She stopped dead as a dazzlingly bright light suddenly glared out from the hatch and the sound of clanking gears and grinding metal filled the room. Sam saw the horrified expression on her face and knew that she had immediately realized what was going on, but he had not. He stared wildly around at the rest of the group, hoping for a clue, but all he saw was face after face wearing a confused expression to match his own. The only person not looking confused was Purdue—because Purdue was not there. A moment later, neither was Nina. She lunged forward and raced down the ladder into the newly lit room. It only took seconds for the others to follow Nina's lead.
The clanking and grinding were coming from a circular metal door at the far end of the room, which was slowly opening. Purdue was standing beside the switch, a look of manic glee on his face. She's going to wipe that smile off his face, poor bastard, Sam thought as he saw Nina storming across the floor toward Purdue. The noise from the mechanism was deafeningly loud, making it impossible for him to hear what Nina was yelling at Purdue, but their host did not look in the least disturbed. In fact he appeared to be laughing at her, which was just infuriating her all the more.
"—get us all killed, you fucking lunatic!" Nina concluded as the mechanism completed its process and the room went silent once more. They all stared at the open door.
"Well?" Nina fumed. "Since you're the one who's so determined to find out what's in there, aren't you going to lead the way?"
"Why, certainly!" The delight in Purdue's voice was clear. Either he was certain that what lay beyond the door would impress Nina to the point where she would cease to be angry with him, or he was simply incredibly sanguine about her wrath—Sam could not quite decide which he thought was the case. One way or the other, Purdue was clearly excited and champing at the bit to explore. With Ziv Blomstein at his shoulder, he strode into the tunnel. Despite the misgivings she had expressed, Nina was not far behind, and Sam decided that he had little to lose by following along with his camera.
What they saw was another rock structure, this one clearly manmade, because it lacked the watered smoothness of the main chamber. It formed a short tunnel, at the end of which was another circular metal door. It put Sam in mind of the doors you would find on a safe or a vault, complete with a dial waiting for a combination. However, it seemed that the combination was not the only thing required to unlock it. The handle itself was locked into a recess in the door, only to be released by means of a key—but clearly not an ordinary key. The object required to fit the keyhole would, it seemed, be something circular, but with bulbous teeth at the top. The shape seemed familiar, yet Sam could not place it . . .
"It might take a short while," Purdue was saying, still bickering with Nina, "but I could crack this combination. I doubt it would be more than a day."
"You know, if it keeps you occupied while the rest of us explore this place, leaving you here to fiddle with the lock probably isn't a bad idea. Perhaps that's what this room is—a crèche for dangerous idiots!" Nina stomped off to the other end of the room—a gesture that would have been much more powerful in a larger space. Sam and Fatima both went after her, leaving the rest of the group to gather around Purdue as he began talking them through the possible workings of the lock.
"I'm fine," Nina sighed, shrugging off the comforting arm that Fatima tried to put around her. "Honestly. I'm ok. It's just so bloody frustrating! First Matlock and the fact that everything that man does has to be a pissing contest, then Alexandr suddenly taking his side, then Purdue . . . I'm not crazy, am I?" She glanced imploringly from Fatima to Sam and back again. "It's dangerous. It really is. We're underground, we know there's got to be a flood mechanism for the pens, and we're just pushing buttons and throwing switches—am I the only person here who doesn't want to end up drowning under here? God, I need a cigarette."
"Me too," Sam said. "Look, let's go and take a few pictures of this door and then head back upstairs. We can shift our stuff into some of the officers' quarters and then you'll have somewhere to smoke."
"He's right, Nina," said Fatima. "It'll be good to break out into individual rooms, so we'll all have a little more space. Come and take a look at the door first, though. Sam will need you to tell him which details to focus on."
Biting back her anger, Nina pushed her hands through her hair, took a couple of deep breaths and forced herself to look calm. Then she led Sam and Fatima over to the door, pushing past Purdue and the others with a swift, barely civil explanation that Sam should be allowed to photograph the door as they found it, before anyone started fooling about with it. Working to her instructions, Sam took shots of the door as a whole, of its hinges, its seals, the dial, and the strange lock. Then he, Fatima, and Nina left Purdue and the others to play safe-cracker while they went to claim rooms in the officers' quarters.
"That's better." Nina blew out a long stream of smoke and stretched out on the bottom bunk. She handed the cigarette packet to Sam, who was unpacking the contents of his rucksack into drawers. "So what made you choose this room? The ones at the other end of the corridor are nicer."
Sam shrugged. "The wee bit of me that's still six years old couldn't pass up the chance to get the top bunk. Besides, everyone will pick rooms at that end. I fancied a bit of distance."
"Makes sense. God, I love being able to smoke indoors." She eyed his attempts at unpacking with amusement. "Sam, is that what you call unpacking? If you're not going to organize your stuff, what's the point in taking it out of the rucksack?"
"There's a system!" Sam shoved a handful of socks into the bottom drawer. "Clothes in here, stuff that isn't clothes in the drawer above. Camera and general Nazi memorabilia stay on the top." He retrieved the little pouch that had belonged to Kruger from the depths of his pack. "Look, I could even make a little display with them." One by one, he took out the little brass pieces and arranged them on top of the pouch—first the tiny cog, then the thin disc, the cylinder, and the brass ring.
