by David Meyer
"You mean like terrorism?"
"It's possible." He paused. "May I ask you a question?"
"Go for it."
"Why are you here?"
"Didn't you read my application?"
"Yes, but I know better than to trust anyone associated with Dutch. So, I did my own research. I know who you are, what you do."
"Is that right?"
"Yes."
I didn't say anything.
"I noticed you claimed prior experience at McMurdo. But you've never been there, have you?"
I shook my head.
"So, you lied about that too."
"I didn't have much of a choice. I know the policies around here. All newcomers are supposed to go through orientation and take a bunch of training courses before hitting the field." I shrugged. "I have better things to do with my time."
"Training saves lives."
"I can handle myself."
"You probably could, couldn't you?" He stared at me for a long moment. "Well, let's get going."
"Where to?"
"To Kirby. I want to take care of its power problems once and for all."
I gaped at him. "You're taking us with you?"
"Just for a day or two."
"Why?"
"You earned it." He hesitated. "Plus, Liza called from the lunchroom. Seems she ran into you guys. She, uh, suggested I let you stay."
"So, how do we get to Kirby? Helicopter?"
"Too much trouble. I'll take you in my Sno-Cat."
"What about the Desolation?"
"What about it?"
"Don't you have to, I don't know, handle the fallout?"
"Liza is heading up our investigation." Baxter walked toward the door. "That frees me up to go to Kirby. But let's get one thing straight. I don't trust you. And I'm not letting you out of my sights until I find out why you and Dutch are really here."
PART II
Kirby Station
Chapter 14
Johnny Richards awoke with a start. His eyes opened. He saw flickering light. But everything else was blurry.
He blinked. Lines firmed up and joined together. Shapes appeared before his eyes. But they weren't the shapes he'd expected to see. There was no crane, no cargo containers. Instead he saw a curtain, medical instruments, and a small bedside table.
The air was warm, a far cry from the snowy tundra. He felt the cot beneath his body, the pillow beneath his head. He smelled disinfectant and chemicals. Apple juice too.
He rested for a few minutes. His strength returned, albeit at an excruciatingly slow pace. But his mind remained fuzzy. What had happened? Why was his body not responding to his brain?
A door opened and closed. "Hello Johnny."
Richards turned his head. His eyes studied the speaker. "Raven?"
"Yes."
All of a sudden, everything came back to him. The deal. The subterfuge. The blinding light. The deafening boom. Richards tried to speak. But his throat was too parched. "P … p … please." He swallowed. "Water."
Raven walked to a sink. Moments later, he returned with a cup of water. He tilted Richards' chin.
Liquid splashed into Richards' throat. It was warm and tasted like metal. But he didn't care. Greedily, he consumed every last drop.
Raven set the cup down. "How are you feeling?"
"Terrible. Where am I?"
"Fitzgerald Station."
"What happened?"
"The Desolation exploded."
Richards winced. "The crew …?"
"You and I are the only survivors."
"But how …?"
"It's a mystery. But it looks like terrorism."
"Terrorism?"
"The explosion was huge. It tore your ship apart."
"I don't understand."
"I'll explain everything later. But right now, I need to know if you told anyone about our arrangement."
Richards groaned as a bit of pain flooded his body. He had a feeling it was going to get worse before it got better. "No, I'm a man of my word."
"Are you sure? What about the guy who rescued you? Did you say anything to him?"
"I don't even remember being rescued."
"It's okay if you said something. I'm not going to be mad, not after what you've been through. I just want to be prepared."
Memories nagged at the back of Richards' mind. But they were cloudy. He closed his eyes and tried to piece them together. "I remember waving from the deck. And I can remember someone picking me up, yelling at me. But that's it."
"You're sure?"
"As sure as I can be."
Raven smiled. "Thank you."
Richards saw the hands reaching toward his neck. He shrank backward. But they didn't touch him. Instead, they grabbed the pillow and pulled it out from under his head. "What are you—?"
