Arctic Rising: A Constable Maratse Stand Alone novella (Guerrilla Greenland Book 3) by Christoffer Petersen

Author:Christoffer Petersen [Petersen, Christoffer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aarluuk Press for Arctic Noir, Action Thrillers and Greenland Crime
Published: 2021-03-22T22:00:00+00:00

The fog curled around Kussannaq, giving Maratse little more than a minute to observe the settlement before the houses shrank into the blanket of grey. He tugged the radio from his pocket, turned the dial to switch the unit on, then changed the frequency to channel 16. He pressed the transmit button, speaking in Greenlandic, as he called the police cutter Sisak III.

“Received.” The radio crackled to life. “Go to channel 12.”

Maratse changed channels, then paused as he considered what to say, and how much.

Constable Aqqa Danielsen beat him to it, bringing a smile to Maratse’s face as the younger constable’s voice and Greenlandic words boomed out of the speaker. “Good to hear you, Qilingatsaq. What do you need?”

Maratse’s smile stretched into a laugh as Danielsen addressed him with his Greenlandic name. Everyone – Kamiila, Danielsen, even Kilaasi – seemed to be just a few steps ahead of him.

Catch up, David.

“I know,” he whispered, before pressing the button to transmit. “I’m thinking of coming down to the settlement.”

Maratse let go of the button to wait for Danielsen’s response.

“Ah, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Are you close?”

“Close enough.”

“Then we can meet.”

“Also, not a good idea. You need to think about this.”

Maratse lowered the radio. He tapped the thick antenna against his thigh. Everyone else was thinking about the bigger picture, while he was just reacting as he always did.

“It’s what I know,” he whispered, suddenly curious at the thump of something on the wind. “It’s what I do best.”

It occurred to him then, just as it occurred to Kilaasi, there was a reason Maratse’s stories resonated with his people, especially those in the sledge dog districts above the Arctic Circle and on the east coast. Hunters, while they were adept at reading the signs, often reacted to reports of whales in an open lead, or a herd of reindeer that strayed into difficult terrain. They reacted to any given situation, with little and often no time for planning.

Start planning.

“I know.”

It’s the only way.

“I need a plan,” Maratse said. He lifted the radio to his face, pressed the transmit button, and repeated himself.

Danielsen agreed, but Maratse lost the rest of the constable’s transmission as the thumping he heard earlier, returned, amplified by the fog.

“I have to go,” Maratse said. He switched the radio off and stuffed it into his pocket.

The thumping deepened into a fast rhythmic thud thud thud, stabbing through the fog, reverberating in the mountains. Maratse knelt and pressed his palm on a large, smooth rock. He felt the thud of the approaching helicopter through the granite – not yet visible, but close.

Maratse glanced back up the path, calculating the distance to Kamiila and the handful of residents from Kussannaq. They would hear the helicopter too, if they hadn’t already.

Think.

“I’m thinking.” Maratse looked along the path to Kussannaq. The path led downhill. It would be quicker to run to the settlement and, “Safer to lead the helicopter away.”

You’re not thinking.

Maratse pushed Inniki’s voice out of his head, tightened the utility belt around his waist, and removed the pistol from the holster at his hip.

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