Beneath the Ice (21 page)

He rose from the chair. Something on his
desk caught his attention: his keys. He picked them up and noticed
an adornment he had carried since college: a small oven-fired clay
cylinder with six sides. Etched into its surface was a dragon.

He placed the keys in his pants pocket and
left to meet with the president.

Chapter
18

Perry watched,
concerned,
as Griffin squirmed, fidgeted,
and appeared to be an eyelash away from a nervous breakdown. Perry
had seen what stress and fear could do to a man. Tia had just
ordered them to their feet. They all rose, but Griffin began to
rock like a metronome.

“Why can’t you just leave us alone?” he
said. “We don’t have anything you could possibly want.”

“Oh, but you do,” Tia said. “Now stand
up.”

“No, I’m staying here. You have no right to
do this.”

Perry tried to sum up his situation. Bound,
held at gunpoint, isolated at the bottom of the world, he had never
been so powerless. Now he feared Griffin was going to make things
worse.

“Calm down, Griffin,” Perry said. “It’s best
if we do what they say.”

“No! Don’t tell me to calm down. You’re
probably in on this. You can’t fool me. This is all part of your
plan.”

“Griffin,” Jack began.

“Shut up! Go away, all of you. Leave me
alone.”

“Yeah, like that’s going to happen,” one of
the guards said.

Griffin spit on him.

“That does it.” The man raised his
weapon.

“No!” Perry shouted.

The gun went off, and Perry expected to see
a spray of red. Instead, he saw the guard land hard on the floor,
Jack on top of him and the machine gun skittering across the floor.
The guard next to Perry raised his gun but not far. Perry lowered a
shoulder and charged, connecting with the small of the man’s back.
The man fell forward but was on his feet a half-second later. The
guard spun and punched him on the side of the head, and scorching
pain raced down Perry’s neck. Another swing caught him in the
midsection. Perry gasped for air.

Jack fared no better. Tia calmly stepped to
his side and kicked him hard with her booted foot. Perry heard a
rib crack. Jack rolled to his side, and Tia gave him another kick,
just above the kidney.

The downed guard sprang to his feet and
looked for his weapon. Tia raised a hand and stopped him. She
walked over to the ownerless gun, picked it up, and brought it to
the man, who said thank-you sheepishly.

Tia smiled and shot him in the chest. “I
said no one is to be killed unless I order it. Drag him
outside.”

The two remaining guards took their fallen
companion under the arms and dragged him from the room.

Perry struggled to his feet then fell into
the chair he had been sitting in a few moments before. His wind was
coming back, but not fast enough. Jack lay on the floor, rolling
from side to side.

“I have only been here a few minutes,” Tia
said, “and I’m already tired of all of you.” She stepped to
Griffin, who stared at the spot where the dead man had lain only
seconds before. His eyes were wide and his face bloodless. She
backhanded him so hard he fell from the chair. “You will do as I
say, when I say, and without question. Do you understand?”

“Yes . . . yes, ma’am.”

“Get up. We’re going to the other
building.”

“
What? Not again.”

A hand clamped over her mouth, and Sarah
jumped, ready to scream when the fearful reality of her situation
came back to mind. The darkness of the crate covered her, and she
froze. She gently touched the hand over her mouth, and Gwen removed
it. Sarah said nothing. Outside she heard movement—feet on ice. She
could also hear smaller boxes being moved.

They were looking for them. It was only a
matter of time before they checked the shipping crate. Would they
shoot them right there, turning the wooden box into a coffin? Sarah
pushed the thought from her mind.

The vague sleepiness that hovered in her
mind told her she had had another episode. Coming out of it, she
had almost given away their position. Her condition nearly proved
to be the very thing she denied it was: a danger to others.

There was another sound: the air lock
opening.

“Anything?” A woman’s voice.

“No, ma’am. There’s no sign of them. Maybe
the navy guy was telling the truth.”

