Ice Storm (7 page)

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.

"We need to talk."

"About what?"

"About
Werwolfsschanze
."

I groaned. "Can't it wait?"

"What if Pat's right? What if there's no treasure here?"

"It's a little late to worry about that now," I replied.

"I explored large parts of this region in my youth. And I never found a single Nazi artifact."

"Yes, but—”

"I've also read plenty of books about Antarctica. So, I know all about the 1939 expedition. The Nazis came here in the
MS Schwabenland
to scout out locations for a whaling station. In those days, whale oil was a major ingredient in soap and margarine. But the
MS Schwabenland
was a small ship. It was far too small to carry building supplies. It only stayed here a couple of weeks and the crew spent very little time on the ice."

"True. But the Nazis planned other expeditions."

"And failed to launch a single one."

I fought to keep my temper in check. "Come on, Dutch. We've been over this a thousand times."

"Yeah, but I had an ulterior motive for coming here. I think it may have colored my good judgment." He paused to collect his thoughts. "Here's what bothers me. Historians have covered all aspects of the Nazi regime for decades. None of them have uncovered the slightest trace of
Werwolfsschanze
. Hell, none of them have even found evidence of a follow-up expedition to Antarctica."

That wasn't exactly true. We'd researched that same topic while still in New York. And we'd found numerous reports of a Nazi stronghold in Antarctica. Unfortunately, the claims were outlandish. They involved things like Aryan physics, Hollow Earth theories, UFOs, secret battles on the ice, and mind control. "Maybe not," I replied. "But no one knew about the New York treasure trove either."

"
Werwolfsschanze
isn't even a real word. It could mean anything."

I exhaled. "We covered this too. The first part translates to werewolf. The second part means entrenchment or better yet, lair. So, Werewolf's Lair."

"Maybe. Or maybe it was just some little piece of
Werwolf
."

Werwolf
was the code name for a mysterious Nazi operation launched in 1944. Its stated goal was to create a team of commandos who could operate behind enemy lines, wrecking havoc on the Allied forces. However, rumors had persisted for decades that
Werwolf
had another purpose—the recruitment and training of guerrilla fighters who could carry on the war after Nazi Germany's surrender.

"Let's get back to basics," I said. "The Nazis hid gold bars in New York shortly after the end of World War II. Beverly and I found those gold bars a few weeks ago."

The full story was a little longer than that. By the mid-1940s, Nazi leaders had realized defeat was inevitable. They'd formed a group known as ODESSA, or the
Organisation der ehemaligen SS-Angehörigen
. In the long run, they'd hoped to build a new Nazi empire. But they knew it would take time, personnel, and resources. So, they'd helped to relocate their people to South America and the Middle East. Then they'd sent the bulk of their treasure to New York for safekeeping.

Beverly and I had located the cache while searching for a lost subway car under Manhattan. She'd proceeded to vanish with most of the gold. I'd felt betrayed, even infuriated. And yet, I also felt a ray of hope. After all, she'd left behind a single bar, etched with a message that promised a way to find her again. The second half of that message flashed before my eyes.

I know you have feelings for her. When you sort them out, come find me if you want. All you need is this bar. It and the others are not what they appear to be. Until we meet again … B.G.

"I still think you should've done more tests on that bar," Graham said.

"I did every test known to man. All I found were the older markings."

The markings consisted of two sequences of numbers and letters. The first one was seven, one, five, and the letter S. The second one was zero, six, five, and the letter E.

It wasn't until I'd studied the markings that I'd figured out what she'd meant by her message. When she said the bars were not what they appeared to be, she wasn't talking about their physical properties. She was talking about their status. In other words, the bars appeared to be part of the New York treasure trove. But they were actually supposed to be part of a separate cache stored in
Werwolfsschanze
.

"Maybe we were wrong," Graham said. "Maybe those markings were serial numbers."

"If we're wrong, Beverly is too." After realizing the true nature of the markings, I'd investigated recent flights to Antarctica. It didn't take long to discover Beverly Ginger had flown to Fitzgerald Station a few days earlier under the guise of a geomorphologist from New York University. We needed a cover story to follow her. So, Graham had hit up his contacts at the institution and managed to get us listed as part of her fake expedition.

"It's possible," he said.

"No way." I shook my head. "They were geographical coordinates. Seventy-one and a half degrees south. Six and a half degrees east. You just needed a microscope to see the decimal points."

Doubt creased his face.

"Forget the gold bars. Think about all the evidence we recovered back in New York. We've got inventories, shipping logs, correspondence. Everything points to ODESSA wanting to spread its eggs across multiple baskets. Most of those New York resources were supposed to be forwarded to other places, including
Werwolfsschanze
."

"That's true," he said begrudgingly.