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Page 9.

The next morning, Marianne sat over breakfast alone—black coffee, rolls, butter and marmalade, orange juice in the American style. She also took a sausage, a poached egg, and a chunk of white fish marinated in vinegar and parsley. Everything was delicious. She’d slept deeply, exhausted from her emotional storm, and woke up famished. She had low expectations of finding any landmarks across the estuary, in Anadyr, that she would recognize. Ancient Siberia was a fog in her memory, interspersed with a few fleeting, blurry memories: the bar, the beach, the sea, the stars.

She had time to kill, of which there seemed to be so much here, so empty. Her appointment at the police department to see a Sergeant Lena Varov was not until later that morning. She had time to kill. Of time, at least, there seemed a hollow and wearying abundance in this place.

Marinov did appear briefly to see her off. She spotted him standing on the runway with a circle of dark-suited, hard-faced men. They had a sort of politburo look about them. She kept her distance. When he looked over at her, she did wave—an involuntary reflex. He excused himself from his bizenis associates and strolled over to greet her. The helicopter engine was rumbling softly, and the long, sagging lift blades spun languidly. Mechanics were still checking out the open engine cowling on one side. But the pilots climbed on board, and a driver on a yellow towmotor arrived to pull the boarding stairs away. The engines made a few banging sounds, and black gouts of smoke spat from the exhaust grills. The prop blades turned faster.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Like a log.”

“Ah, what a beautiful touch of home, to hear your U.S. English.”

“I have to go. See you later?”

“Enjoy your visit to Anadyr. Nothing is like it was. I already checked.”

“I would have thought you’d offer to show me around over there.”

“I’m staying away, for reasons of my own. There’s nothing there for me. Just a bit of heart-ache.”

“Maybe I’ll find the same heart-ache too.’

“Everything around here makes the heart ache.”

She waved as the engines started to roar, and the blades began to whirl. Wind blew around them both in the prop wash.

Nayden stood with his hands in his coat pockets, while Marianne already was several steps up the ladder into the helicopter. “Anadyr is bad business for me. I don’t think Auntie Dora’s tavern still stands. You won’t find anything at all that you remember.”

“I have to make the journey,” she told him. “I’ve been around the world. Now I have to make this last little leg of the trip.”

“I understand,” he said. “You have my number.”

“Thanks for everything.”

He laughed. “We’re not quite done yet. I have to see you safely off on the plane back to Alaska and then the Contiguous 48.”

“There you go, sounding so American.”

“But I am, more so than you, Frenchwoman.”

“My father was a U.S. citizen. That makes me more American than you, buddy.”

“Buddy,” he echoed. “So American of you. Sibling rivalry at every turn.”

“What?”

“You win.” He waved.

Is it possible? She staggered up the stairs into the welcoming, diesel warmth with its smells of seat leather and military cleaning agents. Siberia had further horrible secrets to dish out. She felt the same kobolds clawing inside her gut as during the Aeolian howling on the Ilyushin airliner yesterday.

He called after her: “I’m staying at the airport hotel one floor up from you. Just call me or ask the concierge. I’ll be here another few days.”

“I want to see you before I leave,” she commanded in a near-hysterical tone. She barked harshly at him. “You be there!”

“Yes, I will be there for you.”

“And then?”

“I’m heading back to the United States. I have business there. We will not see each other again after this. I know you’d want it this way, and it’s for the best. Believe me, for your sake.”

Bizenis? She wondered. She regarded the knot of dark-eyed, stony faced men awaiting Nayden at the other end of the runway.

She said: “I’ll be heading home as well in a few days. I’ll see you tomorrow, when I’m done with my purpose for coming here.”

“I will help you all that I can.”

Without responding, Marianne fairly threw herself into the chopper to end the conversation. The interior smelled of upholstery, oil, and cabbage. Several women fussed over small children, and their men sat stolidly holding packages, while the copilot made sure they were strapped in and wouldn’t fall out over the estuary.