buffeted wildly by the wind.

‘We got strong side winds on the runway. Brace yourselves for a rough landing.'

The plane wobbled and swung through the air like a wounded goose. A slow shallow land would leave them more vulnerable to the side winds so he kept the approach at about a hundred knots. When they were at thirty metres Derek instructed his passengers to put their heads in their laps and cover them with their hands. He pushed the prop levers forward, willing the wind not to gust just as he levelled off low for landing. He could almost feel the tarmac beneath him now. He swallowed hard and teased the plane down. The wheels made contact with a loud grinding sound and a hard bump. Immediately, he pulled the prop lever back, trying to correct the push of the wind to keep the
plane stable along the strip. He felt it slow. He was in control. He allowed himself to taxi to the second apron then pulled off, engaged the brakes fully and came to a screeching halt.

Beside him he heard the sound of clapping. Edie grinned, leaned over and gave him an Inuit kiss. He felt himself smile. Then he threw back his head and closed his eyes and allowed himself to breathe.