Authors: Bob Mayer
Although the magnificence of the peaks that jutted out of the white impressed Conner, what struck her more was the sea of ice that swept the flanks of those mountains. It was hard to imagine an ice sheet almost two miles thick. Devlin had told her that the ice was so heavy it had forced most of the bedrock surface of Antarctica below sea level; if the ice were removed, the land, relieved of the pressure, would rise above sea level.
Swenson had piloted them over a glacier and through a pass, putting them on the opposite side of the mountain range. Now they flew along the southern edges, looking to their left, searching for the three mountains. Conner had taped the photocopy of the picture against the bulkhead above the left side window, and she and Devlin were scanning in that direction. As Devlin leaned over her right shoulder, she tried to ignore his close proximity, but his body was generating a warmth that was welcome in the frigidness of the plane. She wondered if Sammy was right: was she attracted to Devlin as a person, or because he could be of use to her at the moment—a way to Eternity Base, a warm body on a cold airplane.
Swenson flew straight up the middle of the mountain chain. The weather was remarkably clear, and the peaks seemed startlingly close. Conner felt as if she could reach a hand out the window and caress the rock. She glanced right at the map board on Devlin's lap. He had their route marked on the plastic cover with a grease pencil.
"Everyone look carefully. McKinley should be coming up soon," Devlin yelled. His words disappeared into the whine of the engines without any reply from the others.
"That's McKinley," Swenson shouted a short while later. He immediately banked to the left, and the nose of the aircraft settled on a northerly route.
Riley reached forward and tapped Devlin on the shoulder, gesturing for the map board. Devlin passed it back and Riley oriented himself, checking the map against the terrain features he could see below.
"Can we move to the right a little bit?" he called out to Swenson. Riley ignored Conner's annoyed look. Taking her silence as assent, Swenson changed course slightly to the right.
Visibility was unrestricted, and far out to the front through a gap in the range, they could even see the ice pack on the coast. To the left and right, isolated mountaintops poked out of the white carpet of ice.
"There. That's it," Riley calmly announced, pointing. Three peaks, against a backdrop of other nunataks.
Conner looked up at the paper taped on the fuselage and then out again. She leaned forward and tapped Swenson on the shoulder. "There. We're pretty close on the right azimuth."
Conner leaned across to Devlin. "What do you think, Devlin?"
Riley broke in. "You have to consider the fact that the photo was taken from the ground. We're up much higher. Ask Swenson to drop down and let's see how they look."
The pilot circled down until they were barely a hundred feet above the ice. He pointed the nose straight at the peaks, and all eight of the plane's occupants stared ahead.
Conner was the first to break the silence. "That's it. Lallo, get us a shot as we go in."
N
EW
Y
ORK,
N
EW
Y
ORK
The North Korean ambassador's aide studied Loki's latest report, which had been forwarded in response to his highlighting. This Antarctic thing was very strange. Loki had done a good job summarizing all the information available, but it raised more questions than it answered.
The aide rewrote the information for forwarding. Although there was nothing of apparent importance to his native country, one never knew when something that seemed irrelevant could prove useful. At the very least there was the possibility that the United States could be embarrassed if this secret base actually had been built. That was always good, particularly now.
F
ORD
M
OUNTAIN
R
ANGE,
A
NTARCTICA
"Patience, missy," Swenson called over his shoulder. "We don't want to be buckling our landing gear out here. It's a long walk back."
Conner ignored the missy comment and concentrated on the three peaks. Swenson was on his fourth pass over the floor of the basin, looking for a spot to land. Conner had no doubt that they were in the right place. It had to be. The peaks matched, and the basin was surrounded on three sides by mountains. The bowl was perhaps ten miles wide by twenty long, open to the south. If they could get down and match the azimuth on the picture with the mountains in the background, she knew they could get close. Very close.
The passes had revealed no sign of any structure, but that didn't surprise Conner. The ice and snow would have covered the above-surface portions of Eternity Base many years ago.
"All right. I've got something that looks like it might work. Everyone make sure you're buckled up."
Conner's hands clenched the back of Swenson's seat as he slowly let out the yoke and reduced throttle. The ice crept up, closer and closer.
"Let's be hoping there are no crevasses," Swenson muttered. The skis touched and they were down—at least for the moment.
"Oh, shit!" Vickers yelled from the right front seat as they became airborne again, bouncing over a small ridge and then slamming into the ice once more.
The plane was shuddering, and the right wing tipped down as the ski hit a divot. They turned slightly right, then straightened. When the plane finally stopped, Conner's fingers had made indentations in the imitation leather on the back of Swenson's seat.
"Well, that was fun." Swenson turned around. "What do you want to do for an encore, missy?"
Conner rubbed her hands to restart the circulation and looked about. "Can you taxi along the ice until we get on the right azimuth to line up the three peaks like in the photo?"
Swenson looked around outside the aircraft. "Well, I certainly can do that, but the ice might not allow it." He looked at Devlin. "What do you think?"
Devlin licked his lips. "Actually the ice should be all right here. We're on a pretty solid base. You have to worry about crevasses when you're on a glacier, but we're on the polar ice cap now. Should be all right."
"Let's do it," Conner ordered.
'To the right," Riley said. Conner looked at him questioningly. "If you want to line them up, go to the right," he repeated.
'To the right," Conner confirmed.
Swenson increased throttle and worked his pedals. The Cessna slithered along.
