and came up blank. “I’m sure that as soon as AT&T figures out how to make a cell phone system pay for itself in the Park, they’ll be knocking at the door.”
“They are knocking,” he said. “Didn’t Demetri tell you?”
“No.” Other than the quick glimpse she’d caught at the café the day before, she hadn’t seen much of Demetri lately, and never long enough for serious talk. This time of year he was usually up at his lodge in the Quilak foothills, getting ready for the summer influx of fly-in trophy fishermen. She wondered, not for the first time, what the lodge was pulling down every year. Demetri had had some big names up there, names even Kate, lacking satellite television and Internet access, recognized, including movie stars, rock bands, business moguls, European royalty, Silicon Valley entrepreneurs, and those among the rich and famous whose main purpose in life seemed to be getting on the covers of Us and People . Clients in those zip codes didn’t go anywhere on the cheap.
George flapped his hand in front of her face. “Hello? Anybody in there? ACS Alaska told Demetri that they’re working on a plan to put a cell tower in every village along the river from Ahtna down to Chulyin, and from there hopscotch them overland to the mine.” He held up his sat phone. “I can’t keep up with the business on this thing, Kate, everybody I need to keep in touch with has a cell phone.”
Behind them the Beaver roared down the runway and lifted ponderously into the air, on a heading south-southeast.
A four-wheeler with a tow hitch was pulling the Otter out of the hangar. She had seen neither four-wheeler nor driver before. “Impressive.”
“You have no idea,” he said. “Can’t hardly find Otters anymore,single or twin. Everybody’s got them working, there just ain’t any for sale. I had to fly to fucking Finland in February to find this one.”
“Finland?” Kate said.
“Well, actually, Cameroon.”
“Cameroon?” Kate said.
“Well, by way of Paris,” George said, and spoiled his deprecating tone with a wide grin.
“George,” Kate said, “what the hell have you been up to?”
“No,” he said, in a manner that could only be described as coy, “that should be, ‘George, where the hell have you been?’ And the answer is almost all the way around the world.” He grinned again. “And in a hell of a lot less than eighty days.”
“I didn’t even know you’d been gone.”
“I was only gone a week, in February, just long enough to track this puppy down and arrange for it to be brought back.”
“Is it a turbo?”
“Yup.” He didn’t bother hiding his pride. “Came home by way of the shop in Vancouver.”
“Going turbo, isn’t that kind of expensive?”
“It sure as hell is,” he said. “It’s run me a million and a quarter so far.”
“I didn’t know you had that kind of cash.”
“I don’t. I got a loan.”
“Global Harvest?” she said, not really guessing.
He looked a little furtive, and then decided to confess straight up. “Yeah. Mandy said they want to buy and hire local as much as they can, so I went into Anchorage to talk to Bruce.”
“Bruce O’Malley?”
He nodded, looking almost happy, something of a triumph for a guy whose natural gloom rivaled Abraham Lincoln’s.
Bruce O’Malley was the chief executive officer of Global HarvestResources Inc. In January, with much fanfare, he’d bought a building in downtown Anchorage and opened what would, he claimed, be the headquarters of the Suulutaq Mine. “The buck doesn’t go to Houston,” he said, beaming at the television cameras, which clip Kate had viewed on YouTube on Bobby’s computer. “It stops right here in Anchorage, Alaska.” He’d moved his family to Anchorage, too, enrolled the kids in local public schools, and it was rumored that he was about to declare his intention of becoming an Alaskan citizen, to the extent that he was even going to turn in his Texas driver’s license in exchange for an
“They are knocking,” he said. “Didn’t Demetri tell you?”
“No.” Other than the quick glimpse she’d caught at the café the day before, she hadn’t seen much of Demetri lately, and never long enough for serious talk. This time of year he was usually up at his lodge in the Quilak foothills, getting ready for the summer influx of fly-in trophy fishermen. She wondered, not for the first time, what the lodge was pulling down every year. Demetri had had some big names up there, names even Kate, lacking satellite television and Internet access, recognized, including movie stars, rock bands, business moguls, European royalty, Silicon Valley entrepreneurs, and those among the rich and famous whose main purpose in life seemed to be getting on the covers of Us and People . Clients in those zip codes didn’t go anywhere on the cheap.
George flapped his hand in front of her face. “Hello? Anybody in there? ACS Alaska told Demetri that they’re working on a plan to put a cell tower in every village along the river from Ahtna down to Chulyin, and from there hopscotch them overland to the mine.” He held up his sat phone. “I can’t keep up with the business on this thing, Kate, everybody I need to keep in touch with has a cell phone.”
Behind them the Beaver roared down the runway and lifted ponderously into the air, on a heading south-southeast.
A four-wheeler with a tow hitch was pulling the Otter out of the hangar. She had seen neither four-wheeler nor driver before. “Impressive.”
“You have no idea,” he said. “Can’t hardly find Otters anymore,single or twin. Everybody’s got them working, there just ain’t any for sale. I had to fly to fucking Finland in February to find this one.”
“Finland?” Kate said.
“Well, actually, Cameroon.”
“Cameroon?” Kate said.
“Well, by way of Paris,” George said, and spoiled his deprecating tone with a wide grin.
“George,” Kate said, “what the hell have you been up to?”
“No,” he said, in a manner that could only be described as coy, “that should be, ‘George, where the hell have you been?’ And the answer is almost all the way around the world.” He grinned again. “And in a hell of a lot less than eighty days.”
“I didn’t even know you’d been gone.”
“I was only gone a week, in February, just long enough to track this puppy down and arrange for it to be brought back.”
“Is it a turbo?”
“Yup.” He didn’t bother hiding his pride. “Came home by way of the shop in Vancouver.”
“Going turbo, isn’t that kind of expensive?”
“It sure as hell is,” he said. “It’s run me a million and a quarter so far.”
“I didn’t know you had that kind of cash.”
“I don’t. I got a loan.”
“Global Harvest?” she said, not really guessing.
He looked a little furtive, and then decided to confess straight up. “Yeah. Mandy said they want to buy and hire local as much as they can, so I went into Anchorage to talk to Bruce.”
“Bruce O’Malley?”
He nodded, looking almost happy, something of a triumph for a guy whose natural gloom rivaled Abraham Lincoln’s.
Bruce O’Malley was the chief executive officer of Global HarvestResources Inc. In January, with much fanfare, he’d bought a building in downtown Anchorage and opened what would, he claimed, be the headquarters of the Suulutaq Mine. “The buck doesn’t go to Houston,” he said, beaming at the television cameras, which clip Kate had viewed on YouTube on Bobby’s computer. “It stops right here in Anchorage, Alaska.” He’d moved his family to Anchorage, too, enrolled the kids in local public schools, and it was rumored that he was about to declare his intention of becoming an Alaskan citizen, to the extent that he was even going to turn in his Texas driver’s license in exchange for an
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