Clive Cussler - Fast Ice

“Actually, it’s easier than building a pipeline on the surface,” Kurt said. “All he’d need is an adequate supply of hot water. A geothermal strike would give him plenty.”

Paul nodded. He was the geologist. “Hate to add to the bad news, but that area of Antarctica is riddled with volcanic activity.”

Rudi rubbed his temples. “Which means we’re back to square one. Figuring out where Cora went and where Jorgensen landed ninety years earlier.”

“Gamay and I have narrowed it down for you,” Paul insisted.

“Twelve thousand square miles is not exactly a bull’s-eye,” Rudi replied.

“Then you’d better start narrowing it down further,” Kurt replied.

“And how do you propose we do that?”

Kurt shrugged. “I’m sure you can pull a rabbit out of your hat. In the meantime, Paul and Gamay can fly south for the winter and Joe can plan the expedition.”

“South?” Paul said. “I hope you’re suggesting Miami or the French Riviera.”

“Farther south,” Kurt said. “About as far as you can go.”

“Figures,” Paul sighed. “I guess it can’t be any colder than the ice core facility.”

“Oh, I’m sure it will be,” Gamay added. “With the added bonus of wind and driving snow.”

Kurt laughed. “I promise you one day of sun in Cape Town before we set off. But we need you down here.”

“We’ll be on the first flight,” Gamay said.

Rudi raised his hand. “Just one question,” he said. “While the Trouts are flying, and Joe is planning, and I’m searching for a hat and a rabbit of the correct size and shape, what will you be doing?”

“Talking to a man about a horse,” Kurt said. “And by that I mean a boat.”

“We are a nautical agency, after all,” Rudi said. “I believe we have a few of those sitting around. Planes and helicopters, too.”

“I know that,” Kurt said. “So does Ryland. He’s probably been tracking NUMA’s movements since the moment Cora sent you that message. That’s how his submarine managed to appear within hours of Joe and me setting foot on the Grishka . That’s why he knew everything about us when we showed up at his party.”

Rudi sat back and looked at Kurt. “You’re looking for a horse of a different color, I assume.”

Kurt nodded. “One that doesn’t look quite so American.”

34

ATLANTIC OCEAN

FORTY MILES OFF THE COAST OF ANGOLA

Ryland and Yvonne sat in the passenger compartment of a Kamov Ka-62 helicopter as it crossed the sparkling waters off the coast of Angola. The Ka-62 was the civilian version of a military helicopter used extensively by the Russian Federation. It was fast, rugged and reliable. Ryland’s company owned three such helicopters, using them to ferry men and equipment to his offshore oil platforms.

“Do you think we have enough seed material?” Yvonne asked.

Pressure sealed, fifty-five-gallon drums lined the compartment around them, twenty-six in all. Eight additional drums were carried in the cargo compartment behind a thin bulkhead.

Each of the drums contained a highly concentrated batch of the genetically modified ice-forming algae. Had anyone opened the drums, he’d have discovered a pungent green mush with the consistency of paste. Enough to cover no more than a few hundred acres of water once it had spread into a thin layer. As Yvonne mentioned, this was seed stock, not meant to do anything except get the process started.

“This should be plenty,” Ryland said. “The tankers will have a long, slow journey north. By the time they reach the Arctic Sea, their storage tanks will be full of growth.”

“Then why do you look so concerned?”

“Austin and NUMA concern me,” he said.

“You should have shot them.”

“In the middle of my party? In our home? And how would I explain that to their government?”

She shook her head. “Being mauled by lions was preferable?”

“Eminently,” he said. “An explainable accident, caused by their wandering off. Which their government would expect them to do, given the situation.”

“Austin and his friend are very”—she struggled to find the right word—“resilient. I heard stories about them from Cora. You would not believe where they’ve been or what they’ve done. They were on the Grishka when we sank it. They survived that also. I just hope their presence didn’t spook our partners. We need those turbines and tankers.”

“Don’t be concerned about Liang and Tunstall,” Ryland said. “You should have seen them react to word of American agents prowling around. Any doubts about our scheme flew right out the window replaced by a gripping fear that the Americans might stop us from melting the permafrost.” He laughed at the thought. “If anything, NUMA showing up was all the proof we needed. We couldn’t pay for that sort of validation.”

She cocked her head at him. “Then why are you worried?”

Ryland turned toward his sister. “Because Austin—in addition to being resilient, as you so aptly described him—is the epitome of an unreasonable man. I worry that he will not stop pursuing us.”

Yvonne nodded. “It must be in their DNA,” she said. “Cora was the same. At first, that was to our advantage because she led us to something no one else believed existed. Once we found it, she wouldn’t listen to me or be persuaded to keep the discovery secret. Even after I sabotaged our radio and satellite gear, she still found a way to send a message to NUMA.”

“You should have killed her while you were out on the ice,” Ryland said.

“In front of our crew?” she replied, turning the same logic back on him that he had used earlier. “They were loyal to her. She’d found and hired most of them personally. If I hadn’t shot them in their sleep, they’d have fought to the end and we might never have taken the materials from the Grishka. ” Yvonne shook her head in frustration. “Truth is, I would have shot Cora if she’d left that captain’s side for one minute. But she was on the bridge from the moment we left the glacier until the Goliath found us.”

“Understandable,” he said.

“If only that damned ship had gone down,” Yvonne said, “NUMA would never have discovered us and we’d have nothing to worry about. I still don’t know how it remained afloat. We blew a hole in the side and sent it charging through a sea filled with icebergs and growlers.”

Ryland waved a hand dismissively. “In a week or so, none of that will matter,” he said. “What we do over the next seven days will tell the outcome. We can’t have any more interference. Not now. Not this close to the finish line.”

“How do you propose to stop it?”

“I’m sending High Point and the tactical squad with you to the pumping station,” he said. “You and he are to defend the station at all costs. And if Austin and his friends show up, you make sure they die there in the cold and the snow.”

A smile creased her face. “With pleasure.”

Ryland turned to the window. A towering oil rig loomed in the distance. An even more massive vessel held station several hundred yards from the structure. The ship was a VLCC, which stood for “very large crude carrier.” It displaced two hundred thousand tons—twice the weight of an American aircraft carrier. At over a thousand feet in length with a wide beam, the ship was a certified monster that could carry two million barrels of crude oil.

Her hull was painted navy blue, her flat deck a pale green. A stylish blue on the side of her superstructure identified her as one of Liang’s tankers. One look told Ryland the ship was empty as she rode high in the water, a large red swath on the lower half of the hull exposed for all to see.