*~*~*~*
Chapter 33
Parlo paced the unimpressive room. American hotels were renowned as some of the finest on earth, especially those associated with the grand living of Manhattan. But this wasn’t Manhattan; this was a flea bag in the heart of Queens, a sign of how far he had slipped in the measure of his superiors.
In previous years when his name was mentioned with an almost rock star admiration from the council, visits to the American hub were luxurious affairs, pampered by the best the obsessive Americans could offer, bankrolled and under the blessing of his efflorescent leader. But now the constant dead ends were leading to desperate tactics, while his name sank further into a derogatory adjective and his lifestyle reflected that sentiment.
It appeared that Annette had been successful in gaining the file from the Americans, but the file itself was useless without the information he had and his information was useless without the file Annette now had. Parlo had carefully groomed Annette Dysart, appealing to her ambitious desires and the promise of power and wealth, feeding her just enough information to sink the hook in deeply. Like a truly patriotic American and a senator with the people’s best interests firmly at the forefront of her endeavours, she was easily persuaded to enlist in the campaign for world dominance at the expense of her constituency, and then supposedly leaving Dysart as the first prize winner in an impressive lottery of powerful names.
Parlo had to be careful he didn’t overfeed the monster and end up a victim to her all-consuming lusts.
The threadbare curtains hanging in the second floor window reminded him of the hotels of his childhood. He pulled the curtain ajar slightly and peered down into the empty street, glancing along the footpath and searching for anything that may indicate he was being watched. As he peered through the gap in the drapes, his nose came into contact with the fabric and he winced at the smell of dust and mould. It was obvious the hotel budget didn’t include cleaning the window coverings. Feeling revulsed, he let the curtain go, wiping his hand on his trousers. Meanwhile, the parted drape closed, sealing off the view to the street. He fumbled for his suit pocket in an exasperated attempt to locate his handkerchief and erase the imagined diseases that had been transferred to him from many years of lower class occupants and stained onto the unfortunate window material.
He began to pace, feeling frustration and suspicion rising at the lack of response from Dysart to his phone message left on her home phone. Her mobile had been switched off and that just made him more dubious. Didn’t she get it? The file she had would make no sense without his contribution.
Just as he was about to bite another fleshy chunk out of Dysart’s character, the room phone interrupted his nonsense. He rushed to subdue the annoying 90’s style chime and at the same time, shifted into nice mode.
The crushing, charismatic Parlo–famous among his team as Mr Personality, who could charm the gruffest individual and loosen the tightest tongue–prepared to go to work. In his presence, it was hard not to be drawn into his hypnotising aura and those caught in his trap would use any means to captivate his coveted attention.
He was always the centre of interest at any official function, charming those gathered around while drawing adoring eyes, riveted and hanging on every word he spoke. Each individual competed for his smile and his gaze directed unblinking towards them, while feeling a burning sense of self-worth as Parlo affirmed them with his undivided charm before moving on to the next person vying for his electricity. Once Parlo left the stage, the big group gathered around him dispersed and the room decayed into subdued normalness. Feeling like the sun had departed from their lives, the dignitaries once again congregated into their small, disinterested personal huddles of gossiping boredom and tritely discussed the weather.
Parlo lunged at the phone. “Yes, Parlo speaking.”
“Mr Parlo, I have an Annette Dysart on the line,” the hotel receptionist’s nasally speech reminded him he was currently living among the less educated class.
“Please put her through.”
In a moment, Annette Dysart’s voice filled the earpiece. “Parlo...! So nice to hear from you. How long have you been in New York?”
*~*~*~*
It’d been a relatively simple operation to convince Annette Dysart to meet at her apartment instead of her coming to his substandard hotel room. Even if he had fallen from grace with his superiors, he still had an intact reputation in the states among the well-to-do.
As Parlo entered the high-rise lobby, the doorman recognised him. “Good evening, Mr Parlo. Nice to see you, sir. Go right on up; Miss Dysart is expecting you.”
