"I'd like to speak to Barrett," Austin said.
"This is Barrett. I programmed a woman's voice to take the place of mine."
"Aren't you taking this electronic cloak-and-dagger stuff a bit too far?"
"Hell, Kurt, you're not the one who got shot," Barrett said. "You don't know the kind of people you're dealing with."
"That's why I called. Do you think Gant and Margrave are open to reason?"
"Gant is about as reasonable as a rattlesnake. Tris could be reached, maybe, but he's so damned convinced of his righteous cause he doesn't care who he hurts. Why do you ask?"
Austin conveyed the gist of his conversation with Trout.
When Barrett's voice came back on, it had assumed its masculine mode. "I was afraid of something like this. Ohmigod. I'm responsible for the end of the world. I'm going to kill myself."
"If the world ends you won't have to," Austin said.
Barrett calmed down. "That's the most twisted logic I've ever heard."
"Thanks. Back to my original question. Do you think Gant or Margrave would react with the same alarm if I laid out the facts for them?"
"The difference is that I believe you. They'll think you're trying to throw a monkey wrench in their plans."
"It might be worth taking the chance. How do I get to them?"
"Gant's foundation has an office in Washington."
"I was thinking of something more casual."
"Let me think. I saw something in the paper. Gant is having some sort of private, charitable horsey thing on his estate. Maybe you can get into that. I may be able to help."
"That's a start. What about Margrave?"
"He rarely comes off of his island in Maine. He's developed a citadel mentality. He's got security people guarding the place, but I might have some ideas on how to get to him."
"It's worth a try. I'm going to do all I can to try to stop this before it gets to the trigger point. Are you still on the move?"
"Still living out of my sleeping bag. Call me when you get home."
Austin hung up, finished his coffee and was about to return to his cabin when Karla came into the mess hall. She seemed as surprised to see him as he was to see her. He beckoned her to his table.
She sat down and said, "I couldn't sleep."
"I can understand that. You've been through a lot in the last few days."
"Uncle Karl said that the men who murdered the expedition were after me. Something about a secret I supposedly know. I don't know what's going on, but I feel responsible for much of what has happened."
"It's not your fault. They think the secret was passed down from your grandfather, an electrical engineer named Lazlo Kovacs."
"You're mistaken. My grandfather's name was Janos, like mine."
Austin shook his head. "That was the name Kovacs assumed after he escaped from Germany at the end of World War Two."
"I don't understand."
"Your grandfather was being forced to work for the Nazis on electromagnetic weapons. He escaped from a secret lab shortly before the Russians overran East Prussia. He was apparently helped by a young member of the German resistance. The German's name was Karl."
"Uncle Karl! I always wondered what his connection was to my grandfather. They seemed so different yet so bound together."
"Now you know."
"This is insane! My grandfather never gave me any secret formula for a death ray or whatever it is they're looking for."
"You may know more than you know. Your paper on the extinction of the woolly mammoth hinted at deeper knowledge of his work."
"After the discovery of those creatures on the island, my paper is a joke. I can't wait to get back there to do some research."
"Petrov has vowed to work through academic rather than governmental circles to protect your furry friends. He's had some political trouble, and he thinks this will help his cause."
"I'm glad to hear that. But getting back to my grandfather, I went to him when I was in college with my theory of a cataclysmic extinction because he was the only scientist I knew. There was skepticism about a polar shift being possible. He said that it could happen, and had happened. That it could be caused by natural phenomena, or man-made, in the future, when the technology became available. He showed me some equations having to do with electromagnetism that he said proved his point. That's all. Later, when I was working on my thesis after his death, I incorporated his work into the paper."
"That's all he said on the subject?"
"Yes. We never really talked much about science. When my parents died, he became a father and mother to me. I remember him making up bedtime poems to get me to sleep." She sipped her coffee. "How did you and Joe happen to come to our rescue?"
"I heard from a reliable source that your life might be in danger because of your family connection."
"You rushed all the way from the other side of the world for that?"
"If I had known Uncle Karl had the situation pretty much in hand, I wouldn't have worried as much."
"Uncle Karl saved my life, but I'm afraid we were both on our last legs when you and Joe dropped down out of the sky. I'm puzzled. I thought NUMA studies the oceans."
"That's exactly why I'm here. There have been some strange disturbances in the sea that could have something to do with something your grandfather published. It was a set of equations called the Kovacs Theorems."
"I don't understand."
"You said Lazlo Kovacs theorized that electromagnetic transmissions could be used to trigger a polar shift. In the future."
"Yes, that's right."
"Well, the future is now."
"Who would want to do something like that? And why?"
Austin spread his hands. "I'm not sure. When we get back to Washington, I have someone Id like you to talk to. Maybe you can sort things out."
"I was hoping to stop in Fairbanks first."
"I'm afraid there isn't time for that. There may be a great deal at stake here."
"I understand. Even if I'm not responsible for what is going on, my family has had a hand in it, according to what you've told me. I'll do everything I can to set things right."
