The Martian Pendant

by Patrick Taylor

  “Don’t touch anything,” she warned. “I’ll go get Joe and his radiation counter, while you dig up some ear protectors.” Olszewski could still hardly hear, his whole head still ringing, but got the picture as Diana put her hands to her ears.

  When the nuclear physicist arrived, he searched with his Geiger counter, but found little more that the ambient radiation of the surrounding area. “The uranium must have all vaporized along with the material you were cutting.”

  “In that case,” she replied, “shouldn’t everyone around wear respirators, too?”

  Joe answered, “Yep, unless they stay upwind. Oh, and also the ship will have to be ventilated for several hours with air pumping before it will be safe to enter after the torch is used on it.”

  Diana acknowledged that with a nod. She was thinking of another safety problem, too. That croc still haunted her dreams.

  Dragunov

  Before he left Dar-es-Salaam, the Soviet agent had picked up his official KGB mail at the Soviet Consulate, in response to his enquiry about Dan Stuart. He smiled craftily, pleased to find confirmation that his impression had been correct.

  As he drove westward, he mused, so it’s the CIA again, recalling conflict with their predecessors, the OSS, as well as with British Intelligence, in the scramble for treasure after the war. They had also competed then for German military secrets. He worked mostly on art treasures and hoarded wealth, but military technology was most sought after. His side had come off better in the treasure department, but it was a draw when it came to swept-wing jet designs and rocketry. He had personally emerged unscathed, despite his ruthless methods, which included the first use of Ricin, that deadly poison, for assassination.

  How to handle his Intelligence opposite when they meet at the camp? Ordinarily he’d just liquidate him, using that derivative of the castor bean, delivered on something sharp like a honed-down tip of an umbrella, a method that as far as he knew had escaped detection. He always carried a small snuff-box of tobacco, under which, in a secret compartment, he had concealed several capsules of Ricin, in addition to cyanide, to drop into a drink, and a culture of the cholera bacillus, Vibrio comma, enough to contaminate a small water source.

  He had erred in asking his KGB virologists for something that could start an epidemic of smallpox. As one of only two possessors of the virus in the world, along with the American Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta, they not only wisely refused him, but also sent an official letter of reprimand, which would remain in his service record. Reflecting further on that, he thought the KGB, mostly disarmed now, at least in Moscow, certainly had become soft. Not like its parent, the NKVD of the Stalin era. Now, he was told, any coup or assassination would have to be by stealth, and easily attributed to natural causes. This made him laugh. No wonder the official heart attack rate in the Soviet Union was among the highest in the world!

  His motor trip was uneventful, the weather remaining perfect, now in the middle of the dry season. He had no trouble with his small truck, and was able to fill up with petrol along the way. With his short-wave radio tuned to the wavelength of the expedition’s L-5, he was elated to hear Diana’s voice coming in as she neared their camp. He wondered about the Maasai part of the message. Did she say, the Maasai boy is recovering? Was it code? He did detect a change in her tone when she mentioned the welding equipment. What could be special about that? After all, everyone knew drilling towers required welding. He would soon find out.

  He entered the compound just before sunset the next day, hardly noticed as most were working at the dig. Rather than reporting directly, with twilight at that latitude so fleeting, he pitched his tent and prepared for the night. When the people from the dig returned, the smells of cooking finally brought him over to the mess tent, where he introduced himself to the awed post-grads.

  One of them said, “Mr. Krueger, the professor is down by the ship. He would have wanted to be here to greet you. It’ll take only a few minutes.” Turning to the others, he added, “In the meantime, guys, see to it that our guest gets some food.”

  With that he bounded off, leaving his companions to deal with the government official. Dragunov absently went through the food line, helped by an admiring female, thinking, Mother Russia! A ship this far inland? This trip is proving most interesting!

  They came at a run, Max breathlessly greeting the visitor. Diana was dismayed for a few moments, until she told herself that his presence was inevitable. Dan felt the hair on the back of his neck standing up. Hiding their feelings, cordial greetings were exchanged. They could only hope that their secrets would be safe.

