Zero Hour, стр. 52

“Where’s the ship now?”

“Here,” Yaeger said, pointing to a position on the map. “Three hundred miles east-southeast of Heard Island. It was holding station for a while, but now it’s heading northeast at what must be flank speed.”

Pitt turned toward the speakerphone. “Paul have you been listening to this conversation?”

“Both of us have,” Paul said. “In fact, Gamay’s hearing seems to have made a rapid improvement. Not to mention both of our spirits.”

“Mine as well,” Pitt said. “But let’s not get carried away. Get everybody back to their stations. Keep that device switched off, and tell the captain to head due west at flank speed. Don’t spare the horses.”

“Should we try to contact them by radio?” Paul asked.

Pitt thought for a second. “No,” he said. “I don’t know what’s going on, but if we do have someone aboard that ship and he had access to a radio, he’d have called by now. Remain on radio silence until we know more. I’ll have more orders for you in a while, but it wouldn’t be a bad idea to start planning a boarding party.”

“Yes, sir,” Paul said. “Gemini out.”

For the first time in days, Pitt felt a surge of positive energy. He looked back at the course line to make sure he hadn’t imagined it.

“Find out what you can about that ship,” he said to Yaeger. “I want to know who owns it, where it’s been, and what it might be doing on the bottom of the world.”

Yaeger nodded. “Should we give this info to the NSA?”

Pitt hesitated and then shook his head. “Let’s make sure we’re not fooling ourselves first.”

THIRTY-FIVE

Janko strode through a dimly lit tunnel several hundred feet below the surface of Heard Island. He traveled alongside a small conveyor belt that ran the length of the tunnel. The belt rumbled along continuously, carrying rock and other material in the opposite direction. At the far end, he came to a large, irregular-shaped room carved out of the rock.

The space was over a hundred feet in diameter and dropped down in sections like terraces. The air was thick with dust and the sound of hammering as two dozen workers toiled in the space under flood lamps. They dug with jackhammers and picks and carried the results of their labor to the conveyor belt in wheelbarrows.

Janko made his way to a burly foreman, who watched over the workers like a prison guard on a chain gang.

“Surprised to see you down here,” the foreman growled over the clamor.

“The yield has dropped,” Janko said angrily. “You’re sending up nothing but rock.”

The foreman shifted his weight, turning his stubble-covered face toward Janko with a sneer.

“I told you this would happen months ago,” he said. “The diamonds in this mountain came up in kimberlite pipes. Brought to the surface by volcanic activity over the eons. The vein doesn’t run horizontal, it runs vertical. We were lucky to find the top portion so rich. But the old man took the lion’s share of that, didn’t he?”

Janko didn’t react.

“Well, anyway,” the foreman continued, “the yield is gonna keep going down until you get me some heavy equipment, preferably the kind that can be used underwater.”

“We tried that,” Janko said. “The ASIO intercepted the shipment.”

“Then you’d better get us more employees,” the foreman said without emotion.

Janko glanced around. Once, they’d had over a hundred workers, men and women captured or lured in by offers of big contracts. But the work was harsh, and accidents were common. Over the last year, half the crew had been killed, most in accidents, a few in escape attempts, a few others tortured and killed as examples to show the rest that working was better than rebelling.

An intercom box buzzed on the wall. Janko picked up the heavy receiver and was surprised to hear Thero’s voice.

“We have a problem,” Thero said.

“What kind of problem?”

“We’re no longer alone on our deserted island.”

Janko’s body tensed. “Is it someone we can allow to leave undisturbed, like those seal poachers who came ashore last year?”

“No,” Thero said. “They’re inland on snowmobiles. They must have been airlifted onto the glacier. That means they’re military.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Get the hovercraft ready, and go deal with them.”

“On my way,” Janko said.

He hung up and exchanged glances with the foreman.

“The jig is up, isn’t it?”

“Not necessarily,” Janko said. “But we knew this wouldn’t last forever. Maybe you’d better get the last shipment ready. If everything goes south, we’re going to need some portable wealth fast.”

THIRTY-SIX

The group of snowmobiles crossed the winter landscape with deliberate caution. The heavy clouds, falling snow, and gusting winds were creating a whiteout effect. It made the terrain hard to navigate.

Twice, the lead snowmobile got caught in deeper, softer snow and had to be pulled out. At one point, the grade became too steep for the machines to safely climb, and they were forced to back out and find another way.

Paused in a sheltered area while Gregorovich studied a map, Kurt flipped up his goggles and turned to Hayley. “Are you okay?”

“Freezing,” she said. “Can’t feel my toes.”

She flipped up her own goggles, her cheeks were windburned, her lips were blue, strands of blond hair that had slipped out from under her cap were coated with ice.

He climbed off the seat. “We should walk around while we’re stopped. Get our blood pumping.”

Hayley agreed, and Kurt helped her off the machine.

“Where are you going?” one of the Russians asked.

“Out for a walk,” Kurt said. “It’s such a beautiful day.”

“Don’t get lost.”

Kurt considered the statement. The blizzard would have been good cover if he’d wanted to make a break for it, but there was no point in that. There was nowhere to go.

He took a few steps and pointed up the slope. “Tell the commissar I’m climbing that ridge to get a better look at what’s ahead. Won’t be gone long.”

With that, Kurt took Hayley’s hand and began to hike upward. The exertion of trudging up a hill through knee-deep snow at a thirty-five-hundred-foot altitude was enough to get his heart pumping, all right. By the time they were halfway to the top, Kurt felt he’d lit an inner furnace, even his face was flushing.

“Feeling any better?” Kurt asked.

“I’m warming up, yes,” Hayley said. “Any chance there’s a ski lodge at the top?”

“Doubtful,” Kurt said. “But just in case…”

He never finished the sentence, as his ears picked up an odd sound above the wind. It was a high-pitched whine, almost like a small jet engine. It faded and then returned.

Looking around, Kurt realized the confining ridge was shaped in a rough semicircle, a half bowl almost perfect for catching distant acoustics.

When the sound returned, he looked across the ice field. The falling snow made it hard to see anything. He flipped the orange-tinted goggles down to get a better contrast. In a second, he caught sight of movement. A group of small vehicles coming their way.

There was something odd about the way they moved, gliding over the snow with almost effortless ease.

“Houston, we have a problem.”

“What is it?”

“Trouble.”

He grabbed Hayley’s hand and they began to climb down, hopping and jumping and sliding down the steep sections to cover as much ground as possible. They reached the bottom, just about tumbling into the group. “Someone’s coming,” he said sharply.

“From where?” Gregorovich asked.

“From the other side of the ridge.”

“On foot?”

“No,” Kurt said. “I think they’re using hovercraft.”