Nina picked the ring up for a closer look. "This is such a strange piece," she said. "It looks like a little one-finger knuckleduster, don't you think?" She slipped it onto the middle finger of her right hand and drew back her fist as if to punch Sam.
"You can take the girl out of the west coast of Scotland . . ." Sam teased. He caught Nina's hand as it arced in a lazy, slow-motion punch toward his jaw. Then his gaze fell on the ring, and realization hit him far harder than Nina ever would. "Is that . . . ? Give it here!" He flapped urgently at Nina, who tugged the ring off her finger and gave it back to him.
"What?" she asked. "What is it?"
Sam grabbed his camera and began flicking back through the images on his view screen. When he came to the close-up of the strange keyhole, he held it out to Nina. "You don't think this would fit, do you?" He held up the ring next to the little screen, inviting her comparison.
"I'm not sure." Nina scrutinized both the image and the ring. "It does look like it's about the right shape and size, and it's not as if we have any idea what else it does. Want to give it a try?"
"What did I tell you?" Purdue was yelling at the top of his lungs when Sam and Nina re-entered the tunnel. "I told you it would be easy!" He was capering from foot to foot, fists above his head in celebration, wearing a face-splitting grin. The others were cheering and congratulating him. Evidently he had cracked the code—yet the door remained obstinately closed.
"Surely that's a partial victory?" Sam could not resist playing devil's advocate for a moment. "It's still shut."
Regaining his composure, Purdue gave Sam a look of polite annoyance. "I did not say that I would open it, Mr. Cleave—only that I would work out the combination. That much I have done."
"But how do you know, if the door's still shut?"
"By the feel and the noise, Mr. Cleave. One by one I could hear the tumblers fall into place, and now the dial has sprung forward ever so slightly. It is minute, but it is enough. Now all we need is to find something that can serve as a key and we can discover what—"
Without a word, Nina stepped forward and slotted her single-finger knuckleduster into the key slot. It clicked into place and the handle popped out, unlocked, and ready to be turned.
"Moment of truth, Dave," she murmured, looking Purdue straight in the eye and daring him to open the door. He shot his cuffs, stepped forward, and closed his fingers around the handle, drawing out the drama of the moment. The door creaked and complained as he tried to pull it open, protesting after years of not being touched. In the end, Ziv Blomstein had to step in and provide the muscle. At last, after a good three minutes of the two men working against the stiff hinges, it stood open before them, revealing a brightly-lit white corridor. No corrugated metal or smoothed stone here—this looked like a much better maintained and more permanent structure. With Blomstein at his shoulder, Purdue was the first to step through.
"Freeze!" A voice rang out from the corridor. "Down on the ground! All of you! On the ground right now!"
Sam saw a horde of black-uniformed soldiers sweeping toward the group from the other end of the corridor, wielding machine guns. Immediately obedient, he dropped to the floor and lay as still as he could while numerous pairs of heavy army boots tramped past his head.
Chapter 18
THE SOLDIERS SWARMED in and swiftly confiscated Blomstein's gun, the only visible weapon the group had. "Who's in charge here?" the major barked.
That's a good point, Sam thought. Who actually is in charge of this group? He raised his head as much as he dared to see who stepped up.
Purdue was the first to speak. "You can speak to me," he said. "I commissioned this expedition and am ultimately responsible for it."
"Then I'll ask you to get to your feet, sir," the major said. As Purdue straightened up, two soldiers briskly patted him down. "What is your purpose here, sir?"
"I could ask you the same thing," Purdue blustered. He waved grandly at the rest of the group. "We are a group of scientists and historians who came in search of Ice Station Wolfenstein, to verify its existence and learn its secrets. And you are?"
The major regarded Purdue with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. "I am not at liberty to tell you that, sir. Please ask the rest of your party to stand so that we can check for weapons."
Purdue did not actually repeat the command, but everyone had heard it clearly and no one was in the mood to argue. Even Blomstein restricted himself to simply eyeing the newcomers suspiciously. The major began firing off questions about which countries they had come from, the exact nature of their business, and of course their names and professional capacities. One by one they answered, until he came to Admiral Whitsun. As soon as the old man gave his name, the major snapped to attention and saluted him.
"Might I be permitted to ask your name?" Admiral Whitsun asked.
"Major Erik Alfsson, sir!"
"Major Alfsson, could we speak for a moment in private? Perhaps we could step into the next room . . ."
For the briefest of moments the young major looked flustered. Encountering a man who outranked him was evidently not something he had anticipated. However, he pulled himself together and bellowed a few more instructions at his men, telling them to keep everyone else in the room and delegating his second-in-command to take the remaining names.
"This is so stupid!" Nina hurled a balled-up pair of socks at the wall, then tutted as they fell to the floor instead of bouncing back toward her. "We've come all the way here and now these soldiers or mercenaries or whatever they are aren't going to let us get anywhere near the most interesting stuff. What are they even doing here?"
"Don't know," said Sam. "I suppose the base is still operational in some way or other. Maybe scientific research of some kind."
