Eternity Base

Chapter 3

“What about the hearings?”

Stu Fernandez shook his head. “We’ve got that covered. They’re going live on most of the channels anyway.”

Conner Young tapped a finger on her desktop. Stu was an assistant producer for the Satellite News Network (SNN) twenty-four-hour news, and as such he was in the same position as she — one step away from prime time. “But what about a different angle? What if we—”

Stu held up a hand. He’d been here four years now and had heard it all, or at least thought he had. “Conner, listen to me. The senate hearings are dead. People are tired of them. We need something totally different. This is an up or out business. You either make it — and keep making it — or you’re out.”

Conner had graduated from the local news in Chicago to SNN only three weeks ago, and already the pressure was on. This was not a place where you could take a moment to pat yourself on the back. That attitude started at the top and insinuated itself into every room of the large building in Atlanta that headquartered the network. It made for great ratings and a high burnout rate.

Conner’s physical appearance belied the inner strength necessary to fight one’s way into this building, much less the stamina to endure and survive. Many adversaries were still smoking in the ruins of their underestimation of Conner’s tenacity. She wasn’t a woman you glanced at, but rather a finely made specimen who caught your attention and held it long enough to create admiration. Her facial features were elegant and classic — thin, finely sculpted nose; wide, evenly placed dark eyes; and a generous, well-defined mouth surrounded by a soft, creamy complexion that caused fingers to clench with the desire to touch.

Conner’s trademark, though, was her hair — thick, black, and cut in a short geometric style. She had Sammy’s height and slender body, but, as if God couldn’t find enough gifts to bestow, Conner also had a full bosom that her slim hips only accentuated. She was beautiful and she knew it. Although her looks mattered little to her, she was always aware of their effect on others and used that to her advantage.

Stu was beginning to lose the glassy-eyed look he’d had the first week Conner was here, and for that she was grateful. She hated it when people spoke to her about professional matters yet stared in that way she had grown accustomed to — distracted by her appearance.

Stu turned to leave. “Listen, I’ve got to get to the tape room. I’ll see you later.”

Conner didn’t have an office. She had a cubicle, just off the main studio where the news was fed out nonstop, every hour on the hour. The schedule was brutal. Not only did the anchors have to do a four-hour on-the-air shift five times a week, but they also had to research and present two five-minute special features a week. It was the ability to put together these features that separated the good reporter from the pretty face that could simply read a teleprompter. Conner knew she had to prove she was one of the former; the latter didn’t last long at SNN.

Conner sighed as she continued working the computer’s mouse, searching the extensive SNN database for something she could suck up, refine, and use. SNN used not only the United Press International (UPI) and Associated Press (AP) lines but almost every other source of information available, both human and machine. The chief executive officer of SNN, J. Russell Parker, liked to boast that the SNN mainframe computer contained more up-to-date world information than the National Security Agency’s.

The buzz of Conner’s phone saved her for the moment from the eye-numbing green tint of the screen.

“SNN. Conner Young.”

“Hey, Constance.”

There was only one person who called her that, and to be honest, Conner hated her given name. But she’d never tell Sammy that. “Hey, Samantha. How’re you doing?”

“All right.”

There was a long pause. Sammy had never called her at work before, even when she’d been up in Chicago. “Are you OK, sis?”

“I’m fine.”

Conner waited, aware of an awkwardness that was always present in their conversations. Well, then, what the heck are you calling me for? she thought. “How’s mom?”

“All right. She’s in England with Nelson.” Conner frowned. Sammy had never called Nelson dad even though her mom had married him more than nineteen years ago. It bothered Conner.

This father issue had always been a wedge between them. For Conner, middle childhood had been like growing up in a house of mourning — a strange situation, since the loss of her father meant nothing to her. It was hard for her to miss something she’d never really had. But even as a child Conner could see how devastating it was for Sammy. Whereas their mother was able to replace the husband she lost, Sammy couldn’t replace her father.

Sammy had fallen victim to her mother’s inability to start a new life without negating the old. It was as if the only way her mom could make room in her heart for Nelson was to destroy all the emotional evidence of the young soldier she had loved. Sammy felt betrayed. Conner had always thought this was what had driven her sister into two quick marriages and that dismal job she couldn’t seem to leave.