The pillow slammed into his face.
He screamed but the pillow muffled the sound. He tried to fight back, to gain some breathing room.
But the pillow just pressed tighter around his face.
His energy drained away.
His arms fell limp.
His eyes closed.
And then his brain shut down for good.
Chapter 15
"I can't see a damn thing." Graham looked out the windshield. "Have you got maps in case we get lost?"
"Maps?" Baxter shook his head. "Some things never change."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're still a Luddite. Haven't you ever heard of a GPS device?"
"That's all well and good. But what do you do when the power goes out?"
"Fortunately, we don't have to worry about that very often. We employ the latest technology here. Anyway we'll be fine as long as we stay on the road."
I stared at the snow as they continued to bicker. It fell at an incredible pace. It was quiet yet majestic and I wanted to lose myself in it. But the sun had other ideas. Its rays reflected off the powder, causing a harsh glare to shoot across the ice.
"How far is the drive?" I asked.
The Sno-Cat jolted as Baxter directed it forward. "One hundred and sixty miles."
"How long will it take?"
"Could be six hours, could be twelve. Depends on conditions. The maximum speed limit is twenty-five miles per hour. But we'll be lucky to get that high. The road is compacted ice, like the South Pole Traverse. We built it by leveling the snow and filling in the crevasses. Unfortunately, it requires a lot of maintenance. So, it has good days and bad days."
"What happens if we get stuck?"
"Then we'll make camp for the night."
"But we don't have any equipment."
"Relax." He jabbed his thumb at the cargo space. "I'm prepared for everything. I've got extra fuel canisters, a tent, sleeping bags, mats, space blankets, first-aid kits, tools, camp stoves, and enough freeze dried food to last us a week. I've even got hot chocolate."
"How about water?"
"Have you looked outside lately?" He gave me a disdainful glance. "We've got plenty of water. Just requires the camp stove to melt it."
Silence fell over the cab. I sat quietly for a few minutes, scrunched tightly between Baxter and Graham. I could practically feel the hatred, the enmity between them.
Six to twelve hours? Of this?
Chapter 16
"So, who is Beverly Ginger?" Baxter asked.
I did my best to mask my surprise. "Who?"
"Cut the crap. It wasn't hard to find her on another manifest, seeing as how she's also claiming to be a geomorphologist from New York University."
I rubbed my eyes. We'd been on the road for hours. I wasn't sure how long exactly. But it felt like an eternity. "We work together."
"How does Jeff Morin fit into the picture?"
"I don't know him."
He looked at me. "Jeff's a guide."
"Like I said, I don't know him."
Baxter produced his satellite phone. "What do you say we ask him if he knows you?"
I
shrugged.
Baxter dialed a number.
I held my breath. Not because of Morin. I'd told the truth when I'd said I didn't know him. Instead, I was apprehensive about talking to Beverly. Several weeks had passed since our last encounter. I knew I had to speak to her again. But I wasn't exactly looking forward to it.
Baxter attempted to raise Morin for a few seconds. But there was no answer. With a frustrated grunt, he stuffed the phone back into his pocket.
I kept my eyes on the landscape as we drove further south. The blowing snow limited my visibility. But every now and then a gust of wind would give me a glimpse of the beautiful, lonely expanse.
"Tell me about your profession," Baxter said. "Your real one."
I frowned. I'd been waiting the entire ride for this exact moment. But I still felt unprepared.
In polite company, I referred to myself as a private archaeologist. It was true enough. Plus, it allowed me to avoid dirty looks and accusations. But my former colleagues had plenty of other names for people like me.
Grave robber. Tomb raider. Relic thief. Artifact Looter. History destroyer.
And those were just the nice ones.
"I'm a treasure hunter," I replied.
"You think there's treasure here?"
"I didn't say that."
"Well, there's not."
