everything that gets in the way. Which the biologists figure is why the crab stocks took such a dive in the mid-eighties."
Jack examined his greasy fingers with rapt attention before beginning to clean them with his napkin, slowly, meticulously, one at a time. "Listen, Kate," he said to his left ring finger, "I don't mean to sound like some nervous granny here, and I trust you to take care of yourself or I would never have set you up in this job, but-" He looked up and caught her eye, very serious. "There are survival suits on board the Avilda, aren't there?"
She gave him a thin smile. "First thing I checked."
"Got one for everybody?" She nodded. "They all in working order?"
She nodded again. "Unlike the Avilda."
"And life rafts?"
He knew how many life rafts there were from the reports on Alcala and Brown's disappearance, but she answered him patiently. "Two, mounted on the roof, one port, one starboard."
"Good. Not that I'm anxious about you or anything."
"Of course not," Kate agreed, still patient. The male instinct to protect was as irritating as it was infrequently endearing, but there was nothing to be done but wait until it had run its course. Probably had something to do with testosterone. There ought to be a test, like one of those early pregnancy tests, only this would be an early testosterone test to detect large buildups of testosterone in male children. They could tattoo the results on every male child's forehead; that way, unsuspecting females could tell at a glance how deep the waters were around this particular island of manly pride. She looked across the table measuringly. It was an idea whose time had come.
Jack, unsuspecting, mopped up the rest of his ketchup with his last remaining fry, regarded it sadly and swallowed it regretfully. "Nothing like a grease-soaked french fry to start your day off right," he observed. Tapping the notes she had given him, he said, "I'll call town and have someone start checking on Harley Gruber and Henderson Gantry."
"Five'll get you ten Gruber, Gantry and Gault are one and the same."
"No bet." He tried out one of his better leers. "Care to join me? I won't be on the phone that long."
"You find a room?" she said, surprised. "I can't believe the state is going to pay for any more three-hundred-dollar nights in the Shipwreck."
He hooked a thumb in the general direction of the harbor.
"I talked one of the processors out of a bunk. More like a little apartment, actually. Manager's on vacation.
Come with?"
"Where is it?" He told her and she rose to her feet.
"I'll be down later. This might be my only chance to get to Unalaska. I'd like to see what it looks like."
Amaknak Island was connected to Unalaska Island by a five-hundred-foot bridge, the Bridge to the Other Side.
Less than a mile beyond that bridge was the village of Unalaska, a town of less traffic and more village than Dutch Harbor.
Unalaska occupied a special place in Alaskan history.
The Russians came there, centuries before, for the same reason the crab fishermen were there now, and the military during World War 11, and that was because it had the best natural harbor in a thousand miles of Aleutian Islands. But the Aleuts had been there before them all, rich in culture and natural resources, earning a living from a bountiful if harsh marine environment, eventually sitting ducks for civilization in the form of the Russian Orthodox religion, the company store and the clap. Dragooned into slaughtering seals and sea otters almost to the point of extinction to supply the Asian fur trade, the Aleuts fought back, only to be quashed by superior firepower. The fur market collapsed, Alaska was sold to the United States and Russian traders gave way to New England whalers, the whalers to gold prospectors, the prospectors to the United States military. And now this latest invasion: fishermen and processors, American, Korean, Japanese, Russian, Taiwanese, literally scraping the bottom of the North Pacific Ocean to
Jack examined his greasy fingers with rapt attention before beginning to clean them with his napkin, slowly, meticulously, one at a time. "Listen, Kate," he said to his left ring finger, "I don't mean to sound like some nervous granny here, and I trust you to take care of yourself or I would never have set you up in this job, but-" He looked up and caught her eye, very serious. "There are survival suits on board the Avilda, aren't there?"
She gave him a thin smile. "First thing I checked."
"Got one for everybody?" She nodded. "They all in working order?"
She nodded again. "Unlike the Avilda."
"And life rafts?"
He knew how many life rafts there were from the reports on Alcala and Brown's disappearance, but she answered him patiently. "Two, mounted on the roof, one port, one starboard."
"Good. Not that I'm anxious about you or anything."
"Of course not," Kate agreed, still patient. The male instinct to protect was as irritating as it was infrequently endearing, but there was nothing to be done but wait until it had run its course. Probably had something to do with testosterone. There ought to be a test, like one of those early pregnancy tests, only this would be an early testosterone test to detect large buildups of testosterone in male children. They could tattoo the results on every male child's forehead; that way, unsuspecting females could tell at a glance how deep the waters were around this particular island of manly pride. She looked across the table measuringly. It was an idea whose time had come.
Jack, unsuspecting, mopped up the rest of his ketchup with his last remaining fry, regarded it sadly and swallowed it regretfully. "Nothing like a grease-soaked french fry to start your day off right," he observed. Tapping the notes she had given him, he said, "I'll call town and have someone start checking on Harley Gruber and Henderson Gantry."
"Five'll get you ten Gruber, Gantry and Gault are one and the same."
"No bet." He tried out one of his better leers. "Care to join me? I won't be on the phone that long."
"You find a room?" she said, surprised. "I can't believe the state is going to pay for any more three-hundred-dollar nights in the Shipwreck."
He hooked a thumb in the general direction of the harbor.
"I talked one of the processors out of a bunk. More like a little apartment, actually. Manager's on vacation.
Come with?"
"Where is it?" He told her and she rose to her feet.
"I'll be down later. This might be my only chance to get to Unalaska. I'd like to see what it looks like."
Amaknak Island was connected to Unalaska Island by a five-hundred-foot bridge, the Bridge to the Other Side.
Less than a mile beyond that bridge was the village of Unalaska, a town of less traffic and more village than Dutch Harbor.
Unalaska occupied a special place in Alaskan history.
The Russians came there, centuries before, for the same reason the crab fishermen were there now, and the military during World War 11, and that was because it had the best natural harbor in a thousand miles of Aleutian Islands. But the Aleuts had been there before them all, rich in culture and natural resources, earning a living from a bountiful if harsh marine environment, eventually sitting ducks for civilization in the form of the Russian Orthodox religion, the company store and the clap. Dragooned into slaughtering seals and sea otters almost to the point of extinction to supply the Asian fur trade, the Aleuts fought back, only to be quashed by superior firepower. The fur market collapsed, Alaska was sold to the United States and Russian traders gave way to New England whalers, the whalers to gold prospectors, the prospectors to the United States military. And now this latest invasion: fishermen and processors, American, Korean, Japanese, Russian, Taiwanese, literally scraping the bottom of the North Pacific Ocean to
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