Текст книги "Polar Shift"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

24

Less than ten hours after leaving Washington, the turquoise executive NUMA jet descended from the skies over Alaska and touched down at Nome airport. Austin and Zavala exchanged their jet for a two-engine propeller plane operated by Bering Air and took off within an hour, heading toward Providenya on the Russian side of the Bering Strait.

The flight across the strait took less than two hours. Providenya airport was on a scenic bay surrounded by sharp-peaked, gray mountains. The town had been a World War II stopover for lend-lease aircraft being flown to Europe from the United States, but those glory days were in the past. There were only a few charter planes and military helicopters at the airport when the plane taxied up to the combination flight tower and administration building, a tired-looking, two-story structure of corrugated aluminum that looked as if it went back to the time of Peter the Great.

As the only arriving passengers, Austin and Zavala expected to be processed quickly by customs and immigration. But the attractive young immigration agent checking paperwork seemed to read every word on Austin's passport. Then she asked for Zavala's papers as well. She placed the passports and visas side by side.

"Together?" she said, looking from face to face.

Austin nodded. The woman frowned, then she signaled an armed guard who had been standing nearby. "Follow me," she barked like a drill sergeant. Gathering their papers, she led the way to a door on the other side of the lobby, with the guard taking up the rear.

"I thought you had friends in high places," Zavala said.

"They probably just want to give us the key to the city," Austin replied.

"I think they want to give us a shot," Zavala said. "Read the sign over the door."

Austin glanced at the red letters on the white placard. Written in English and Russian was the word quarantine. They stepped through the door into a small, gray room. The room was bare except for three metal chairs and a table. The guard followed them into the room and posted himself at the door.

The immigration agent slapped the papers down on the table. "Strip," she said.

Austin had caught a few hours of sleep on the plane, but he was still bleary-eyed and wasn't sure he had heard her correctly. The woman repeated the order.

Austin smirked. "Gosh. We hardly know each other."

"I've heard the Russians were friendly. But I didn't know they were thatfriendly," Zavala said.

"Strip or you will be made to strip," the woman said, glancing at the armed guard to emphasize her point.

"I'll be glad to," Austin said. "But in our country, ladies go first."

To his amazement, the woman smiled. "I was told that you were a hard case, Mr. Austin."

Austin was beginning to smell a rat. He cocked his head. "Who would have told you something like that?"

The words were barely out of his mouth when the door opened. The guard stood aside and Petrov stepped into the room. His handsome face was wreathed in a wide grin that looked lopsided because of the curved scar on his cheek.

"Welcome to Siberia," he said. "I'm glad to see that you are enjoying our hospitality."

"Ivan,"Austin said with a groan. "I should have known."

Petrov was carrying a bottle of vodka and three shot glasses, which he placed on the table. He came over and threw his arms around Austin, and then crushed Zavala in a bone-crunching bear hug. "I see you have met Dimitri and Veronika. They are two of my most trusted agents."

"Joe and I never expected such a warm welcome in a cold place like Siberia," Austin said.

Petrov thanked his agents and dismissed them. He pulled up a chair and told the others to do the same. He unscrewed the cap from the bottle of vodka, poured the glasses full and passed them around.

Raising his glass high, he said, "Here's to old enemies."

They clinked glasses and downed their drinks. The vodka tasted like liquid fire, but it had more wake-up power than pure caffeine. When Petrov went to pour another round, Austin put his hand over the glass. "This will have to wait. We have got some serious matters to deal with."

"I'm pleased you said we.I felt excluded after our call." He poured himself another shot. "Please explain why you found it necessary to hop onto a plane and fly halfway across the world to this lovely garden spot."

"It's a long story," Austin said with a weariness that wasn't all due to the hours on a plane. "It begins and it ends with a brilliant Hungarian scientist named Kovacs."

He laid the story out chronologically, going back to Kovacs's escape from Prussia, bringing it to the recent past, with the giant waves and whirlpool and his talk with Barrett.

Petrov listened in silence, and, when Austin was done, he pushed away his untouched glass of vodka.

"This is a fantastic story. Do you truly believe that these people have the capacity to create this polar reversal?"

"You know everything we know. What do youthink?"

