“Yeah, that’s right,” said Grimes, smiling. “They collar ’em and I kill ’em.”
Hayes lit his cigar and blew a copious cloud of smoke, which settled around Henry.
Henry feigned a cough. “Sheesh, General,” he complained, “those things stink! They must be good.”
“An acquired taste, I’ll admit. My only vice. Suarez has been. . . out of touch for several months,” Hayes added.
“On vacation in Chile,” added Grimes with another smile.
“Mountain-climbing, is the official story,” said Hayes.
Henry swallowed his last forkful of beans and wiped his mouth. “I don’t get the connection. Chile isn’t exactly the Antarctic.”
“The connection isn’t necessarily with Chile,” said Hayes. “The man can get plutonium. He has all the right contacts.”
“From a mountain in southern Chile you could send a radio signal to Antarctica,” remarked Grimes. He got up and walked to the counter, where a cook was busying himself with cleaning the dishes. Grimes leaned over the counter and looked around. “You got any pie back here, Mac?”
“Some apple, sir,” said the cook.
“Hate apple pie,” said Grimes. “Ice cream?”
“Vanilla and chocolate, sir.”
“Fuck it. Just give me a coffee.”
Henry scratched his head, then fanned a curl of smoke that drifted in front of his eyes. “Wouldn’t South Africa, his part-time home territory, be a better base of operations?” he asked once Grimes had returned with coffee.
“New Zealand’s a lot closer,” said the SEAL.
“But that’s the first place we’d look,” observed Hayes.
“But what would make him a suspect if I don’t finger him?” asked Henry.
“Old Rudolfo’s just playing it safe,” said Grimes.
“Never do the obvious – and cover your tracks whatever happens.”
“I don’t know.” Henry shook his head. “Seems real convoluted to me.”
“Not your problem to figure ’em.” Grimes laughed.
“Just finger ’em.”
Hayes chuckled. “Very good, Kai. You oughta go into speech writing.”
“No blood in it, sir,” said Grimes without expression.
#
Rudolfo Suarez always arose at 4:30am, no matter what part of the world he happened to find himself in on any particular day. How he did this was a mystery to his employees, but they never asked him about it. Rudy didn’t like questions.
Today Suarez was on the internet by 5am. He sat in front of his tent, waiting for the sun to come up. Not far away, a small dish antenna slowly traced the path of a barely visible communications satellite, a mote in the sky moving among the stars.
He was camping with four of his men high in the Andean mountains, a hundred miles from the coastal city of Arica on a peak the locals call Nevada Sajama, over 21,000 feet above sea level. From there he could see almost as far as the Pacific Ocean to the west. The area teemed with tourists and archaeologists drawn to the famous sites of Machu Pichu and Tijuanaco. Suarez was part Chilean and owned a home in Arica, on the Peruvian border. His business had him moving all over the world, but it was here in the Chilean heights that he felt most secure and in control. He mused on the spirits that he believed haunted the Andes and called to him. Sometimes, while giving orders, his men would have to wait for him to consult a spirit or two. No one ever laughed.
Once, when he was a boy camping in the mountains with his father, a condor had landed only five feet from him. It had spoken to him, he believed, and told him he would rule the world one day. His father had laughed when little Rudolfo told him of the magic condor. He explained to the boy that the bird was probably sizing him up for a meal. “Don’t stay quiet too long when they’re around.”
Now Suarez’s eyes looked up from the computer screen and scanned the horizon to the south. He knew the US Navy and everyone else must be on high alert.
He smiled.
Remo, his assistant, noticed the smile as he emerged from his tent, yawning and stretching the sleep from his body.
“Clear today,” he said, testing his boss’s mood.
“Always,” replied Suarez as he began typing a message on his laptop.
Like the others in Rudolfo Suarez’s private guard, Remo Poteshkin was tall er than the boss, so he was careful never to approach his employer while Suarez was seated. No one looked down on Rudy. At a safe distance, he stretched and looked around the camp as he tried to figure out something to say. Everything that occurred to him was a question: Did the bomb go off? How long before they connect the lost Ukrainian plutonium? How many more nights would they have to spend on Mount Nosebleed? Finally he decided to keep his mouth shut, except for: “I’ll make coffee.”
When he looked to Rudy for an answer, the boss was gone.
