Eternity Base (5 page)

That was an accurate way to describe Conner, Sammy reflected. When Brad was out of sight, she headed into the stacks. Unerringly she went to the correct shelf. Doctor Reynolds's 201 file was in a box containing those of other former air force officers who had died in 1983. Sitting down cross-legged on the concrete floor, Sammy opened the file and started reading, going from his medical school and commissioning through his various tours of duties. The man's professional life was open before her.

From late 1968 through 1970, Reynolds was stationed at Bethesda Naval Hospital in Maryland. As 1971 began the doctor was still in Maryland. Then she found what she was searching for. In May 1971, Maj. John Reynolds, M.D., USAF, was given a set of TDY orders assigning him to a place called McMurdo Station for six months.

Sammy had heard of McMurdo Station. She frowned in thought for a few seconds, then it came to her. McMurdo was the United States' primary research station on the seventh continent. Eternity Base was in Antarctica.

Chapter Three

SNN
H
EADQUARTERS,
A
TLANTA,
G
EORGIA, 24
N
OVEMBER 1996

"What about the hearings?"

Stu Fernandez shook his head. "We've got that covered. They're going live on most of the channels anyway."

Conner Young tapped a finger on her desktop. Stu was an assistant producer for the Satellite News Network (SNN) twenty-four-hour news, and as such he was in the same position as she—one step away from prime time. "But what about a different angle? What if we—"

Stu held up a hand. He'd been here four years now and had heard it all, or at least thought he had. "Conner, listen to me. The senate hearings are dead. People are tired of them. We need something totally different. This is an up or out business. You either make it—and keep making it—or you're out."

Conner had graduated from the local news in Chicago to SNN only three weeks ago, and already the pressure was on. This was not a place where you could take a moment to pat yourself on the back. That attitude started at the top and insinuated itself into every room of the large building in Atlanta that headquartered the network. It made for great ratings and a high burnout rate.

Conner's physical appearance belied the inner strength necessary to fight one's way into this building, much less the stamina to endure and survive. Many adversaries were still smoking in the ruins of their underestimation of Conner's tenacity. She wasn't a woman you glanced at, but rather a finely made specimen who caught your attention and held it long enough to create admiration. Her facial features were elegant and classic—thin, finely sculpted nose; wide, evenly placed dark eyes; and a generous, well-defined mouth surrounded by a soft, creamy complexion that caused fingers to clench with the desire to touch.

Conner's trademark, though, was her hair—thick, black, and cut in a short geometric style. She had Sammy's height and slender body, but, as if God couldn't find enough gifts to bestow, Conner also had a full bosom that her slim hips only accentuated. She was beautiful and she knew it. Although her looks mattered little to her, she was always aware of their effect on others and used that to her advantage.

Stu was beginning to lose the glassy-eyed look he'd had the first week Conner was here, and for that she was grateful. She hated it when people spoke to her about professional matters yet stared in that way she had grown accustomed to—distracted by her appearance.

Stu turned to leave. "Listen, I've got to get to the tape room. I'll see you later."

Conner didn't have an office. She had a cubicle, just off the main studio where the news was fed out nonstop, every hour on the hour. The schedule was brutal. Not only did the anchors have to do a four-hour on-the-air shift five times a week, but they also had to research and present two five-minute special features a week. It was the ability to put together these features that separated the good reporter from the pretty face that could simply read a teleprompter. Conner knew she had to prove she was one of the former; the latter didn't last long at SNN.

Conner sighed as she continued working the computer's mouse, searching the extensive SNN database for something she could suck up, refine, and use. SNN used not only the United Press International (UPI) and Associated Press (AP) lines but almost every other source of information available, both human and machine. The chief executive officer of SNN, J. Russell Parker, liked to boast that the SNN mainframe computer contained more up-to-date world information than the National Security Agency's.

The buzz of Conner's phone saved her for the moment from the eye-numbing green tint of the screen.

"SNN. Conner Young."

"Hey, Constance."

There was only one person who called her that, and to be honest, Conner hated her given name. But she'd never tell Sammy that. "Hey, Samantha. How're you doing?"

"All right."

There was a long pause. Sammy had never called her at work before, even when she'd been up in Chicago. "Are you OK, sis?"

"I'm fine."

Conner waited, aware of an awkwardness that was always present in their conversations. Well, then, what the heck are you calling me for? she thought. "How's mom?"

"All right. She's in England with Nelson." Conner frowned. Sammy had never called Nelson dad even though her mom had married him more than nineteen years ago. It bothered Conner.

This father issue had always been a wedge between them. For Conner, middle childhood had been like growing up in a house of mourning—a strange situation, since the loss of her father meant nothing to her. It was hard for her to miss something she'd never really had. But even as a child Conner could see how devastating it was for Sammy. Whereas their mother was able to replace the husband she lost, Sammy couldn't replace her father.

Sammy had fallen victim to her mother's inability to start a new life without negating the old. It was as if the only way her mom could make room in her heart for Nelson was to destroy all the emotional evidence of the young soldier she had loved. Sammy felt betrayed. Conner had always thought this was what had driven her sister into two quick marriages and that dismal job she couldn't seem to leave.