Petrov pondered the question for a moment. "Did you ever hear of the Russian 'woodpecker' project? It was an effort to control weather for military purposes, using electromagnetic radiation. Your country followed the same line of research for similar purposes."

"How successful were these projects?"

"Over a period of time, there was a series of unusual weather events in both countries. They ranged from high winds and torrential rains to drought. Even earthquakes. I'm told the research ended with the Cold War."

"Interesting. That would fit in with what we know."

A slight smile cracked the ends of Zavala's lips. "Are we sureit ended?"

"What do you mean?"

"Have you looked out the window lately?"

Petrov glanced around the windowless room before he realized that Zavala was speaking metaphorically. He chuckled, and said, "I have a tendency to take statements literally. It's a Russian thing. I'm well aware that there the world has experienced a number of weather extremes."

Austin nodded. "Joe makes a good point. I don't have the statistics in front of me, but the empirical evidence seems to be pretty strong. Tsunamis. Floods. Hurricanes. Tornadoes. Quakes. They all seem to be on the rise. Maybe this is a hangover from the early experiments."

"But from what you say, these electromagnetic efforts are causing disturbances in the ocean. What has changed?"

"I don't think it's that difficult to understand. Whoever is behind this has seen a reason to focus on a specific end with a specific goal in mind."

"But you don't know what that goal is?"

"You're the former KGB guy. I'm just a simple marine engineer."

Petrov's hand went to the scar. "You're far from simple, my friend, but you're right about my conspiratorial twist of mind. While we talked, I remembered something one of your government officials, Zbigniew Brzezinski, said many years ago. He predicted that an elite class would arise, using modern technology to influence public behavior and keep society under close surveillance and control. They would use social crises and the mass media to achieve their ends through secret warfare, including weather modification. These people you talked about, Margrave and Gant. Do they fit this role?"

"I don't know. It seems unlikely. Margrave is a rich neo-anarchist, and Gant runs a foundation that does battle with the multinationals."

"Maybe you area simple engineer. If you were part of an elite class that had conceived a plot against the world, would you advertise it?"

"I see your point. No, I would lead people to believe that I opposed the elite."

Petrov clapped his hands. "You don't know how pleased I am to learn that the latest plot against the world is being hatched by Americansrather than a mad Russian nationalist with czarist pretensions."

"I'm glad to know that this is making you warm and bubbly, but we should get down to business."

"I'm completely at your service. You obviously have a plan or you wouldn't be here."

"Since we're not sure of who,and don't know why,we're stuck with what.Polar reversal. We have to stop it."

"I agree. Tell me more about this so-called antidote you mentioned."

"Joe's the technical guy on our team. He can explain it better than can.

"I'll do my best," Zavala said. "From what I understand, the idea is to cause a polar shift using electromagnetic transmissions beamed into the earth's mantle, creating sympathetic vibrations in the inner core. You can compare these transmissions to sound waves. If you're in a hotel and you want to mask loud voices from the next room, you could turn on a fan and the vibrations would neutralize the racket. If you wanted to mask a higher tone, like a hair dryer, you would need a different set of frequencies. It's called white noise, or white sound. You might hear it as a hiss or something like rustling leaves. This antidote is comparable. But it wouldn't work unless you had the exact frequencies."

"And you think this woman, Karla Janos, knows about these frequencies?"

"She may not know it, but the evidence seems to point that way," Austin said. "Aside from the global implications, there is an innocent young woman here who could lose her life."

Petrov's somber expression remained the same, but his eyes crinkled in amusement. "That is one of the many reasons I like you, Austin. You are the embodiment of gallantry. A knight in shining armor."

"Thanks for the compliment, but we don't have much time, Petrov."

"I agree. Do you have any questions?"

"Yeah," Zavala said. "Does Veronika have a phone number?"

"You can ask her yourself," Petrov said.

He downed the shot of vodka, screwed the cap back on the bottle and tucked it under his arm, then led the way from the room and through the exit. A car and driver were waiting for them.

"We had some special luggage," Austin said. He pointed to two oversize bags. "Please give them special attention."

"Everything has been transferred."

They got in the car, which drove them to the water side of the airport and onto a wide, sagging dock. A boat about sixty feet long was tied up at the end of the dock. Several men were waiting at the gangway.