  Cutting In

  Plans had been made for cutting a larger entry into the ship first thing in the morning; the needed diesel generator and pumping equipment were already in place. Pinkerton riflemen were to cover Ron Olszewski, who was to do the cutting, in case the crocodile attacked. He and Diana were certain it would not, from their deafening introduction to the equipment that same day. Not only had the monster reptile enjoyed a hearty meal of hyena just two nights before, the racket of the impact torch might be enough to drive it out of the ship entirely. The tool, in addition, could also serve as a formidable weapon if needed, in the blacksmith’s capable hands. Given a quick access to the hulk, they were poised to enter it in force, equipped with powerful lights and a battery of shoulder arms, including the .50 Caliber anti-tank rifle.

  Diana spent a restless night, concerned not only with the expectation that she would be leading the group into the ship, but also with the bogus Afrikaaner. She decided that he acted more like a spy than a government official. In addition, he was probably a womanizer, responding as he did to the attentions of the females among the grad students. Well, who could blame him, she thought. They were young and pretty, selected for those attributes by Max. And he was handsome, if one could get past those icy, pale-blue eyes.

  After breakfast, they all started down to the excavation. As Diana got up to follow Dan and Chet, Grey, the cook, stopped her. “Diana, I don’t like the way that South African character is sizing Dan up. There’s something between them, I don’t know what, but it bothers me.”

  She looked into Grey’s earnest face, nodding. That’s it, she thought, they’re both spies, and on opposite sides. Waving to the cook, she hurried off to catch up with Dan. Almost out of breath, she caught him and Chet virtually by their shirttails.

  “Chaps,” she said, “don’t trust that Krueger. He’s a fraud and a spy. And Danny, watch your back with him. I don’t think he likes the CIA.”

  Chet was shocked to hear that, casting a critical glance at Dan, who he had thought merely a fellow Security man. “CIA?” he blurted out, “Can that be true?”

  Dan turned to him, his index finger to his lips, saying, “Hey, man, we’re on the same side. Let’s leave it at that for now, okay?”

  By the time they arrived at the entry port in the side of the hulk, Olszewski was ready to start. Only a select few in the party had been allowed by Max to witness the event close up, mainly because of the shortage of eye and ear protection. Diana noted that the Minister was busily taking pictures of the ship and the cutting tool, closely inspecting also the lead-lined gloves that signified that radioactive material would be used. The din that started with the cutting made communication almost impossible among the observers. Krueger put new film in his camera and resumed taking photos.

  Diana watched him closely, making a mental note of the jacket pocket he used for the exposed rolls. Somehow, we’ve got to get that film, she decided. The Ministry certainly doesn’t need all that visual evidence of what we’re doing. If he’s a Soviet spy, this is exactly how he would behave. It all fell into place for her then. The unaccented impeccable English, his presence at the airport, all the photography, and now his apparent animosity toward Dan. If not the KGB, who? The only other likely agency she could think of was the East German secret police.

  She whispered to her two co-workers, “Could he be STASI? Look at his camera,
it’s a Leica.”

  “So what?” Chet interjected, “So’s mine. That don’t prove anythin’ about him.”

  Dan agreed, “Chet’s right, Di, and with his complexion and coloring, he could be from one of the so-called Soviet republics, such as Ukraine, or even Scandinavia.”

  “Yeah,” Chet added, looking directly at her, “or English. We just have ta get the goods on that son of a bitch, wherever he’s from, before we blow the whistle.”

  Down at the dig, the cutting entirely around the port was accomplished within twenty minutes, and would have gone faster if a new tip had not been needed. As the ring of outer shell and its backing fell out onto the ground, still with its tatters of hyena fur, nearly everyone cheered, except for Dragunov, who continued taking photos.