#
Another twenty-four hours passed without any word from the outside world. Henry was allowed to explore the ship, and he and Shep made friends with a lot of bored sailors who hadn’t a clue what sort of mission they were on but were glad for any break in their duty roster. What impressed Henry was the activity he observed at every level: from ensigns to commanders, everyone was acting like they were about to fight a war. When he stepped on deck this evening, the gale- force winds and threatening skies he’d faced before had been replaced by a sweet sea breeze and blue skies. Excellent flying weather for carrier aircraft. He found a place near the conning tower where he and Shep could watch the activity. Harriers, Intruders and Tomcat fighter jets lined up impatiently on the flight deck, while a host of specialists scurried around servicing them. No sooner did a jet move into a slot on the flight line than it was catapulted into the sky. Everyone was in action, occupied with the business of war. For practice or for keeps, it didn’t matter. They were always at war. It was their job.
Henry and Shep must have seen fifty planes take off and land by the time he decided he’d never need to see the sight again. As fascinating as it was, he was bored. With all that was happening around him, he felt useless and in the way.
“Noisy place for sure,” he said to the malamute.
Shep didn’t seem to mind whether there was a jet blasting his eardrums or not. He sat next to Henry and watched the proceedings with great interest. It amazed Henry that the sound didn’t bother the dog; he himself had a bad headache by the time they got back to his room.
Just as he opened his own door he heard Sarah’s open behind him.
He turned. This time, when she saw him, she didn’t run away, but met his gaze.
“Hi, Henry, what’s shakin’?”
“Shep and I just toured topside. My ears are still ringing. Nothing to report. They’re up there doing war manoeuvres to beat the band. How’s it going for you?”
She shrugged, then told him orders had come from Washington for her to return home in twelve hours and that the brass had decided Henry should be on hand during the operation to identify the terrorists. In short, she was no longer part of the team.
Henry’s face fell. At his side he could have sworn he heard Shep give the softest whimper.
“She’s doing this just to hurt you, Shep. It’s all her fault. You can eat her now.”
“No you can’t, Shep!” said Sarah.
Henry forced a laugh. “That
would
be rude, wouldn’t it?”
Sarah didn’t say anything, just stood demurely with her hands clasped firmly behind her back. Henry found the pose absolutely irresistible. It was torture to restrain himself from enfolding her in his arms.
He patted the dog, hard. “I’m, we’re, real sorry, Sarah.”
He hung his head. What more could he say? His mind was blank. One moment he’d been thinking of Sarah and the next second his memories had taken him back to Bermuda, to his in-laws’ house. Pink-and-white trim with the sound of calypso drums and the warm push of a Gulf Stream breeze. To balmy days and. . .Just when his wife’s name was about to form itself on his tongue, as his two children were about to crowd around him and call him home, Sarah French was kissing him.
For once, the touch of a woman didn’t throw him into a chasm of memories and despair. Final y, for one wonderful moment, he could forget the pain. He held her tightly, not wanting to let go. Emotion swept through him.
“Henry?” Sarah pulled back to meet his gaze.
He looked away. It was her eyes: blue pools of hope and caring. He couldn’t lie to those eyes. They made him want to tell her how he felt. How happy he was to be in her arms. But the words wouldn’t come.
“Come into my room,” said Sarah. “For just a minute. There’s no point talking in the hall. Besides, I’ve been working on the face.”
“The face. . .?”
He’d forgotten why they were there.
“Yes, Henry, the face,” she said. “You’re invited too, Shep,” she added, pulling Henry into her room by his ring finger.
The door hadn’t been closed for more than thirty seconds when she wrapped herself around him again.
Once more he was taken by surprise. All his life he’d been fighting against the forces of nature. This time, however, he let nature have its way. He succumbed without a fight, without even the slightest pretence of resistance. For the first time in nearly five years Henry made love, not to a memory, but to a woman; an equal. . . and a friend.
He cried when it was over.
Sarah never asked why.
#
“Oh,” said Sarah. “I was going to show you some images.”
“Aaaargh,” said Henry, throwing the blanket off the bed and going over to the tiny bathroom at the rear of the room.
Sarah folded her arms over her suddenly exposed breasts and sat up. She watched Henry’s ass disappear into the head. When the door closed she whistled quietly. “Nice.”
