White Heat (34 page)

    They
were on the coastal road now, a street so busy with buildings and people that
it made Edie's head spin. A way down, the bus slowed to a halt and the doors
opened with an alarming hiss. Qila stood up.

    'Time
to get out.'

    They
shuffled down the aisle and stepped onto the pavement beside a long, low A frame
building painted reddish brown. Edie put her bag down and looked about. The air
bore the familiar Arctic smells of dogs and drying fish.

    Edie
turned to Qila and awkwardly held out a hand to say goodbye.

    'Where
are you staying?' Qila said.

    They
were standing before a series of vast glass-and- concrete cliffs set back from
the shore.

    'Here,
the Norblok apartments. We're in Blok 7 . . . The kids are out on the land with
their father. There's plenty of room.'

    The
blank entranceway, steel-fronted elevator, the dreary, concrete stairs and
thin, stained corridors were so alien it was hard to imagine any human life,
let alone Inuit, who were used to their freedom, being able to survive in so
strange a place. As Edie trudged up the steps behind her hostess (the elevator
didn't seem to be working), she wondered if Qila ever asked her god why she and
her children were forced to live like seagulls perched on cliffs.

    They
reached the fourth floor and turned left down a corridor smelling deliciously
of boiled seal, past five identical doors, each shouldered by two tiny windows
through which vague shapes buckled and swung. At the sixth door, Qila stopped.

    'This
is us.'

    The
apartment was larger than the tiny windows suggested. The walls were painted in
bright colours and with the early afternoon light streaming in the place gave
off a cheerful air. The view outside was of the sea with a patch of headland to
the north just visible. Edie moved to the window and looked down. Below her
were streets and, on either side, apartment blocks exactly like this one.

    A
slightly older woman wandered into the room from somewhere at the back, bearing
a striking resemblance to Qila. She spoke at first in Greenlandic, then, after
Qila said something, broke into English, introducing herself as Qila's older
sister, Suusaat.

    
'Qalunaat
call me Susie.'

    She
moved across the living room to the kitchenette and put the kettle on. Looking
back over her shoulder she flashed a smile. 'But you can call me Suusaat.'

    They
sat sipping sweet coffee - another novelty for Edie, who generally drank tea -
and eating delicate little nuggets of fried blubber.

    'Come
to see family?' Suusaat asked politely.

    'Not
exactly,' Edie said. She'd mapped out a story at the aiport in Iqaluit, where
she'd changed planes. 'More like to do right by family.'

    Suusaat
passed round the snack. 'Oh?' She sounded intrigued.

    Qila
interjected: 'Edie's from . . .' She laughed. 'I don't know where.'

    'Umingmak
Nuna, Ellesmere.'

    'You
have relatives up at Qaanaaq?' A wary note had crept into Suusaat's voice.

    The
Nares Strait between Qaanaaq and Ellesmere was barely thirty kilometres wide
and frozen solid for nine months of the year. Until relatively recently
families regularly crossed over from Qaanaaq to hunt musk oxen at Hazen. Travel
between the two places was now discouraged. In the navigation season the
Canadian Coastguard patrolled the area and the Ellesmere police were required
to report any Greenlander found on Ellesmere to the RCMP in Ottawa. Many
Ellesmere Islanders were at least distantly related to the Qaanaaq Inuit.

    'My
great-great-great-grandfather was from Etah, near Qaanaaq,' she said, in answer
to the question.

    The
two women flashed each other a look of alarm. Suusaat hissed something at her
sister, which Edie did not understand. Qila put her hand on her sister's arm to
reassure her.

    'Qila's
job is terribly important to us, as a family,' Suusaat said, her tone
insistent. 'Particularly now I've lost mine. We can't really afford any more
trouble.'

    Edie
was no clearer. 'I'm not at all clever,' she said. 'In fact, probably the
opposite.'

    Qila
said: 'Suusaat was on the classifieds desk of the Greenlandic newspaper,
Kangiryuarmiut.'

    Suusaat
took up the tale. 'I feed the odd story to the editorial department. At least,
I used to. A week ago I came across some information about the new sports
centre. Confidential information. It doesn't matter how. I guess you've heard
about the sports centre opening?'

    Edie
thought back to her conversation with the Inuk at the info desk and nodded.

    'My
source discovered that it was Fyodor Belovsky, a Russian oil billionaire, who'd
put up the money. Belovsky never invests in any country unless he intends to
interfere in its politics. Worse, he wanted his donation to be anonymous. I
passed the story on to editorial but they wouldn't touch it, so I ran it as a
classified. Some people read it and decided to stage a protest. I didn't really
think so many people would care. Anyway, I lost my job.'

    'When
you mentioned having relatives near Qaanaaq we thought you might be involved in
the demonstration,' Qila added. 'Because of the dig up near there?'

    Edie felt
bewildered. Her thoughts had been only to find the owner of the green plane and
track down the two men who had flown into Autisaq posing as hunters; men who,
she was convinced, had flown over Craig in the same plane the day Andy Taylor
disappeared. But the mention of a Russian - and of oil - had ignited her
curiosity. Maybe there was no connection between this Russian and the ones who
had washed up in Autisaq, but it seemed important to find out.

    'Look,
I'm not out to cause you any trouble . . .'

    'In
that case, let's not talk about it,' Qila said decisively.