Austin got out of the car and asked about the words painted in Cyrillic on the white hull.

"Arctic Tours. It's a real tourist company that takes wealthy Americans into godforsaken places for obscene sums of money. I have chartered the boat for a few days. If anyone asks, we are taking some Boy Scouts on a nature tour."

As Petrov escorted the two men up the gangway, Austin was glad to see that their luggage had appeared magically on the deck. They were traveling light, with one duffel bag apiece, and the two bags that Austin asked be given special attention.

Petrov led them into the main cabin. Austin had only to take a quick glance around to see that this was no tourist boat. Most of the built-in furniture had been removed, leaving a stationary table in the center and padded benches along the perimeter. Dimitri and Veronika sat on the bench with four men in camouflage uniforms. They were busy cleaning an impressive array of automatic weapons.

"I see your Boy Scouts are preparing for their merit badges in marksmanship. What do you think, Joe?"

"I'm more interested in the Girl Scout," Zavala said. He went over and struck up a conversation with the young Russian woman.

Austin gave Petrov a questioning look.

"I know you said that a quiet approach was necessary," Petrov said. "I am in complete agreement. These people are only here in reserve. Look, there are only six of them. Not a whole army."

"They're packing more firepower than both sides at the battle of Gettysburg," Austin observed.

"We may need it," Petrov said. "Come to my cabin and I'll bring you up to date on the situation."

Petrov led the way to a compact stateroom and picked up a large envelope on the bunk. He extracted a number of photographs from the envelope and handed them to Austin, who held them close to the light streaming in through the porthole. The photos showed various views of a long, grayish island with a doughnut-shaped mountain in the center of the landmass.

"Ivory Island?" he said.

"The views were taken by satellite over the last several days." Petrov produced a small magnifying glass from his pocket. He pointed to an indentation in the south side of the island. "This is the natural, deepwater harbor that the icebreaker, which supplies and transports the expedition, uses in coming and going. The ship dropped Karla Janos off here two days ago to join an expedition already in progress."

"What's the nature of this expedition?"

"Science fiction. Some crazy Russians and Japanese hope to find DNA from a woolly mammoth that can be cloned into a live creature. Look, here on the other side of the island, where the permafrost had been eroded, there are natural inlets."

Austin saw an elongated shape lying in a cove. "A boat?"

"Whoever owns it didn't want to be seen or they would have come into the main harbor. I think the assassins have arrived."

"How soon can we get there?"

"Ten hours. The boat will do forty knots, but the distances here are vast, and we may be slowed by ice."

"We don't have that long."

"I agree. That's why I have made contingency plans." He glanced at his watch. "In forty-five minutes, a seaplane will arrive here from the mainland. After it refuels, it will take you and Zavala to a rendezvous with the icebreaker Kotelny,which is between Wrangel Island and the polar ice. A trip of about three hours by air. The icebreaker will transport you to Ivory Island."

"What about you and your friends?"

"We will leave as soon as you do, and, with any luck, we'll arrive sometime tomorrow."

Austin reached out and gripped Petrov's hand. "I can't thank you enough, Ivan."

"I should be the one thanking you.Yesterday, I was rotting in my Moscow office. Today, I am rushing to save a damsel in distress."

"I may have a problem prying Zavala away," Austin said.

His fears were unfounded, as it turned out. When he returned to the main cabin, Zavala was chatting with one of Petrov's men about his weapon. Veronika and Dimitri were sitting off by themselves engaged in animated conversation.

"Sorry to take you away from your budding romance," Austin said.

"Don't be. Petrov failed to tell me that Veronika and Dimitri are married. To each other. Where are we going?"

Austin explained Petrov's plans, and they went out on the dock to wait. The seaplane was fifteen minutes early. It taxied up to the fuel pump at the end of the pier. Austin supervised the handling of his luggage while the plane was being refueled, then he and Zavala boarded the plane. Within minutes, it skimmed across the bay, lifted its nose and climbed at a sharp angle over the jagged peaks of the gray mountains that flanked the bay, then headed north into the unknown.

25

Karla's eyelids fluttered open. She saw only blackness, but senses that had been temporarily put on hold stirred to life. She had a coppery taste of old blood in her mouth. Her back felt as if it were resting on a bed of nails. Then she heard a rustling noise close by. She remembered the yellow-toothed attacker. Still only half conscious, she put her arms up and flailed away in the dark, defending herself against an unseen assailant.

