Scarlet Fever (2 page)

He wore a crown and three chevrons on one sleeve, and on the other sleeve, an arc of three gold stars—signifying, she assumed, a considerably higher rank than the simple blue policemen’s uniform worn by the corporal. After a few moments, and after he had glanced through the file folder the corporal had given him, the officer introduced himself as Staff Sergeant Geoffrey Cameron, RCMP. He was here, he explained curtly, to escort her as far as Regina, where she would be briefly interviewed, and then permitted to leave Canada by any method of transportation she wished, public or private. His tone was clipped and formal. Not unfriendly, exactly, but there was little doubt that the Sergeant had been advised of the incident with the book.

At this point, Anne began to be annoyed. After all, she didn’t want to be here, in this frozen hellhole, any more than he did—probably even less. “How extremely hospitable of you, Sergeant,” she responded sweetly. “I hope you can imagine my surprise, when I learned that your country is
not
quite as welcoming to tourists as I had thought.”

He looked up from what he was reading, and raised one eyebrow. “Our tourists rarely arrive hiding in the hold of a commercial vessel, Miss Wilson, carrying falsified documents, and disguised as a member of the opposite sex.”

“I’ve already explained all of that nonsense to the corporal, here,” she responded irritably. “At tedious length, and to the very rude person with whom I spoke on the phone, as well. I’m a journalist, and I was simply attempting to document a case of illegal whaling. The hunting of whales is a disgusting thing, and needs to be exposed.”

“Agreed,” he said.

“Then, why the hell have I been fucking
arrested
?” she demanded. “And held here like a common criminal?”

“You haven’t been arrested. I’ve been sent here, in Her Majesty’s service, to escort an uninvited trespasser from the country, and to do it as diplomatically as possible, in order to avoid an international incident. Since you appear to have arrived here unarmed, and without apparent hostile intent, my orders are to simply remove you— without undue force, and with a minimum of political uproar.”

“But I’m an American citizen,” she said.

He gave a deep sigh. “Why is it I knew that?”

“I take it from that remark that you don’t like Americans,” she observed coldly.

“I have nothing against Americans. It’s spoiled brats I dislike, whatever their nationality. Brats who openly violate another nation’s borders, at a time when terrorism is a genuine issue, and then expect their crimes to be regarded as pranks. I should also mention that the Queen frowns on it when one of those
same
spoiled brats chooses to clobber one of her policemen while he’s merely trying to do his duty.” He pointed to the large pile of luggage at Anne’s feet. “Are
all
of those bags yours?”

“Yes,” she replied, knowing what was coming.

“I never realized that stowaways were permitted so much luggage.”

Anne flushed. “Most of that is camera equipment,” she growled. “And the fat one is my sleeping bag. For your information, Sergeant Whatever Your Fucking Name Is, I was
not
a stowaway. Not exactly, anyway. I had what you might call a
shared living arrangement
with one of the crew.”

He raised the other eyebrow.

“Stop that!” she yelled. “What happened was simply this. I gave the damned ship’s cook three hundred bucks to let me stay in his cabin, so I could shoot a few pictures from the porthole whenever I could manage to do it without being seen. But then, when we were stopped by the coast guard, the fucking sonuvabitch got scared, and ratted me out.”

“Perhaps the effing sonuvabitch didn’t think himself properly rewarded for all his help,” the sergeant suggested in an affable tone, but changing the offensive adjective. “After months at sea aboard a commercial whaler, with the constant stench of rotting whale blubber, no female companionship or other creature comforts, money isn’t always the most sought-after currency.” He grinned. “But, then, I suspect you’ve already discovered that.”

“Very funny,” she snapped. “But you’re right. The jerk spent more time making slimy moves on me than he did cooking. The crew was getting ready to throw him overboard when we got stopped by your coast guard, or whatever you call them. They took me off the ship, arrested me, and brought me here.”

“The CCG’s duties don’t include arresting people for illegal border crossings,” he explained. He exchanged a wink with the young corporal. “The truth is, we sometimes refer to them as the
Department of Fish and Ships
—always with enormous respect, of course.”

She stared. “Are you telling me I’m not actually under arrest? Legally, I mean?”

