by Nick Carter
"I'm not completely unprepared," the wily old agent murmured.
"No, and you've let me ramble like this for a purpose. You want to know how much Hawk knows. How much I guessed. And whether you want me to help. Much better to have me with you than bumbling around maybe making matters worse. The other option, of course, is to kill me."
A deep throaty laugh rumbled from Blenkochev. Anna watched Carter with respect.
"Ah, N3, too bad you can't be bought!" He held his belly and laughed. "I would love to steal you from Hawk. Finally I would get even with the old bastard!"
As the mighty KGB man roared with laughter, Carter snapped the tent skeleton in place, then sat back on his haunches to admire his work.
"Your tent's finished," he said mildly. "Now I'd like to hear your proposal."
"Give Anna back her weapons first," Blenkochev said. He took off his glasses and wiped a sleeve across his eyes. "I know you've got them hidden somewhere."
"And my Luger?"
"Anna," Blenkochev said.
The old agent was tired, and at last comfortable. He wasn't going to move until he had to.
Anna fetched Carter's gun while he took from his backpack the Walther and knife. They exchanged weapons, and Anna gave him a smile of curiosity.
"Did you hear about the Chilean soldier?" Carter asked as he sealed back onto his own insulated snow mat.
"Unfortunately, yes," Blenkochev said. "Another nail in the coffin. A group from Chile visited the Novolazarevskaya area last week. There was no way to keep tabs on all of them, and besides it doesn't look friendly if it's too obvious that they're being watched. One or more must have slipped away. Either they knew what they were doing, or they didn't." The KGB man shrugged. "It's immaterial now. Now that the one's dead."
"If there were survivors, then you must know where they were here."
Blenkochev allowed himself a short smile.
"I have certain information," he admitted.
"Don't bother being modest. Blenkochev. No one believes it."
Again the belly laugh.
"No wonder you're Hawk's favorite," he chuckled.
"So we're going to find this secret installation," Carter said. "The installation that your New Zealand attaché also visited without anyone's knowledge."
"The same," Blenkochev agreed. He stood up and stretched. "Now I must sleep I'm old, but I don't admit it in Moscow. Here I don't give a damn. Here my age can be a hindrance." He checked his watch, his face turning grim. "We leave in four hours. No longer. Rest. I expect you both in top form." He stared north across the mountains as if he could see into the future. "This insanity could destroy my country."
Dignified and powerful as an old seasoned lion, Blenkochev stalked into his tent and dropped the flap. The perfume lingered for a moment, then was swept away in a light breeze.
Carter and Anna were silent, deep in their own worry. "You're standing guard?" Carter said at last, noting Anna's lack of interest in pitching her own tent.
"Silting guard, "she said, relaxed back against her pack.
Her blond hair glowed like gold in the sunshine. Her face was solemn, watchful, its attention directed at Carter. As soon as he retired to his tent, she would focus her alertness on the area around them.
She laid the Walther on her chest and held the knife loosely in her hand. Beautiful, intelligent, good-natured, and a thorough professional. Good reasons for Blenkochev to have chosen her, but there had to be more. A reason why he trusted her more than any of his other agents. Not only was his career and life-style on the line, but also the world he'd helped to shape for the last forty years. He had less compassion for the world than he had pride in the immortality of his work.
"You grew up in Moscow?" Carter asked.
She was waiting for him to leave, wanted to be at her job. Like many agents, she worked better alone. Yet she was interested in him. Couldn't take her eyes off him. One more reason why she wanted him to leave.
"I appreciate your help back in New Zealand," he said and stood. He didn't want to leave, but it was necessary that he, too, keep his distance.
She smiled up at him.
"I was a music student," she said. "Violin. Chamber music. Does that help?"
"Not really. Why did Blenkochev choose you?"
She looked at him, her face now expressionless. She was trying to decide whether to tell him anything and, if she did, whether to tell him the truth. She was a woman worth knowing. At last she cleared her throat.
"He's my father."
