Frozen Fire

by Evans, Bill; Jameson, Marianna

  10:30 A.M., Sunday, October 26, Embassy of Taino, Washington, D.C.

  Charlie and Tim left for the press room, and Victoria went back to her suite. She had barely started to wrap her mind around the increasingly bizarre situation she was facing when her cell phone rang. Gritting her teeth and wishing for a single undisturbed minute so she could just breathe, she picked it up and looked at the small blue screen. UNKNOWN CALLER was spelled out in deepest black. She was sorely tempted to let the call go to voice mail; she was that sick of unknowns.

  Not bothering to take a deep breath because she knew nothing would help to settle her nerves, she pressed a button and lifted the phone to her ear. “Victoria Clark.”

  “Ms. Clark.”

  The voice was all too recognizable and made her already flat mood deflate further.

  “Mr. Taylor. What can I do for you?”

  “You can tell me what your fearless leader is up to on the seafloor,” he snapped.

  “Mr. Taylor, this isn’t a secure line.”

  “Then call me from a secure phone at the number I gave you yesterday. Immediately.”

  Staring at the silent phone in her hand, Victoria felt a fresh wave of hot anger run through her. I’ve had enough of being pushed around.

  She walked to the telephone sitting on the desk and grabbed the handset.

  “May I help you, Secretary Clark?”

  “Yes. I need a secure line,” she said crisply, knowing that Charlie had removed any such privacy from the list of luxuries to which she was entitled.

  “Please tell me the number you wish to call.”

  Forcing herself to remain calm, she read the number off the card and waited for the connection. She was gripping the handset so hard her hand started to ache before the call was answered—which was before the first ring had ended.

  “Mr. Taylor, it’s Victoria Clark. May I ask just what you are—”

  “I’m talking about the methane that’s churning to the surface and turning the sea to foam approximately one mile off Taino’s southwestern shore,” he snapped.

  She caught her breath. Her mouth was too dry to formulate a reply, not that she’d be able to speak anyway given the fear squeezing her chest.

  A methane release could only mean one thing: Something was catastrophically wrong with the mining operation. There was no other explanation. The structures were designed to ensure that every movement of the material was through sealed and reinforced conduits. The entire operation was engineered to shut down if any failure was detected anywhere in the system.

  “I take it that you know what I’m talking about,” Tom continued after a minute pause. “I want to know what the hell Cavendish is up to, and I want to know now. Because whatever it is, it’s gone seriously wrong, Ms. Clark. An unidentified methane-based compound is rising from the seafloor to the surface at high pressure, and it’s turning the sea surface to foam in the process. I’ve got NASA spinning some satellites that usually analyze atmospheres in other galaxies to focus on your pissant little island because no one can figure out what the fuck is coming out of your territorial waters. Now, tell me what he’s up to,” he finished in a terse and deadly voice.

  “This is the first I’ve heard of it,” she rasped, her heart beating as though it were about to explode out of her chest.

  “That’s bullshit.”

  “No, it’s the truth. I just got off the phone with our—I just heard about the foam and the sailboat. Honestly. This is the first I’ve heard of the methane,” she said.

  “But you’re not surprised to hear it.”

  “Mr. Taylor, I don’t know what you’re thinking—”

  “I’m thinking that you had better get your butt over here and tell my people what the hell is in that gas and what it’s going to do.”

  “I’ll have to get back to you. I need to get the answers—”

  “Wait a minute,” he demanded, interrupting her. “What did you just say about a sailboat?”

  She froze, practically felt molecules colliding as everything in her came to an abrupt stop. “What?”

  “Don’t fuck with me, Victoria,” he snarled. “You’re seconds away from being declared an enemy combatant. And I’ll personally come over there, throw you into handcuffs and leg irons, and haul you out of that building.”

  “Back off,” she snapped. “We’re both being broadsided here, so don’t threaten me.”

  “Tell me what you know.”

  She pulled in a short breath. “Two of our security officers were dealing with a sailboat that entered a restricted area. It went too near the area of the eruption—”

  “What eruption?” he barked.