Her own situation had been much different. With Nelson, Conner had found a man who was hungry to love and be loved. His younger step-daughter became the focus of his life, and he made sure she had few wants. Though Conner felt on the surface that Sammy had thrown away a chance for paternal affection, the selfish child in her was glad that she’d never had to share Nelson with her sister. In Conner’s mind, Sammy had tied herself emotionally to a dead man, which seemed a foolish thing to do. The differences in the way they lived seemed ample evidence of Sammy’s folly.

It took Conner a moment to realize that Sammy was still silent even though she was the one who had called. For the first time Conner could remember, her older sister was hesitant. Conner decided to wait it out. She returned her gaze to the computer and clicked the mouse, looking at a new screen.

Finally Sammy spoke. “Conner. Listen, I’ve found something strange in the Records Center.”

“Yeah. What?” Jesus Christ, Conner thought as she read her screen, the UPI had actually carried a story on UFO landings in Idaho. Idaho of all places! How come the damn things never landed in Central Park?

“There’s this place, it’s called Eternity Base, and it was built by the military in 1971, and there’s no record of it anywhere.”

“If there’s no record, how do you know it exists?”

“I’ve got photos of it. That’s what started me on it. I found this file in unit histories and then…”

As her sister related her search, Conner forgot about the computer screen. She was surprised at Sammy’s investigative skills. When her sister finally drew to a close, though, Conner was confused.

“Antarctica? Why would the army build a place in Antarctica?”

“I don’t know. But they certainly went to a lot of trouble to hide it.”

“Well, even if they did, what’s the big deal? I mean we’re talking twenty-five years ago. Who cares? Maybe it was just some temporary thing and it’s gone now.”

Sammy’s voice was sharp when she answered, and Conner belatedly realized her mistake: everything that happened twenty-five years ago was important to Sammy. “That may be true, but the simple fact that the United States built something secret down there is pretty significant.”

“Why?”

Sammy sounded surprised. “It violated the treaty.”

“What treaty?”

‘The 1959 Antarctica Treaty the United States signed along with seventeen other nations. It suspended all territorial claims for thirty years and also specifically prohibited any military presence in Antarctica. It’s the one place on the planet where weapons are outlawed.”

Conner considered that. “Did these engineers have weapons with them?”

“Well, no, not that you can see in the picture. But that’s not the point.”

“What is the point?” Conner didn’t like asking so many questions. It seemed to give Sammy an edge.

“The point is that something was built down there in 1971, something that somebody took a lot of trouble covering up, to the extent of altering and hiding official records. Something that was important enough to pull an army engineer company out of a war zone to build.”

“So what do you want me to do about it?” When she heard Sammy’s reply, Conner realized that her tone must have been harsher than she intended.

“I don’t expect you to do a damn thing about it. I just thought that maybe you could use something interesting in your new job to get a leg up, but obviously you don’t need any help. I shouldn’t have called you in the first place. Bye.”

The phone went dead. Conner slowly put down the receiver and considered what her sister had said. Why did Sammy think she needed a leg up? For a second she felt a flash of irritation at an offer of help from a woman who lived above a garage. Maybe it was her sister’s way of hanging on: by helping her, Sammy could feel some personal sense of responsibility for Conner’s success. Conner had felt it before — the subtle innuendos meant to remind her that self-reliance and competence played a small part in her current position. Conner knew she had earned her way to this tiny cubicle, and she didn’t want to hand anyone else — even her sister — any share of that.

But Conner couldn’t completely deny her professional interest. Sammy had always seemed to possess an innate ability to sense the hidden and darker sides of the world around her. As soon as her sister had mentioned the acronym MACV-SOG, Conner had known that Sammy would hold onto this issue like a dog with a bone until she sucked it dry of every piece of available information. Her sister would continue to dig; if she unearthed more, there might very well be a story. Maybe not the one Sammy wanted, but one that could push Conner out of the cubicle and into an office with a real door. As Stu had said — it was an up or out business.

Antarctica. Maybe there were other hooks that could be tied in. The environmental group Our Earth might be interested in something involving that area of the world. Conner had done a story on an Our Earth protest about pollution in Lake Michigan, and she’d been impressed with the group’s ability to generate publicity.