"No!" she called out in fear and defiance.

Her thrashing arms struck soft flesh. A big hand with fingers like steel clamped down over her mouth. A light flashed on. Its beam illuminated a disembodied face floating in the darkness.

She stopped fighting. The long-jawed face had aged dramatically since the last time she had seen it. There were more wrinkles, and a general droopiness to skin that was once as taut as a drumhead. The watchful eyes were framed by crow's-feet, pouches and white brows, but the irises were the same piercing blue she remembered. He removed his hand from her mouth.

She smiled. "Uncle Karl."

The ends of the thin lips curved up slightly. "Technically speaking, I am your godfather. But, yes, it is me. Your uncle Karl. How do you feel?"

"I'll be all right." She forced herself to sit up, even though the effort made her dizzy. As she ran her tongue across her swollen lips, the memory of the attack came flooding back.

"There were four other scientists. They took them away, and then I heard shots."

A pained look came to the pale eyes. "I'm afraid they were all killed."

"Killed. But why?"

"The men who killed them didn't want witnesses."

"Witnesses to what?"

"Your murder. Or abduction. I'm not sure what they had in mind, only that it was no good."

"This doesn't make sense. I just arrived here two days ago. I'm a stranger in this country. I'm simply a bone scientist like the others. What reason would anyone have to murder me?"

Schroeder turned his head slightly as if he were listening for something, then he switched the light off. His mellow voice was cool and soothing in the darkness. "They think your grandfather had a secret of great importance. They think he passed it on to you, and they want to make sure no one else learns about it."

"Grandpa!"Karla almost laughed through her pain. "That's ridiculous. I don't know any secret."

"Nonetheless, they think so, and that's what's important."

"Then the deaths of those scientists are myfault."

"Not at all. The men who pulled the trigger are responsible."

He pressed the flashlight into her palm to restore a measure of control to her damaged psyche. She flashed the light around so that the beam illuminated the black rock ceilings and walls.

"Where are we?" she said.

"In a cave. I carried you here. It was sheer luck that I found a low place to climb out of the gorge and immediately came to a natural wall of stone. It was split in many places, and I thought we could hide in a narrow gap in the rocks. I saw an opening at the end of a narrow fissure. I cut some bushes and put them around the mouth of the cave."

She reached out in the darkness and grabbed onto his big hand. "Thank you, Uncle Karl. You're like some guardian angel."

"I promised your grandfather that I would look after you."

Karla sat in the dark, thinking back to the first time she remembered meeting Schroeder. She was a young girl, living at her grandfather's house after her parents died. He appeared one day, bearing an armful of gifts. He seemed enormously tall and strong, more like a walking tree than a man. Despite the strength that he projected, he seemed almost shy, but her child's eye had detected a kindliness in his manner, and she quickly warmed up to him.

The last time she had seen him was at her grandfather's funeral. He never forgot her birthday, and sent her a card with money in it every year until she graduated from college. She didn't know the details of the bond between Schroeder and her family, but she knew from hearing the story many times that when she was born her grandfather had persuaded her parents to name her after the mysterious uncle.

"I don't know how you found me in this remote spot," Karla said.

"It wasn't hard. The university told me where you were. Getting here was the difficult part. I hired a fishing boat to bring me in.

When I didn't see anyone at your camp, I followed your trail. The next time you go off on an expedition, please make it closer. I'm getting too old for this kind of thing." He cocked his ear. "Hush."

They sat in the silent darkness, listening. They heard muffled voices, and the scrape of boots against rocks and gravel at the mouth of the cave. Then the darkness was leavened by a yellowish light as the bushes blocking the entrance were moved aside.

"Hey in there," a man's voice called in Russian.

Schroeder squeezed Karla's hand in a signal to be silent. It was an unnecessary gesture, because she was nearly frozen with fear.

"We know you're in there," the voice said. "We can see where someone cut the bushes. It's not polite not to answer when people are talking to you."

Schroeder crawled forward a few yards, where he had a view of the cave's mouth.

"It's not polite to kill innocent people, either."

"You killed my man. My friend was innocent."