  “The methane. The foam. It—they watched it fall,” she finished lamely as the horror penetrated her imagination and threatened to crack her hard-won control.

  “What fell?”

  “The boat. It sank. They said it fell into the foam and disappeared,” she replied, sinking into the chair next to her. “They said it was like watching the boat fall over a cliff.”

  Seconds ticked by as neither of them spoke. Her hands were shaking so badly that she had to use both to hold on to the phone.

  “Anything else?” Tom said at last. His voice had resumed his typical emotionless nonchalance, and Victoria shuddered.

  Swallowing hard, she said, “One of the officers said it appeared as though the people on board were experiencing some sort of seizure as the boat approached the—”

  “Seizure?”

  “That was the word the officer used,” she said quietly.

  “I want you to come over to our offices. I’ll send a car.”

  She sat bolt upright in her chair. “Absolutely not. I’m needed here. And I’m heading back to the island later today.”

  “Like hell you are.”

  “I’m a representative of a sovereign nation, in case you’ve forgotten,” she snapped.

  “You’re also an American citizen who may be involved with terrorist activity,” he shot back. “You’d be better off coming in on your own, Victoria. I really don’t want to stage a Delta Force extraction in Georgetown.”

  As ludicrous as his threat sounded, she didn’t doubt his sincerity in making it. Or his ability to carry it out.

  “Okay, look,” she said slowly. “Arguing with each other isn’t going to help the situation. I’m needed here.” She paused. “Mr. Taylor, the embassy has lost all contact with the island. So have our search crews. We’ve been trying to reestablish communication for the last few hours. Nothing we’ve tried has worked. I have to be here.”

  “Keep me apprised,” he growled. “I’ll be expecting to hear from you within the hour.”

  “You will.”

  She ended the call and sat at the desk, frozen, staring at the golden leaves on the tree outside her window.

  “Dennis,” she whispered. “What have you done?”

  CHAPTER

  24

  10:50 A.M., Sunday, October 26, Taino

  The volcano that was the heart of Taino was long dormant. Some scientists had even assured Dennis that it was extinct. The last eruption on Taino had happened hundreds of years ago, and in the centuries since, the deep central crater had become lush with plants and wildlife, an ecosystem unto itself. Time and weather had worn away some of the lip of the crater, and the volcano’s gently sloping lava walls rose only several hundred feet. They were covered by luxuriant growth that was, for the most part, undisturbed until the land flattened out to meet the sea.

  All human activity on the island took place along the coast. The volcano rose steeply from the sea at the northern end of island and sloped more gently toward the south. At the southeastern tip of the island, centuries of storms and currents had carved a deepwater port, where the institute’s research vessels and the occasional supply ship could dock. To the west of the port, the calm, warm waters of the Caribbean lapped a black sand beach. Not far from the water’s edge sat a small compound of simple residences and low-slung of
fices. The southern wall of the volcano was the thickest, and given that it was also the most convenient to his compound, that’s where Dennis had built a bunker.

  The shelter had been built almost as an exercise in imagination. Dennis never really thought he’d need the bunker for anything other than perhaps shelter from the occasional hurricane. Still, he’d wanted a bunker, so he built one.

  After months of careful blasting, excavation, and construction, the space was habitable. The entire structure functioned independently of the main residential compound near the beach. It was blastproof, floodproof, and self-sufficient, with running water, a purified air supply, and solar-, wind-, and wave-generated electricity. The bunker was comfortably furnished and didn’t lack for luxuries, and its command-and-control center was an identical copy of the island’s primary system and continually updated in real time. When Dennis was inside it, he felt invincible, like he owned the world instead of just his island. He’d always known the bunker was only part necessity and mostly folly, but more than that, it was a novelty. The bunker had even helped enhance his mystique abroad. And yes, he’d made occasional use of it for some not quite mission-critical adventures, including a few with Micki a few years ago, although under significantly different circumstances.