  Cavanagh directed the starting of the air pump, and was collecting samples of the air in plastic bags for analysis, while the Pinkerton riflemen cautiously pointed their muzzles at the enlarged opening. Joe loudly told everyone that four hours were needed to dissipate the contaminated air inside, and told everyone to come back after lunch.

  Dragunov wondered, is it nuclear contamination Cavanagh is concerned with? Those heavy lead-lined gloves mean that some type of radiation is employed in that noisy cutting device. This must be the “welding equipment” Miss Howard had radioed the base about. He did see that instead of bits of molten metal from the cut surface, the ground had remained totally free of fragments. Vaporized! He knew then that “welding” was the code for the cutting tool, and that a technique to actually weld the material together had not yet been accomplished. He also knew that all this would be a tremendous coup for Soviet Intelligence, and for him personally. The KGB might be his after all.

  As Diana, Dan and Chet made their way back to the compound, she told them of her observations. “Dan, you just have to know that the Minister is a fraud. His name isn’t Krueger, and in reality he’s a Communist agent. You must see it. You’re a trained spook, as you chaps like to call yourselves. Isn’t the saying, ‘It takes one to know one’ rather appropriate here?”

  Dan looked at her sheepishly. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. You’re better at Intelligence than anyone I’ve ever been in contact with, even at Langley. But what can we do about it now, out here, far from the legitimate authorities?”

  “Ah’ll tell ya what,” Crowley said, “We can just shoot him, and leave him out on the plain as carrion.”

  “Chet!” She quickly rejoined, “There’s no telling how many others here are in this with him. What about the Sicilian truck drivers? And how about that grotesque priest? I’ll bet they’re all spies, and I’m not being paranoid. We have to get those films for starters. He’ll miss them, and then we’ll be forced into a confrontation. You chaps will have to take him into custody then. Don’t tell Max about this now. I don’t think Krueger, or whatever his name is, cares much about his part of the dig anyway. The boss is so insecure about our ‘Mineral’ permit, now that our discovery is known, he’ll probably apologize to that spy, and alert him to who his enemies are here in camp.”

  The air was charged with expectation around the entry that afternoon. The two men accompanying Diana tried to appear calm, but repeatedly checked their equipment, fidgeting with the safeties on their rifles. Despite Chet and Dan’s apparent nervousness, Diana derived strength from their presence, and led them fearlessly to the stairs.

  “Wow,” Dan said, “This place is spooky! I have to hand it to you, Di, for your courage. Don’t you agree, Crowley? Look at those stalactites, from water that's been dripping down over a million years.”

  Shining the light up the stairs, Diana warned them, “On the deck up there the water is about a foot and a half deep. That’s where I first saw that crocodile. Are you guys ready to shoot him? Don’t forget, aim low, and for God’s sake, don’t miss, or it’ll be like a pinball game in here, only using bullets instead of marbles.”

  Cautiously, the men took the lead, flashlights taped to their rifles. But there was little more to be seen except more water and more stalactites, most of them broken off in that area. They did find a few shreds of tan fur.

  They explored forward, where mounds of concretions suggested the presence of cargo or something bulky beneath.

  “We’re going to need a jackhammer in here to get through the covering layers of limestone, or whatever this rock is,” she said, as they again reached the limit of their electrical line.

  “Dan, ya stay and protect Diana while ah take a look aft,” Chet called, “Ah think my light is adequate in case that big reptile shows.”

  After she and the CIA operative had stood for five minutes on the landing, shining the lights around, Chet returned.

  “Nothin’ more back that way. Mounds and mounds, just like up front.”

  “Okay,” she said, “let’s go. We now know that we need to thoroughly comb through this ship. More electrical cable, a jackhammer, and people from the dig with hammers and chisels.”

  At supper, they drew up the list of tools and equipment that would be needed for further investigation of the hulk, and afterward they made plans to sneak into Dragunov’s tent to steal the rolls of film, including the one in his camera. Chet was to hot-wire the Minister’s truck as a diversion so that he would have to leave the tent in haste, without his jacket. He probably was a very light sleeper--most of such operatives were--so he would have to be lured away at the right time. But their plans for that night were frustrated by one of the young grad students, Adina, who had seemed so taken with him at lunch. She entered his tent and didn’t emerge, even after the light was extinguished. Disappointed, they all turned in, contemplating a busy and exciting day.