The one answer Carter hadn't guessed. She watched him quizzically to see how he'd take the news. It was hard to imagine Blenkochev sexually involved with anyone. But even the most outrageous, the most cold-blooded, the most extensively distracted sometimes committed the grace of physical intimacy. Her mother must have been remarkable. He hoped that Blenkochev had loved her.
"He's a lucky man," Carter said and went into his tent.
Fifteen
Nick Carter, Leon Blenkochev, and Anna Blenkochev skied across the skimobile tracks into untouched snow. Blenkochev was leading. He knew where he was going and didn't want to lose any element of surprise he might acquire from arriving at the Silver Dove installation in an unexpected way.
Occasionally he used a sun compass from his backpack to take a reading. Knowing local Antarctic time and that the summer sun circles the horizon at about fifteen degrees an hour, he figured with close accuracy where they were and where they needed to go next.
That hadn't been necessary to find Carter. Blenkochev and Anna had crossed the skimobile tracks first, not knowing Carter was in the area. The KGB leader had sent his daughter to investigate in one direction while he'd gone the other. When she hadn't returned as scheduled, he'd come after her and discovered Carter as well.
Now the three skied through the pristine snow, taking turns breaking trail. Carter found himself watching Anna, intrigued by something he couldn't name. Occasionally he caught her watching him.
A few sooty albatrosses passed overhead, riding the air currents. They were perfect gliding machines. The stronger the wind, the more effortless seemed their flight. The sky remained its spectacular clear blue, the bright sun giving little warmth to the sparkling land.
At last, still very high in the mountains, wind whipping around them, Blenkochev signaled to slow.
Leading, he pushed quietly ahead. His body was hunched with concentration. He must have been exhausted, but he gave no sign of it. He headed into the gale.
He stopped at a large sheer rock face that was blown free of snow. He unsnapped his skis and plodded forward, sinking with each step.
He motioned for Carter and Anna to follow.
He disappeared around the rock face as the two agents skied forward, unsnapped their skis, and followed.
Below them extended a valley. It was deep and long, ridged by boulders and rocks naked to the sun. It was an area of almost constant wind that kept any projecting objects free of snow.
Surrounded by peaks and hanging rocks, it would be a difficult valley to see from the air. A hidden valley.
There appeared to be movement on the valley's long, narrow snow white floor. Carter couldn't quite make out what it was. He stroked his beard and studied the valley.
Blenkochev handed tiny, powerful binoculars to Carter.
"Over there." Blenkochev said, gesturing.
Two sliding doors so big that they'd be oversize even for an airplane hangar were fitted into the granite at the side of the valley. They were painted a dull gray to match the rock. They were ajar. Workmen outfitted in stark white insulated snow suits passed in and out, some driving white jeeps, others on white skis. The workers were almost invisible.
"Silver Dove?"
"Looks like Silver Dove now," Blenkochev said curtly. "A regular Soviet base before. We abandoned it when we signed the Antarctic Treaty. There was no longer a fight for the continent It's been so long now that it's mostly forgotten."
"Silver Dove
didn't forget," Anna murmured. She looked at Carter and smiled.
Blenkochev glanced at his daughter, his assistant, his employee. Pride briefly filled his broad Slavic face. Then he banished it. No room for sentiment when there was a job to be done. He asked no quarter, and gave none. Not even to his daughter.
"We're going to stand out like sore thumbs down there," Carter said, gesturing at the Blenkochev's' blue clothes and at his own khaki.
"In the end, it may save us," Blenkochev said quietly.
He dropped his backpack and squatted to unzip it. He pulled out a gunny sack and opened it.
"Here's that emergency gear you brought," he said loudly to Carter. "We'll bury it. Pick it up later in case of emergency."
He opened the insulated sack and showed Carter a small radio similar to Carter's, emergency rations, a lightweight snow blanket that folded to the size of a handkerchief, and first aid gear. He'd come prepared.
"I'll take that!"
The voice was sharp, commanding. From above.
"Throw it up!"
