“I know.” Walcott bit his lip, gave Sisak III one last look, then turned to Isra. “How we doing?”
Isra flipped through her notebook. “I’ve got forty-one adults on my list.” She lifted the flap on her vest to reveal the administrative documents and the tablet she was using to record the status of each resident during the evacuation. “This is just shorthand,” she said, returning to her notebook.
“I thought there were forty-two residents?”
“Originally, there was. But Kamiila…” Isra ran the tip of her finger beneath Kamiila’s last name, spelling it out, “S.O.R.S.U.T.T.A.R.T.O.Q.”
“Right,” Walcott said with a nod. “She’s the one who took off with Maratse.”
Isra lowered her notebook and pointed to an older couple clambering over the side of one of the Coast Guard inflatables. “That’s her uncle and aunt right there.”
“You interviewed them?”
Isra snorted. “Yeah, and how am I gonna do that?”
“Right.”
“We really need an interpreter.”
“I’m working on it.”
A whistle from Downs turned their heads from the boats on the shore, back to the buildings and houses of Kussannaq.
“Runners,” Downs shouted, jabbing his finger in the air, pointing at the last row of houses.
“They’re headed for the path into the mountains.” Isra swore as she tucked her notepad into her vest. She checked her pistol, secured it in the holster strapped to her right thigh, then started to move. Walcott stopped her with a hand on her arm. “What?”
“We’ll let them go,” he said.
“Really? It’s going to be a pain in the ass to round them up again.”
“They have another purpose.” Walcott let go of Isra’s arm and gestured at the mountains behind the settlement. “They’re going to send a message to Maratse.”
“Okay, I get that. But…” Isra nodded as a man in full tactical gear charged after the Greenlanders fleeing for the mountains. “But you might want to tell Mitchell.”
“Shit.” Walcott shook his head, then pressed the transmit button on the radio clipped to the left shoulder of his vest. “Mitchell. Let them go.”
Isra chuckled as Mitchell raised his fist and extended the middle finger. “I think that’s a no from Mitchell,” she said.
“Why are you laughing? He’s one of yours.”
“Under your command,” Isra said.
Walcott swore a second time, reached for the radio, then thought better of it. “Come on,” he said. Walcott nodded for the Coast Guard door gunner to stay with the helicopter, then called Downs on the radio as he and Isra started to run. “He needs to let them go,” he said, then again as Downs joined them. “This is how we get Maratse, how we draw him to us.”
“Mitchell doesn’t know that,” Downs said. “That’s not how he thinks.”
“No shit,” Walcott said.
Isra, the lightest of them, pushed forward, gaining on Mitchell as the big IGA man tackled the woman closest to him. Walcott winced as the woman screamed, then again as Mitchell clapped a gloved hand across the woman’s mouth, pinning her arms to her sides with his arm.
“Mitchell, let her go,” Isra said, as she reached him.
“She’s running.” Mitchell nodded at the older man, catching his breath on the path in front of him. A small girl peeped out from behind the man’s legs. “They all are.”
“God damn it, Mitchell,” Walcott said as he stopped beside Isra. “I gave you an order.”
“My orders are to evacuate this pissant village.” Mitchell relaxed his grip on the woman, and she crawled away. “They took off.”
Walcott crouched beside Mitchell and gripped the front of his vest. He tugged at it to get Mitchell’s attention, and said, “We’re evacuating them for a reason. You have to think of the bigger picture, Mitchell. You need to think, period.” Walcott wrinkled his nose at the smell of Mitchell’s sweat. He let go of him and nodded at the woman, lowering his voice to a forced whisper before continuing. “We evacuate Kussannaq, and we force Maratse to respond. But we have no idea where or what he will do. But if these three trek into the mountains to tell him what happened here, there’s a chance he’ll come back to Kussannaq with them, to see for himself. A bigger chance than if he just hears about it. Plus,” Walcott said, giving the older man and the young girl a more studied look. “They have the added bonus of slowing him down. The old guy is on his last legs, and the girl’s legs are tiny.” Walcott stood, offered Mitchell his hand, then pulled the IGA man to his feet. “You get it now?”
“The bigger picture?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah,” Mitchell said, shrugging free of Walcott’s grip. “I get it.”
“Good. Now give me your gun.”
“What?”
“Your weapon, Mitchell.” Walcott held out his hand. He watched the woman rise to her feet, following her movement as she walked to the man and girl, drawing them both into a protective embrace.
“What are you doing?” Isra said, as Walcott took Mitchell’s M4 carbine.
“Well…” Walcott sighed. “I don’t know about you, but I never got the impression that Maratse was the sharpest tool in the box.” Walcott primed the weapon and flicked the safety off. “If we’re going to send a message, I think we need to send it loud and clear.” He raised the rifle, tucking the stock to his shoulder.
“Walcott,” Downs said.
“Save it,” Walcott said.
He took a step forward, pointed the barrel at the woman’s head, then paused, curious about how she simply closed her eyes, pulling the man and girl tighter to her body. The girl started to cry as Walcott altered his aim, firing a short burst above their heads.
They didn’t move.
Walcott fired again – another burst above their heads, then a third into the path between them. Splinters of dirt and twists of Arctic grass danced in the air until the woman grabbed the man by the arm and took the girl’s hand. She looked at Walcott, stared right through him, then turned her back on him and walked along the path. Walcott swallowed and then slipped his finger around the trigger, ready to fire one more time.
“They