“What did you say?” yelled Henry from behind the closed door.
“Nothing.”
Sarah looked down at Shep, who was lying near the door gazing at her. He seemed to be smiling; the drop of saliva that hung from his tongue made him appear almost impertinent.
“Quit staring at my tits and hand me that blanket, you. . . wolf!” she said.
When Henry came out of the bathroom he gaped in astonishment. Sarah was sprawled across the bed, pulling with both hands at one end of the blanket while Shep growled and pulled at the other.
He’d never seen anyone so lovely.
She looked up at him and blushed. “This damned dog of yours. . .”
“I think he deserves some kind of award,” said Henry. “What a beautiful view!”
With a sudden pul and a ripping sound, the blanket gave. Sarah covered herself. The malamute, dragged to the bedside, still held a large piece of ripped blanket in his jaws. He looked to his master for orders.
“As you were, officer,” said Henry, standing at attention and saluting.
The sight made Sarah col apse in laughter.
There was a knock at the door.
“Gotta be Grimes,” whispered Henry. He pulled the malamute into the bathroom and shut the door quietly.
Sarah wrapped the blanket around herself and opened the door. “Yes, General Hayes,” she said in a loud voice.
“I’m sorry, Miss French. There’s a briefing in a half- hour in the private mess.”
“I thought I’d had my marching orders?”
“Well, not just yet.”
“Okay, I’ll be there.”
Hayes had been taken off-guard by the sight of her bare shoulders, and seemed almost boyishly nervous. “I. . . I was looking for Gibbs, too, but he’s not in his room. If you see him, would you tell him about the briefing?”
She smiled. “Sure. He’s probably with his dog. Somewhere.”
The general smiled back, and went away.
#
When Sarah and Henry reached the private mess it was already crowded. A good number of high-ranking officers mil ed about, talking and drinking coffee. Kai Grimes was standing just inside the door, watching the brass like a vulture. He tugged at Henry’s shirt sleeve as the two entered the room.
“Hey, hero,” he said. Then he winked at Sarah. “Mrs Hero.”
She scowled at him.
“What’s going on, Grimes?” asked Henry.
“You tell me,” the SEAL replied. “Another fuckin’ meeting, is my guess.”
Henry and Sarah pushed their way to a table loaded with doughnuts and pastry. He took a cup of coffee and gave one to her.
Grimes leaned towards him, then sniffed the air gently, like a predator. He gave a knowing look and a dirty smile. “That’s not dog I smell.”
Thankful y, with all the commotion and conversation around them, Sarah didn’t notice the insinuations.
Henry gave the SEAL a dirty look. “You real y
are
bored, aren’t you, Grimes?”
“ ’Kin’ A I am.”
“Why don’t you just go kill something?”
“Like you or that dog of yours?”
The general’s voice rang out above the crowd.
“Gentlemen, will you find a seat?”
When everyone had sat down Henry could see the front of the room. Hayes stood in front of a wall map of Antarctica. Henry was surprised it was the general and not the admiral there. Noticing how quickly the room had come to order, he wondered if the grim look on the general’s face was caused by more than just stagefright.
Hayes turned to the map behind him and pointed to a large dimple in the coastline of Antarctica. Then he faced the room again.
“You all know something of our situation, but I’ll bring everyone up to speed.” He took out one of his inevitable cigars and lit it. Glancing up at the group, he raised an eyebrow when he saw surprise registered on some of the faces before him. “This isn’t a formal meeting, people. The admiral is talking to Washington right now. Up there in the Pentagon some of the best minds are trying to sort this one out, just like us. So this is just a bull session. We want ideas.”
He sat down on a stool next to the map and relaxed. “The smoking lamp is lit, gentlemen. And ladies, of course.” He nodded to Sarah.
He paused to clear his throat. “Some sonofabitch punched a big radioactive hole in the Ross Ice Shelf, about fifty miles out of McMurdo.” He pointed to the map again. “The hole measures well over a mile wide and a thousand feet deep. I’m sure you know what happens when you shove a red-hot poker into a block of ice. You get a cloud of steam and a cracked block of ice.
“Of course, this cloud of steam, drifting inland from the blast site, is full of radioactive fall out. Most of it has settled out inland. It won’t drift around the world, though we did have to evacuate the south polar station.