The lookout pointed a long-barreled rifle down at them. It was a special air gun, silent. Perfectly safe in the avalanche-prone wasteland.
The lookout in his white deep-freeze clothes stood on a rock mesa. He could have been there for hours, could have watched their approach, hidden, waiting while he radioed ahead for instructions.
"Excellent," Blenkochev said.
Suddenly more men swarmed around either side of the sheer rock face, all dressed in white like German ski soldiers of World War II. They were stealthy, drifting forward like part of the landscape. Each had a small silver dove embroidered on the material over his heart.
Blenkochev raised a hand full of command.
"I am Blenkochev," he said majestically in his cultured Russian. "I've caught the notorious Nick Carter. He's the imperialist AXE agent from that overweight pig the United States."
His steely eyes swept the all-male Soviet faces, demanding that they listen and obey. Their guerrilla lessons hadn't included a chapter on a man such as Blenkochev. They were off balance Instantly he saw this. For the moment, they were malleable. He smiled coldly at the quiet men and continued.
"He's a dangerous American spy-whore," he said. "I've brought him a long way, and we're tired."
He gestured with disdain at Carter and nodded at Anna. She took her clue and reached into Carter's backpack for his weapons.
"Who's in charge here?" the powerful Blenkochev said.
"I am, sir," replied one of the men.
He stepped forward, his air rifle pointed at Carter. Only his tanned face glowing against the brilliant snow showed the possibility of something human under all that white padding.
Anna tucked Carter's weapons under her arms. Disapproving, the Silver Dove glanced at the female agent. Women belonged at home with a house full of babies, not in rugged Antarctica pretending they had the stamina and intelligence of a man.
"My daughter," Blenkochev said curtly, "and my assistant."
"Yes, sir," the Silver Dove said, impressed by the blood relationship but not by the work relationship. "I'll lake those, comrade."
He collected the weapons and allowed himself a discreet leer that he thought Blenkochev couldn't see. If she weren't good enough for a man to marry, the daughter had possibilities as something else. Bigotry found excuses for whatever a perverse man could imagine.
"You'll take us down," Blenkochev announced. "Now."
He, too, looked at Anna, but his expression was one of warning. He was telling her not to kill the chauvinistic oaf. At least not yet.
She nodded grimly, and Carter, the Blenkochevs, and the party of Silver Doves skied around the boulder and down a long, winding trail into the valley.
* * *
The massive entrance area inside the Silver Dove facility was icy cold. The bitter wind whistled through the open steel doors and over the trucks, jeeps, ski mobiles, and small helicopters that were parked in tidy rows. Other vehicles came and went. Exhaust swirled and stank in the air.
Their skis over their shoulders, the three agents and their escort group passed among the vehicles. Some were painted stark white with faint silver doves drawn on the fenders. Others were olive drab with Russian markings. None of the helicopters looked like the one that had been searching the mountains.
The group continued toward the back of the warehouse where doors were cut into more granite.
Workmen in insulated white suits checked wheels and gas, carried clipboards stacked with papers, and spoke into walkie-talkies. Small silver doves were embroidered over their hearts. They were all white and male.
They looked with little interest at the newcomers, then returned to their work. Either those who worked at the hidden Silver Dove facility were used to visitors, or their natural curiosity had been trained out of them.
Carter watched Blenkochev.
The Russian's face was impassive, but the eyes were watchful. They scanned the enormous room. He was looking for something. Or someone. Briefly his eyes settled on a square man with a bushy black mustache. If there was recognition from either, they hid it well. Carter would watch for the reappearance of the square man with the bushy black mustache.
* * *
The man beside the wide walnut desk was also dressed in white — a white silk three-piece tropical business suit, nipped in at the waist.
He stood beside the desk as Carter, Blenkochev, and Anna filed into the office, now accompanied by only three of their original escorts. The three Silver Doves kept their air rifles pointed at Carter In the corner, a heater hissed with warm air.
"Blenkochev," the man beside the desk said in a contained voice.
