Judge & Jury

Chapter 109

IT TOOK TWENTY-TWO HOURS, and three feature-length movies, to travel from London to Santiago, Chile, halfway around the world. Then another four and a half hours on LAN, the Chilean airline, down to Punta Arenas, a gray, ice-free port at the foot of the Andes, at the bottom of the world. We could have flown directly to Ushuaia, but if Remlikov had double-crossed us, I didn't want to be arriving there.

It was autumn in the southern hemisphere, and we were down at the very tip. The sky was slate gray, and a steady wind beat into our faces anytime we stepped outdoors. It took a day to adjust. Remlikov said Cavello's ranch was near Ushuaia, a twelve-hour drive.

"Where the hell isUshuaia? " Andie asked, squinting at the map.

"South."

"I thought we were south." Andie smirked cynically.

I pointed at a dot at the very tip of South America."All the way south."

For years, Ushuaia was pretty much noted for its remote prison. I had a book on Patagonia by a writer named Bruce Chatwin. He described a fabled and mysteriously remote land. Magellan had stopped there, and all he had encountered were Indians who didn't wear much clothing and huddled around fires in the most hostile climate. The Land of Fire, he named it.Tierra del Fuego.

As we sat there on the second morning in our rented Land Cruiser, ready to pull out, Andie said to me,"All I can say is, if Remlikov turns out to be a liar it's a helluva long drive back."

The route south and east was weather-beaten and winding, but the landscape was spectacular. Like nothing I'd ever seen anywhere. We immediately climbed up through the Andes. Craggy, saw-toothed mountains jutted from sprawling plains. Massive ice-blue glaciers nestled between the peaks. The cha

We finally crossed the border into Argentina. The winding road hugged Beagle Cha

We eventually came upon a roadside cantina, the first commercial establishment we'd seen for miles. There were gauchos sitting around outside, hearty-looking locals who looked us over and probably wondered if we'd gotten our seasons wrong.

"I get the feeling we ought to stop," Andie said."Theclosest McDonald's is probably about thirty-two hundred miles away."

The meats at the cantina were roasted on open flames and served smothered in a greenchimichurri sauce with vegetables on tortillas. Not outstanding, but not half-bad. We took a picture of a sign that read ANTARCTICA, 807 MILESin a dozen languages.

A young cowboy with a multicolored shawl let Andie climb up on his horse. Her smile was one I'd remember until I died. I hoped that wouldn't be too soon.

Andie looked wistfully at me as we climbed back in the car."I wish Jarrod could have been here, Nick. All the things he missed."

When we came to the outskirts of Ushuaia there were no picture postcards. The last stopover before Antarctica.

The town sloped upward from the sea against a steep mountain, almost a wall. This was the other side of the world from Haifa, and not just geographically. The place appeared to be a pit. Narrow streets rose up from an industrial port, loaded with locals hawking everything from penguin dolls to Antarctica T-shirts. Packs of mangy dogs roamed the streets. The low stucco houses had these strange baskets atop stakes in front of them. The stu

We found a modest hotel near the port called La Bella Vista that the guidebook said was decent. I shrugged in Andie's direction."The Ritz was booked."

Our room had a queen-size bed, some pictures of the town as it was a hundred years ago, and a framed nautical map of Antarctica, which was as common down here as a print of St. Peter's is in a hotel room in Rome.

We stepped out on the tiny balcony overlooking Beagle Sound. The clouds were low and dark and swift-moving. Mountains rose from the flat land on the other side of the gray cha

"Don't ever say I never took you anywhere interesting."

Andie put her head on my shoulder."No, I can't say that about you, Nick."

We both knew the fun was now officially over.

Chapter 110

IN THE MORNING we went downstairs, and after breakfast, we made some inquiries at the front desk. The wavy-haired clerk greeted us as if we were lovers on a holiday, eager to tour the sites."Would you like to see the penguins?"

"No penguins." I took out our map."We're looking for ranches outside town. Maybe you can help?"

"Ahhh,la estancia, " he replied, using the term for the sprawling farms that had been privately owned since the 1800s but were now tourist destinations in national parks.

I handed him the map."We're actually looking for a particular one. It's called El Fin del Mundo."

"El Fin del Mundo," the clerk repeated, nodding.“The End of the World."

"You know it?"

"No." He shook his head."But it is well named."

If I was here on official business there would have been dozens of ways I could have located Cavello. But unfortunately, they all involved the local police. I was sure privacy was a guarded commodity down here, and I didn't want to attract attention.

"There are many estancias north of town." The clerk took out a pen. He circled an area on the map."Here, near the skiing. Orhere. " He circled another area to the west."You have a car, Señor?"

I nodded."A four-wheel drive."

"You will need every bit of it." He gri

We left town, taking a different route from the way we came in, toward the northeast. The road hugged the coast for a while, passing deserted islands. In the distance the mountains of Chile ringed the horizon.

Then we turned at the mountain road and started to climb,really climb.

"Let me guess," Andie said, feigning disappointment."You reallydon't want to see the penguins?"

"After we find Cavello." I gri

We drove up into the high valleys above Ushuaia. The plains were greener here, spotted with vegetation, the mountains sloping and tall. We passed a few wind-battered road signs. BRIDGESESTANCIA. Another with an arrow pointing the opposite way. CHILE.

The scenery was spectacular-frozen falls shooting down from steep, high cliffs, crevices packed with solid ice. We passed a beautiful lake, craggy mountains curling out of it that were twisted into shapes I had never seen before, bathed in a luminous bronze light.

We spent the next two hours bouncing up every marked road we could find. We passed a few wooden gates. All false alarms.

I was sure we were more likely to find Bigfoot up here than Cavello. On the way back, we wrapped around the mountains and came down to the west through the Tierra del Fuego Park. At some point we saw the biggest block of ice imaginable. It was at least thirty feet tall and covered the top of a valley between two peaks for miles.

We came across three ranches. Each was huge and in a beautiful setting, tucked into the mountains, overlooking barren coastline and sea. None were the one we were looking for.

I groaned, completely frustrated. Who knew what Remlikov meant by ‘near Ushuaia'? We didn't even know in what direction.

When we drove back to town around 4:00 p.m. the sun was heading down. It was one of the most scenic days of my life, but that wasn't why we came. We drove back through the seedy streets and pulled up in front of our hotel.