That thought reminded her of Devlin, the man who had run the protests. He was the only person in the four years she was in Chicago who had managed to penetrate her professional cloak, albeit only for a brief moment. She remembered that he’d talked for a while about Antarctica, even mentioning that he’d spent a winter down there.

Conner grabbed her Rolodex and flipped through to O. She dialed the number for the Our Earth headquarters in California. A cheery sounding young woman told her that Devlin was currently in Australia. With a little coaxing, the girl gave an overseas number where he might be reached.

Conner looked at the clocks posted on the wall. It was after midnight in Tokyo, which she guessed was somewhere near the same time zone as Australia. She dialed the international code and then the number. When the phone was picked up on the other end, she was surprised at the clarity of the transmission.

“Hello?” a voice with a rich Australian accent answered.

“Is Devlin there? This is Conner Young calling from the United States.”

“The United States, eh? Must be early in the morning there, isn’t it?”

Conner rolled her eyes. “It’s a little after eleven.”

“It’s a little after midnight here.” The voice waited for an apology, then, getting none, moved on with a sigh. “All right. I’ll see if I can track him down for you, missy.”

There was a thump as the phone was dropped, and Conner started tapping her fingers on the desktop. After three long minutes the phone was finally picked up.

“I didn’t expect to hear from you again.”

Conner was startled at the reaction the deep voice brought out. “Devlin, how are you doing?”

“Not bad. How are you, Conner?”

“All right.”

“Where are you calling from? Charlie said it was the States.”

“Atlanta.”

“Atlanta? What happened to Chicago?” Devlin asked.

“I moved over to SNN.”

There was a light whistle. “So you’ve made the big time. Congratulations.”

“Well, actually I’m on the periphery of the big time.” Conner shifted to the task at hand. “That’s what I’m calling you about. I remember you talked about having been to Antarctica several times.”

“Yes. Four times. I also wintered over at the Our Earth base there three years ago. Why? What’s up?”

“I received information about something, and I was wondering if you could give me some help.”

“What’s the information?”

“I’ve been told that the army built a secret installation, called Eternity Base, in Antarctica in 1971.”

“What kind of secret base?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where exactly was the place built in Antarctica?”

“I don’t know. That’s why they call it a secret, Devlin.”

“Well, I’ve been down there and I’ve also talked to a lot of people stationed down there, especially at McMurdo, and I’ve never heard anything about a place called Eternity Base. It would be pretty difficult to cover up something like that, although ‘71 was a long time ago.”

Conner was interested in impact first, details later. “What I want to know is — if this Eternity Base did exist, and no one knew about it, how big a story would that be?”

Devlin whistled. “It’d be big, Conner. First, it would have broken the ‘59 treaty. Any base that is built down there, even if it is temporary, has to be open for inspection by any of the other signees of the treaty. If a base is hidden, well then it certainly isn’t open for inspection.

“Second, if the army built it, then it’s probably some sort of military base. If it still exists, that would be a gross violation of not only the letter of the current 1991 accord governing things in Antarctica but also the spirit of the accord. Our Earth has really been upping the pressure there, and we have a few things planned in the next couple of months. Discovering something like this Eternity Base would be great publicity.”

Conner backtracked a little. “Well, other than a few nebulous records, I have no real proof of anything. I just wanted to find out if this was worth pursuing.”

“It’s definitely worth pursuing. If you need any help, don’t hesitate to call me.” Devlin laughed. “Even if it is after midnight. I remember the last time we talked after midnight.”

Conner didn’t want to discuss that right now. “I’ll do some more checking, and I’ll get back to you if I come up with something.”

“All right. I’ll be at this number for at least another two days. After that, I’m not sure where I’ll be.”

“Bye.” Conner slowly put down the phone. She’d never even asked Devlin what he was doing in Australia. She shrugged. There’d be time for that if she talked to him again.

Damn Sammy. Conner swung her bulky purse up on the desk and started rummaging through, looking for her personal address book. She thought she had Sammy’s work number in there but she wasn’t sure. There it was — under S. Conner punched in the number with her pencil.

“Records Center. Samantha Pintella.”

“All right, I’m sorry. I’ve had a rough day.”

There was no trace of anger in Sammy’s voice. “It’s OK. I shouldn’t have called you anyway.”