“That’s correct. Technically, you’ve merely been detained, for your own safety, and for
our
temporary convenience. I apologize for any discomfort you may have experienced, although I understand the corporal
did
volunteer his bunk, and the use of his admittedly primitive sanitary facilities. Indoor plumbing is sometimes more trouble than it’s worth, up here.”

“It was all lovely,” she snarled. “I can’t remember when I’ve spent a more delightful few days.”

She could tell that the handsome Sergeant was trying to suppress a smile. “I’m very sorry if the accommodations weren’t what you were accustomed to on the ship from which you were removed,” he told her. “According to the CCG chap with whom I spoke, the heads on the
Mari Bertrand
had been backed up for more than a week, and the cook in question was reported to be suffering from the sort of disease we don’t normally discuss in mixed company. In any case, I’m afraid the weather’s about to take a turn for the worse, so if you’ll please gather up your things, I’d like to get started back as soon as possible.”

“If I’m not under arrest, does that mean you can’t force me to go with you? Legally?”

He glanced around the dismal little room the corporal called an office. “Dear God, woman, are you telling me you actually
want
to remain
here?”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course not. What I
want
to do is to wait here for the first commercial flight out. I don’t care where it’s going, just so it has a fucking indoor toilet.”

“You’ll have a long wait,” he said. “The last time a commercial flight landed here was three years ago—forced down in a blizzard. This is nothing more than a weather station most of the year. There’ll be another plane arriving at the end of the month, to take Corporal O’Brien back to civilization for the winter. That’s the extent of air traffic in or out of
Fort Honolulu.”
He chuckled.
“That’s the name some long-forgotten fellow gave the place before he went quietly insane and started giving affectionate names to the vermin.”

“Why Regina, then?” she inquired. “And not Toronto. That would be closer for me, since I live in Boston.”

He sighed. “That’s not our problem, I’m afraid. Regina is where I’m posted at the moment. This trip was originally assigned to Flight Officer Harry Brubaker, whose lovely wife, Hannah, had the very poor judgment to go into labor at the last moment, leaving me to fly up here to hell and gone, for the sole purpose of collecting
you.”
At this point,
the Sergeant picked up the largest of her bags, and pointed to the rest of them.
“
Now,” he said grimly, “unless you’re determined to spend a sub-zero Yukon winter here, in the company of a lot of seals and marauding polar bears, I suggest you pick up the remainder of your luggage, haul it to that airplane out there, and let me get us the hell out of here.”

She did as he ordered, mildly worried that he might decide to leave without her.

“How old is that thing, anyway?” Anne inquired, as they approached the plane.

He shrugged his shoulders. “I understand it’s been out of service for a while, but it’s perfectly airworthy. It was all that was available on short notice, and it was naturally assumed that you’d prefer not to spend any longer with us than necessary.”

“Your assumption was right,” she said sweetly, “especially if this is the way you usually treat visitors to your country.” She waited alongside the plane while he threw her belongings into the back.

He handed her the file. “You’re not a visitor. According to that, you’re an intruder. Actually, after knowing you for these few minutes, I’d be forced to testify in a court of law that that you’ve exhibited personality characteristics typical of something far worse. You’re arrogant, resentful of authority, and determined you’re right, even when you’re behaving idiotically. You’re being deported, or exported. Call it what you like, but you’re about to be booted out of Canada, at government expense. My orders are to take you as far as Regina. How you get home after that is your problem. Now, get in the plane and fasten your seat belt. I’d hate to have you fall out. I might have to turn around and go back for you.”

“So, now, you’re acting as my judge and jury, as well?” Anne inquired. “Are you so sure that everything in that file is correct?”

“If there was ever an open and shut case, lady, you’re it. You stowed away, lied to the CCG, and resisted arrest by popping a Crown policeman in the nose with his own copy of the
Collected Works of Rudyard Kipling
. Besides, we try to keep the administration of justice fairly simple up here. It saves time, and a good deal of unnecessary paperwork.”

“Then your system is corrupt and unjust,” she insisted sullenly. “All that happened was I was on the phone, and wanted to continue talking, and the corporal tried to take the phone away from me. What I did was entirely in self-defense.”

