p&c.icelimit-第41部分

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　Amira　turned　to　the　drill；　but　Glinn's　expression　had　lost　none　of　its　distance。　〃And　it's　time　we　took　something　else　back　with　us　as　well；〃　he　added　quietly。
　
　
　Isla　Desolacion；
　3：05　P。M。
　
　OUTSIDE　THE　shack；　McFarlane　pulled　off　the　respirator　and　snugged　the　hood　of　his　parka　tightly　around　his　face。　Wind　gusted　through　the　staging　area；　sending　skeins　of　snow　whirling　across　the　frozen　ground。　By　now；　Lloyd　must　be　well　on　his　way　back　to　New　York。　Already；　what　little　light　the　heavy　clouds　permitted　was　fading　from　the　sky。　It　would　be　dark　in　half　an　hour。
　There　was　a　crunch　of　snow；　and　Glinn　and　Amira　appeared；　returning　from　the　stores　hut。　Amira　held　a　fluorescent　storm　lantern　in　each　hand；　and　Glinn　was　pulling　a　long；　low　aluminum　sled　behind　him。
　〃What's　that？〃　McFarlane　asked；　pointing　to　a　large　blue　trunk　of　molded　plastic　that　lay　on　the　sled。
　〃Evidence　locker；〃　Glinn　said。　〃For　the　remains。〃　McFarlane　felt　a　mounting　queasiness　in　his　gut。　〃Is　this　absolutely　necessary？〃
　〃I　know　it　can't　be　easy　for　you；〃　Glinn　replied。　〃But　it's　an　unknown。　And　at　EES；　we　dislike　unknowns。〃
　As　they　approached　the　pile　of　rocks　that　marked　Masangkay's　grave；　the　snow　flurries　began　to　draw　away。　The　Jaws　of　Hanuxa　came　into　view；　dark　against　an　even　darker　sky。　Beyond；　McFarlane　caught　the　merest　patch　of　storm…flecked　bay。　On　the　distant　horizon；　the　sharp　peaks　of　Isla　Wollaston　clawed　their　way　skyward。　It　was　incredible　how　quickly　the　weather　changed　down　here。
　Already　the　wind　had　stuffed　snow　and　ice　into　the　crevices　of　the　makeshift　cairn；　mortaring　the　grave　in　white。　Without　ceremony；　Glinn　pulled　out　the　cross；　laid　it　down；　and　began　prying　frozen　rocks　from　the　pile　and　rolling　them　aside。　He　glanced　back　at　McFarlane。　〃It's　fine　if　you'd　rather　hang　back　a　bit。〃
　McFarlane　swallowed。　There　were　very　few　things　he　could　imagine　less　pleasant　than　this　particular　job。　But　if　it　had　to　be　done；　he　wanted　to　be　part　of　it。　〃No；〃　he　said。　〃I'll　help。〃
　It　was　much　easier　to　pull　the　grave　apart　than　it　had　been　to　assemble　it。　Soon；　Masangkay's　remains　began　to　e　into　view。　Glinn　slowed　his　pace；　working　more　gingerly。　McFarlane　stared　at　the　broken　bones；　the　split　skull　and　broken　teeth；　the　ropy　pieces　of　gristle；　the　partly　mummified　flesh。　It　was　hard　to　believe　that　this　had　once　been　his　partner　and　friend。　He　felt　his　gorge　rise；　his　breath　e　fast。
　Darkness　was　falling　quickly。　Putting　aside　the　last　of　the　rocks；　Glinn　lit　the　lanterns　and　placed　one　on　either　side　of　the　grave。　With　a　pair　of　forceps　he　began　placing　the　bones　into　the　plastic…lined　partments　of　the　locker。　A　few　of　the　bones　still　adhered　to　each　other；　held　together　by　strips　of　cartilage；　skin；　and　desiccated　gristle；　but　most　looked　as　if　they　had　been　violently　torn　asunder。
　〃I'm　no　forensic　pathologist；〃　said　Amira；　〃but　this　guy　looks　like　he　had　a　close　encounter　with　a　Peterbilt　〃
　Glinn　said　nothing；　forceps　moving　again　and　again　from　the　ground　to　the　locker；　his　face　hidden　by　the　folds　of　his　hood。　Then　he　stopped。
　〃What　is　it？〃　Amira　asked。
　Reaching　out　with　the　forceps；　Glinn　carefully　pried　something　out　of　the　frozen　dirt。　〃This　boot　isn't　just　rotten；〃　he　said。　〃It's　been　burned。　And　some　of　these　bones　appear　to　have　been　burned；　too。〃
　〃Do　you　suppose　he　was　murdered　for　his　equipment？〃　Amira　asked。　〃And　they　burned　the　body　to　conceal　the　crime？　It　would　be　a　hell　of　a　lot　easier　than　digging　a　grave　in　this　soil。〃
　〃That　would　make　Puppup　a　murderer；〃　said　McFarlane；　feeling　the　hardness　in　his　own　voice。
　Glinn　held　up　a　distal　phalanx；　examining　it　in　the　light　like　a　small　jewel。　〃Very　unlikely；〃　he　said。　〃However；　that's　a　question　for　the　good　doctor　to　answer。〃
　〃About　time　he　had　something　to　do；〃　Amira　said。　〃Instead　of　reading　his　books　and　wandering　around　the　ship　like　a　ghoul。〃
　Glinn　placed　the　bone　into　the　evidence　locker。　Then　he　turned　back　to　the　gravesite　and　picked　up　something　else　with　his　forceps。
