Free Polar Star by Martin Cruz Smith Page A

going on.” Coletti held his head at an angle, getting a fix on Arkady.
    “Zina was still dancing?”
    “She left before us.”
    “Did she seem ill in any way? Drunk, dizzy, light-headed? Nervous, preoccupied, afraid?”
    “No.” Coletti answered questions like a Moscow militiaman, the type that volunteered nothing.
    “Who did she leave with?” Arkady asked.
    “Who knows?” answered a late arrival as he came up the galley stairs onto the bridge. This third crewman raised peaked brows in mock concern, as if the party had started without him. A gold ring decorated his left ear; a leather thong tied his long hair into a pony tail. His beard was wispy, almost feminine, like that of a young actor. He didn’t offer to shake hands because he was wiping his own on a greasy rag. He said, “I’m Ridley, the engineer. I wanted to add my own condolences. Zina was a great kid.”
    “Then you talked to her at the dance?” Arkady asked.
    “Well …” Ridley paused apologetically. “Your captain laid out a generous spread for us as soon as we got on board. Sausages, beer, brandy. Then we visited with the Americans, Susan and her boys. Old friends, so there was more beer and vodka. As I understand it, it’s against your regulations to have liquor on board, but it runs like a gusher every time I’ve been on the
Star
. Plus there’s the time factor. The
Star
runs on Vladivostok time, which is three hours earlier than ours. You start a dance at nine P.M ., that’s midnight to us. At that hour we relax real fast.”
    “It was a good dance?”
    “Best rock ’n’ roll band in the Bering Sea.”
    Slava shook his head under the force of flattery.
    “The truth is,” Ridley added in a confessional tone, “I think we’re an embarrassment when we get on the
Polar Star
. We get drunk and try to live up to the reputation of being wild Americans.”
    “No, no,” said Slava.
    “Yes, yes,” said Ridley. “The Russians are so hospitable.We get stoned and you go on smiling, picking us up off the floor. I got so drunk I had to come back early.”
    Every crew had a natural leader. Even in the tight quarters of the
Eagle
’s bridge, Coletti and Mike had taken a perceptible step toward the engineer.
    “Do I recognize you?” Arkady asked.
    “Ridley spent two weeks on the
Polar Star
,” Slava said.
    Ridley nodded. “The voyage before this. The company wants us to be familiar with Soviet techniques. I can tell you that after working with Soviet gear my opinion of Soviet fishermen is higher than ever.”
    Arkady remembered Ridley being pointed out. “You speak Russian?”
    “No, there was a whole lot of sign language. Language is not one of my talents. Look, I had an uncle who lived with us. He studied Esperanto, the international language. Finally he finds a woman who also studies Esperanto. In Washington State there had to be about five people. Anyway, she comes over and we’re all in the parlor waiting for this big moment, two people speaking Esperanto, like a glimpse of the future. It takes about ten seconds to see that they don’t understand each other at all. She’s asking for the wine, he’s telling her the time. That was the Russians and me. Sorry. Just out of curiosity, did you serve in Afghanistan?”
    “I was too old to do my ‘internationalist duty,’ ” Arkady said. “Did you serve in Vietnam?”
    “Too young. Anyway, I don’t even remember saying good night to Zina. What happened? Did she disappear?”
    “No, she came back.”
    Ridley enjoyed the answer, as if he’d found someone worth talking to. “Came back from where?”
    “As I understand it,” Morgan said, trying to put the conversation back on conventional rails, “her body waspicked up by our net and was found when the bag was opened on the
Polar Star
.”
    “Jesus,” Ridley said, “that must have been a moment. She fell over?”
    “Yes,” Slava said.
    Coletti pointed at Arkady. “I want to hear him say it.”
    “It’s too soon