well."
"This stinks, Ted."
"Or it could be perfectly innocent."
"You really believe that?"
Ted looked away.
Cotten crossed her arms. "I'm going."
"So you fly to Moldova. Then what? Wander around the countryside asking if anyone has seen a bunch of priests? You don't even speak the language. It would be a total waste of time."
She stared at the ceiling, her mind sorting through the limited choices.
35
Ted was right. But she couldn't stand by and wait helplessly.
"You're correct, Ted," she said, "going to Moldova would be a waste."
"Finally you're making sense."
"I'm going to Rome."
ISLE ROYALE PING
Amarug crouched beneath a paper birch tree in Isle Royale National Park, an island separated from the rest of the world by more than fifteen miles of frigid Lake Superior waters. She lifted the binoculars to her eyes to get a closer look at number 17, the Alpha male of the wolf pack. Inbreeding had brought about genetic weaknesses and placed the wolves' survival in jeopardy. That, and the decline in the moose population, had taken its toll. The numbers were down from twenty-five wolves the previous year to only nineteen today.
Amarug was part of a multi-grant-funded study group doing research on the Isle Royale wolves. When the other researchers left in October as the park closed for the season, Amarug volunteered to stay behind wanting to gather additional data until the rest of the group returned in January. The winter was harsh, but being Inuit and having grown up in a cold, inhospitable environment, she had no fear of toughing it out. And if things got particularly rough, she had the radio to call for help.
At the sound of the seaplane, she lowered the binoculars and got to her feet. The plane brought her supplies each month, but why was it a week early?
She would have hung closer to the base camp in anticipation of its arrival if she'd known it was coming today. It wasn't the harshest of the season yet, by any means, but the days were going to get harder and she wanted to check the supply list before the seaplane took off again.
Running through the forest, Amarug dodged firs and white spruce until finally emerging on the shoreline. The seaplane was beached two hundred yards in the distance.
"Eric," she shouted and waved, seeing him carrying boxes from the plane toward her yurt—the round, single-story structure that served as her home. He didn't appear to hear her. She picked up her speed, sprinting along the narrow beach, and at last found herself winded as she approached the yurt. He was bent over stacking some boxes on the front deck.
"Eric," she sputtered, hands on her knees catching her breath. "What are you doing here today?"
When he turned to face her, Amarug realized it wasn't the regular pilot who always flew in their provisions. This man was younger than Eric, midtwenties, black hair, and noticeably Asian facial features. "Where's Eric?" she asked, still huffing.
The man cocked his head back toward the mainland. "Vacation—two weeks off." He smiled at her. "Use it or lose it."
36
"Lucky dog," she said. "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm Sialuk, but everybody calls me Amarug—means wolf."
She stuck out her hand and he shook it.
"But aren't you early?" she asked, swinging open the door to the yurt for him.
"Yeah, when they're shorthanded the schedule gets crazy. Figured you'd rather we be early than late." He lifted one of the boxes, carried it inside to her small kitchen area and set it on the counter.
"But I could have missed you," she said, moving her stuff out of the way for him, while thinking someone should have contacted her about the change.
"Well, it doesn't matter I guess." She swept her bangs off her forehead with the back of her arm. After he set the box down, Amarug opened the lid and glanced inside. While she inspected the contents, he brought in another two boxes.
"Can I see the manifest?"
He took a folded paper from his pocket and handed it over before
"This stinks, Ted."
"Or it could be perfectly innocent."
"You really believe that?"
Ted looked away.
Cotten crossed her arms. "I'm going."
"So you fly to Moldova. Then what? Wander around the countryside asking if anyone has seen a bunch of priests? You don't even speak the language. It would be a total waste of time."
She stared at the ceiling, her mind sorting through the limited choices.
35
Ted was right. But she couldn't stand by and wait helplessly.
"You're correct, Ted," she said, "going to Moldova would be a waste."
"Finally you're making sense."
"I'm going to Rome."
ISLE ROYALE PING
Amarug crouched beneath a paper birch tree in Isle Royale National Park, an island separated from the rest of the world by more than fifteen miles of frigid Lake Superior waters. She lifted the binoculars to her eyes to get a closer look at number 17, the Alpha male of the wolf pack. Inbreeding had brought about genetic weaknesses and placed the wolves' survival in jeopardy. That, and the decline in the moose population, had taken its toll. The numbers were down from twenty-five wolves the previous year to only nineteen today.
Amarug was part of a multi-grant-funded study group doing research on the Isle Royale wolves. When the other researchers left in October as the park closed for the season, Amarug volunteered to stay behind wanting to gather additional data until the rest of the group returned in January. The winter was harsh, but being Inuit and having grown up in a cold, inhospitable environment, she had no fear of toughing it out. And if things got particularly rough, she had the radio to call for help.
At the sound of the seaplane, she lowered the binoculars and got to her feet. The plane brought her supplies each month, but why was it a week early?
She would have hung closer to the base camp in anticipation of its arrival if she'd known it was coming today. It wasn't the harshest of the season yet, by any means, but the days were going to get harder and she wanted to check the supply list before the seaplane took off again.
Running through the forest, Amarug dodged firs and white spruce until finally emerging on the shoreline. The seaplane was beached two hundred yards in the distance.
"Eric," she shouted and waved, seeing him carrying boxes from the plane toward her yurt—the round, single-story structure that served as her home. He didn't appear to hear her. She picked up her speed, sprinting along the narrow beach, and at last found herself winded as she approached the yurt. He was bent over stacking some boxes on the front deck.
"Eric," she sputtered, hands on her knees catching her breath. "What are you doing here today?"
When he turned to face her, Amarug realized it wasn't the regular pilot who always flew in their provisions. This man was younger than Eric, midtwenties, black hair, and noticeably Asian facial features. "Where's Eric?" she asked, still huffing.
The man cocked his head back toward the mainland. "Vacation—two weeks off." He smiled at her. "Use it or lose it."
36
"Lucky dog," she said. "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm Sialuk, but everybody calls me Amarug—means wolf."
She stuck out her hand and he shook it.
"But aren't you early?" she asked, swinging open the door to the yurt for him.
"Yeah, when they're shorthanded the schedule gets crazy. Figured you'd rather we be early than late." He lifted one of the boxes, carried it inside to her small kitchen area and set it on the counter.
"But I could have missed you," she said, moving her stuff out of the way for him, while thinking someone should have contacted her about the change.
"Well, it doesn't matter I guess." She swept her bangs off her forehead with the back of her arm. After he set the box down, Amarug opened the lid and glanced inside. While she inspected the contents, he brought in another two boxes.
"Can I see the manifest?"
He took a folded paper from his pocket and handed it over before
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