"I knew you'd say that. We'll make landfall tomorrow. A NUMA plane will take us back to Washington. My colleagues Gamay and Paul Trout have a town house in Georgetown, and I'm sure they'd be very happy to put you up. NUMA will foot the bill for any clothes you need."
Karla did an unexpected thing. She leaned across the table and kissed Austin lightly on the lips. "Thank you for all you've done for me and for Uncle Karl. I don't know how I can repay you."
Austin would normally have responded to an opening from a beautiful and intelligent woman like Karla with an invitation to dinner. But the move so surprised him that the best he could manage was a polite "You're welcome" and a suggestion that they get some sleep.
Karla told him that she wanted to stay up a few minutes longer, and that she'd see him in the morning. They shook hands and said good-night. As he left the mess hall, Austin looked back. Karla was resting her chin on her hands, apparently deep in thought. For all his philosophical reading, Austin was at a loss when it came to the working of fate. The gods must be laughing themselves to tears at their latest practical joke. They had locked the secret that could save the world in the finely sculpted head of a lovely young woman.
33
Gant considered the final moments of the foxhunt as the most sublime. The riotous red jackets, the horn blowing, the raucous tallyhos and the thundering hooves were merely a prelude to the moment of the truth that came when the baying hounds caught the terrified animal and tore it to bloody shreds.
The prey had been unusually resourceful. The wily animal splashed up a stream, ran along the top of a fallen tree and doubled back in an attempt to throw off its pursuers. But, in the end, the pack cornered the doomed animal against a thick privet hedge Gant had had planted to funnel hunted foxes to a dead end against a stone wall. Even then, the fox had attempted to defend itself b
efore being ripped to pieces.
Gant had sent the other hunters back to his house to celebrate the satisfying conclusion. He dismounted near the hedge, and relived the fox's final moments. The hunt was a savage practice, but he considered it a metaphor for what life was all about. The life-and-death struggle between the strong and the weak.
A horse whinnied. Gant looked up at a low hill and he scowled. A horseman was silhouetted against the blue sky. No one was supposed to be riding in his fields and meadows except the foxhunters. He remounted, dug his heels in and galloped up the hill.
The man watched Gant's approach from the saddle of a chestnut-colored Arabian. Unlike the red-jacketed foxhunters, he was dressed simply in faded jeans and turquoise polo shirt. A black baseball cap with a Harley-Davidson emblem on the crown covered his platinum-silver hair.
Gant brought his mount to a wheeling stop. "You're trespassing," he snapped. "This is private property."
The man appeared unruffled, and his light blue eyes barely flickered.
"Do tell," he said.
"I could have you arrested for breaking the law," Gant said, upping the ante.
The man's lips parted in a humorless smile. "And I could have you arrested for foxhunting. Even the Brits have banned it."
Gant wasn't used to being challenged. He stood in his stirrups. "I own more than two hundred acres of land and every living thing on it. I'll do whatever I want to do with my property." His hand went to a portable radio clipped to his jacket. "Will you leave on your own or do I have to call my security people?"
"No need to call in the cavalry. I know the way out. The animal rights people won't be happy when they hear that you've had your mutts chewing up the local wildlife."
"They're not mutts. They are purebred foxhounds. I paid a great deal of money to have them brought in from England."
The stranger nodded, and picked up his reins.
"Wait," Gant said. "Who are you?"
"Kurt Austin. I'm with the National Underwater and Marine Agency."
Gant almost fell off his horse with surprise. He recovered nicely, and pasted a fake smile on his lips.
"I always thought of NUMA in terms of sea horses, not Arabian mares, Mr. Austin."
"There's a lot you don't know about us, Mr. Gant."
Gant let a momentary flash of irritation show on his face. "You know my name."
"Of course. I came here to talk to you."
Gant laughed. "It wasn't necessary to trespass in order to see me. All you had to do was call my office for an appointment."
"Thanks. I'll do that. And when your secretary asks what I want to see you about, I'll say I'd like to talk to you about your plans to trigger a polar shift."
Austin had to hand it to Gant. The man was incredibly controlled. A slight tightening of his lips was his only reaction to Austin's bombshell.
"I'm afraid I would have to tell you that I wouldn't know what you were talking about."
"Maybe the Southern Belle might refresh your memory."
He shook his head. "A Mississippi riverboat, no doubt?"
"The Belle was a giant cargo ship. She was sunk by a couple of giant waves on a voyage to Europe."
"I'm the director of a foundation dedicated to fighting the global influence of multinational corporations. That's the closest I come to transoceanic commerce."
"Sorry for wasting your time," Austin said. "Maybe I should talk to Tris Margrave about this."
He rode off at a trot.
"Wait." Gant spurred his mount and caught up with him. "Where are you going?"
The Arabian halted, and Austin pivoted in the saddle. "I thought you wanted me off the property."
"I'm being very rude. I'd like to invite you back to the house for a drink."
Austin pondered the invitation. "It's a little early for a drink, but I'd settle for a glass of water."
"Splendid," Gant said. "Follow me."
He led Austin off the hill, and they rode through the meadows where horses grazed until they came to a tree-lined driveway that led to Gant's house. Austin had expected a mansion, but he was unprepared for the Tudor-style architectural monstrosity that loomed out of the Virginia countryside.
