Ice Reich Read Free Page B

his face in mock fear.
    "I'm hauling cargo, not hunting," Hart said sheepishly. He told the Eskimo his name.
    "Isaac Alatak," the Eskimo replied. "And I'm told by Mr. Popper you've stopped hauling and started hunting, judging by what he saw from his airplane. Is not one bear enough for you?"
    Hart accepted the inevitable ribbing. "More than enough."
    The second man caught up to them. "I've heard of dedicated sportsmen, but cracking your plane up to get at a grizzly is a bit much, Hart." It was Popper. "I think you need another hobby."
    "Or another career. Thanks for coming to fetch me, Karl."
    "Well, I was paid. For a change." He jerked his head toward the third figure.
    That other man hung back a few steps and said nothing, preferring to observe the soaked pilot.
    "I'm bringing a body to Anaktuvuk," Hart said. "Ramona Umiat. She died of TB." He pointed to the form lying in the mud at his feet. Startled, he saw part of the blanket had unwrapped again and her arm had once more come free. "She's had a rough time, I'm afraid."
    The Eskimo squatted down and touched the still form. Then he crossed himself. "What have you done with my sister, white man?"
    Hart winced at the relationship. "I'm sorry. I got caught in the storm. Couldn't make the village."
    The Eskimo looked mournfully at the battered body. "Foolish day to fly in, white man. Foolish time for such a sacred responsibility. You need to learn caution. Always the white man is in such a hurry."
    Hart opened his mouth, then said nothing.
    "I don't think Mr. Hart crashed on purpose," the third man said. Hart was surprised. From the tone of his voice it was obvious he was not Eskimo, or American either. He had a German accent. "Perhaps he was prudent enough not to fly your sister into a mountainside. Sprechen sie Deutsch, Hart?"
    "Some, from my youth," the pilot replied in German. "I grew up in a German settlement in Montana."
    "Yes, I've checked your ancestry," the stranger said, continuing in German.
    The reply gave Hart pause. "And you are... German? You come here to climb?" Sometimes krauts came to Alaska for the mountains. They were nuts for mountains.
    "An opportunity," the stranger replied. "I'd planned to contact you in Fairbanks but you'd just left. Despite the weather. A decision that seems counter to your reputation."
    "Reputation?"
    "Antarctica."
    There was silence a moment. "The weather was fine when I left," Hart said. "When you fly you have to make decisions."
    "I respect that," the stranger said.
    Alatak produced a small hatchet and began slashing at the willows. "I'll make a sling for my sister while you practice your German." Popper bent to help but Hart, mystified by the stranger, made no move. He was too numb.
    When it became apparent he wasn't going to speak, the German did— this time in English. "My name is Otto Kohl. I'm a German-American trade representative. I've come halfway around the world to speak with you. When Anaktuvuk radioed that your plane was missing I feared I'd wasted my time on a dead man. Mr. Popper, though, convinced me to hire his plane and have a look for you. Lucky for you that I did."
    "I would've been all right."
    "Perhaps." Kohl looked away down valley. "Could you show me your plane? I'd like to make a complete report."
    Hart was taken aback. "A report? You from the government?"
    "Not exactly. Is your plane near here?"
    Hart looked at Alatak. "Go on," the Eskimo grumbled, knowing it wasn't far. "We'll finish here."
    Wordlessly, Hart led the way back through the brush to the bank. The river was rising swiftly and the bar was almost gone. A channel had opened under the fuselage and the crippled Stinson was rocking in the flow. As they watched, it slid a few feet downstream. "I'm going to lose my whole damn cargo."
    "Yes," Kohl observed. "Fortune is curious, isn't it?"
    The pilot turned to study his companion more closely. He looked near fifty, with a trim mustache, pale, soft skin, and an irritating self-assurance for such wild