The Arctic Code (6 page)

Minutes went by. Eleanor felt the cold of the morning seeping in again, and she hoped the driver of this truck wouldn't take forever eating his or her breakfast.

More minutes passed. Eleanor's teeth started chattering. She wondered if Uncle Jack had noticed she was gone yet. She wondered if the G.E.T. had come for the Sync. Were they already out looking for her?

She was about to pull out her Sync to check the time when she heard the truck door open and felt the bed teeter slightly beneath her feet as the driver climbed in. The door closed, and the engine started.

This is it.

The truck eased backward from the café into the street, its pungent exhaust rolling over Eleanor, burning her eyes and nose. Then it pulled forward, and Eleanor tried to make herself as small as she could. The bumps in the road sloshed the liquid contents inside the barrels next to her ears. A few moments later, the truck slowed down and came to a stop. They were at the gate. Eleanor closed her eyes as a male voice carried back to her.

“Good morning,” he said, sounding bored. “Badge?” That had to be the security guard.

“Morning,” a woman said. Eleanor assumed she was the driver. “Long night?”

“Yep. But my shift ends in fifteen.”

“Wish I could say the same.”

A moment went by. “Thank you,” the man said. “Proceed through the gate.”

The truck pulled ahead, but Eleanor didn't let herself breathe until it had driven well past the gate. The driver took a winding route between the airfield's buildings. Eleanor tried to keep track of the turns but soon became disoriented and gave up. A few minutes later, the truck came to a stop, and the driver turned off the engine. Eleanor heard the door open, then close. She waited several moments, long enough for the driver to have gone, and then got up, put her pack on, and leaped down out of the truck bed.

“Hey!” The woman stood a short distance off, smoking a cigarette. “What are you—?”

Eleanor didn't wait to hear what she was going to say. She ran.

“H
EY
!”
THE DRIVER SHOUTED
.

Eleanor's pack bounced hard against her back. She dove into the narrow alleyway between two buildings, elbows grazing either side. She didn't know if the driver was chasing her, but she didn't even turn to look.

Eleanor burst out from between the buildings into a wider road. She threw herself down another narrow alleyway, across an even wider road, and into an open, dark hangar, where she crouched down in the shadows, slowed her breathing, and listened.

She didn't hear anyone coming. But she heard indistinct shouting. It sounded like a few people were
calling back and forth about her. They knew she was here, somewhere on the airfield, and they were looking for her. If she got caught, this would be way worse than being reprimanded at the police station. She'd get arrested for sure. They'd call Uncle Jack, he'd take her Sync, and Eleanor would lose any hope she had of finding her mom.

Her only chance was to get to hangar eighteen and somehow bribe her way onto this Luke guy's plane before anyone caught her.

Eleanor waited a few minutes longer, trying to figure out if the voices were coming closer. When she felt pretty sure they weren't, she crept forward and peeked out of the hangar. The road outside was lined with buildings, but like the one in which she now hid, none of them seemed large enough. She assumed Luke's plane would have to be pretty big to make his Arctic runs.

Farther down the road, the buildings doubled and tripled in size. She decided to make her way toward them. Fortunately, it was still pretty early in the morning, and the road appeared deserted in both directions.

Eleanor scurried out but kept to the sides of the road off the pavement, running like a mouse in a corner, close to the buildings, her boots leaving footprints in the sand and snow. She'd made it a block or so when
she heard the sound of an engine approaching.

She ducked down behind a stack of empty wooden pallets, peering through the splintered slats as a utility truck rounded a corner up ahead and turned in the same direction she was headed, toward the larger hangars. She watched it drive off, getting smaller, until it turned another corner and disappeared.

She waited a few more seconds before continuing down the road. On the way, she hid from two more trucks, as well as a group of guys wearing those big headset things around their necks, until she reached the first of the large buildings.

Through a window in back, she could see it was a hangar, but it was empty. She moved on to the next, which had two smaller, sleek planes inside it, not what she was looking for.

“Can I help you?”

Eleanor whipped around.

A young guy stood there, a coil of hose over his shoulder that almost reached the ground. Eleanor thought about running again, but this guy didn't seem like he was after her, or cared who she was.

“I'm, uh, looking for hangar eighteen,” she said.

“Two more down.” He pointed. “That way.”

“Thank you.” She nodded and walked on, forcing herself to move slowly and openly.

Security on this side of the airfield seemed a lot looser than it was in the passenger airport. No alarms here. Maybe that was all part of the deal. Maybe all the illegal runs made by these supply planes were . . . overlooked.