    Picking
up Edie's bag, she motioned for her to follow, then pointed to a bedroom door.

    'My
sons, Tomas and Ortu, share this room. Pardon the mess.' She threw open the
door and announced that supper would be in thirty minutes.

    Inside,
the room was the same tangle of plastic toy trucks and seal bones as Joe and
Willa's, the same fug of dust, sweat and accumulated farts. She unpacked her
things and sat on the bed. The weight of the last few months pressed down and
her eyes began to drift.

    She
rose later to the sound of knocking. Supper was on the table. It was
unexpectedly dark for summer and a low, greenish light was pouring in from
outside. She went to the window and looked down, expecting to see a lamppost,
then soon realized the light was coming from the sky itself, the colour of
emeralds, greener than anything Edie had ever seen on Ellesmere, and miasmic,
like the residue of something long since passed. She watched it move, billowing
and swaying like a flag, though there was almost no wind. Living so far to the
north of the auroral oval, she had hardly ever seen the Northern Lights and
never in this formation. The spectacle seemed to transfer its energy to her and
she felt suddenly brave and full of purpose.

    It
was later than she thought. Qila had knocked on her door a while before and,
getting no response, delayed the meal. Supper was a stew of halibut and
potatoes. The sisters made small talk but it was no good trying to pretend.
Eventually, over coffee, Edie told them about Joe, about how he had seen a
green plane just before he had died and that she had come to Greenland to trace
it.

    Johannes
Moller,' Qila said, then clocking Edie's expression of surprise she continued,
'I work at the airport, remember. If there's something dirty going on, Moller
usually has a hand in it.' She seemed to hesitate for a moment.

    Joe
wasn't my blood, Qila,' Edie said, 'but I swear, he was the same to me as Tomas
and Ortu are to you.'

    The
two sisters sat in silence for a while, then Qila shot a look at Suusaat, who
nodded.

    'A
couple of months ago, two Russian anthropologists got permission to study some
of the remains of the old Thule whalebone houses up near Etah. Moller took them
up there. Some fishermen saw them disturbing old graves.' Qila bit her lip.
'The authorities don't seem to want to do anything about it. We think there's a
connection with Belovsky. Our source said the Russians were wearing Beloil
caps.'

    The
pieces were beginning to fit together. It was possible that these two Russians
weren't the same as those who had pitched up in Autisaq demanding to be taken
to Craig, but they could at least be working for the same man. The thought that
Zemmer and Beloil might be after the same thing set Edie's heart knocking
inside its box. 'You think Belovsky bought off the authorities with a sports
centre?'

    'Of
course,' Qila said. 'It's an election year.'

    Suusaat
took up the story. 'Which is why I got fired for blowing the whistle. The
editor of
Kangiryuarmiut
is in bed with the ruling party.'

    'Why
Belovsky might be in the business of desecrating

    Inuit
graves, we don't know,' Qila continued. 'Given his business interests, you'd
think it had something to do with oil, but the industry here is really tightly
regulated. It's unlikely that the government would grant a company with the
reputation of Beloil an exploration licence. Besides, all the current interest is
in offshore drilling. No land-based exploration has ever really got anywhere in
Greenland. Whatever Belovsky wants up there, it's not oil.'

    Edie's
throat felt tight. A plan was beginning to come together in her mind.

    'Would
you show me the way to Bar Rat?'

    The
two sisters frowned. Eventually Qila said:

    'If
that's really what you want, OK. Moller usually goes late.'

    They
washed up the dishes, then Edie and Qila went out into the ash-hued night. The
aurora had vanished and the grid of lights emanating from the Norblok
apartments illuminated the women's path. Qila stopped before a dingy two-storey
building, which appeared to be in darkness.

    'It's
here,' pointing to a door at the top of a small set of stairs. 'But you have to
ring on the bell.' She put a hand on Edie's shoulder. 'I saw you at the airport
talking to Pedr. I was just coming off shift. We collect our payslips from the
office next door.'

    'Is
that why you approached me at the bus stop?'

    Qila
shrugged. 'If you'd been
qalunaat
I probably wouldn't have, but you're
Inuk and you seemed
pivinik
.' She took a step back. 'Like you wanted to
be useful.' She gave a small smile. 'I knew you were after something. Be
careful.'

    Edie
returned the smile.

    'Say Julia
sent you. We'll expect you back later.' And with that she turned and started to
pick her way back up the track.

    Edie
called after her. 'Who's Julia?'

    The
reply came back mixed with laughter. 'My Danish name.'

    Not
long after Edie's knock, a large, bearded
qalunaat
came to the door. He
made a point of looking the tiny figure standing on the other side up and down,
then said something in Danish. Edie introduced herself and repeated Julia's
name.

    'I'm
looking for Johannes Moller.'

    'Not
a Greenlander, eh?' the man replied, switching seamlessly into English.

    'No.'

    The
qalunaat'
s smile melted into his beard, though whether he was sneering or
simply amused Edie couldn't tell.

    'We
can always use new ones.'

    He
ushered her through a corridor then out of a door at the back into another,
much smaller building.

    'Now
I see why it's called Bar Rat,' Edie said.

    The
qalunaat
let out a belly laugh.
^l
Rat
is Danish.' He
pumped his fist up and down. 'It means joystick, sweetheart.'

    He
opened the door and waved her in. 'Enjoy.'