Sarah wished she could see. At least then
she would have more information. For now, she was blind and
contained. There was enough room in the crate for them to prop up
on an elbow but no more. She reached forward and touched Gwen’s
leg, and she felt Gwen’s hand take hers and give it a squeeze.

It was silly, she thought, two grown women
with Ph.D.s holding hands like schoolgirls.

Still, it gave her a measure of comfort.

Perry led the group into the Chamber. It was cold,
but he felt fortunate that his attackers hadn’t removed his parka
before securing his hands. When he stepped through the air lock, he
saw the two men sent in search of Gwen and Sarah milling around the
loading area. He was relieved but puzzled that they were
empty-handed. Where could they have hidden? Surely—and he prayed
this was true—they hadn’t stayed outside. They were too smart for
that, but panic had a way of rendering the wisest people fools.

“Nice setup,” Tia said. “It looks like you
know what you’re doing. Is that it?” She pointed to the vertical
aluminum frame that had guided Hairy down the ice shaft.

“That’s the ice hole,” Perry said.

“How are you coring?” Tia asked. “I don’t
see drilling equipment.”

Perry explained about
Hairy and its operation. He saw no need
to
withhold information. It would only anger the volatile woman and
gain them nothing. Tia walked to the rig and peered down the hole.
“You’ve made headway. How deep is it?”

“The ice or the probe?”

“The probe. I know about the ice.”

“I don’t know. The
monitors give the details.” He nodded at the table. They walked
toward it. He explained the monitors and their
readouts.

“This is the device Sarah Hardy designed?”
Tia asked. Perry said it was. “Then where is she? I find it hard to
believe that you would let her leave while the device is
coring.”

“That’s my job,” Gleason said. “I’m checked
out on the controls and operations. It’s too much for one person to
monitor twenty-four hours a day.”

Tia nodded as if agreeing. “How long before
it hits the lake?”

“Another twenty-six hours,” Gleason said.
“Assuming all goes well.”

“It’s autonomous?”

“At this stage, yes. There is little for us
to do but make sure the power source remains uninterrupted.”

“All the power comes from the surface?”

Perry nodded. “During the descent stage we
provide energy to the device through the power cord you see feeding
off the spool.”

“And once it hits the water?”

“It jettisons the cord, which is too heavy
to tow. We control its movements by fiber optics.”

Tia seemed pleased. “Can we speed it
up?”

“I wouldn’t,” Perry said.
“Heat from the head radiates back along
the cryobot’s body. Too much heat could damage
something.”

“It’s that delicate?”

Perry shook his head. “It’s not delicate,
but it’s powerful. You can try it if you want, but you may end up
with nothing more useful than a fishing weight at the end of the
line.”

She looked at her watch. “The timing is
perfect.” She turned and studied the building and its contents.
“What’s in the boxes?”

Perry hesitated. It struck him what was
different about the place. The wooden crate that had held Hairy was
closed. It shouldn’t be. “Most are filled with packing material and
debris. We planned on transporting all waste from the site when we
were finished. Once a box is empty of its load, we refill it with
the packing material so it will be on hand when we need it.”

“But not all the boxes are empty?” Tia
pressed.

“No, the ones to the left, the two tall ones
and the wide, long crate that’s laying flat on its side.”

Tia marched toward the
stack of boxes, stopping by Hairy’s
container.

“That one’s plastic anti-impact material,”
Perry called after her.

Tia turned and eyed Perry.
He didn’t like her expression. Slowly,
she
reached down and took the edge of the loose lid, lifted it, and
peeked inside. She let the lid fall and walked to the larger
containers. “Open these. I want to see what toys they have. I’ll
keep an eye on our friends.” She raised her machine gun.

Gwen held her breath. She had been
listening to the conversation, muted by distance and the wood sides
of the crate, slowly pulling the plastic packing material over
Sarah and herself. It was a thin chance, a gossamer hope, but if
she could blanket themselves in enough of the opaque material, they
might avoid discovery, assum
ing no one
looked too closely.

