Belly of the Beast (2 page)

It was an unlikely sight, a bedraggled American woman and a fourteen-year-old Russian girl trudging across an arm of the frozen Baltic Sea in the dead of night. Just ahead, a split in the ice blocked their escape. Open water spilled fog into the dim moonlight.

Katrina, the young Russian, stopped and studied it.

Niki Michaels, racked with pain, stared at the ice on the other side. Finland was somewhere beyond. She turned on her skis and looked back toward Russia. At least their ski tracks were imperceptible on the hard ice and wind-packed snow, or so she thought.

The distant groan of a snowmobile engine gave testimony to Victor Malenkov’s KGB training. He could see what Niki couldn’t.

 “It’s him again,” said Katrina. She knew how ruthless Malenkov could be. “We have to jump to the other side.”

Niki turned back toward the open water. “No. We’ll ski along the edge. Maybe it will close up.”

Katrina knew her own judgment was better. Niki was barely conscious. The young girl grabbed Niki’s arm. “We can’t outrun a snow machine. The open water is a gift, Niki. We can jump it; I don’t think he can.”

Niki looked at the water, almost indistinguishable from the clear ice that lined its sides.

“It’s only a couple of meters wide,” Katrina continued. She pulled an empty water bottle from her pack and placed it at the edge of the ice. “I’ve done this with my father on the lake by my—” Katrina felt her gut wrench at the thought of her father. His body was barely cold. Tears welling, she threw the packs across the open water. “I won’t let him die for nothing. Follow me.” Katrina skied across the glare ice by the crack until she was back where wind-packed snow covered the frozen sea. She counted her steps out loud.

Niki robotically followed. Cold and fatigue numbed her mind. Her burned feet were frozen—mercifully—and her leg oozed blood between crude stitches. Skiing on flat ice was difficult at best; jumping was not an option Niki would consider. “You go on,” she said when she got to Katrina. “I’ll stall Malenkov. I’m the one he wants.”

“I’m not going without you.”

 “You have too. You have to save yourself.”

“No. I won’t let you give up on yourself, or your son.”

“When you get to the other side, take my pack,” said Niki. “You can save Alex. Try to get the pack to—”

“Deliver it yourself,” said Katrina. “If you stay, I stay. That’s final.” Katrina slammed the points of her ski poles into the hard snow.

The pain in Niki’s legs rose to her heart. She tried to make out Katrina’s face in the dim light. “I love you, sweetheart. I wish—”

The glow of a headlight lit the fog.

“Go now,” demanded Katrina.

Niki knew Malenkov well enough to know he would kill them, but not quickly. He would want to see them suffer, plead for mercy, beg. Niki’s memory flashed to Hunter Creek. Malenkov had pushed her head through the ice and held her under water. She was eight years old. Now, more that the freezing water, Niki feared what Malenkov would do to Katrina. She turned toward the wide crack in the ice.

“Eight strides,” said Katrina. “Plant your poles at the water bottle. I’ll be right behind you.”

Niki still hesitated.

“You know what he’ll do to us,” said Katrina. “Go.”

Niki kicked off.

After the sixth stride, hard-packed snow turned to black ice. Niki raised both arms to plant her poles for the lift off.

Niki Michaels skied well, though never well enough to have pleased her mother. But what she lacked in confidence, she had made up for in years of practice. She knew it was critical to plant the points of her poles precisely at the bottle marker. It was a long jump and she was weak. If she started too soon, the jump would land short and she’d end up in the water, but starting too late and missing the ice with either pole would send her headfirst into the water as well, certain death under the circumstances.

Niki’s right point stuck eight inches in from the water’s edge, the left knocked over the bottle. Her muscles responded with all the strength that remained in her damaged body.

Lifted by her poles and carried by momentum, Niki’s ski tips hit the far side, the tails hit the water. The arches of her skis slammed into the edge of the ice. The impact tore open stitches in her right leg. Her body crumpled forward, hit the smooth ice, and slid to the safety of the hard-packed snow. Stifling a scream, Niki looked back.

Katrina was the better skier. She had won races, and she had jumped open water.

Silhouetted by the headlight of the wicked snow machine, Katrina kicked off.

Left pole forward, right ski kicking snow into the light.

Water bottle on side.

Right pole forward, left pole—

Bottle moving.

Left ski forward.

 “No,” yelled Niki.

Right ski forward.

“The bottle—”

Left ski forward.

“—is in—”

Right ski forward.

“—the water!”

Katrina reached forward to plant both poles precisely in line with the bottle and thrust her arms downward.

The road to the Durango airport zigzagged across a high mesa nestled beside the jagged peaks of the Colorado Rockies. Wheat stubble poked through windblown snow as the headlights of Rob Wright’s big Ford pickup truck cut through the darkness. Niki had driven it often, but today she sat in the passenger seat and stared out the side window. Snow fluttered through the opening at the top.

Rob parked in front of the squat terminal and carried Niki’s pack to the check-in counter.

“You sure Alex will be all right with Lisa?” Niki asked Rob as she stood in line.

