“Of course it wasn’t. Your investigation isn’t the important one.” Petrovitch took one last look around. The wind was picking up further. Ice crystals were starting to blow across the snowscape, eroding the footprints they’d made, and there was a line deeper than black to the south-west. It would have been a night just like this, clear but with a storm coming, when Lucy had set out, alone and in the dark.

That was important. It would have limited her choices, told her how far she could go before she needed to seek shelter.

Except there was no shelter to find. No trees, no rocks, no buildings that weren’t ARCO-owned and thoroughly searched by now. An igloo would have been all but impossible without a saw or shovel. Could she have found one? Did she take it with her?

“It’s twenty k to Deadhorse from here,” he said out loud.

“Sorry?”

“Twenty k. She knew that if she stayed where she was, she’d be trapped by the storm, for days. What if she walked back to Deadhorse?”

Newcomen shivered at the thought. “That’s a long way.”

“This is the girl who walked the entire length of the Shannon, source to sea, just because she could. The distance is nothing; it’s whether she could have made it before the weather closed in.”

“They must have turned Deadhorse upside down looking for her already.”

“Doesn’t mean they would have found her. It’s a demonstrable fact that they haven’t.”

“Because she’s not there.”

“Where else could she be? Seriously, think about it. It’s the only place to go for a hundred k. Even in a place that small, there has to be somewhere to hide.”

“Look, Doctor…”

Petrovitch eyed Newcomen balefully.

“Petrovitch. This just won’t wash. If she was in Deadhorse all this time, someone would have found her – noticed food going missing, stuff like that.”

“So she has an accomplice.” Petrovitch snorted. “She can be very persuasive. I should know.”

Newcomen looked away. “I wouldn’t know about that.”

“This: this is the whole reason I’m here. To find her, because I can work out what she would have done. We’re getting somewhere, Newcomen. At last.”

“And then we all die. Swell.”

“Stop your complaining and get up those steps. Dinner’s on me.”

29

Petrovitch slotted the plane back into the same hangar bay they’d left, and it was like they’d never been away. Everything was as cold and still as before. The only difference was the creaking noises made by the building’s superstructure as it flexed in the wind.

“I’m going to refuel now, save time in the morning. Besides,” he said, peering through the windscreen, “you never know when a quick getaway might be needed.”

“You really do think she’s here, don’t you?”

“Yeah. I do. Someone’s hiding her. Sooner or later they’ll find out I’ve arrived, and that’ll be when the fun and games really start.”

“It’ll have to be someone they’ve not replaced. Can you get a list?”

“Sure, but so can you. We can’t go around just interrogating people – they won’t want to die – but we need to be alert for subtle signs.”

“You. Subtle?” Newcomen raised his eyebrows.

“Past’ zebej,” said Petrovitch, but there was no force behind his words. “Whoever it is is risking their life to protect Lucy. They’ll be terrified of discovery, of giving themselves away, of just breathing out of turn. Yet they’ll have to maintain the pretence that nothing is wrong, every second of every day. That’s bravery for you, Newcomen. Yajtza bigger than the Moon.”

Newcomen was very still for a while, then he got up abruptly and went to the door, poking at the release mechanism until it responded.

[Be careful, Sasha.]

“Yeah, well. I’ve tried being nice, I’ve tried indoctrination, I’ve tried appealing to his better instincts. All I’m left with is shame.”

[He is conflicted. He is torn between doing his duty to the country that is actively betraying him, and returning Lucy Petrovitch unharmed to the Freezone.]

“We both know which way he’s going to jump. His instincts will make the mudak side with Uncle Sam, even though they’re going to kill him with no more thought than they’d spend over swatting a fly.”

[He may yet surprise you.]

“Which is the only thing keeping him alive. I don’t need a bomb next to his heart any more. Up here, I could shoot him in what passes for daylight in front of a dozen witnesses, and all the response I’d get would be ‘Where’s the girl?’ ”

[As you have adequately demonstrated. Although the probabilities have shifted, my analysis indicates he is still a significantly positive factor when measuring possible outcomes.]

Petrovitch heard Newcomen’s footsteps ping down the metallic steps, and the cold began to seep into the cockpit. “If you mean having him around is keeping me alert and angry, sure. I still reckon I can maintain the required level of rage all on my own.”

[He raises your chances of success from zero to almost zero. That might be the best anyone can offer.]

“Then I’ll suppose I’ll have to take it.” He roused himself. “This isn’t getting fuel in the tank.”

Petrovitch dressed for the outside again, and went in search of the bowser. Up here, in the high Arctic, no one was going to do it for him. Everyone was expected to be capable, or have someone with them who was. Winter was no place for tourists.

The electric cart that pulled the tank of fuel was stored away from the aircraft – of course it was, because anything else would have been stupid – so he had to trek to a separate building and wheel it back. He’d got there, nodded at Maintenance Guy, who wasn’t on his roll call of genuine people, and was halfway back when Newcomen ran up to him, breathless and shaking.

He looked around for a fire. There wasn’t one. Yet.

“Yeah, when you calm down, that sweat’s going to freeze hard.”

Newcomen gasped and blew. “Come and see.” He leant down and braced his hands against his knees.

Petrovitch looked around at the several thousand litres of fuel he was towing. “It’s going to have to wait.”

“But… you have to come now.”

“Yeah. Your priorities are not my priorities. I’m going to refuel the plane, then I’ll come. It’ll wait, right?”

Still shaking, Newcomen looked around at one of the other hangars. “You don’t understand.”

Petrovitch followed the direction of Newcomen’s gaze. There was nothing to differentiate that building from the ones either side. Something inside, then. He had a pretty good idea what.

“Seriously. I want to keep the plane topped up, for all sorts of reasons, and I won’t be deflected from that by some wild goose chase they’ve dreamed up for me.” He thumbed the button on the handle, and the bowser swayed and sloshed its way towards its destination.

Newcomen, agitated and upset, trailed along behind. He watched Petrovitch wheel the tanker into place, then wrestle with the hoses until he was satisfied with his connections.

“I could do this quicker if you helped.”

“I wouldn’t know how.”

“And learning is against your religion?”

“That’s not the point.”

“Uh-huh.” He got the fuel pumping, and watched for leaks.

“I’m going to be dead soon. Why do I need to know how to put aviation fuel in an aeroplane?”

“If not curiosity, what about necessity? It’s the mother of invention.” The mechanical counter clicked over – gallons and parts thereof – as the pump whirred. “So, what have you found? Scary?”

“I’ve seen them on the news, and at the movies. That one at the airport. They’ve always been on my side before.”

“And now they’re not. Maybe next time—”

“If there is a next time.”

“Next time, you’ll have a little more empathy with their victims.” He checked the counter. He didn’t want to overfill, but he needed enough for what he’d planned, and maybe a little more for emergencies. Not that the whole situation wasn’t a big bag of pizdets anyway. “How many were there?”