“Corporal O’Brien appears to disagree, and our corrupt system of injustice being what it is, the Corporal’s version trumps yours. He says you whacked him in the nose—first with the telephone receiver, and then with Rudyard Kipling.”

“You’re obviously biased,” she shot back, “and you know absolutely nothing about me, personally.”

When he replied, his voice had taken on a distinctly threatening note. “What I know is this, Miss Wilson. If you don’t board that airplane in three seconds, you’re in serious danger of having your backside paddled. By me—
personally
.”

Anne’s jaw dropped. “You’re threatening to
spank
me?” she exclaimed. “Like some character in a Victorian novel? I’m not surprised you people still ride around arresting people on horseback.” She narrowed her eyes and gave him a suspicious look. “Are you sure you’re really a licensed pilot?”

He groaned. “No, I thought I’d just help myself to an elderly, hundred thousand dollar aircraft and go for a joy ride, while my horse was getting new shoes. Get on the plane.”

“Show me,” she said stubbornly. “I don’t particularly like small airplanes, and I’m not setting one foot on
this
one until you can prove to me that you know how to fly the fucking thing.”

For a moment, Cameron simply stared at her, disbelieving what he’d heard. Finally, he stepped up into the cockpit, opened a small compartment on the control panel, and pulled out a laminated pilot’s license and a slender leather book that read
Pilot Log
on the cover. He passed it down to her, and waited while she leafed through the pages.

“Do you verify that you are Staff Sergeant Geoffrey Andrew Cameron, of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police?” she asked.

“Yes, but at the moment, I’m rethinking my choice of careers. Policemen in this country aren’t allowed to punch people in the nose. Get in the damned plane, or…”

“Or what?” she snapped.

“Or I waste more daylight by administering that paddling we discussed, and squander even
more
time by tying you into the damned seat and stuffing a gag in your mouth.”

“Is that sort of conduct permitted by the Royal Canadian Mounted Police?” she inquired sarcastically. “Striking unarmed women?”

“Probably not, but we
are
encouraged to act on our own initiative, when we find ourselves in unforeseen difficulties. I’m beginning to think that this trip will be measurably
less
difficult if I simply take that initiative, now, by putting you across my knee and setting your obstinate backside on fire. Now, for the last time, are you going to get in, or risk finding out just how much
initiative
I’m capable of taking? And how much discomfort I can deliver in a short time, with a wide leather duty belt?”

“I’m going to report this entire conversation, you know,” she said smugly. “As soon as we land in Regina. Assuming we don’t fall out of the sky before then, and get eaten by bears or whatever.”

“I’ll be happy to co-sign any report you wish to make,” he said wearily. “And do my best to make it as detailed as possible, by filling in any details of the alleged spanking incident you may have forgotten to mention. In fact, as soon as I’ve
finished
whaling the living daylights out of you, I’ll be certain to make extremely careful notes.” He reached behind the front passenger seat and removed a small digital camera in a leather case. “I’ll even provide pictures of any alleged injuries to your person.” He smiled. “Like the boy scouts we’re often accused of resembling, Mounties are
always
prepared. And if you
should
be consumed by a bear, there’ll be pictures to accompany the article about your unfortunate demise.”

Anne scowled, but made the extremely wise decision to say nothing else. She was getting tired of exchanging stupid repartee, and felt fairly certain that the Sergeant’s threats were nothing but male bravado. Still, though, there was something in his tone that suggested caution. She slapped the book and license into his extended palm, put one foot on the metal step just below the wing, and stepped up into the cockpit. Behind her, holding the door, Sergeant Cameron was fighting an almost overwhelming urge to use the
Pilot Log
to give his companion’s attractive backside a sound swat. Instead, he pushed the door closed, locked the handle in place, and dropped back onto the macadam. It was a long flight to Regina, and he was dreading every minute of it.

* * * * *

For the next hour, they didn’t speak at all. He didn’t appear to be angry any longer, but he
did
seem preoccupied, and since she had always been mildly uncomfortable flying, Anne spent the time staring out the window at the bleak terrain passing beneath the wings. A range of snow-covered mountains loomed in the distance, but now, they were flying quite low to the ground, which made it possible to see everything at close range—what there was to see. Mainly, the landscape was barren and flat, dotted with pools of still water that looked like small lakes.