“No. I think it’s an interesting story. Will you get in trouble if we do something on it?”

Sammy’s voice was tentative. “Well… I was thinking that you wouldn’t have to say you got it from me. You could probably talk to one of those men in the engineer unit who built the place and maybe they would tell you something about it. You wouldn’t have to tell them that you first heard about Eternity Base from records in the Center.”

Conner got a clear screen on the computer and hit the speaker button on her phone. “All right, give me the names and addresses. I’ll see what they have to say.”

After Sammy was finished relaying the information on the four officers, she added: “Let me know what you find out, all right? I’m interested in this thing. The tie-in with MACV-SOG is kind of strange.”

“Sure. I’ll get back in touch. Bye.” Conner hung up. She was right about Sammy’s special interest in this case. Sammy just couldn’t give up on the possibility that her father might still be alive. She was always reading anything to do with the MIA issue or Special Forces operations in Vietnam.

Conner felt a moment’s guilt for suspecting Sammy of a hidden agenda. This story could help her career — Sammy was right about that. In this business one tended to be paranoid. There was always someone right behind you on the ladder waiting for you to screw it all up so they could stomp over your shattered career to take your place.

Conner shook thoughts of Sammy’s fixation out of her head. I have my own fixation, she thought, smiling. She immediately called information and started working on the first name on her list. Using his last known address, she tracked down Captain Townsend’s number.

The phone was answered by a woman who told her to hold on and she’d get her husband. At last the phone was picked up. She wondered if the man was in a wheelchair, it had taken him so long.

“Hello?” said a man’s voice, tremulous with old age.

“Is this Louis Townsend?”

“Yes.”

“This is Conner Young. I’m with SNN News and I’m doing some research on army installations. I’m particularly interested in something your unit was involved with in 1971.”

“The army? ‘71?” There was a pause. “I was in Vietnam in ‘71. What project are you talking about? We did a lot of work shutting things down there that year.”

“I’m not talking about Vietnam, Mister Townsend. I have some information that your company was sent on temporary duty to Antarctica for four months near the end of the year. Could you shed any light on what you were building in Antarctica?”

There was a long pause, then Townsend’s voice came back, sounding very distant. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you’ve received bad information. We were in Vietnam from June of ‘71 through May of ‘72. A man doesn’t forget something like that even if he’s as old as I am.”

“I know that’s what your unit is listed officially as doing, Mister Townsend, but I do have some evidence indicating that—”

“Ma’am, I really have nothing else to tell you. I have to go now.”

The phone went dead. Conner felt a lot better about this hang-up than she had about her sister’s. There was a story here. She could feel it. Old soldiers loved to tell war stories, yet this guy had hung up on her.

She quickly tracked down the second name on the list, but there was no answer. She moved on to the third. Conner checked the map on the wall as she called — the area code was in New Jersey. The phone was picked up on the third ring by a woman.

“Hello?”

“May I please speak to William Freely?”

“He’s at work. May I take a message?”

“Could I get his work number, please?” “It’s 654-9329.”

“Thanks.” Conner dialed the new number.

“Freely’s Building Supply. This is Anita. How may I help you?”

“Is Mister Freely in?”

“Hold on. I think he’s out back on the loading dock.”

While she waited, Conner drew up a blank screen on her computer and began typing questions.

“Bill Freely here.” The voice sounded slightly out of breath and very deep.

“Mister Freely, this is Conner Young from SNN news. I’m doing research on army installations and I’m particularly interested in a project your unit was involved with in 1971.”

“Yeah?” The voice was not friendly. “Which project? We did a whole lot of stuff that year.”

“I’m interested in what B Company, 67th Engineers, built down in Antarctica between August and December 1971.”

There was a long pause. “I’m sorry, miss, but you’ve got your facts wrong. We were never in Antarctica. I surely would have remembered that.”

“I’m sure you would have, Mister Freely, especially since you were treated for severe frostbite on two fingers on your left hand at McMurdo Station, Antarctica, on 19 November 1971. Tell me, did you get frostbite while taking those photographs of Eternity Base? The photos I have copies of?” Conner waited. The fact that he didn’t hang up right away was a good sign.

