Jack Du Brul - Pandora's curse

“Without Igor Bulgarin to lead them, Dr. Puhl has done nothing but sit in his room. The other two meteorologists haven’t accomplished much of anything either. And Dr. Klein has no function here, no real job except for some foolish interest in stress research. With you and Puhl’s team gone, she has nothing to study. Besides, she is only here because of Bulgarin’s insistence.”

Mercer opened his mouth to reply but stopped himself. That last fact was something new. Igor had made it sound like Anika had been the one to petition him to join their expedition. Schmidt’s statement meant it was the other way around. While he hadn’t gotten the impression that she knew more than she’d admitted, he wondered again if she did. When he thought about it, she hadn’t told him much of anything about herself or her interest in coming to Greenland.

Werner spoke for the first time. “There is no reason to continue this conversation. Tomorrow morning the weather is going to clear for a few hours and the DC-3 that came out a couple days ago will return to take you back to Reykjavik. I am sorry.”

“This according to the same weatherman who sent a chopper into a hurricane?” Ira asked sardonically.

Greta glared.

Mercer wondered what Werner Koenig had ever seen in her. He was easygoing and caring and seemed like a dedicated scientist. She strode around the camp like a dictator. He suspected that dating the new owner of Geo-Research had somehow changed her because he couldn’t imagine a guy like Werner ever loving the woman she was now.

He cleared his mind of unnecessary speculation and concentrated on the problem at hand. He cocked a questioning eye at Marty. “This is your show. What do you think?”

“My father shelled out a ton of money for this expedition. He won’t be happy, but since Camp Decade’s gone there’s no real reason to hang out here.”

“Ira?” Because Ira knew more about what was going on, Mercer was confident how the ex-Navy man would vote.

Lasko cracked his knuckles before answering. “I say we get back to Reykjavik, have ourselves a decent night’s sleep, and call Mr. Bryce in New York. I think he’ll have us back here in a matter of hours. There’s still a lot we can do. Not all the base was burned.”

Greta watched the vote but didn’t wait for Mercer to voice his opinion. “This isn’t a democracy. You are being ordered back to Iceland. The plane will be here in the morning. You will be on it when it leaves.”

She turned to go. Werner paused for a second, looking apologetic. He was about to speak when he closed his mouth and followed her out of the mess hall. The Society’s team was left to themselves at their table. There were a few others scattered around the mess, mostly scientists who’d shown no interest in the argument.

Mercer went to get a cup of coffee. Ingrid, the cook’s assistant who was sleeping with Marty, motioned him into the kitchen when no one appeared to be looking. Standing with her was Hilda Brandt, the other assistant chef. A heavy woman, she’d learned her craft in the German Army but her skills had improved since then. Both looked anxious. “I heard what just happened,” Ingrid said in her delightful lisping accent. “That witch is also sending away the contract employees: me and Hilda.”

“You don’t work for Geo-Research?”

“No, only the head chef is their employee. We work for a commercial catering company.”

The implication was clear. “After tomorrow the only people left here are actual Geo-Research staff?”

“Ja.”

Just what the Danish government wanted to avoid, Mercer thought. “Thanks for the info.”

He returned to the table, accepting a shot from Ira’s flask to fortify his coffee. He was quiet for a moment, his gaze lost in the black pool swirling in his ceramic cup.

“You with us, Mercer?” Ira asked.

“For what it’s worth, I think Ira’s idea has the most merit.” They looked at him, waiting for him to continue. “The fire that leveled Camp Decade and nearly killed Anika and me wasn’t an accident.”

“You started it on purpose?” Marty cried, nearly coming out of his chair.

“Quiet down!” Mercer said. “I didn’t start it.”

“Anika?” Ira asked.

“She was with me the whole time.” Mercer shook his head. “It was started deliberately by the same person who murdered Igor Bulgarin.”

Jaws dropped around the table. “Igor was murdered?” Marty finally gasped.

Mercer explained Anika’s findings, concluding that the fire was most likely set by the murderer to cover his trail. He had probably seen Mercer and Anika headed toward the underground facility, realized that they might be trying to prove the murder, and started a fire that would trap them. “Ira, did you get a chance to check the doors leading into the camp when you were fighting the blaze? I suspect they were chained shut to prevent us from escaping if we somehow managed to reach them.”

“There was too much smoke coming up the access shaft. We never got down that far before you were found by Erwin.”

“Damn. That would have been the proof I needed.”

“Sorry, none of us were looking for evidence.”

“It was my fault.” Mercer’s voice was thick with self-recrimination. “I forgot to go back after the diesel tank blew up. If they’d been locked, the killer’s had plenty of time to remove the chain.”

“Why’d you say my idea has the most merit?”

“Because Ingrid just told me that she and Hilda are being evacuated with us. Geo-Research is going to have this whole place to themselves, a situation they’ve wanted all along. When we land in Iceland, I’m calling Charlie Bryce. He’s got the leverage to get us back out here.”

“Why bother?” Marty said. “None of this has anything to do with us.”

“I don’t like leaving unsolved mysteries,” Mercer replied. “And I especially don’t let people trying to kill me get away with it. Because of the solar-max effect we can’t communicate with anyone, which means until I’m in Reykjavik I can’t get the answers I want. Geo-Research isn’t what it’s pretending to be, and Charlie’s the only person I know who can find out who they really are. And just because Igor was a virtual stranger doesn’t mean I won’t find the son of a bitch who murdered him.”

Mercer decided he would also contact Dick Henna. He hated using his friendship with the director of the FBI but since he was looking into a murder this was more than a personal request. If Bryce couldn’t find out what Geo-Research was up to, Henna certainly could.

“What are you now, a cop or something?”

“No. I just don’t hide behind my father while people are dying around me.” The fury in Mercer’s eyes made Marty look away guiltily. It wasn’t Bishop he was particularly angry with. In other circumstances he would agree with him. But this situation had Mercer on edge and anxious. Marty was just a convenient target to vent some of his bottled emotions. “You don’t want to come back, that’s fine. I am.”

“I’m with you,” Ira said, directing a long look at Marty.

He was silent for just a few seconds, but the change in him was profound. Mercer had hit his most vulnerable spot — his fear that he couldn’t live up to his father. The accusation stung. For his entire life, Marty Bishop had argued that he didn’t mind being under his father’s shadow, and he would have shrugged off Mercer’s comment. But for the first time he was prepared to face it and himself. Here was a chance to go beyond what was expected of him, and he wanted to take it. Shoulders squared, he met Mercer’s gaze and nodded.

“Looks like we’re both with you,” Ira remarked. Having shepherded many young recruits onto the path of responsibility, he poured a congratulatory dram from his flask into Marty’s coffee. That Bishop was learning this lesson at fifty and not twenty was fine — many people never learned it at all.