Her own situation had been much different. With Nelson, Conner had found a man who was hungry to love and be loved. His younger step-daughter became the focus of his life, and he made sure she had few wants. Though Conner felt on the surface that Sammy had thrown away a chance for paternal affection, the selfish child in her was glad that she'd never had to share Nelson with her sister. In Conner's mind, Sammy had tied herself emotionally to a dead man, which seemed a foolish thing to do. The differences in the way they lived seemed ample evidence of Sammy's folly.

It took Conner a moment to realize that Sammy was still silent even though she was the one who had called. For the first time Conner could remember, her older sister was hesitant. Conner decided to wait it out. She returned her gaze to the computer and clicked the mouse, looking at a new screen.

Finally Sammy spoke. "Conner. Listen, I've found something strange in the Records Center."

"Yeah. What?" Jesus Christ, Conner thought as she read her screen, the UPI had actually carried a story on UFO landings in Idaho. Idaho of all places! How come the damn things never landed in Central Park?

"There's this place, it's called Eternity Base, and it was built by the military in 1971, and there's no record of it anywhere."

"If there's no record, how do you know it exists?"

"I've got photos of it. That's what started me on it. I found this file in unit histories and then ..."

As her sister related her search, Conner forgot about the computer screen. She was surprised at Sammy's investigative skills. When her sister finally drew to a close, though, Conner was confused.

"Antarctica? Why would the army build a place in Antarctica?"

"I don't know. But they certainly went to a lot of trouble to hide it."

"Well, even if they did, what's the big deal? I mean we're talking twenty-five years ago. Who cares? Maybe it was just some temporary thing and it's gone now."

Sammy's voice was sharp when she answered, and Conner belatedly realized her mistake: everything that happened twenty-five years ago was important to Sammy. "That may be true, but the simple fact that the United States built something secret down there is pretty significant."

"Why?"

Sammy sounded surprised. "It violated the treaty."

"What treaty?"

'The 1959 Antarctica Treaty the United States signed along with seventeen other nations. It suspended all territorial claims for thirty years and also specifically prohibited any military presence in Antarctica. It's the one place on the planet where weapons are outlawed."

Conner considered that. "Did these engineers have weapons with them?"

"Well, no, not that you can see in the picture. But that's not the point."

"What is the point?" Conner didn't like asking so many questions. It seemed to give Sammy an edge.

"The point is that something was built down there in 1971, something that somebody took a lot of trouble covering up, to the extent of altering and hiding official records. Something that was important enough to pull an army engineer company out of a war zone to build."

"So what do you want me to do about it?" When she heard Sammy's reply, Conner realized that her tone must have been harsher than she intended.

"I don't expect you to do a damn thing about it. I just thought that maybe you could use something interesting in your new job to get a leg up, but obviously you don't need any help. I shouldn't have called you in the first place. Bye."

The phone went dead. Conner slowly put down the receiver and considered what her sister had said. Why did Sammy think she needed a leg up? For a second she felt a flash of irritation at an offer of help from a woman who lived above a garage. Maybe it was her sister's way of hanging on: by helping her, Sammy could feel some personal sense of responsibility for Conner's success. Conner had felt it before—the subtle innuendos meant to remind her that self-reliance and competence played a small part in her current position. Conner knew she had earned her way to this tiny cubicle, and she didn't want to hand anyone else—even her sister—any share of that.

But Conner couldn't completely deny her professional interest. Sammy had always seemed to possess an innate ability to sense the hidden and darker sides of the world around her. As soon as her sister had mentioned the acronym MACV-SOG, Conner had known that Sammy would hold onto this issue like a dog with a bone until she sucked it dry of every piece of available information. Her sister would continue to dig; if she unearthed more, there might very well be a story. Maybe not the one Sammy wanted, but one that could push Conner out of the cubicle and into an office with a real door. As Stu had said—it was an up or out business.

Antarctica. Maybe there were other hooks that could be tied in. The environmental group Our Earth might be interested in something involving that area of the world. Conner had done a story on an Our Earth protest about pollution in Lake Michigan, and she'd been impressed with the group's ability to generate publicity.

That thought reminded her of Devlin, the man who had run the protests. He was the only person in the four years she was in Chicago who had managed to penetrate her professional cloak, albeit only for a brief moment. She remembered that he'd talked for a while about Antarctica, even mentioning that he'd spent a winter down there.

Conner grabbed her Rolodex and flipped through to O. She dialed the number for the Our Earth headquarters in California. A cheery sounding young woman told her that Devlin was currently in Australia. With a little coaxing, the girl gave an overseas number where he might be reached.

Conner looked at the clocks posted on the wall. It was after midnight in Tokyo, which she guessed was somewhere near the same time zone as Australia. She dialed the international code and then the number. When the phone was picked up on the other end, she was surprised at the clarity of the transmission.

"Hello?" a voice with a rich Australian accent answered.

"Is Devlin there? This is Conner Young calling from the United States."

"The United States, eh? Must be early in the morning there, isn't it?"

Conner rolled her eyes. "It's a little after eleven."

"It's a little after midnight here." The voice waited for an apology, then, getting none, moved on with a sigh. "All right. I'll see if I can track him down for you, missy."

There was a thump as the phone was dropped, and Conner started tapping her fingers on the desktop. After three long minutes the phone was finally picked up.

"I didn't expect to hear from you again."

Conner was startled at the reaction the deep voice brought out. "Devlin, how are you doing?"

"Not bad. How are you, Conner?"

"All right."

"Where are you calling from? Charlie said it was the States."

"Atlanta."

"Atlanta? What happened to Chicago?" Devlin asked.