"I wouldn't think so," Fatima chimed in. She got up from the bottom bunk, picked up the socks and tossed them over to Nina, who was leaning against the wall at the far end of the room. "I've been in plenty of research stations in my time, but they don't usually have soldiers crawling all over them. Not unless you're in an area that's on some kind of high alert."
"Could this place be on high alert?" Sam asked.
Fatima shook her head. "I don't know. I guess it could be. But I haven't heard of any territorial disputes or anything that would explain those guys. Word tends to get around among those of us who work at the bases. And those guys look serious."
Sam nodded. He did not want to mention his fears to the others, but he was growing increasingly concerned. If this place was crawling with soldiers, then someone, somewhere had something to hide. And if that was the case, then they were all too close to it for comfort. The smart thing to do would be to kill us all, he thought. We might not have seen whatever it is that they're hiding here, but we know this place really exists now and that's dangerous enough. The most sensible option would be to make sure we never get home. Just another expedition lost in harsh conditions. It happens. No one would question it much. My guess is that each and every one of us will get a bullet in our heads some time tonight.
They had been escorted back to the officers' quarters as soon as all of their details had been noted. The march back up the stairs had been brisk and efficient, but with no overt malice or threat from the strange soldiers. Once they reached the quarters they had been informed that they could move freely from room to room, provided they did not attempt to leave the corridor until further notice. At mealtimes they would be escorted to the refectory and back. This would continue, they were told, until orders came through. They had not said who these orders would be from. The rest of the brass pieces from Harald Kruger's box had been confiscated.
"Who are they, anyway?" Nina wondered aloud. "The one who was talking to us first, Major Whatshisname, he sounded American."
Fatima shook her head. "No, he sounded like someone who learned English from an American," she said. "I'd guess he's Scandinavian. But did you hear the others? It's a whole mix of accents—and languages. The two who are posted at the far end of the corridor, along by my room? They're Israeli. I heard them. With a mix like that, I would guess they're private military contractors—PMCs—like the Blackwater guys."
"That doesn't sound good." Nina reached for the cigarettes.
"Don't let it worry you!" Fatima was just a little too quick to reassure Nina, Sam noticed. "I know it all sounds shady as hell, but it's ok. I've been to a couple of places that had PMCs around and it was fine. Remember I told you about that time when I was working in the Indian Ocean, at that research base in Sri Lanka, and there were those endangered turtles and they were having real trouble with poachers? There was a PMC unit stationed there to keep the poaching under control. I talked to some of the staff at the base about it and they said it was fine. They still obey all the same rules as normal soldiers—you know, the Geneva Convention and international sanctions and all that stuff."
Sam silently accepted the cigarettes from Nina and lit one. He had been meaning to talk to her about rationing their supplies, because they did not know how long it would be before they finally got to Neumayer and more cigarettes were available to buy. Now there seemed to be little point. Fatima may have been correct about the legitimate PMCs that she had encountered before, but Sam knew from his dealings with the arms ring that there were also shady, disreputable contractors who had little respect for the rules and would do whatever they were being paid to do, and they wouldn't balk at killing off a few academics and dilettantes who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. If his experience of mercenary soldiers was anything to go by, they would be as well to smoke their cigarettes while they still could.
It was another hour before they were called out of their rooms and herded down the stairs. This is it, Sam thought. Either these guys like to eat their tea really early, or we're about to die. Bruich, I hope you'll be happy living with your Uncle Paddy. Trish . . . Looks like I'll see you soon.
His worst suspicions seemed to be confirmed when they were marched straight past the refectory and down toward the docking room. Sam's head was full of visions of t
hem being lined up next to one of the flooded pens, ready to be executed. Their bodies would fall forward into the water, then the system would be activated so that the water flowed back out into the ocean, carrying their corpses with it.
Instead, they were taken through the room, past the U-boats, down the ladder, and back to the corridor where they had been stopped. They kept going, into the unknown corridors that they had seen so briefly. The image in Sam's head changed. Is there an exit down here? he wondered. That would be another way to do it. We don't even have our jackets on. If they kick us out into the snow we'll all be dead before long. Then, what, they scatter our stuff around and make it look like we were trying to set up a camp and didn't quite make it? Make it look like some weird, Dyatlov Pass kind of mystery? I'd have thought the ocean would be a better bet—a complete disappearance would be better than some big mystery. Unless they've got something they can use for easy disposal stashed around here somewhere. An incinerator, maybe? Who knows? I suppose it could be anything in a place like this.
Finally they arrived in a long, white room with a large table. It looked like some kind of meeting room, lined with notice boards that had been stripped of their signs. The group was instructed to sit and wait for Major Alfsson to join them. It was only then, sitting around the table, that Sam realized that Admiral Whitsun was not with them. He saw some of the others realizing the same thing, looking puzzled, displaying varying degrees of concern. Most of them were visibly alarmed by the presence of the soldiers, though Jefferson in particular was trying hard not to show it. Even Purdue looked troubled, although Sam suspected that this was more to do with being told what to do than anything else. Only Alexandr remained inscrutable and even slightly amused, but it seemed that danger brought him to life.
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