  Right now, however, the space was being put to its true use: protecting him from a harmful situation developing outside the ancient lava walls. Unfortunately, the enemy was inside with him.

  Dennis sat in a chair made for relaxing, his body perfectly still, his breathing controlled, and his mind clearer than it had been at any time since early yesterday morning. He was seething with anger, his muscles bunched like a cat ready to pounce and adrenaline rushing like a river through his bloodstream. He was watching Micki. She sat across the airy, well-lit room from him, smiling as if everything that had transpired was a joke, a prank that had been executed without a flaw.

  “Chill out, Dennis,” she drawled, her low, lilting voice rich with laughter. “Isn’t that what you usually do when you’re here? Or was that only with me?”

  “Murderous bitch.”

  Her smile faded. “And you? What about the lives you’ve ended or destroyed?”

  “I’ve saved—”

  “You’ve saved nothing,” she stated, cutting off his reply. “You told the world that’s what you were going to do: save a pristine ecosystem, save the marine life. They were empty words, Dennis. You knew when you uttered them that you were lying. You have destroyed what you said you would save, and now you’ve killed all the people you brought here under false pretenses.” She shrugged. “They were fools for believing you; they deserved what they got. You can’t defy Nature and expect to survive the experience.”

  He began to push himself out of his chair and she casually raised the Taser and aimed it at his chest. “Sit yourself down, darlin’. I’ll tell you when you can get up.”

  Slowly, Dennis resumed his seat. “They didn’t deserve any of what happened to them. You killed them in cold blood.”

  She laughed and shifted in her chair, her warm caramel eyes never leaving his face. “I didn’t put those people on that plane, and I didn’t put those people in a canister under the sea, either. It was your mindless need for domination that did. Your need to boast about how you would harness and constrain Nature to suit your bottom line. That’s what killed those people, Dennis. Your ego.”

  “And what about all the people here on Taino who will die? Your colleagues. Your friends.”

  “Friends? No, Dennis, not my friends.” She shrugged carelessly. “They’re just as bad as you. They came here out of greed, not to save the Earth or Her creatures. Their deaths are your doing. And they won’t be missed, just like you won’t be missed.”

  Her voice, the way she’d draped herself over the chair, the way she held her drink—everything about her was calm and easy, as if they were having an inconsequential chat on a lazy afternoon. Calm and self-assured, she didn’t even have the decency to be cocky.

  Dennis had to admit that he found her nonchalance unnerving, but he was determined not to let it affect him. He’d lost enough time as it was. Right now he had to focus, to find her blind spot and exploit it.

  “What about you, Micki? Will you survive? If what you described is actually happening out there, we’ll both die. We can’t stay in here indefinitely. The space isn’t designed for that. Our supplies will run out.”

  She tilted her head and looked at him with an almost gentle gaze. “Oh, of course we’ll both die, sugar. Don’t you fret about that,” she said, her voice softening as her drawl became deeper. “Maybe we’ll go out there together and take a last deep breath of the poison you’ve spewed into the air. That would be a fitting end for you, wouldn’t it? You murder the environment and then let it murder you.”

  Dennis said nothing and she laughed again.

  “You don’t think I’ll do it, do you? Of course I will. I’m not afraid to die, Dennis. I’ll be happy to go. I’ve done my bit for the world. I’m satisfied. I have no regrets.” Micki cocked her head and looked at him almost flirtatiously. “But I can tell that you’re afraid of what’s ahead of you. Probably wonderin’ if you said enough prayers as a child. Well, darlin’, don’t worry your head about it.” Her voice dropped to a gentle whisper. “I’m your Earth Angel, here to assure you that your death will be empty, Dennis, and that you will die wanting to live on. Your last thought will be regret.”

  If it weren’t for the Taser dangling loosely from the long, elegant fingers draped over the armrest of her chair, Dennis would have crossed the room then and killed her. He’d have cheerfully grabbed her by the slender, honey-sweet column of her throat and crushed the breath out of her.

  With no regrets.