I turned my attention back to the landscape. I noticed a few rock exposures, mostly situated around the mountains. A brilliant white cloak covered the rest of the icy land. Much of it appeared flat at a distance. But up close, it looked highly textured, like tiny waves.
After another hour of staring at the ice, my eyes started to ache. My body grew stiff. The constant sunshine threw off my internal clock.
The wind whipped and whirled, sending particles of snow hurtling into the windshield. My visibility declined but I had no trouble seeing the bright red flags marking the route. They were mounted on tall posts and flapped madly, shifting constantly with the winds.
Flags were funny things. At first glance, they appeared weak. They were at the mercy of the weather. And yet, their ability to bend was what gave them strength. A storm could destroy almost anything. But a flag, properly mounted and secured, could withstand the strongest winds.
The same couldn't be said for people. Compromise of one's ideals and beliefs didn't strengthen a person.
It weakened him.
My resolve stiffened. I didn't care what Baxter said. The Amber Room was located on the frozen continent. I didn't just believe it. I knew it. Nothing was going to change my mind.
A tiny light, a beacon amidst the bleakness, appeared out of nowhere. I shielded my eyes as Baxter took his foot off the accelerator.
"That's Kirby Station," he barked. "We'll be there in a couple of minutes."
We drew closer. A strange saucer-shaped building materialized. As I stared at it, I found myself faced with an uncomfortable truth. I'd collected substantial evidence showing the Nazis had stashed the Amber Room in some kind of vault known as Werwolfsschanze. That evidence was largely circumstantial. And yet, I believed in it all the same.
I had little use for skepticism or questions. For the first time in my life, I wasn't acting like an archaeologist or even a treasure hunter.
I was acting like a true believer.
Chapter 17
"Before we go inside, there's something I should tell you." Baxter directed the Sno-Cat into a vehicle shed. "No one comes to Antarctica for the social life. But only the true hermits end up at Kirby."
Graham zipped up his parka. "Sounds like a friendly place."
"Let me put it this way. The scientists at Fitzgerald are chomping at the bit to show off their work. That doesn't happen here. The Whitlows and Crazy Roy prefer to work in solitude. If you stick your nose in their business, they'll cut if off."
I climbed out of the vehicle. I heard humming machines and mechanical rumblings. And yet, the vehicle shed was freezing cold. It was like the machines were sucking every last bit of heat out of the air.
We exited the shed and tromped across the snow. Kirby was shaped like a giant saucer with rounded edges and a gleaming silvery surface. A spider web of hefty tubes snaked out of its sides and plunged deep into the ground. Even from a distance, it felt frosty and impersonal. It reminded me of a 1960s vision of futuristic architecture.
I carried my bag up a flight of stairs and entered the building. The common room was spacious, yet uncomfortable. Large curving windows let in too much sunlight. White sofas and chairs, decked out in fluffy blue pillows, felt hard to the touch. White coffee tables were too small to be of much use.
Two hallways led away from the common room. The sign above one hallway read Work. The sign above the other one read Residential.
Baxter pulled off his parka. "Welcome to Kirby."
"I've seen morgues with more personality," Graham said.
Baxter ignored him. "Thanks to the aerodynamic design and anchoring, Kirby can withstand winds of up to two hundred miles per hour. I'm also proud to say it's a zero emission base. Other than the vehicles, all of its energy needs are supplied via solar and wind power."
"No wonder you've got so many blackouts."
Baxter's face clouded over.
"Hello." A girly voice sounded out. "Am I interrupting something?"
I glanced over my shoulder. A woman leaned against one of the couches. She wore a white t-shirt and jeans. Her shiny black hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail. A light layer of shadow accentuated her big bold eyes. Blush gave her youthful cheeks a rosy glow. Gloss, pink and juicy, covered her lips.
I blinked a few times. Since arriving in Antarctica, I'd seen all types of women. But none of them, not even Liza Baxter, had worn makeup.
"Holly!" Baxter gave her a hug. "We never see you anymore. How are you holding up?"