"Hold it," Conner called out after three minutes of very slow moving. "What do you all think?"
They looked to the north.
"Yes." Riley was the first to answer.
"Yes." Devlin echoed him. The others said nothing.
"Let's get skiing." Riley unbuckled himself. He slapped Devlin on the shoulder. "Which do you want? North or south?"
*****
Devlin slid to a halt and looked back over his shoulder. The plane didn't look very far away, but he estimated he'd come at least four miles. He reached for the sonar emitter slung over his shoulder and pointed it down. As he pressed the trigger, he watched the small screen on the back. After five seconds he slid it back over his shoulder and continued onward.
Every thirty push-offs of his right ski, he halted and repeated the process. The skiing felt good, but Devlin was getting tired and he knew he'd be sore tomorrow. The skis were not true cross-country skis but rather a specially made hybrid that Our Earth used down here. A combination binding connected at the toe and rear. The rear binding could be unlocked for cross-country movement such as this, or locked for downhill.
Devlin had chosen to go north, so he had the mountains to his front. His course was centered on the middle peak ahead. It was very hard to judge distances, but he estimated that the mountains were only about four to five miles away. He sensed he was going slightly uphill as he continued on. The surface wasn't as flat as it had appeared from the air, and he wondered how Swenson had managed to find such a smooth spot to land. Occasionally, Devlin crossed a low ridge of compressed ice and had to traverse his way up and over in order to stay on line.
Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty. The echo just below the surface shocked Devlin, it was so unexpected. He blinked and stared at the sonar emitter screen for ten seconds. It was still there. Devlin looked around the immediate area. The surface ice was relatively even except for a six-foot ridge running at an angle across his front. There was no sign of anything man-made.
He pulled off his backpack, slid out one of the thin plastic poles with a flag attached, and stuck it in the ice. Then he began to ski, only ten paces now, trying to search out the dimensions of whatever was under the ice. He continued to receive a positive response as he approached the ridge.
Devlin traversed up the small incline and stood on top of the buckled ice. His flag was more than eighty yards away. This had to be the base. He noted an outcropping from the ice ridge about ten yards away and skied along the top to it. Snow had piled up, forming a block perhaps fifteen feet to a side and eight feet high. Devlin aimed the sonar into the snow pile. Positive response. There was something in there too.
Devlin looked to the south. His view of the plane was blocked by a large ridge he had crossed about a mile back. He secured the sonar over his shoulder and skied down off the ridge and back to his ruck. Throwing it over his shoulder, he set out to the south with long glides on the skis. He forgot about being tired.
*****
Conner shivered. She considered asking Swenson to crank the engine and turn on the heat, but she held off. They had only so much fuel and they'd been on the ice now for more than an hour. The windows had fogged over from the breathing of the occupants, and she used her mitten to wipe a small hole in her porthole so she could peer out.
A figure appeared on the horizon, skiing toward the plane with smooth, powerful strides. She kept the glass clear and watched the bundled man come closer.
"One of them is back," she announced.
Vickers swung open the side door and the wind swirled inside, removing what little body heat had built up in the plane. The skier stepped out of his bindings and passed the skis to Vickers, who slid them along the floor. The man stepped in and the door was shut behind.
"Anything?" Conner asked as the man slid down his parka hood. She recognized Riley.
"Nothing." He slumped down in his seat and leaned back. "I went about eight miles out and took a slightly different route back and picked up nothing."
There was a roar as Swenson started the engines. In a minute, welcome heat poured out of the vents, and the windows slowly started clearing.
"Let's taxi north and pick up Devlin on his way back," Conner suggested.
Swenson shook his head. "Uh-uh. I know where the runway is safe for take-off." He pointed out the front window. "Right back the way we came. Plus there's too many small ridges that way. We wouldn't get far."
"Besides," Riley added, "we don't know if Devlin is taking a straight route back. Even though it isn't likely, we might just miss him."
Conner sighed and resumed her vigil out the window. She didn't like waiting. Swenson shut off the engines after five minutes, and the heat quickly dissipated out the skin of the plane.
Swenson turned in his seat, tapping the headset he wore. "I just got the weather report from McMurdo. It doesn't sound encouraging. They only give another three to four hours max of good weather and then we're going to get hit with high winds, which means very low visibility."
Conner wondered what was taking Devlin so long. He should have been back a half hour ago according to the plan.
Twenty minutes later, Vickers called out. "I see him."
Conner leaned over and looked out the opposite side porthole. Devlin was moving rapidly to the plane. They opened the door as he arrived, and he threw in his backpack, followed by the skis and himself.
"Anything?" Conner asked.
"Yes."
She waited for an explanation, but Devlin was busy cleaning the snow off his boots and then shutting the door. "Well?"
Devlin removed his snow goggles and smiled at Conner "There's something under the ice about three miles from here." he said, "I checked it as much as I could and left a flag there. It's pretty big, whatever it is—at least eighty yards long, maybe more. It's either your base or a big flying saucer that got buried under the ice."
Everyone in the plane looked at Conner expectantly, waiting for her instructions. Devlin accepted a cup of coffee from Vickers's thermos and cradled it in his hands, absorbing the warmth.
"Can we land up there?" Conner asked him.
Devlin nodded. "I think there's a good level area to the north of the spot. I couldn't tell for sure because I didn't ski over it, but I think it's worth a look." He looked forward toward Swenson. "It runs northwest-southeast."