　〃This　was　underneath　the　boot；〃　he　said。　He　held　the　object　up　to　the　light；　brushed　off　the　clinging　ice　and　dirt；　and　held　it　up　again。
　〃A　belt　buckle；〃　said　Amira。
　〃What？〃　McFarlane　asked。　He　pushed　his　way　forward；　staring。
　〃It's　some　kind　of　purple　gemstone；　placed　in　a　silver　setting；〃　Amira　said。　〃But　look；　it's　been　melted。〃
　McFarlane　sank　back。
　Amira　looked　at　him。　〃Are　you　all　right？〃　McFarlane　merely　passed　a　gloved　hand　across　his　eyes　and　shook　his　head。　To　see　that　here；　of　all　places。。。　Years　ago；　after　they　had　scored　big　with　the　Atacama　tektites；　he　had　had　a　pair　of　belt　buckles　made；　each　with　a　sectioned　tektite；　to　celebrate　their　coup。　He'd　lost　his　long　ago。　But　despite　everything；　Nestor　had　still　been　wearing　his　at　his　death。　It　surprised　McFarlane　how　very　much　that　meant　to　him。
　Without　speaking；　they　gathered　up　the　prospector's　meager　effects。　Then　Glinn　fastened　the　locker；　Amira　gathered　up　the　lights；　and　the　two　began　trudging　back。　McFarlane　remained　a　moment　longer；　staring　at　the　cold　jumble　of　rocks。　Then　he　turned　to　follow。
　
　Punta　Arenas；
　July　17；　8：00　A。M。
　
　ANDANTE　VALLENAR　stood　over　the　tiny　metal　sink　in　his　cabin；　smoking　the　bitter　end　of　a　puro　and　lathering　his　face　with　sandalwood…scented　shaving　cream。　He　detested　the　fragrant　shaving　cream；　just　like　he　detested　the　razor　that　lay　on　the　basin：　a　two…bladed　disposable　of　bright　yellow　plastic。　Typical　American　throwaway　trash。　Who　else　would　build　such　a　wasteful　thing；　two　blades　when　just　a　single　blade　would　do？　But　naval　stores　were　capricious；　especially　for　ships　that　spent　most　of　their　time　in　the　far　south。　He　stared　at　the　little　disposable　in　disgust；　one　of　a　pack　of　ten　that　the　quartermaster　had　issued　him　that　morning。　It　was　either　that　or　a　straight　razor。　And　on　board　ship；　straight　razors　could　be　dangerous。
　He　rinsed　the　blade；　then　raised　it　to　his　left　cheekbone。　He　always　started　with　the　left　side　of　his　face：　he　had　never　been　fortable　shaving　with　his　left　hand；　and　this　side　was　easier　somehow。
　At　least　the　shaving　cream　hid　the　smell　of　the　ship。　Almirante　Ramirez　was　the　oldest　destroyer　in　the　fleet；　purchased　from　the　U。K。　in　the　fifties。　Decades　of　poor　sanitation；　vegetable　peelings　rotting　in　bilgewater；　chemical　solvents；　faulty　sewage　disposal；　and　spilled　diesel　fuel　had　suffused　the　vessel　with　a　stench　that　nothing　short　of　sinking　would　eradicate。
　The　sudden　blat　of　an　airhom　chased　away　the　noise　of　crying　birds　and　distant　traffic。　He　glanced　through　the　rusted　porthole　toward　the　piers　and　the　city　beyond。　It　was　a　brilliant　day；　with　crystal　skies　and　a　brisk　cold　wind　from　the　west。
　The　andante　returned　to　his　shaving。　He　never　liked　anchoring　in　Punta　Arenas；　it　was　a　poor　place　for　a　ship；　especially　in　a　westerly　wind。　He　was　surrounded；　as　usual；　by　fishing　boats　taking　advantage　of　the　destroyer's　lee。　It　was　typical　South　American　anarchy；　no　discipline；　no　sense　of　the　dignity　due　a　military　vessel。
　There　was　a　rap　on　the　door。　〃andante；〃　came　the　voice　of　Timmer；　the　signal　officer。
　〃Enter；〃　the　andante　said　without　turning。　In　the　mirror；　he　could　see　the　door　open　and　Timmer　enter　with　another　man　in　tow：　a　civilian；　well…fed；　prosperous；　satisfied　with　himself。
　Vallenar　ran　the　blade　a　few　times　along　his　chin。　Then　he　rinsed　the　blade　in　the　metal　basin　and　turned。　〃Thank　you；　Mr。　Timmer；〃　he　said　with　a　smile。　〃You　may　go。　If　you　would　be　so　kind　as　to　post　a　man　outside。〃
　After　Timmer　left；　Vallenar　took　a　moment　to　examine　the　man　before　him。　He　stood　before　the　desk；　a　slight　smile　on　his　face；　no　trace　of　apprehension。　And　why　should　he　be　afraid？　Vallenar　thought；　without　malice。　Vallenar　was　a　mander　in　name　only。　He　had　the　oldest　warship　in　the　fleet；　with　the　worst　posting。　So　who　could　blame　the　man　who　stood　here　before　him　now　for　sticking　out　his　chest　ever　so　slightly；　for　feeling　like　a　big　man　who　could　stare　down　the　powerless　andante　of　a　rusting　vessel？
　Vallenar　took　one　last；　deep　drag　on　the　puro；　then　flicked　it　out　the　open　porthole。　He　laid　down　the　razor　and　pulled　a　cigar　box　from　a　desk　drawer　wi