“Nothing’s changed since you asked ten minutes ago,” answered Rob. “Don’t be so hard on her. Lisa’s had a tough life. She’s fine as long as she stays on her meds.”

“I just don’t feel good about leaving Alex.”

“Look, I tried to talk you out of this trip. You insisted on going. Just because you’re afraid to fly, don’t start attacking Lisa.”

Niki glanced about, aware that people were staring. She focused on her feet. Niki didn’t know if she was afraid to fly; this would be her first flight ever. What did terrify her was confinement. Even in a car she had to have a window open a few inches. As the line moved forward, she said quietly, “Someone has to go, and I didn’t see you step up. Don’t you understand? Alex is going to die if we sit around and wait. I can’t do that.”

Rob turned away. “I’m going to the truck to get my coffee. I’ll be back.”

Niki didn’t bother to reply. She pulled her ticket from her pocket. The ticket jacket said
Carefree Travel
. “You’ll be fine; flying is easy,” the agent had assured. Niki had second thoughts. She nervously fingered the first ticket leaf.
United Express 6042, 12/19/91 6:03 A DRO/DEN/SFO
.

“Next.”

Niki handed the desk agent her ticket.

“San Francisco is your final destination today?”

Niki nodded.

Rob returned as Niki was walking to the waiting room. He held out an old stainless-steel thermos. “Coffee?”

Niki looked it over. “I can’t believe you still have that.”

“It’s an heirloom.” He pointed at the biggest dent, one of many. “Remember when we crashed the snowmobile?” he asked with a smile.

“You were driving. I was pregnant.”

“I suppose I should have been more careful, but no harm done.” Rob poured thick fluid into the dented top and offered it to Niki.

Niki shook her head. “I need to sleep on the plane. I couldn’t last night.”

“This will help.”

Niki looked at the cup and sniffed. “You’re drinking at five in the morning?”

“Five-thirty. And Baileys is mostly cream.”

“You promised you wouldn’t drink while you’re taking care of Alex.”

“Whatever. I didn’t think this counted.” Rob poured the coffee back to the thermos.

“I need you right now,” said Niki. “This is hard at best, and Alex had a bad night.”

Rob set his coffee on a window ledge and stared at nothing. “Don’t think it’s easy for me either,” he finally said. “There’s nothing I can do. Every damn doctor says there’s nothing they can do. And there’s really nothing you can—”

“I won’t leave any stone unturned. I’ve worked in hospitals. I know that a faceless name is nothing.” Niki tugged at the strap of her backpack. “I’ve got a photo album. I’m going show people at the donor center who Alex is. I’m going to shove photographs in their faces.”

“That doesn’t seem like you.”

“Alex is dying.”

“I suppose you’re mad for the right reasons. You’re a good mother, Niki. Sorry things never quite worked out between us.”

“I was sixteen. You were thirty-one. What did you expect?”

Rob shrugged, “Sorry that Alex had to get sick to get us talking again.”

“This isn’t about us.” Niki closed her eyes, then snapped them back open. The image of her son coughing red blood on white snow was too fresh, too abhorrent. She turned to the window.

Terminal lights lit a silver commuter plane on the snowy tarmac. The pilot walked toward it, snow swirling about his feet.

“Will you be warm enough?” Rob asked. He looked at Niki’s fern green jacket, nothing more than a thin nylon shell. Rob pulled an arm from his sleeve. “Here, take my coat.”

Niki shook her head. “I’ve got a sweater in my pack. Besides, California’s a warm place.” She watched the rest of the flight crew as they opened up the door of the tiny plane. “I have to go,” she said nervously.

“I know.”

“I have to talk to them face to face. I have to get on that plane.”

“I understand,” said Rob.

“I don’t think so,” said Niki.

Rob pulled a Ziploc bag from his pocket. “I do. These should help.” He removed a small white pill with a “V” punched through the middle.

Niki stared at it, puzzled.

“It’s Valium,” said Rob. “Lisa’s shrink said it’s the best thing for claustrophobia. Take one.”

Niki hesitated, then swallowed the Valium with a sip of Rob’s coffee.

“There are three more,” said Rob, “one for your flight to San Francisco, and two for your flights back. I wish I could take your place, but you know how Lisa is when I leave her alone. She needs three of these a day.”

“She’s on drugs. And I left Alex with her?”

“I’ll go straight back. Lisa’s shrink also said you should wish yourself to a happy place. Write down your happy thoughts in that little book of yours. Don’t think about being on a plane.”

“I’m sure that will help a lot.”

Rob dropped the pill baggie in an envelope and handed it to Niki. “I’m just trying to help. There’s some emergency money in the envelope. Not much. You know how things are. See you in three days.”

“Flight 6042 now boarding.”

Niki tucked the envelope into her pocket. “Thanks, I do appreciate it.”

“The least I can do. You sure you’ve got everything?”

“I’ve been taking care of myself since I was fourteen.”

“I know. It’s just that you’re always losing things.”