Parlo nodded his assent and added a winning smile to the friendly doorman, charming him with his presence and leaving him with a warm, lingering impression that Parlo was his trusted friend.
In the elevator foyer, he stood in front of two highly polished chrome doors that reflected his image faultlessly and then with a quick stab of his finger, pushed the call button for the lift. A mechanised female voice responded with,‘Your call has been initiated and your conveyance will arrive in 23 seconds; thank you for waiting.’
Parlo peered around the apartment complex’s expansive lobby, staring at the immoderate opulence: highly polished white marble floors and walls; large gold framed windows; and glittering chandeliers hung in rows above his head. This was more to his taste.
His musings were soon interrupted by the arrival of the lift and the mechanised voice again. ‘Your conveyance is arriving in... two... one... please step back and allow passengers to disembark.’
The chrome doors parted and a lavish room opened before him. A man and a woman exited, deep in conversation until the woman paused long enough to give Parlo a quick once-over and then resumed her animated conversation, unashamedly glancing back to satisfy another unchaste leer, envious of the woman who would be spending her time in the company of such an enchanting man.
Parlo pushed the button for the seventeenth floor and the machine responded. ‘You have selected the seventeenth floor; your conveyance will take twenty one seconds; please step clear of the door and have a nice day.’
The doors closed but it didn’t feel like the lift was moving until the machine announced his arrival. ‘Your conveyance will arrive in... two... one... please alight in an orderly fashion and have a nice day.’
Parlo began to feel like his mother was watching his every move and giving him instructions.
A long carpeted corridor ran in both directions from the entry to the elevator well. In one direction, a glass wall gave a breathtaking view of the lights of Manhattan, while the other led to a line of lavish apartments, hidden behind their single, solid entry doors. His intentions weren’t that of a tourist, so he turned away from the glass wall and its spectacular view and then scanned the apartment numbers as he strolled along the thick, plush pile carpet. The instructions of the mechanised elevator woman echoed from behind him and disappeared from his consciousness as his pace increased and he strode determinedly along the corridor in search of his destination.
‘The conveyance is departing; please step back from the doors...’
Parlo slowed his pace as he read off the last remaining digits until he stood outside apartment 1170. Without hesitation, he lifted his hand and disturbed the clinical silence of the corridor with a loud knock. The marble-faced walls were eager to share the sound of his knock with the rest of the building, but the plush pile carpet didn’t agree and muffled the sound in the depths of its luxury.
*~*~*~*
Annette Dysart’s heart quickened at the knock on her apartment door. She was determined Parlo would not draw her back into the same embarrassing situation he had on their last meeting. His magnetism had overpowered her senses and she had played an unabashed grab for more of his attentions and if it wasn’t for his diplomatic refusal, she would have easily pursued him into intimacy and broken one of her own rules: don’t mix business with pleasure.
She fiddled with her hair and checke
d her makeup again, then ran an eye around her apartment to make sure everything was tidy. Steeling herself at the door, she spoke determinedly to herself, “Keep your mind on the job and don’t let him overpower you.”
Assured she had full control and her mind was solely in business mode, she unlocked the door and faced a man in a dark blue business suit. He smiled back at her in a greeting that excluded the rest of humanity, and his warm eyes drew her in, pulling her deeper into his hypnotising presence and sending confusing messages to her emotions.
Immediately, she felt her resolve crumble, along with her knees, while her heart raced and her body temperature soared. Out of control now, a wanton smile crossed her lips concluding with an uncontrolled leer that simply could not have been misinterpreted.
*~*~*~*
Chapter 34
Bjarni had spent a restless night trying to sleep in his splintered rocking chair. He scanned the inside of the shadowy hut and his eyes rested on the small sleeping form of Anunya, fast asleep in his bed. Shtiya stirred and glanced over at Bjarni from his position on guard duty by her side, while Akiak threw Shtiya a stern glare of her own from her position sprawled at Bjarni’s feet. The old man brushed off the muskox pelt and then with a swinging movement, he stiffly raised himself to his feet, leaving the chair rocking on its rails from the sheer force of the old man’s determined attempts at freedom.