"Your friend was stupidand deserved to die," Schroeder said.

Hoarse male laughter greeted his answer.

"Hey, tough guy, my name is Grisha. Who the hell are you?"

"I'm your worst nightmare come true."

"I heard someone say that in an American movie," the voice said. "You're an old man. What do you want with a young girl? I'll make a deal. I'll let you go if you give us the girl."

"I heard someone say that in a movie too," Schroeder said. "Do you think I'm stupid? Let's talk some more. Tell me why you want to kill the girl."

"We don't want to kill her. She's worth a lot of money to us."

"Then you won't harm her?"

"No, no. Like I said, she's worth more as a hostage."

Schroeder paused as if he were seriously considering the offer.

"I have lots of money too. I can give it to you right away and you won't have to wait. How does a million dollars American sound?"

There was a whispered discussion, then the Russian came back. "My men say it's okay, but they want to see the money first."

"All right. Come closer to the cave and I'll throw it out to you."

The conversation had been in Russian and Karla had understood only part of it. Schroeder whispered to Karla to move deeper into the cave and to cover her ears. He reached into his pack and pulled out an object that looked like a small metal pineapple. He knew that his offer would draw the attackers in like jackals, and, with any luck, he could take out all of them. He stood up. Shards of pain shot up his right leg. The run and climb while carrying the young woman had aggravated the ankle injury.

He moved closer to the entrance. He could see shadows moving closer. Good.There was a slight bend in the cave, and the entrance was a narrow slit, so his aim and timing would have to be just right.

"Here's your money," he said, and pulled the pin from the hand grenade.

As he stepped forward to toss it out of the hole, his injured right leg buckled and he fell, slamming his head against the wall of the cave. He almost blacked out. As his eyes were closing, he saw the grenade hit the ground and roll to a stop only a few feet away. He pulled himself back to consciousness and forced himself to hang on. He lunged for the grenade, felt the hard metal in his hand and again tossed it to the entrance.

His aim was better this time, but the grenade glanced off the wall and came to rest in the dead center of the opening.

Schroeder threw himself deeper into the cave and around the bend, where he gained the shelter of the wall. He clamped his hands over his ears just as the grenade exploded. There was a flash of light and a burst of white-hot metal as the shrapnel peppered the cave in a deadly fusillade. Then came a secondary roar as the entrance collapsed.

The cave was filled with dust. Schroeder lifted his head up and crawled toward the sound of coughing. The light flashed on, but the beam was diffused by the brown curtain of dust that hung in the air.

"What happened?" Karla said after the dust settled.

Schroeder groaned and spit out a mouthful of dirt. "I told you I'm getting too old for this sort of thing. I was about to toss out the grenade when I tripped and banged my head. Wait." He took the flashlight and made his way to the entrance. He came back after a minute and said, "I did a good job. We can't get out, but they can't get in."

"I don't know about that," Karla said. "The leader of those men said they have a portable jackhammer."

Schroeder considered her comment. "We'll have to go farther into the cave."

"This place could go on underground for miles! We could become hopelessly lost."

"Yes, I know. We will only go as far as we need to set up an ambush. I will try not to be so clumsy next time."

Karla wondered if she was talking to the same man who had bounced her on his knee so many years ago. He had cleanly dispatched the man who tried to rape her, calmly negotiated with a band of murderers, and then, in a businesslike fashion, tried to kill the gang.

"All right," she said. "But this secret you mentioned. What do you know about it?"

Karl fished a candle out of his pack, lit the wick and stuck it onto a ledge using melted wax.

"I met your grandfather for the first time near the end of World War Two. He was a brilliant and courageous man. Many years ago, he came upon a scientific principle that, if used unwisely, could cause great death and destruction. He wrote a paper warning of the possibilities, and the result was not what he expected. The Nazis captured him and forced him to work on a superweapon, using his theories."

"That's incredible. He never gave any hint that he was anything but an inventor and businessman."

"It's true. However, I helped him escape from the lab. He had refused to give up his secrets, and his stubbornness cost him his family. Yes, that's right. He was married and had a child before he moved to the United States after World War Two. He took his secret to the grave, but these men, or the ones they work for, think he passed the secret on to you."

"What makes them think I know anything like that?"