Blenkochev nodded affirmation.
"I should have known it'd be you. Skobelev," he said. "It's good to see you."
From General Yevgeny Skobelev's breast pocket flowed a brilliant red silk handkerchief. The small dove on the pocket was embroidered with shining silver thread. His shoes were white, too, and polished until they reflected the walnut desk. His shirt was pale pink, only slightly more rosy than his skin. With his thick white hair, light blue eyes, and baby-pink complexion he was a portrait in pastels Except for the bright red handkerchief… which framed the silver dove with bloody importance.
"Why are you here, Blenkochev?" General Skobelev said.
The Soviet general was giving nothing away, not even a gracious greeting. He walked behind his desk and sat in a leather-covered chair.
He had all the amenities, even paintings of Russian landscapes on his four plastered office walls, lamps instead of overhead fluorescent lights, and an apartment-size refrigerator on the floor behind his chair. Beside it was a second door, this one with a peephole.
Blenkochev took it all in with one haughty glance. He wasn't intimidated. He dropped into a leather-covered chair in front of the desk, crossed his legs, took off his mittens, and opened his parka. His perfume filled the room.
When Carter tried to sit, Blenkochev waved a hand, and the three guards backed the AXE agent into a corner.
Carter didn't protest, fulfilling his role. He didn't trust Blenkochev, but he would play along with him for a while. He needed to know exactly what was happening in the Silver Dove installation. What he'd told Blenkochev were only educated guesses, and he needed confirmation. He needed concrete information on which to judge what to do. Concrete information to give Hawk.
Anna watched, then sat, too, and loosened her thick clothing.
"Have any coffee?" Blenkochev asked, smiling disarmingly.
Skobelev looked at him briefly, then at one of the Silver Dove guards. The guard nodded and left the room.
"Now, Leon," General Skobelev said. "What's this all about?"
"I might ask you the same question," Blenkochev said arrogantly, "except that it's my business to know the answer first." He slapped his hands down on the wooden arms of his chair. The sound reverberated in the small room, and the two remaining guards jumped. "I've come t
o join you, Yevgeny. My daughter and I. No other way to explain it. I brought Carter to show my sincerity."
Skobelev exercised self-control. His mouth dropped only a fraction of an inch. Then he reassembled his face, and his manner was once again that of the polished and mighty Soviet general, close to the Politburo, right-hand man to Chernenko, a face known to all Russia for the many appearances it made in official Soviet news photographs celebrating the First of May and other military occasions.
He studied Blenkochev. The personal power of the two Soviet leaders filled the room.
"My men heard you planning to bury supplies with Carter," Skobelev said. "Emergency supplies that you'd return for. Need later, after taking our base perhaps."
"A ruse," Blenkochev explained smoothly, "a distraction. I wanted to stay in one place long enough for your men to find me."
"Carter had his weapons," the Silver Dove leader shot back. "He was your companion, not your captive."
"Carter is notorious for escaping," Blenkochev said easily. "Sometimes success is more certain with trickery than with force. And remember, he's David Hawk's favorite. Some of his training came from Hawk personally."
The name of the mighty AXE chief gave Skobelev pause.
"Yes. David Hawk."
The white-haired Russian general tapped his fingers on the desk lop. From his expression, Carter guessed that he'd had his own run-ins with Hawk. The experiences were enough to convince Skobelev that Carter was too dangerous to capture easily, and worth the difficulty of outwitting.
"Do you know our aims?" Skobelev warned the potential convert Blenkochev. "What we plan to do? A man with a queasy stomach and no vision belongs back in the safety of Mother Russia, not here on the frontier of a new way of life."
"I know enough to intrigue me," Blenkochev said and smiled, "Enough to think you re on to something important. A superiority of life forms. As for the rest, perhaps you'd better fill me in."
The door to Skobelev's office opened, and the guard returned with a tray and two mugs of steaming coffee. He put the mugs on the desk, one in front of Skobelev, and the other in front of Blenkochev. None for Anna.
