Douglas Preston - The Ice Limit

Rolvaag,

11:15 A.M.

GLANCING AT his watch, McFarlane entered the elevator and punched a button for the middle bridge deck. He'd passed this empty deck many times, wondering why Glinn had always kept it off-limits. Now, as the elevator rose smoothly, he realized what it had been reserved for. It was as if Glinn had known all along that Lloyd would be dropping in.

The elevator doors opened to a scene of frantic activity: the ringing of phones, the whirr of faxes and printers, and the bustle of people. There were several secretaries at desks ranged along one wall, men and women taking calls, typing at workstations, scuttling about on Lloyd Holdings business.

A man in a light-colored suit approached him, threading his way through the hubbub. McFarlane recognized the oversized ears, drooping mouth, and fat pursed lips as belonging to Penfold, Lloyd's personal assistant. Penfold never seemed to walk toward anything, but instead approached from an angle, as if a direct approach would be too brazen.

"Dr. McFarlane?" Penfold said in his high, nervous voice. "This way, please."

He led McFarlane through a door, down a corridor, and into a small sitting room, with black leather sofas arranged around a glass- and gold-leafed table. A door opened into yet another office, and from it McFarlane could hear Lloyd's basso profundo voice.

"Please sit down," said Penfold. "Mr. Lloyd will be with you shortly." He vanished, and McFarlane settled back into the creaking leather sofa. There was a wall of television sets tuned to various news channels from around the world. The latest magazines lay on the table: Scientific American, the New Yorker, and the New Republic. McFarlane picked one up, began flipping through it absently, then put it down again. Why had Lloyd come down so abruptly? Had something gone wrong?

"Sam!" Looking up, he saw the huge man standing in the doorway, filling it with his bulk, radiating power, good humor, and boundless self-confidence.

McFarlane rose. Lloyd moved toward him, beaming, arms outstretched. "Sam, it's fine to see you again." He squeezed McFarlane's shoulders between his beefy palms and examined him, still gripping his shoulders. "I can't tell you how exciting it is to be here. Come in."

McFarlane followed Lloyd's broad back, beautifully draped in Valentino. Lloyd's inner office was spare: a row of windows, the cold light of the Antarctic regions flooding in, two simple wing chairs, a desk with a phone, a laptop computer — and two wineglasses beside a freshly opened bottle of Chateau Margaux.

Lloyd gestured at the wine. "Care for a glass?"

McFarlane grinned, and nodded. Lloyd poured the ruby liquid into a glass, filling another for himself. He settled his bulk into a chair, and held his glass up. "Cheers."

They clinked and McFarlane sipped the exquisite wine. He wasn't much of a connoisseur, but even the grossest palate could appreciate this.

"I hate Glinn's habit of keeping me in the dark," Lloyd said. "Why wasn't I told about this being a dry ship, Sam? Or about Britton's history? I can't fathom Glinn's thinking on this one. He should have briefed me back in Elizabeth. Thank God there's been no problem."

"She's an excellent captain," McFarlane said. "She's handled the ship with great skill. Knows it inside and out. Crew respects the hell out of her. Doesn't take guff from anybody, either."

Lloyd listened, frowning. "That's good to know." The phone buzzed. Lloyd picked it up. "Yes?" he said impatiently. "I'm in a meeting."

There was a pause while Lloyd listened. McFarlane watched him, thinking that what Lloyd had said about Glinn was true. Secretiveness was a habit with Glinn — or, perhaps, an instinct.

"I'll call the senator back," Lloyd said after a moment. "And no more calls." He strode over to the window and stood, hands clasped behind his back. Although the worst of the storm had passed, the panoramic windows remained streaked with sleet. "Magnificent," Lloyd breathed, something like reverence in his voice. "To think we'll be at the island within the hour. Christ, Sam, we're almost there!"

He swiveled away from the window. The frown was gone, replaced by a look of elation. "I've made a decision. Eli needs to hear it, too, but I wanted you to know first." He paused, exhaled. "I'm going to plant the flag, Sam."

McFarlane looked at Lloyd. "You're going to what?"

"This afternoon, I'm taking the launch to Isla Desolación."

"Just you?" McFarlane felt a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach.

"Just me. And that crazy old Puppup, of course, to guide me to the meteorite."

"But the weather —"

"The weather couldn't be better!" Lloyd stepped away from the windows and paced restlessly between the wing chairs. This kind of moment, Sam, isn't given to many."

McFarlane sat in his chair, the strange feeling growing. "Just you?" he repeated. "You won't share the discovery?"

"No, I won't. Why the hell should I? Peary did the same thing on his last dash to the Pole. Glinn's got to understand. He may not like it, but it's my expedition. I'm going in alone."

"No," McFarlane said quietly. "No, you're not."

Lloyd stopped pacing.

"You're not leaving me behind."

Lloyd turned in surprise, his piercing eyes on McFarlane. "You?"

McFarlane said nothing, maintaining eye contact.

After a moment, Lloyd began to chuckle. "You know, Sam, you're not the man I first met hiding behind a bush in the Kalahari Desert. It never occurred to me you'd care about something like this." His smile suddenly vanished. "What would you do if I said no?"

McFarlane stood up. "I don't know. Something rash and ill-advised, probably."

Lloyd's whole frame seemed to swell. "Are you threatening me?"

McFarlane held his eyes. "Yeah. I guess I am."

Lloyd continued looking at him steadily. "Well, well."

"You sought me out. You knew what I'd dreamed of my entire life." McFarlane carefully watched Lloyd's expression. This was a man unused to being challenged. "I was out there trying to put the past behind me. And you arrived, dangling it, like a carrot on a stick. You knew I'd bite. And now I'm here, and you can't leave me out. I won't miss this." There was a tense silence in which McFarlane could hear the distant clatter of keys, the ringing of phones. Then, abruptly, Lloyd's hard features softened. He placed a hand on his bald head and smoothed his shiny pate. Then he ran his fingers down through his goatee. "If I bring you, then what about Glinn? Or Amira? Or Britton? Everyone's going to want a piece of this."

"No. It'll be just us two. I've earned it; you've earned it. That's all. You have the power to make it happen."

Lloyd continued to stare at him. "I think I like the new Sam McFarlane," he said at last. "I never fully bought that tough-guy cynic act anyway. But I have to tell you, Sam: this interest of yours had better be healthy. Do I have to speak more plainly? I don't want a repeat of that Tornarssuk business."

McFarlane felt a stab of anger. "I'll just pretend I didn't hear that."

"You heard it. Let's not play coy."

McFarlane waited.

Lloyd dropped his hand with a deprecating smile. "It's been years since someone stood up to me like that. It's bracing. God damn you, Sam, all right. We'll do it together. But you realize Glinn's going to try to scotch everything." He walked back toward the bank of windows, checking his watch as he did so. "He's going to be an old woman about this."

As if he had timed the moment — and later, McFarlane realized he probably had — Glinn came gliding into the office. Behind followed Puppup, silent and wraithlike, rapidly becoming a fixture in Glinn's shadow, his alert black eyes filled with some private amusement. Puppup covered his mouth, bowing and genuflecting in the strangest fashion.