tethered goat wound up next to Blaine.
After a long run-up, the aircraft seemed to Calder to barely lumber into the air. He wondered how the overloaded Yak-40 would function in close quarters at 7000 feet. He glanced at Blaine, and thought he detected nervousness.
“ Teague told me they haven’t been able to fly for three days,” he said. “That’s why they’re jammed.”
“ I hope the pilot knows his stuff. I don’t mind depths, but I’m not crazy about heights.” She glanced past him out the clouded window. “That’s why I take an aisle seat.”
During the next forty-five minutes, Calder familiarized himself with the terrain, which was easy because the unpressurized plane flew though narrow mountain passes, icy rocks looming on either side. Snow-covered peaks glistened in bright sunshine, seeming to tower above the plane, though he knew they were modest compared to the High Pamir they were approaching. The plane banked and flew above the Panj River, the Oxus of ancient times. The mountains to the east and south were higher now. Gazing at the blue-white glaciers crawling between them, he could well believe that it might snow here in any month. He wondered how long before Lake Achik froze for the winter.
We left the river and flew in a broad circle, the three aging engines beginning to howl as the plane skimmed the mountains. Calder looked out the yellowed window at an oasis of green among the barren mountains. A town of perhaps twenty-five thousand straddled a narrow river, obviously the Gunt, the water a milky gray-green. Another tight turn at the confluence of the Gunt and Panj rivers, bare rocks and icy crevices looming off the starboard wing.
Calder glanced at Blaine. She stared straight ahead, fists clenched. At least her phobia involved heights, he thought, and not confined spaces. He hoped he wouldn’t seize up during the dive to the water-locked cave. That could prove fatal to one or both of them.
The plane lurched and lost altitude as the pilot crossed the flaps and rudder. Calder glanced around. The other passengers chatted unconcernedly. Either they didn’t appreciate the trickiness of landing an overloaded plane in tight quarters and thin air, or they were fatalistic enough not to care.
Despite the straining engines, the pilot casually manhandled the chunky plane past a primitive-looking waterwheel and descended toward a small airfield beside the river. They skimmed over a domed structure of gray stone supporting an incongruous parabolic antenna, plunked down, and trundled along a pitted asphalt runway. Calder watched Blaine’s whitened knuckles unbend.
Outside, the air felt thinner and drier than it had in Dushanbe. As soon as their bags and the hard-used duffel containing the dry suits were unloaded, Teague whisked them into a dilapidated minibus and they rumbled past a row of tall poplars and around the edge of the field.
Calder glanced at Blaine. She looked pale. She could use a break, he thought, before boarding the helicopter for the final flight to the mountain lake.
He leaned forward. “This place is sort of at the end of the world.”
Teague didn’t bother to turn. “So?”
His husky voice had an unpleasant burr, Calder thought, as if peanut butter had stuck to the roof of his mouth. He wondered exactly what the man’s duties might be, regarding him and Blaine.
“ I’d like to look around,” he said. He glanced at Blaine, remembering her earlier request to sightsee. “Maybe we could stay overnight, fly to the lake tomorrow.”
Teague still didn’t turn. “Mr. Salomon is not paying us to waste time.”
Calder glanced past Blaine at Fitrat, who was hunched over one of her cigarillos, the heavy smoke snaking back along the ceiling. He looked back at Teague.
“ I hear they opened a branch of the University of Central Asia here, brought in scientists to study mountain ecologies.”
“ So?”
“ We might find some useful info.”
“ Negative.”
Negative, again.
After a long run-up, the aircraft seemed to Calder to barely lumber into the air. He wondered how the overloaded Yak-40 would function in close quarters at 7000 feet. He glanced at Blaine, and thought he detected nervousness.
“ Teague told me they haven’t been able to fly for three days,” he said. “That’s why they’re jammed.”
“ I hope the pilot knows his stuff. I don’t mind depths, but I’m not crazy about heights.” She glanced past him out the clouded window. “That’s why I take an aisle seat.”
During the next forty-five minutes, Calder familiarized himself with the terrain, which was easy because the unpressurized plane flew though narrow mountain passes, icy rocks looming on either side. Snow-covered peaks glistened in bright sunshine, seeming to tower above the plane, though he knew they were modest compared to the High Pamir they were approaching. The plane banked and flew above the Panj River, the Oxus of ancient times. The mountains to the east and south were higher now. Gazing at the blue-white glaciers crawling between them, he could well believe that it might snow here in any month. He wondered how long before Lake Achik froze for the winter.
We left the river and flew in a broad circle, the three aging engines beginning to howl as the plane skimmed the mountains. Calder looked out the yellowed window at an oasis of green among the barren mountains. A town of perhaps twenty-five thousand straddled a narrow river, obviously the Gunt, the water a milky gray-green. Another tight turn at the confluence of the Gunt and Panj rivers, bare rocks and icy crevices looming off the starboard wing.
Calder glanced at Blaine. She stared straight ahead, fists clenched. At least her phobia involved heights, he thought, and not confined spaces. He hoped he wouldn’t seize up during the dive to the water-locked cave. That could prove fatal to one or both of them.
The plane lurched and lost altitude as the pilot crossed the flaps and rudder. Calder glanced around. The other passengers chatted unconcernedly. Either they didn’t appreciate the trickiness of landing an overloaded plane in tight quarters and thin air, or they were fatalistic enough not to care.
Despite the straining engines, the pilot casually manhandled the chunky plane past a primitive-looking waterwheel and descended toward a small airfield beside the river. They skimmed over a domed structure of gray stone supporting an incongruous parabolic antenna, plunked down, and trundled along a pitted asphalt runway. Calder watched Blaine’s whitened knuckles unbend.
Outside, the air felt thinner and drier than it had in Dushanbe. As soon as their bags and the hard-used duffel containing the dry suits were unloaded, Teague whisked them into a dilapidated minibus and they rumbled past a row of tall poplars and around the edge of the field.
Calder glanced at Blaine. She looked pale. She could use a break, he thought, before boarding the helicopter for the final flight to the mountain lake.
He leaned forward. “This place is sort of at the end of the world.”
Teague didn’t bother to turn. “So?”
His husky voice had an unpleasant burr, Calder thought, as if peanut butter had stuck to the roof of his mouth. He wondered exactly what the man’s duties might be, regarding him and Blaine.
“ I’d like to look around,” he said. He glanced at Blaine, remembering her earlier request to sightsee. “Maybe we could stay overnight, fly to the lake tomorrow.”
Teague still didn’t turn. “Mr. Salomon is not paying us to waste time.”
Calder glanced past Blaine at Fitrat, who was hunched over one of her cigarillos, the heavy smoke snaking back along the ceiling. He looked back at Teague.
“ I hear they opened a branch of the University of Central Asia here, brought in scientists to study mountain ecologies.”
“ So?”
“ We might find some useful info.”
“ Negative.”
Negative, again.
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