Out of instinct, Shtiya shuffled to his feet in a guarded action and although he was aware the old man offered no threat, past experiences taught him to be prepared for anything. From her position close to Bjarni’s feet, Akiak sensed the big Siberian’s protective stance and she growled in a low, threatening tone.
“Hey you two, that’s enough,” Bjarni hissed in a whispered warning, silencing Akiak’s growl in an instant. He held out his hand to Shtiya and he trotted eagerly over to the old man, basking in a brisk coat rub and at the same time, Bjarni rubbed Akiak’s head and stroked her ears, dividing his attention equally and averting another jealous confrontation. After the old man’s reassuring whispers, Akiak threw an obvious glance at the big Siberian and settled close at Bjarni’s feet again, resting her head on her paws, but keeping a disdainful eye on the bigger dog.
The temperature inside the hut was chilling, causing the old man to shiver and investigate the lack of warmth radiating from the fractured stove. In a quick, fluid movement, he dropped the small cast iron door guarding the stove’s mouth and prodded the embers. Using a fire poker fashioned from an old frying pan he’d found on a trapping trip, he pushed the ash to one side and then loaded some dry moss he’d gathered before the early winter storms turned it into a dam for ice.
Situating another small patch of moss on the exterior of the stove, he struck a flint stone with his knife, spilling a plethora of sparks directly onto the dry lichen. The moss began to smoulder and with a gentle fanning breath, it caught alight and burnt with great intensity. Bjarni carefully scooped up the kindled moss from below, keeping his weathered hands away from the flame and quickly aimed it at the throat of the fireplace and directly onto the dry fuel deep inside the stove. Rapidly the little fire spread, catching the dry lichen and spreading its fervour throughout the cast iron firebox. Reaching into a nearby container, the old man sliced two large slabs of dry seal blubber and fed them into the fire’s mouth, turning the eager flames from a warm fire into a sizzling, fat-fired inferno.
Satisfied his efforts were complete, he closed the door guarding the throat of the stove, trapping the heat and multiplying its effect with the aid of the metal box. As the heat from the stove radiated into the wooden room, the chill disappeared and now Bjarni’s mind warmed enough to concentrate on the demands of the new day.
The gaps around the fireplace were developing into a significant fissure and if he didn’t do something with them soon, it would require major work and materials he didn’t have. Lumber was a luxury in the flat, barren tundra landscape. Gazing through the window and out into the cloudless frozen day, he listened for any sounds. The wind had stopped its howling attack, while peace and quiet had descended once again for a brief respite: it was perfect for his planned repair.
The Sund had started to freeze over again, signalling the permanent night wasn’t far away, and preparations had to be made before the darkness and extreme cold closed in and sealed off any chance of productive outdoor activity.
Focused on the day’s agenda, Bjarni donned his thick bearskin jacket and trousers over his house clothes and made a quiet amble past Anunya’s sleeping form towards the door. He had just reached for the door handle when he was startled by a plaintive whisper.
“Where are you going?”
Two dark coloured eyes watched him anxiously from the confines of a thick bearskin rug pulled up under her chin and sprawled across the width of the bed.
“Got some work to do before the winter night settles in. Fire’s going and there’s some coffee brewing on the stove. I’ll make you some breakfast in a while, but I have to make use of the daylight while I have it,” Bjarni smiled down at Anunya; he wasn’t used to explaining his actions to anyone.
“Need some help?” Anunya’s voice croaked as she stifled a yawn.
“Sure, but it’s nothing exciting. I have to cut some lichen blocks to fill the gaps in the old place.”
Anunya threw back the warm covering, yawning and stretching, then tested the bandage still covering her wound. “Mmm, I had a good sleep.”
At the sound of her voice, Shtiya quickly approached her, wagging his tail and nuzzling her hands. “Good morning to you, my beautiful boy.” Anunya rubbed his fur.
