“You don’t look like an academic to me,” he said at last.
“What’s an archaeologist supposed to look like?”
“Not like someone who has been in battle,” Campbell said, “like someone who has had to take another man’s life.”
“You’re drunk,” Cabrillo said.
“Maintenance drinking,” Campbell said, “but I don’t hear you denying anything.”
Cabrillo said nothing.
“Army?” Campbell said, staying on the topic.
“CIA, but it was a while ago.”
“I knew you weren’t an archaeologist.”
“The CIA has archaeologists,” Cabrillo noted.
At that moment there was a knock at the door. Cabrillo motioned for Campbell to remain seated and walked over to the door. An Inuit dressed in a one-piece snowsuit stood with a sack in his hand.
“That the whiskey?” Cabrillo asked.
The man nodded. Cabrillo reached in his pocket and retrieved a money clip. Peeling off a hundred-dollar bill, he handed it to the man, who handed over the bottle.
“I don’t have change,” the Inuit said.
“Is that enough to pay for this and another to be delivered,” Cabrillo asked, “and some extra for your trouble?”
“Yes,” the Inuit said, “but the owner will only allow me to deliver Woodman one bottle per day.”
“Bring the other tom
orrow and keep the change,” Cabrillo said.
The Inuit nodded and Cabrillo closed the door. Carrying the sack with the whiskey inside, he walked over to Campbell and handed it to him. Campbell took the bottle out of the sack, wadded up the paper and tossed it toward a trash can and missed, then cracked the seal and filled his cup.
“Appreciate it,” he said.
“You shouldn’t,” Cabrillo told him. “You should give it up.”
“I can’t,” Campbell said, eyeing the bottle. “I’ve tried.”
“Bullshit. I’ve worked with guys with a worse problem than yours—they’re straight today.”
Campbell sat quietly. “Well, Mr. CIA,” he said at last, “you figure a way to dry me out and the snowcat is yours. I haven’t used it in months—I can’t leave the house.”
“You served in the army,” Cabrillo said.
“Who the hell are you?” Campbell said. “No one in Greenland knows that.”
“I run a specialized company that does intelligence and security work—a private corporation. We can find out anything.”
“No shit?”
“No shit,” Cabrillo said. “What was your job in the service? I didn’t bother to ask my people that.”
“Green Berets, then the Phoenix Project.”