Freely’s voice was sharp. “Listen, lady. We were told that everything about Eternity Base was classified. I mean, it was a long time ago and all that, but still a guy can get in trouble. I forgot all about taking those pictures.”

Conner leaned forward in her seat. “I have them here on my desk and they have your name on the back.”

Another long pause. Finally Freely came back, his voice resigned. “Yeah, I took those damn pictures. I don’t see what the big deal about the whole thing was anyway. They told us not to talk about it — national security and all that — and we were just so happy to be out of Vietnam that everyone went along with it. At least in the beginning. But after a couple of weeks down there in that hellhole, Vietnam started looking like a good deal.”

Conner thought quickly. She’d learned to keep people talking by shifting subjects. They were so busy thinking about the answers that they’d forget the importance of what they were saying. “What about the aircrews that flew you in there? Do you know where they were from?”

“There was only one aircrew. I think they were home-based in Hawaii.”

Conner cut back to something else that might get a reaction. “How’s your hand doing?”

Freely’s voice rose an octave. “That was part of the bullshit about that mission. We’d just finished off-loading the plane and it had headed back when I got hurt. I’d been working on the surface shaft doors and I got careless. You’d think I’d have known better after three months, but. . anyway I got the bite bad and needed to be medevacked.

“Well, this major who was in charge wouldn’t send another plane out to get me. I had to wait until that particular plane got back to McMurdo, set down, refueled, and came back out to pick me up. Probably wasted about three hours because of that.

“Since the whole thing was classified, they wouldn’t medevac me out of Antarctica after I received my initial treatment. So I had to go back to Eternity Base with my hand like that until the entire unit was pulled out. That’s what really screwed up my fingers more than anything else. And that’s why I only have three fingers on my left hand. I had to have the sons of bitches amputated eight years ago. The civilian doctor who did it said it was because they’d never healed right due to the prolonged exposure. So you can take the goddamn army and its station down there and shove it. I don’t want to have anything more to do with it.”

“I can understand that you are somewhat bitter, Mister Freely. You spent the entire four months there in Antarctica?” Conner coaxed.

“Yeah.”

“When did you leave?”

“About four or five days before Christmas.”

“Where were you stationed? At McMurdo?”

“No. Like I said, we only went to McMurdo for emergencies — we didn’t have a doctor with us. We were stationed right there at Eternity Base.”

“Where was Eternity Base?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? You didn’t know where you were?”

Freely’s voice took on that “I’m talking to an idiot” tone that Conner hated. “I mean, I knew we were in Antarctica, but I couldn’t tell you where. We weren’t allowed any maps. When we flew, they blacked out the windows in the hold of the C-130. No one in the company knew where the hell we were.”

“You had to have some idea. East, west, north, or south of McMurdo?”

“Lady, you ever been to Antarctica?” Freely didn’t wait for an answer. “The goddamn place is one big jumbled-up mass of ice and mountains. North or south?” Freely laughed. “Compasses don’t work too well down there. Do you know that the magnetic pole is farther north of the true South Pole than McMurdo? In fact, magnetic south from McMurdo is actually west if you look at a map. That was the most screwed-up place I’ve ever been. All I know is that the site was a little less than a two-hour flight by C-130 from McMurdo. You look at the pictures and you got as good an idea of where that place was as I do.”

“What did you build there?”

“We didn’t really ‘build’ anything. We put together a Tinkertoy set. It was all prefab,” he explained. “They flew it in by sections. Someone with a lot more brains than we had in our outfit designed that thing. Each piece could fit in a 130, yet when we put it all together it was pretty big. Of course there were a shit load of 130 loads coming in. Hell, they spent almost an entire week just bringing in fuel bladders. That plane flew every moment the weather allowed.”

“What was it you put together?” Conner asked quietly, hoping she could keep Freely going.

“My best guess is that it was some sort of C & C structure — Command and Control. We just put the buildings together. Before we were even done, they brought in more guys to put in other stuff. I remember a lot of commo equipment. They sealed off sections of the place as we finished, so I really couldn’t tell you what it looked like on the inside when it was completed.

“We stayed in two prefab Quonset huts on the surface, and we broke those down and took them back out with us when we left. All you could see when we took that last flight out was the entry and ventilation shafts. Everything else was underground.”

“What did it look like underground?”

“There were twelve of the prefab units.”