“When you’re ready, I’ll be outside waiting.” Bjarni reached for his gun standing ready by the door and was about to pull it open when Anunya spoke again.
“Bjarni...?”
The old man turned back to face her again. “Yeah.”
“Will you teach me the ways of the tundra?”
*~*~*~*
Bjarni shuffled through the thick snow with Anunya and the two dogs in tow. It took a while for his old frame to accustom to the frigid air outside the hut and his expired breath hung, trapped in a cloud of humidity. Approaching a granite outcrop some distance from the hut, he handed Anunya the rifle and bent down to start digging through the snow on the leeward side of two large boulders. Anunya leaned over the old man’s shoulder, watching every move he made. Once he had uncovered the frozen lichen, he cut large slabs with his knife and carefully peeled it from the frozen ground.
Bjarni just happened to look up as Anunya bent over him, using the rifle barrel as a crutch to support herself while she peered over his shoulder. The butt rested in the snow, while the barrel was pointing directly at her head.
Panicking, Bjarni jumped up, snatching the rifle from her hands in a sudden action, knocking Anunya off balance and causing her to land heavily on her back, sprawled in the snow.
As she regained her composure, a shocked, angry expression crossed her face as she tried to come to terms with the old man’s sudden action, while Bjarni’s expression matched hers.
“Don’t you know... anything, girl?!” he spat, the angry outburst shocking him just as much as it did Anunya.
Anunya was shaking with anger and she screamed at him. “I WAS ONLY WATCHING YOU! WHAT DID I DO WRONG?!”
Bjarni sighed heavily, calming down and realising he may have overreacted. “Never...! Ever...! Point a gun at your head or any part of your anatomy, under any circumstances!”
The old man felt bad as he held her crumpling expression, watching her eyes fill with tears and then her bottom lip begin to quiver. She covered her face with her hands and rolled into the snow, hiding from his frowning gaze while trying to speak and cry at the same time.
“I know I’m stupid. Teach me so I don’t keep messing up!” Anunya begged through long, broken sobs.
Bjarni strode over to the wounded figure, lifted her to a sitting position and prised her hands from her face. He melted at the hapless tea
rs running down Anunya’s face, frustrated at her own incompetence but so wanting to please the old man. In a moment of remorse, he leaned over her and helped her to her feet.
“I’m sorry, I just don’t want to see you get hurt; and you’re not stupid,” he whispered.
Anunya wiped the tears from her face and stared into the old man’s cloudy eyes for a long moment and held his gaze. She could see the deep compassion hidden behind barriers of pain and in a moment of recognition, she saw herself reflected in his eyes. She knew he cared about her safety and was just trying to help her survive in a treacherous environment.
In an act of appreciation and wanting desperately to learn what he taught, she reached over to touch his arm and whispered, “After we finish with the hut, will you show me how to handle the gun properly?”
Bjarni smiled, then nodded and picked up his rifle along with the lichen and started to walk back towards the hut. Anunya called the dogs and then ran to catch up with him, tucking her gloved hand under the old man’s arm, and then drew a long sniff to clear the last of her tears.
Anunya scrutinized Bjarni’s every move with great interest as he cut the lichen into small strips, forced it into the gaps of the old hut’s timbers and around the jagged stonework of the chimney. Once the holes in the timber had been filled, he dug a small hole in the snow, exposing the ground below and scraped the frozen soil with his knife until he had a thick paste. Then, removing his gloves and using his bare hands, he smeared the lichen with a good covering, but being quick to wipe the freezing residue from his hands and replacing them into his warm gloves. Within minutes, the moist mixture had frozen solid in the freezing atmosphere, setting hard like concrete and sealing the lichen permanently into its new home.
Bjarni handed Anunya his spare knife and she followed his example, chattering cheerfully alongside the old man. As they worked, her curiosity began forming thoughts in her mind and she wondered about the old man’s history.