Douglas Preston - The Ice Limit

Glinn nodded. Or, at least, McFarlane thought he did; the gesture was so slight as to be imperceptible.

"I now intend to exercise my prerogative under such authority."

McFarlane noticed that the faces of Howell and the other bridge officers were hard-set. Clearly, something was about to happen. And yet Glinn seemed to receive this stiff announcement without concern.

"And how do you plan to exercise this prerogative?"

"That meteorite is not coming aboard my ship."

There was silence while Glinn looked at her mildly. "Captain, I think it would be better if we discussed this in private."

"No, sir." She turned to Howell. "Begin preparations to vacate the island. We leave in ninety minutes."

"One moment, if you please, Mr. Howell." Glinn's eyes remained on the captain. "May I ask what precipitated this decision?"

"You know my misgivings about that rock. You've given me no assurances, beyond guesswork, that the thing is safe to bring aboard. And just five minutes ago, that destroyer painted us with fire-control radar. We're a sitting duck. Even if the meteorite is safe, the conditions aren't. A severe storm is on its way. You don't load the heaviest object ever moved by man when you're staring down the business end of a four-inch gun."

"He will not fire. At least, not yet. He believes we have his man Timmer in the brig. And he seems remarkably eager to get him back safely."

"I see. And what will he do when he finds Timmer's dead?"

Glinn did not answer this question. "Running away without a proper plan is a guaranteed way to fail. And Vallenar won't let us leave until Timmer is returned."

"All I can say is that I'd rather try running now than with a bellyful of meteorite slowing us down."

Glinn continued to regard her with a mild, almost sad expression.

A technician cleared his throat. "I've got an inbound air contact bearing zero zero nine at thirty-five miles."

"Track it and get me a call sign," Britton said, without shifting position or dropping her gaze from Glinn.

There was a short, tense silence.

"Have you forgotten the contract you signed with EES?" Glinn asked.

"I've forgotten nothing, Mr. Glinn. But there is a higher law which supersedes all contracts: the law and custom of the sea. The captain has the last word on matters pertaining to her vessel. And, under present circumstances, I will not allow that meteorite on board."

"Captain Britton, if you will not speak privately with me, all I can do is assure you there is no need to worry." Glinn nodded to his men. One of them stepped forward, sitting down at an unused computer console of black steel. The words SECURE DATAMETRICS were stamped into its side. The other man took up a position behind him, his back to the console, facing the bridge officers. McFarlane realized this console was a smaller cousin of the mysterious machine Britton had pointed out to him in the cargo control room.

Britton watched the two strangers darkly. "Mr. Howell, remove all EES personnel from the bridge."

"That," said Glinn sorrowfully, "will not be possible."

Something in his tone seemed to make Britton hesitate. "What do you mean?"

"The Rolvaag is a marvelous ship, the latest in maritime computerization. As a precaution, EES has used that computerization against a contingency such as this. You see, our systems control the main computer. Normally, this control is transparent. But after the Rolvaag was brought in to shore, I deactivated the bypass. Now we alone have the authorization codes to control the main engines. You cannot transmit any engine or rudder orders until the correct sequence is punched in."

Britton looked at him, silent fury on her face.

Howell picked up a telephone on the command console. "Security to the bridge, on the double."

Britton turned to the watch officer. "Initiate engine sequence."

There was a pause as the officer entered a series of commands. "No response from the engines, ma'am. I've got a dead board."

"Run a diagnostic," she said.

"Captain," continued Glinn, "I'm afraid you will be required to observe the letter of your contract whether you like it or not."

She wheeled suddenly, her eyes locked on his. She said something to him in a voice too low for McFarlane to hear. Glinn stepped forward. "No," he almost whispered. " You promised to captain this ship back to New York. I merely added a safeguard to prevent a violation of that promise — by you, or by others."

Britton fell silent, her tall frame quivering slightly.

"If we leave now, rashly, without a plan, they will sink us." Glinn's voice remained low, persuasive, urgent. "Our very survival now depends on your following my lead. I know what I am doing."

Britton continued looking at him. "This will not stand."

"Captain, you must believe me when I tell you that, if we are to survive, we have only one course of action. You must cooperate with me, or we will all die. It is as simple as that."

"Captain," the watch officer began, "the diagnostics check out..." His voice died away as he saw Britton had not heard him.

A group of security officers appeared on the bridge.

"You heard the captain," barked Howell, motioning the security team forward. "Clear all EES personnel from the bridge." At the console, Glinn's operatives stiffened in preparation.

And then Britton slowly held up a hand.

"Captain —" Howell began.

"They may remain. "

Howell looked at her incredulously, but Britton did not turn.

There was a long, agonized silence. Then Glinn nodded to his team.

The seated man took a stubby metal key from around his neck and inserted it into the front of the console. Glinn stepped forward, typed a short series of commands, then turned to a numeric keypad and typed again, briefly.

The watch officer glanced up. "Sir, the board's gone green."

Britton nodded. "I hope to God you do know what you're doing." She did not look at Glinn as she spoke.

"If you trust anything, Captain, I hope you will trust this. I have made a professional pact — and a personal one — to bring the meteorite to New York. I have thrown tremendous resources into solving any problem we might encounter — including this one. I — we — will not fail."

If this had any impact on Britton, McFarlane could not see it. Her eyes remained distant.

Glinn stepped back. "Captain, the next twelve hours will be the most trying of the entire mission. Success now depends on a certain subordination of your authority as captain. For that I apologize. But once the meteorite is safely in the holding tank, the ship will be yours again. And by noon tomorrow, we'll be well on our way back to New York. With a prize beyond price."

As Glinn looked at her, McFarlane saw him smile: faint, tenuous, but there nonetheless.

Banks stepped out of the radio room. "I've got an ID on the bird, ma'am. It's a Lloyd Holdings helicopter, sending an encrypted call sign over the bridge-to-bridge frequency."

The smile vanished from Glinn's face. He darted a look at McFarlane. Don't look at me, McFarlane almost said. You should have kept him in the loop.

The officer at the radar console adjusted his headphones. "Captain, he's requesting permission to land."

"ETA?"

"Thirty minutes."

Glinn turned. "Captain, if you don't mind, I have a few matters to attend to. Make any necessary preparations for our departure you see fit. I'll return shortly."

He began walking away, leaving the two EES employees at the console. In the doorway, he paused. "Dr. McFarlane," he said, without looking around. "Mr. Lloyd will be expecting a welcome. Arrange it, if you please."

Rolvaag ,

12:30 A.M.