The young guy's directions brought Eleanor to the back of the hangar. She skirted around the building and found the main doors wide open. A large plane took up most of the space inside, its wings almost reaching wall to wall. It was definitely an older model, one that ran on gasoline, not one of the newer electric ones. The plane was thick and round, painted in not-quite-matching shades of white, with a wide belly. Eleanor assumed from its girth it was a cargo plane, and it looked like it had been beaten up and not quite given the chance to heal before it got into another fight. A couple of mechanics currently worked on its nose.

A man stood nearby, watching them, one arm across his chest, the other elbow propped on it, hand under his chin. He wore a plaid shirt under a heavy canvas jacket and had long brown hair that almost reached his collar, a mustache, and thick stubble over the rest of his face and neck.

Eleanor approached him. “Are you Luke?”

He glanced at her, then turned his attention back to the plane. “What do you want?”

“I hear you sometimes fly to the Arctic.”

“Who told you that?”

“Just some guys who're jealous of your fat contracts.”

“That so? Well, pilots always talk big on the ground, but I don't seem to have a lot of competition these days.”

“Are you going up there soon? To the Arctic?”

He scowled. “If these clowns know what they're doing.”

“Well, I was wondering if—”

“Ed!” Luke stepped toward the plane. “What are you doing? Radar's working fine—leave it alone!”

Eleanor waited while Ed defended himself and Luke got even angrier. After he'd corrected the mechanic again, he glanced back at Eleanor.

“You're still here.”

“I am,” she said.

“You must want something.”

“I . . .” Eleanor didn't know if she should just come out and say what she wanted. But she didn't know what she would say instead, or how to ask. “I'm—I'm trying to get to the Arctic.”

“Uh-huh.” He didn't seem at all surprised, and she couldn't tell if that was because
nothing
surprised him, or because he simply didn't believe her. “And?”

“And I want to pay you to take me.”

“No way.”

She scowled. “Why not?”

“Why not?” He turned to fully face her for the first time since she'd walked into the hangar. “Because you're a kid, and I'm not gonna get myself sued over you. And really, if you're running away from home, why the Arctic?”

Eleanor bristled, for several reasons. “Why does everyone assume I'm running away? I'm
not
.”

“No? Then what are you doing here?”

“That's none of your business!” It didn't feel right telling Luke anything about her mom. “
Your
business is getting me to the Arctic.”

He shook his head. “Girl, you don't know a thing about my business.”

True, but she was pretty sure he liked to get paid, no matter what his business was. “I have money,” she said.

“Not gonna happen.”

“I'll pay you five hundred dollars.”

“No way.”

“A thousand.”

“Nope.”

“Fifteen hundred.” She couldn't offer much more than that. She only had two thousand.

“You can make that number as high as you want,” Luke said. “Won't change a thing.”

“You have to take me.”

“I don't have to do anything except get this plane fixed and make my delivery on time.”

Eleanor wasn't giving up. “Where are you going?”

He rolled his eyes. “Fairbanks.”

“I need to get to Barrow.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes. Do you ever fly to Barrow?”

“Not that this'll do you a lick of good, but I'm heading to Barrow after my stop in Fairbanks.”

“That's perfect.”

He laughed, a hollow sound, even though he seemed genuinely amused. “It's far from perfect,” he said. “Barrow is no place for a kid. Last place on earth you want to be, and that's saying something.”

“How much do you want?” Eleanor asked.

“It's not the money, kid. I'm doing you a favor.”

“Please.” Eleanor hated that she couldn't keep the begging sound out of her voice. “If you don't help me, I'm going to be in big trouble.”

“Oh, I think you already are.”

“What do you mean?”

“Airport security was here just before you were. They're looking for a girl with a big Arctic pack on her
back.” He made a show of looking around the hangar. “I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that's you?”

This unsteadied Eleanor's resolve with a moment of panic. She swallowed. “Maybe.”

Luke spread his hands. “Look, I'm not going to turn you in. Truth is, I don't care what kind of fight you're in with your parents, or what kind of teenage drama you got yourself into, but—”

“You don't know a thing about me.” Her voice actually sounded slightly menacing, which she hadn't intended. But Luke was making light of a dangerous and desperate situation, without knowing it.

He glanced at her askance. “Fact is, I take you on my plane, your problems become my problems. Someone could even say I kidnapped you. No thanks.”