  11:15 A.M., Sunday, October 26, Gainesville, Florida

  “Look, I know you guys have a lot of other things on your plate right now, but this is literally life and death,” Sam pleaded with the Taino embassy worker bee on the other end of the phone. He was on his deck, pacing the short distance from the steps to the sliding glass door of his bedroom. It was a miracle he hadn’t worn a groove in the planks that made up the floor. He’d been on the phone with every agency he could think of ever since he’d left the office after talking to Marty.

  “Sir, I have no information to give you in answer to your question.”

  “Can you transfer me to someone who does?” he said, striving for calm.

  “I am that someone,” the woman said, frustration finally creeping into her voice. “I have no information about any pleasure craft or persons taken into custody today.”

  “Look, even CNN is talkin’ about a boat that’s gone missin’, for Christ’s sake,” he exploded. He leaned one hand on the deck’s railing and curled his fingers around it to keep it from punching something. “How the hell can you not know about it? It happened in your territorial waters just a few hours ago.”

  “Because I’m in Washington, D.C., not on the beach in Taino with a pair of binoculars,” she snapped. “And there’s no reason to curse at me. I’m trying to be helpful but you refuse to pay attention to what I’m saying. I don’t have the information you’re looking for.”

  He unclenched his fist and slapped his open palm onto the railing of the deck. “Well, someone has to, ma’am. Who else can I talk to? There has to be someone.”

  “Try calling the company that chartered the boat your girlfriend was on, or try the Royal Bahamas Defence Force. That’s the Bahamian coast guard.”

  “I did. The charter company hasn’t heard from the captain for ten hours. He should have checked in by now. The Bahamians couldn’t tell me anything, and the U.S. Coast Guard and the navy don’t have any information, either. Look, lady, if the boat was in your waters, then your people would have found it,” he growled. “What would they have done with the crew if today was a normal day?”

  “We wouldn’t do anything with the crew. Our security personnel would escort the vessel out of the area and file a report.”<
br />
  “Well, would it kill you to find out if they did that?” he practically shouted, pushing his hand through his hair and sitting on the top rail of his deck.

  The woman on the other end of the call let out a large, exasperated breath and her voice, when she spoke, was heavy with forced patience. “As I’ve told you several times already, sir, we’re having some communication difficulties. Why don’t you give me your name and telephone number and I will contact you if I hear any information regarding a pleasure boat. Would that work for you?”

  “Fine,” he said, then stood up abruptly. “Well, actually, no, that won’t work for me. We both know you’ll never call me with anything. You’re probably not even goin’ to write down my number.”

  “I resent that,” she said stiffly. “Unfortunately, you just lost your best chance for getting any information. Goodbye.”

  He heard the click and found himself staring at the silent handset.

  “Well, that didn’t work too well.”

  With a start, Sam jerked his head to look in the direction of the soft voice and saw Sabina standing on the middle step leading to the deck from his backyard.

  What the hell is she doing here? He stared at her while his mind pulled itself back to the moment. “Uh, hi. I didn’t know you were there.”

  She smiled. “I just got here. May I come up?”

  He set the phone on the round table that sported a striped umbrella and four citronella candles, courtesy of Cyn, and two freshly emptied Coors bottles, courtesy of Cyn’s failure to call in. “Sure. What can I do for you?”

  “Nothing. I was hoping I could do something for you,” she said, walking toward him with a smile that had gone hesitant.

  Oh, shit. “Um, I, ah—” He ran his hand through his hair again. He wasn’t sure how to ask Sabina to leave, but he knew that the last thing he needed was a distraction, much less one that looked, walked, and smelled like Sabina.

  “Um, Sabina, this isn’t a good time—”

  She glanced away from him as she set her purse on the table. “I’ve been monitoring that change in the atmospheric methane values since I told you about it. I think it could be getting troublesome. I wanted to get your opinion on it. I tried calling you a few times, but I couldn’t get through.” She looked up at him, and shrugged with a smile. “It might be important. I hope you don’t mind that I came over.”