Polar Shift

"Oh yes. That's on my agenda. I'm very excited about the prospect."

"It's an all-day trip but well worth the time. I'm sorry you missed Karla Janos. As I mentioned on the phone, she left on a field trip a few days ago."

"It was a last-minute decision to come here," Schroeder said. "I had some unexpected time to spare, and decided to drop by the university on a whim. It's quite nice of you to see me on such short notice."

"Not at all. I don't blame you for wanting to meet Karla. She's a brilliant as well as lovely young woman. She worked on the Gerstle River Quarry site about seventy miles from here. That's where we found some carved mammoth tusks. It was very exciting. Her paper on the exploitation of the mammoth by early hunters was one of the best expositions I've seen on the subject. I know she'd be eager to meet someone with your academic background."

Schroeder had found his academic credentials at a Kinko's printshop in Anchorage. The business cards he had made up identified him as Herman Kurtz, professor of anthropology at Berlin University. He had borrowed the last name from the enigmatic character in Conrad's Heart of Darkness.

Throughout his shadowy career, it had never failed to surprise him how powerful words on a sheet of paper were when combined with an air of confidence. The hardest part of the masquerade was faking an Austrian accent after all the years he'd been speaking western 'Merican.

"I read that paper," Schroeder lied. "As you say, very impressive. I also read the article stating her thesis about the demise of the mammoth."

"That was typical of Karla. After she concluded that man had only a negligible impact on the mammoth's extinction, she made the great leap to a catastrophic event being the cause. You can imagine the controversy."

"Yes, it's rather an i

"Everything. She's hoping to find evidence to support her theory on a remote island in Siberia."

Schroeder puffed his cheeks out. "Siberia is a long way from here. How does one go about getting there?"

"In Karla's case, she flew to Wrangel Island, and then hopped aboard an icebreaker that took her to the New Siberian Islands. The boat will pick her up in two weeks, and she'll be back in Fairbanks a few days after that. Will you still be in Alaska?"

"Unfortunately, no. But I'm quite envious of her adventure. I'd drop everything and follow in her tracks in a minute, if I could."

Mumford leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. "Ivory Island must be the new Cancun," he said with a grin.

"Pardon?" Schroeder said.

"Ivory Island is where Karla is working. A guy from the Discovery Cha

"What was his name?" Schroeder said. "Perhaps I've come across him in my travels."

"Hunter," he said. "Scott Hunter. Big, muscular guy."

Schroeder smiled, but there was contempt in his eyes for the thinly veiled wordplay behind the fake name. "Can't say I know him. Of course, you informed him of the difficulties of getting to Ivory Island?"

"I sent him to the airport to talk to Joe Harper. He's a former bush pilot who operates a company called PoleStar Air. They run packaged adventure tours into Russia."

Schroeder gulped down the rest of his tea even though it burned his throat. He thanked Mumford for his hospitality, and drove his rental car to the Fairbanks airport. The airport's location near the Arctic Circle made it a convenient refueling stop for big cargo planes flying the circle route between the Far East and America. Schroeder saw a 747 taking off as he parked. The airport itself was relatively small, and it took only one inquiry to find the office for PoleStar Air.

The receptionist gave Schroeder a pleasant smile and said Mr. Harper would be free as soon as he got off the phone. Harper came out after a few minutes. He looked as if he had been picked for the role of a bush pilot by central casting. He was a lean man with alert eyes and a strong set to his mouth, and, judging from his appearance, he was still making the transition from bush pilot to tour operator.

His beard was neatly trimmed, but his hair was shaggy and over the ears. His shirt was new and pressed and tucked into a pair of faded jeans that were at about the stage when they get comfortable. He projected a professional capability, but there was a hint of worry in his eyes. He leaned close to his receptionist's ear and whispered something about a fuel bill, then ushered Schroeder into his office.

The work space was barely big enough for a desk and computer. Any excess space was taken up by stacks of files.

Harper was acutely aware of the disarray. "Pardon the mess. PoleStar is still a family operation, and I'm doing a lot of the paperwork myself. In fact, I do almost everything with the help of my wife out there."

"I understand you've been flying a long time," Schroeder said. Harper's face brightened. "I came up here in '84. Had a Cessna, flew that for years. Expanded into a fleet of puddle jumpers. I sold them all to buy the little corporate jet you see out on the tarmac. It's the blue one with the stars all over it. The high-end clients like their adventure tours fast and first-class."

"How's it going?"

"Business is coming along okay, I guess. Can't say the same for myself." Harper picked up a pile of papers and dropped it back on his desk. "I'm stuck doing this stuff until we get big enough to hire someone. But that's my problem. What's yours?"

"I talked to Dr. Mumford at the university a little while ago. He told me that you're taking a television crew to an island in Siberia."

"Oh yeah, the Discovery people. They're taking a plane that will hook up with a fishing boat at Wrangel."

Schroeder handed Harper one of his newly minted business cards. "I'd like to get to the New Siberian Islands. You don't suppose I could hitch a ride with them."

"Okay by me. There's plenty of room on the plane. All you'd need is the price of admission. Unfortunately, they've reserved all the seats on the plane and boat."

Schroeder pondered his answer. "Maybe I can talk your clients into letting me tag along."

"You're welcome to try. They're staying at the Westmark Hotel."

"What is your estimated time of departure?"

He checked his watch. "Two hours and twenty-one minutes from now."

"I'll go talk to them."

Schroeder got directions to the hotel, and inquired at the desk about the Discovery crew. The desk clerk said he had seen them go into the bar a few minutes earlier. Schroeder thanked him and went to the lounge, which was only half full, mostly singles and couples. The only group sat at a corner table, talking with their heads close together. There were four of them.

Schroeder bought a newspaper in the lobby, took a nearby table in the lounge and ordered a club soda with lime. A couple of the men glanced briefly in his direction and went back to their conversation. One advantage to getting old is invisibility, he mused. Younger people simply stop seeing you.