“Please, I—”

“Sorry, kid.” He swept his greasy hair back. “Now, every moment I waste talking to you is a moment I'm not watching these idiots with
Consuelo
—”

“Who's Consuelo?”

His scowl said he thought she was an idiot for asking. “
My plane.
So if you'll excuse me.” He turned away from her.

Eleanor seethed. “I'm not just some runaway, you know! You don't understand the situation! This is—”

“Kid, you find someone on this snowball of a planet who
doesn't
have a sob story, and they're either a lunatic or a liar. Now get lost before I change my mind and call security.”

Eleanor accepted then that she wouldn't be able to convince him, so she slowly turned toward the hangar exit and walked away.

But that didn't mean she was giving up. That beat-up plane was going to Barrow. When it—or
she
, apparently— took off, Eleanor planned to be on her.

E
leanor found a couple of giant wooden spools stacked outside the hangar, which she hid behind, stealing occasional glances at Luke's plane through a nearby window.
Consuelo
's back end lay open, and Eleanor decided that her best chance to stow away would be to get inside her cargo hold. But how? She pushed on the window to test whether it was unlocked.

It was.

She left it open a crack to hear what was going on inside, then waited for an opportunity when no one was around.

She checked her Sync to see what time it was. At least the day had started to warm up a bit. Her teeth weren't chattering, and her body didn't shiver as badly. On the other side of the giant spools, the road had
grown busier, with more trucks and people moving between the hangars. An hour went by. Then another.

At last the mechanics seemed to be clearing from
Consuelo
, rolling away their tool chests and unplugging their mobile computer terminals.

Now was Eleanor's chance. She slid the window open the rest of the way and readied herself.

“Thanks, Ed!” she heard Luke call from somewhere near the plane's nose.

The mechanics and ground crew had all backed away, but they were still in the hangar. There was a chance one of them might spot Eleanor, but she didn't think she could wait to see if they would leave before the plane took off.

When no one seemed to be looking, she lifted her pack through the window and dropped it on the ground. Then she quickly heaved herself over the sill and landed next to her pack.

A stair truck pulled slowly up to the plane. Luke trotted up it and then ducked through the aircraft's open door. As the stair truck backed away, and Luke closed the door, Eleanor realized he was leaving. She had to move, and she had to move fast.

She grabbed her pack and skulked along the back wall of the hangar, putting the plane between her and most of the crew, readying herself to run toward the
open cargo hold. But just then she heard the whine of hydraulics engaging, and the ramp to the cargo hold lifted off the ground. The plane was closing.

Eleanor couldn't wait until the hangar emptied. She broke cover and sprinted toward the ramp, watching it rise, knee-level, then waist-level, then approaching shoulder-height.

As she reached it, she launched her pack inside ahead of her, heard it slide down the ramp into the plane. Then she jumped, high enough to get her shoulders and elbows over the edge of the ramp, and felt it lift her feet off the ground. If she didn't get inside, she'd either have to let go or let the door close on her.

She pushed and strained upward, managed to kick her left leg over the edge, and from there was able to roll over the lip into the plane. The steep angle of the ramp sent her tumbling downward, and she landed hard at the bottom. The ramp closed with a loud and final clang behind her, sounding like one of those prison doors in the movies.

She was in.

The cargo hold was dark, except for two small windows and a few dim yellow lights in wire cages along the walls. It smelled of old machine oil and gasoline. Within a couple of moments, her eyes adjusted to the low light, and shapes emerged from the darkness.
Stacks of crates and containers surrounded by thick nylon webbing filled the space. Eleanor bumped her way deeper into the hold until she found a small space where she could nestle down and hide for the long flight, which usually took her mom seven or eight hours.

The plane's combustion engines woke up, much louder back here than Eleanor had expected. She covered her ears while the aircraft eased forward, and as the plane left the hangar, the light coming in through the two windows brightened.

Eleanor could now see her surroundings better, the crates and boxes and other containers on all sides. They each bore the same stamp.

Her eyes widened. Luke's cargo belonged to the G.E.T.? That was his big fat contract? That was probably why he was heading to Barrow. A slow dread overcame her as she realized she might have just walked her Sync right into the hands of the people she had tried to keep from taking it. This stowaway plan had just become a lot more complicated.

As they rumbled along the tarmac, Eleanor gripped
the webbing for support. It was actually fairly cold in the cargo bay, and it occurred to her that the plane might not be heated back here. It might not even be
pressurized
back here, now that she really considered it. As that realization unfolded, Eleanor's dread multiplied into fear.