"I'm fine." She returned the hug. "How's Liza?"
"She's good. She sends her regards by the way. Unfortunately, she had to stay behind to take care of some unfortunate business."
"I heard all about the Desolation. It's so sad."
"It could be worse. One man survived." He waved at us. "Speaking of which, I'd like you to meet some people. They work with Beverly Ginger."
Holly pushed a strand of hair away from her face. "Hello."
Graham grasped her hand. "Dutch Graham."
"Holly Whitlow." Her gaze turned toward me. "And you are …?"
As I reached for her palm, traces of peach wafted into my nose. She wore the perfect amount of perfume, just enough to confuse the senses. "Cy Reed. Nice to meet you."
"What happened to your eye?"
"It's a long story." Her grip was soft, almost sensual. I could feel her individual fingers pressed against my hand. "We met your husband. You're a zoologist?"
"Sure am."
A yawn escaped my lips. "By the way, does anyone have the time?"
"It's time for bed," Baxter said. "I'm going to make some calls. Holly, can you show them to their room?"
She nodded.
As Baxter walked away, Holly gave me another glance. "Are you with those other guys who are coming here?"
I gave her a quizzical look.
"Dan Trotter and Ted Ayers."
"No." My bruised eye pulsed. "But we've met."
Footsteps scuffled across the floor. Then Rupert Whitlow strode into the room. He wore a sweat-wicking compression shirt and workout shorts. Sweat glistened from his brow.
Holly's voice lost some of its warmth. "When did you get here?"
"Maybe an hour ago," he replied. "I figured I'd grab a quick workout."
"I thought you were staying late to pick up the newbies."
"Actually, I got lucky. Another person is coming here. His name is Aaron Jenner. There wasn't enough room in the Sno-Cat for all of us plus the crate. So, Jim and I split up. He won't get here for a few hours yet." He glanced at us. "What are you guys doing here? I thought you were leaving."
"Change of plans," I replied.
"Glad to hear it."
"Next time, let me know you're back." A cold smile crept over Holly's face. "Can you do me a favor?"
"Sure, babe. Anything."
She swept her dainty hand at us. "Help them with their luggage."
"Don't worry," I said. "We'll be fine."
"It's no problem." Rupert gathered up our bags. "I'll put them in your room."
Holly waited for him to leave. "I love him to death. But sometimes he just drives me crazy."
Graham arched an eyebrow at me.
"How long have you been married?" I asked.
"Six years."
"It must be hard living here. I know I'd get a little stir crazy after awhile."
"I like my privacy." She smiled. "But meeting new people is fun too."
"Have you spent a lot of time with Beverly so far?"
"She's only stopped in a few times. I think she's building some sort of field camp with Jeff Morin."
Baxter jogged into the common room. His face looked somber. "I've got bad news."
We turned to look at him.
"Johnny didn't make it."
I inhaled sharply. "What happened?"
"Dr. Shay doesn't know. In fact, she's a little mystified by it." Baxter scowled. "Apparently, he was doing better before he died."
"Did you know him well?" I asked.
"Not really. But he was a decent guy."
"Any leads on what caused the explosion?"
"Johnny was our only witness to it." Baxter scowled again. "Without him, we'll probably never know the truth."
Chapter 18
I didn't want to wake Graham. He'd snuck off to our room while I'd questioned Baxter about Johnny Richards' death. So, I cracked the door and peeked into the interior. I saw his shadowy figure standing in one corner. He held a tiny flashlight in one hand and a map in the other one.
I flicked a switch, causing a single halogen light to fire up.
Graham glanced in my direction. "I don't think I mentioned this before, but you look like hell."
"Thanks." I dragged myself into the room. It was outfitted with a built-in bunk bed, two tall dressers, and a closet.
The one thing the room lacked was a window. It made sense, what with the unrelenting sunshine during the summer months. But I still wished we had one. There was something about a window that made a place feel homey. Without it, I might as well have been living in a basement.