  When Adina didn’t show up for breakfast, Diana and Dan visited the tent where the remaining three female grad students were quartered. Loud sobbing was heard as she parted the mosquito net. Adina was on her cot, attended by the other two, who acknowledged Diana as she entered and knelt next to the distraught woman.

  “What happened?” Diana asked, “I thought you had, in fact, found the love of your life the way you’ve been fawning over that chap.”

  “Oh,” she cried, “I thought so too, but once I was in his tent, he came on so strong that I had second thoughts. Fool that I was, I accepted a glass of something, probably vodka. I think the so-and-so made a Mickey Finn of it. The next thing I knew, I was in our tent here on the ground.”

  As the other two gravely shook their heads in sympathy, Diana asked, “How do you feel physically? Any bleeding, that sort of thing?”

  “Well,” she replied, “I am a little sore, and I think I’m getting a pinchy feeling emptying my bladder now.”

  “Well,” Diana advised, “Ask Myra to give you a couple of sulfa tablets, which, with plenty of water, should take care of that.”

  “But look,” Dan interjected, “We need you to help us with this guy. He’s not what he seems. He’s more interested in spying on us than in governmental oversight. We need to get the films of all the shots he took yesterday before he can get them out. That’s where we hope you can help.”

  Looking imploringly up at Diana, Adina asked, “You mean you want me to forgive and forget last night? Go through the same thing again?”

  “That’s what we need,” Diana answered, “But just don’t let him put anything into your drink. Instead, I’ll get some phenobarbital from our medical kit. Slip a couple into his. How’s that for revenge?”

  Liz, Adina’s buddy, said, “I’ll get the medicine and the capsules for you. Chris and I will be just outside the tent tonight in case he gets rough.”

  “No,” Diana cautioned, “the two of you are still nowhere near a match for him. We’ll have men there, armed and ready to cuff him if he threatens you. We have a legal right to police our camp; it’s in our government permit. Of course, that applies principally to predatory animals.”

  “Well,” Adina laughed through her tears, “that’s exactly what he is.”

  “Then you’ll help us with this
?” Diana asked with anticipation.

  “Sure,” she replied, “as long as you and Security will all be right there.”

  That evening in the mess tent, Adina sat down next to Dragunov as if nothing untoward had happened. He seemed surprised but flattered to be sought after by the pretty little Adina. It wasn’t long before the two of them left, hand-in-hand, well before dessert.

  “Okay, this is it,” Diana whispered to Chet, who had been briefed on the plan and from the beginning hated the man they knew as Krueger. With Dan, he picked up weapons and a pair of handcuffs, and joined her outside the bogus Minister’s tent. And there they waited.

  Inside, Dragunov and Adina sat on his cot sipping vodka, and talked for a while. It was apparent he was interrogating her about the discoveries. Hardly words of seduction, but then, her obvious adulation seemingly made such words unnecessary.

  Pointing to the little battery-powered short-wave radio, he said, “Find some music, will you, while I get us some more drink.”

  While fiddling with the radio, she saw him produce a small silver cigarette case from his pack and open it, intently looking at the contents. She noticed that he took something out, snapped the case shut, and replaced it somewhere in his pack. Just then, she tuned into a station playing, of all things, The Red Army Song. This momentarily flustered him so much that he dropped the capsule on the canvas floor. The expletive he muttered wasn’t English. And it wasn’t anything that sounded like Afrikaans either.

  While he was searching the floor, she quickly took out two of the red capsules she had been given, and pulled each one open, emptying the powder into his glass. By the time he found what he was hunting for, the barbiturate had dissolved in his vodka.

  Smiling at her, he said, “Let me freshen your drink, while you try to find something more romantic on the wireless.”