When the lid of the crate moved, she nearly
jumped. She held her breath, waiting for a command or the blast of
a gun. To her surprise, the lid dropped back into place.

Maybe Perry’s God was watching after
all.

Enkian boarded the chartered Boeing 757, taking only
a moment to appreciate its sleek lines. He had other things on his
mind. As he stepped through the hatch, he was greeted by a
red-haired beauty who looked half his age.

“Good morning,” she said with a smile that
would capture the attention of every dentist lucky enough to be
nearby.

Enkian didn’t return the smile. “Everyone is
in place?”

“
Yes, sir. The team is seated in coach, and the deck crew is
awaiting
your permission to
taxi.”

“Cargo is secured?” he asked, stepping to
the middle row of the first-class seating area. He was the only one
of the fifty-plus passengers in the well-appointed area.

“Just as you’ve instructed.”

Enkian nodded. “Tell the pilot it is time to
leave.”

The redhead nodded and disappeared into the
crew cabin. She reappeared a moment later. “We have clearance to
taxi. The captain says we will be in the air in five minutes. May I
bring you anything after we’re airborne?”

“Water with lime.”

“Anything to read?”

“No.” Enkian fastened his seat belt and
leaned his head back against the leather chair. He needed nothing
to read. His attention focused on what lay ahead. Many hours would
pass, and several stops would be made before the distance from
Mexico City to the extreme southern region of the planet was
reached. He planned to spend the time in meditation and
planning.

He thought of the cargo in
the hold and smiled. The 757 be-
longed to
Air Mexico, but the crew was his. He doubted the
execu
tives of the airline would appreciate
his plans to bypass all cargo inspection. It had been difficult to
arrange, but massive amounts of money made things happen,
especially in countries where earning a livable wage was a
luxury.

The plane began a slow taxi away from the
terminal. Enkian heard the engines begin to whine as the large
aircraft moved toward the runway.

Minutes later it took to the air, and Enkian
had to suppress his excitement. Excitement was to be expected. It
wasn’t every day that a man left his home on a flight toward his
destiny. In his case, the destiny had been set eons before.

Chapter
19

Robert Jeter stepped
through
the door that joined his office to
the Oval Office. He had been chief of staff for three years—the
youngest chief of staff since Hamilton Jordan guided the Carter
administration—but he still felt a rush of pride each time he
crossed the threshold into the president’s historic office. The
brown-and-tan carpet with the great seal of the president
embroidered in the center, the alabaster walls, the high ceiling
with its frescoed seal of the United States adorning the center,
and the remarkable view out the windows gave him goose bumps. He
never showed it, but they were there.

Waiting for him were four
men: David Jannot, a skinny, anemic-looking
man from the CIA; FBI Director Steve Belanger; the secretary
of homeland security, Larry Shomer; and President Richard Calvert,
who wore a charcoal suit, white shirt, and brilliant blue tie. He
was seated in an overstuffed, high-back chair, a concession to the
touch of arthritis in his lower back.

“Sorry to be late,” Jeter said. “There was a
phone call I could not avoid.”

“You’re not late,” President Calvert said.
“These guys are early. Coffee?”

“No thank you, Mr. President. I’m ready to
float away as it is.”

Calvert chuckled. “This nation runs on
caffeine. Take a seat, and we’ll get started.” Jeter sat on one of
the two cream-colored sofas, crossed his legs, and opened his
ever-present notebook. He was the only man with pen and paper in
hand. The others—except the president, who held nothing—made use of
handheld computers. “Start us off, Steve.”

“Yes, sir,” Belanger said and gave a brief
report of FBI activities. Larry Shomer added information from the
Homeland Security perspective. There was little of consequence,
which Jeter knew was not unusual. These meetings were held daily
and often lasted less than fifteen minutes.