Douglas Preston - The Ice Limit

They met him at the boarding hatch and led him up through a series of foul passageways and slippery metal stairways. At the entrance to the puente, the bridge, they paused. Except for the deck officer, Vallenar was alone. He stood at the forward windows, looking out at the island, cigar in his mouth, hands clasped behind his back. It was cold; either the heating system did not work, or it had been turned off. Like the rest of the ship, the bridge smelled of engine oil, bilgewater, and fish.

Vallenar did not turn. Glinn let a very long silence ensue before he began.

"Comandante," he said in polite, measured Spanish, "I have come to pay you my respects."

A faint noise issued from Vallenar, which Glinn took for amusement. The man still did not turn. The atmosphere around Glinn seemed charged with superhuman clarity; his body felt light, as if made of air.

Vallenar removed a letter from his pocket, unfolded it, and paused. Glinn could see the letterhead of a well-known Australian university. Vallenar spoke at last. "It's a meteorite," he said, his voice flat and dry.

So he knew. It had seemed the most unlikely path of those they had analyzed; but now it became the path they must follow.

"Yes."

Vallenar turned. His heavy woolen coat fell back, displaying an old Luger snugged into his belt.

"You are stealing a meteorite from my country."

"Not stealing," said Glinn. "We are within international law."

Vallenar barked out a laugh, hollow on the nearly deserted bridge. "I know. You are a mining operation, and it is metal. I was wrong after all: you did come down here for iron."

Glinn said nothing. With every word of Vallenar's, he was getting priceless information about the man; information that would allow him to make ever more accurate predictions on future behavior.

"But you, señor, are outside my law. The law of Comandante Vallenar."

"I do not understand," said Glinn, although he did.

"You will not leave Chile with this meteorite."

"If we find it," said Glinn.

Vallenar paused ever so slightly, and in that pause Glinn saw that he did not, in fact, know they had found it.

"What is to prevent me from simply reporting this to the authorities in Santiago? They, at least, have not been bribed."

"You are free to report it to anyone you wish," said Glinn. "We are doing nothing illegal." He knew Vallenar would never report it. Vallenar was the kind of man who would settle things his own way.

Vallenar took a long drag on the cigar, blowing the smoke in Glinn's direction. "Tell me, señor... Ishmael, was it not?"

"Actually, my name is Glinn."

"I see. So tell me, Mr. Glinn, why have you come to my ship?"

Glinn knew he had to answer this carefully. "I was hoping, Comandante, that we could work out an arrangement with you."

He saw the expected anger in the captain's face, and pressed on. "I am authorized to give you one million dollars, gold, for your cooperation."

Vallenar suddenly smiled, his eyes veiled. "You have it on you?"

"Of course not."

The comandante lazily puffed on the puro . "Perhaps, señor, you think I have a price like the others. Because I am a South American, a dirty Latin, that I am always willing to cooperate in exchange for la mordida ."

"It has been my experience that no one is incorruptible," said Glinn. "Americans included." He watched the comandante carefully. He knew he would refuse the bribe, but even in the refusal there would be information.

"If that has been your experience, then you have led a corrupt life, surrounding yourself with whores, degenerates, and homosexuals. You will not leave Chile with this meteorite. I request you to take your gold, señor, and fill your mother's whorish coño with it."

Glinn did not respond to this strongest of Spanish insults. Vallenar lowered his cigar. "There is another, matter. I sent a man over to make a reconnaissance of the island, and he has not returned. His name is Timmer. He is my oficial de comunicaciones, my signal officer."

Glinn was faintly surprised at this. He did not believe the comandante would bring up the subject, let alone admit the man was on a spying expedition. After all, this man Timmer had failed, and Vallenar was clearly someone to whom failure was contemptible.

"He slit the throat of one of our men. We are holding him.

The comandante's eyes narrowed, and for a moment his control seemed to slip. But he recovered and smiled again. "You will return him to me, please."

"I am sorry," said Glinn. "He committed a crime."

"You will return him to me at once, or I will blow your ship out of the water," Vallenar said, his voice rising.

Again, Glinn felt a twinge of puzzlement. This rash threat was far out of proportion to the situation. A signal officer was easily replaced, not of high rank. There was something more here than met the eye. His mind raced over the possibilities even as he was formulating his answer. "That would be unwise, since your man is in the ship's brig."

The comandante stared hard at Glinn. When he spoke again, his voice was even once more. "Give me back Timmer, and I may consider letting you take the meteorite."

Glinn knew this was a lie. Vallenar would no more let them go if they returned Timmer than they could return the man. The comandante, he understood from Puppup, had a fanatically loyal crew. Now, perhaps, he could understand why: Vallenar returned their loyalty just as fiercely. Glinn had believed the comandante to be a man to whom other people were dispensable. This was a side of Vallenar that he had not anticipated. It didn't fit the profile that his people back in New York had drawn up, or the background dossier he had obtained. Still, it was useful. He would have to reconsider Vallenar. At any rate, he now had the information he needed: he knew now what Vallenar knew. And his own team had had ample time to do what needed to be done.

"I will relay your offer to our captain," he said. "And I think it might be possible to arrange. I will have an answer for you by noon." Glinn bowed slightly. "And now, with your permission, I will return to my ship."

Vallenar smiled, making an almost successful effort to cover up a simmering anger. "You do that, señor. Because if I do not see Timmer with my own eyes by noon, then I will know that he is dead. And your lives will not be worth dog dirt under my heel."

Rolvaag,

11:50 P.M.

MCFARLANE TOOK the call in Lloyd's suite of deserted offices. Outside the wide span of windows, a breeze had sprung up, and a swell was rolling in from the west. The great ship stood in the lee of the sheer basaltic cliffs, its hawsers strung to the shore, affixed to steel bolts in the bedrock itself. All was in readiness, awaiting the cloaking fog that Glinn said was predicted for midnight.

The phone on Lloyd's desk began to blink angrily, and McFarlane reached for it with a sigh. It would be his third conversation with Lloyd that evening. He hated this new role, a go-between, a secretary. "Mr. Lloyd?"

"Yes, yes, I'm here. Has Glinn returned?" There was that same loud, continuous noise in the background he had heard during their last conversation. Idly, McFarlane wondered where Lloyd was calling from.

"He came back two hours ago."

"What did he say? Did Vallenar take the bribe?"

"No."

"Maybe he didn't offer enough money."

"Glinn seems to think that no amount of money would make a difference."

"Jesus Christ, everyone has a price! I suppose it's too late now, but I'd pay twenty million. You tell him that. Twenty million in gold, sent anywhere in the world. And American passports for him and his family."

McFarlane said nothing. Somehow, he didn't think Vallenar would be interested in American passports.