Niki regretted ever having mentioned that she had misplaced her truck keys, but smothered her urge to defend herself. Instead, she pulled a spiral-bound notebook from her jacket; Rob’s envelope fell to the floor.

He picked it up and handed it back without a word.

Niki tapped on the notebook. “I have the hospital and hotel information, and I saw the envelope drop. Just take care of Alex, and I’ll be fine.”

Rob looked at his feet. “San Mateo isn’t far from San Francisco.”

Niki shoved the notebook in her pocket. “I don’t have time for wild goose chases trying to find my mother.
You
checked every phone book within a hundred miles of San Mateo, and
you
filed a missing person report. You know there’s nothing left to do. What do you want from me?”

“It’s just that you said you wanted to turn every stone. The doctor said your mother was the most likely candidate to donate bone marrow.”

“She’s probably dead.”

“I know you hate her, but—”

“Last call for Flight 6042.”

Niki turned and headed out the door.

“He’s my son too,” Rob said after her, “like you said, this isn’t about us.”

The agent latched the door.

Niki sucked in cold air and crossed the tarmac.
It’s no wonder we didn’t get along.
No sooner had she thought it than she turned. She knew it wasn’t Rob’s fault.

“We’re full today,” said an agent by the plane. “You have to check that bag.” He reached for Niki’s backpack.

“I need to go back and tell someone something.”

“Not if you want to fly to Denver with us. We’re on a schedule. Everyone else has boarded.” The agent held out his gloved hand.

Niki handed over her pack, her thoughts staying on Rob. She climbed the airplane steps and ducked through the doorway of the thirteen-seat commuter.

“You’re in the back,” said the flight attendant.

There were only six rows, one seat on each side of the narrow aisle. The little airplane suddenly wrapped about Niki like a burlap sack, draw-string pulled tight. She struggled for breath.

“Move back and take your seat.”

Niki shook her head and looked into the flight attendant’s eyes—the Grim Reaper with purple eye shadow.

“Please sit down. We have a schedule you know.”

“I can’t do this.”

“On or off,” said the reaper.

Niki looked back outside. Snow swirled in the runway lights like a Christmas paperweight turned upside down.

I have to go
, Niki remembered saying to Rob a week ago.

“You can’t just stand there,” said the reaper.

Niki felt for the baggie.

“I’ll have to call security if you don’t move.”

Her brain racing, Niki forced herself down the narrow aisle and slid into seat 5B.

“Lucky you’re a tiny thing,” said a big man across the aisle in 5A. “I had to use a shoehorn to get in here. Why, if this plane was any smaller . . .”

Niki grabbed the envelope from her pocket and yanked out the baggie. Twenty-dollar bills fluttered to her lap. She took another pill, then noticed a photograph of Alex skiing with her. Tears welled in Niki’s eyes—
I need to call Rob,
she thought as she counted one hundred and eighty dollars in twenties and forced them into her tiny purse
.

A truck pulled alongside, spotlights flashing. The driver climbed to a platform and sprayed fluid on the wing.

“De-
icer
,” explained the man across the aisle without being asked. He bent to look out Niki’s window, then reached to the aisle. “Well
lookie
there,” he said as he plucked a twenty from the floor and handed it to Niki. “You better be more careful, money doesn’t grow on trees,” he said smugly, as if he had just invented the phrase.

Niki nodded her thanks and tucked the twenty into her pocket.

“You can call me Tex.” He tapped a gray Stetson hat crowded into his lap.

Niki smiled politely, then turned away.

The de-
icer
truck moved to the other wing, then returned and sprayed the first wing again.

“I knew I should have taken a later flight,” said Tex.

Niki stared at the terminal through her tiny window. The de-
icer
glistened in the lights. Someone inside waved. Niki put her hand to the window and shivered.

“The cabin is always cold the first flight of the morning,” the reaper announced coolly, “but we’ll warm up once we’re airborne.”

I should have apologized,
Niki thought as the plane rolled away from the terminal.

 “I tell you,” said Tex, “I’ve done a lot of flying, and I never get used to . . .”

Valium began to cloud Niki thoughts.

 “. . .and in the unlikely event of a water landing. . .” came from somewhere.

The hayfields sparkled momentarily as the plane turned onto the runway. Tex kept talking. The engines roared for takeoff.

Niki looked about, wondering why no one else was concerned.

“There’s turbulence ahead,” the captain announced a few minutes later, “so hold on to your hats and keep your belts buckled.”

Niki looked toward Tex. “Is the plane supposed to shake like this? This is my first flight.”

While Tex rambled about
his
first flight, Niki turned and peered at the ground. Headlights traced a dashed line across the mesa, then dipped into Bayfield. A few cars followed the Pine River north toward Vallecito Reservoir where Rob had wrecked the snowmobile.

Niki knew the landscape well, she had skied most of it. She couldn’t actually see her cabin, but moonlight lit a bend in the creek where Alex had caught his first fish.

The plane banked right, then leveled. The dark outline of Rough Rider Ridge filled Niki’s window. Niki slammed shut her eyes. Alex’s blood was on that ridge.