"Quite the shack," he said. "The foundation must pay you well, Mr. Gant."
"I was a successful international businessman before I saw the error of my ways and organized the Global Interest Network."
"Nice to have a hobby."
Gant replied with a white-toothed smile.
"It's no hobby, Mr. Austin. I'm quite dedicated to my work."
They dismounted and handed the reins to the grooms, who led the horses to an area where a number of horse trailers were clustered.
Gant noticed Austin watching his horse being led away. "They'll take good care of your mount. Nice-looking animal, by the way."
"Thanks. I borrowed her for a few hours to take a ride over here."
"I was wondering about that," Gant said. "How did you get past my security fence? I've got cameras and alarms all over the place."
"Just lucky, I guess," Austin said with a straight face.
Gant suspected that Austin made his own luck, but he didn't press the matter. He'd take it up with Doyle. His security chief was making his way toward them. He glanced at Austin, the only person not dressed for the foxhunt. "Is there a problem, Mr. Gant?"
"Not at all. This is Kurt Austin. He's my guest. Remember his face so you'll recognize him the next time you see him."
Doyle smiled, but the eyes that studied Austin's face were as pitiless as a viper's.
Gant led Austin to a spacious patio where a crowd of red jackets had gathered. The intrepid hunters were drinking from champagne flutes and laughing as they relived the morning's kill. The gathering was exclusively male and high-powered. Austin didn't spend a lot of time in Washington, but he recognized the faces of a number of politicians, government officials and lobbyists. Gant was apparently well plugged in to the Beltway establishment.
Gant ushered him along a gravel path to a polished marble table set off by itself in the corner of an English garden. He ordered a servant to bring them a pitcher of ice water, and invited Austin to take a seat.
Austin sat down, placed his cap on the table and looked around. "I didn't know there were any private foxhunting clubs left in Virginia."
"There are no hunt clubs, at least not officially. We're simply a bunch of old friends trying to keep alive a dying old English custom."
"That's commendable. I've always felt sad that the English custom of public drawing and quartering went by the boards as well."
Gant chuckled. "We're both busy men, so let's not waste time on ancient history. What can I do for you?"
"Cancel your plans for a polar reversal."
"I'll humor you and pretend that I know what you're talking about, Mr. Austin. Why would I want to cancel this so-called reversal?"
"Because if you don't, you could be putting the entire world in jeopardy."
"How's that?"
"I don't know why you're interested in creating a shift of the magnetic poles. Maybe you're just getting bored with slaughtering innocent animals. But what you don't know is that a magnetic shift will trigger a geologic movement of the earth's crust. The impact will be catastrophic."
Gant stared at Austin for a moment. Then he laughed until his eyes brimmed with tears. "That's quite the science fiction plot, Mr. Austin. The end of the world?"
"Or close to it," Austin said in a voice that left no doubt as to his seriousness. "The ocean disturbances that sunk the Southern Belle and one of your own transmitter ships were minor harbingers of the damage to come. I was hoping you would see reason and halt your plans."
Gant's jovial expression disappeared, to be replaced by a sardonic smile and a raised eyebrow. Pinioning Austin in a level gaze, he said, "Here's what I see, Mr. Austin. I see someone who has concocted a tall tale for reasons that escape me."
"Then my warnings haven't made a dent in your plans." Aust
in's question came out as a statement.
The servant arrived with a pitcher and two glasses.
"I'm curious, Mr. Austin, what made you think I was involved in some bizarre plot?"
"I heard it from the Spider's mouth."
"Pardon?"
"Spider Barrett, the man who developed the polar shift mechanism."
"This Barrett person has been telling you tales as strange as his name."
"I don't think so. He and his partner, Margrave, are geniuses who have the money and talent to prove it. I'm not sure where you fit in."
"You can be sure of one thing, Austin. You made a mistake coming here."
"I was thinking the same thing." Austin picked up his cap and put it on his lap. "You're obviously not interested in anything I have to say. I'll be on my way. Thanks for the water."
He stood and plunked the cap on his head. Gant rose and said, "I'll have someone get your horse."
Oiled by large amounts of alcohol, the boisterous conversation on the patio was becoming even louder. Gant signaled a groom and told him to bring the Arabian to Austin, who pulled himself up on the saddle. Doyle saw him preparing to leave and came over. He held on to the reins as if he were helping.
"I can find my own way out, Mr. Gant. Thanks for your hospitality."
"You'll have to come back when you can spend more time."
"I'll do that."
He nudged the horse with his knees, and it shouldered Doyle out of the way. Doyle was a city boy, and the only horses he had been close to before coming to work for Gant were the ones ridden by Boston's mounted police. He released the reins and stepped back so he wouldn't be stepped on. Austin caught the fear in Doyle's face and he smiled. He flipped the reins and galloped away from the house.
Doyle watched Austin ride away. His features were as hard as granite. "Do you want me to take care of him?"
"Not here. Not now. Have someone follow him. I'd like to find out how he got onto the property."
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