"History repeats itself. You published an article on the extinction of the woolly mammoths."

"That's right. I said it was due to climate changes caused by a polar shift. I used some of my grandfather's papers and his calculations to back up my theory. Dear God! Is thatwhat they want?"

"That and more. They will do anything and kill anyone to get it."

"But everything I know is in public view. I don't know anythingabout any secret!"

"Your grandfather told the Nazis the same thing. They didn't believe him either."

"What can I do?"

"For now, you can keep yourself well." He went back into his pack again and came out with some jerky and water. "Not exactly cordon bleu, but it will do for now. Maybe we will find some bats that we can cook into a big stew."

"Now I remember," Karla said with a smile. "You were always telling me about the crazy things you were going to cook up for me. Snails. Puppy dogs. Brussels sprouts. Ugh. Disgusting."

"It was the best I could do. I had limited experience entertaining children."

They talked about shared memories as they chewed the tough jerky. They were washing their meat down with water when they heard what sounded like a giant woodpecker at the mouth of the cave.

"They've started drilling," Karla said.

Schroeder gathered up his things. "Time to get moving." He handed Karla a light and suggested she use it sparingly, although he always carried plenty of batteries. Then they followed the cave deeper into the ground.

Schroeder had expected the temperature to rise the deeper they went and was heartened that it remained temperate, and that the air was relatively fresh. He remarked on the phenomenon to Karla, and suggested that the cave might eventually lead outdoors. He knew it was a slim hope, especially after the cave floor began to slant downward, but it seemed to give Karla courage.

The cave meandered, going slightly left, then right, but always down. Sometimes the ceiling was high enough to allow them to walk upright. For some stretches, the cave was only about four feet high, and they had to crouch. Schroeder was glad to see that there was only one tunnel, with no branches that would have required a decision and increased the chances of becoming hopelessly lost.

After they had been walking for about an hour, the cave broke open to a larger space. They had no idea how big it was until they started to explore it.

As their flashlight beams bounced off the moisture that cast a sheen on the high ceilings and far walls, it became apparent that the cavern was as big as the lobby of a grand hotel. The floor was almost flat. At the far end, opposite where they had come in, was the only other opening, which loomed as large as a garage door.

They walked around the perimeter of the chamber, sipping from their water bottles, marveling at the size and shape of the space. Schroeder had been examining it with an eye toward setting up ambush, and had decided, with its nooks and wall crannies, that it would make an ideal killing field. Karla had wandered over to the other entrance, where she swept the interior with her light, then stepped inside.

"Uncle Karl," she called out, her voice echoing.

He strode over to where she knelt on the cavern floor. Illuminated in the bull's-eye of light from her flashlight was a brownish mass of vegetation.

"What is it?" Schroeder asked.

She didn't answer right away. After a moment, she said, "It looks like elephant scat."

Schroeder roared with laughter. "Do you think the circus passed this way?"

She stood up and touched it with the toe of her boot. A musky, grassy smell arose from the mound. "I think I need to sit down," she said.

They found a wall outcropping to sit on and refreshed themselves from their water bottles. Karla told Schroeder about the baby mammoth that had been discovered not far from the cave entrance. "I couldn't figure out how it could be so well preserved," she said. "No one has ever found a specimen like that. It seemed to have died only days or weeks ago."

"Are you suggesting that there are woolly mammoths living in these caves?"

"No, of course not," she said with a laugh. "That would be impossible. Maybe they once did, though, and the scat is very old. Let me tell you a story. In 1918, a Russian hunter was traveling through the taiga, the great Siberian forest, when he saw huge tracks in the snow. For days, he followed the creatures that made them. They left behind piles of dung and broken tree branches. He described seeing two huge elephants with chestnut hair and massive tusks."

"An apocryphal hunter's tale, with no evidence, meant to impress?"

"Possibly. But the Eskimos and North American Indians recounted legends of great shaggy creatures. In 1993, the skeletons of dwarf mammoths were found on Wrangel Island, between Siberia and Alaska, not far from here. Their bones were dated between seven thousand and thirty-seven hundred years ago, which means mammoths roamed the earth well past Paleolithic times, when men were building Stonehenge and the Pyramids."

Schroeder chuckled and said, "You'd like to explore further, wouldn't you?"