“How were the units laid out?”

“We set them up in three rows of four, about eight to ten feet apart, and roofed over the space between, which just about doubled the underground area of the main base.”

“That took four months?”

“What took the most time was digging out that much ice and snow even before they brought in the first unit. We also dug two really big tunnels on either side for storage and two areas for fuel. Plus the long tunnel and area for the power station.”

“Do you have any idea who occupied it?”

“You know, that was the funny thing. That last day when we flew out, I really don’t think there was anybody left behind. There was this major who was in charge. He was a real strange fellow. Spooky. Anyway, he was on the last flight out with us.”

“Do you remember that major’s name?”

“I don’t know. Claxton or something like that. He made everyone nervous — always sneaking around, checking on people.”

Conner was confused. “Why go through all that trouble to build something if no one was going to use it?”

“Hey, you got me, lady,” Freely snorted. “I’m just a poor tax-paying schmuck like everyone else. I don’t know why the government spends money like it does. I’ll tell you one funny thing though: the last two weeks we were there, the project was basically done — you know, the buildings and all that. We spent the remaining time in the tunnels storing a whole bunch of supplies off-loaded from that C-130.”

“What sort of supplies?”

“All I can remember is a lot of food.”

“What about—”

Conner’s streak had run its course. “Listen, lady. I already said too much.”

“I really appreciate your help, Mister Freely. I was wondering if perhaps I could send someone to talk to you and—”

“Lady, I just told you. I want nothing more to do with this. Don’t call me back. And if anyone asks, I didn’t tell you squat.” The phone clicked.

“Asshole,” Conner muttered into the dead receiver.

“Anybody I know?”

She looked up, startled. Stu was standing there with a smile on his face. “Sounds like you were having an interesting conversation.”

Conner made a snap decision. “It was. I have something kind of weird that I want to run by you. You have some time?”

Stu made a great show of looking at his watch. “Well, I suppose I could spare twenty minutes for my newest reporter. Shoot.”

Conner concisely briefed him on the entire development, occasionally using the notes she’d been making on the computer while talking to Freely. When she ground to a halt she looked expectantly over at Stu, who was perched on the edge of her desk. “Well, what do you think?”

“About what?”

Conner felt a flash of irritation. “About the story.”

Stu shook his head. “You don’t have a story.”

“What do you mean?”

“What are you going to do?” Stu sighed. “All right. Let me lay it out for you. The idea that the government built some secret place down in Antarctica is all very unique, but you have two major problems. One is that it was twenty-five years ago. People aren’t going to care that much.

“Even more basic than that, though, is you have no solid source. You say you can’t use your sister’s stuff because she’ll lose her job. And this guy Freely doesn’t sound like he’s willing to come forward. Maybe you could dig and come up with somebody else, but even then we need to backstop with something stronger than somebody remembering what happened that long ago.”

Stu stood up. “It was a good lead, though. Your sister sounds like she might be sitting on a gold mine of information there at the

Records Center. Keep up the link. I’d be careful about the Our Earth people, though. They’ll do damn near anything to get a story. They’d just get you hooked so they could talk about the whales getting killed.”

As Stu disappeared, Conner swiveled her chair thoughtfully back to her computer. Stu was right about the Our Earth people. But it wasn’t just them. She thought of what she had done, or would do, for the sake of a story. Conner had always known that ambition was a card with a flip side. That other side was the sheer capability to do anything, damn the consequences. Conner had the ability to play that card. And this, plus her looks, would eventually get her everything she wanted.

Stu was dismissing the story too easily, she thought, but she had to admit he was right about not having a backstop. They’d get blown out of the water if they put what they had on the air. She had a feeling about this, though. The government had tried too hard to hide this base. Even though it was twenty-five years ago, who knows what they might have done. Conner scrolled the computer screen back on her notes, looking for another door to try.

It took her less than forty-five minutes to find it.

Sammy slowly put down the phone. Her sister had acquired quite a bit of information in the last couple of hours. She considered the request Conner had made and looked at the in box perched on the corner of the desk. She was behind — a rare event. She’d spent a few hours this morning using the computer to try a few different avenues of approach on Eternity Base. The fact that she’d come up without even the slightest mention of the name made her recognize the extent to which the information had been buried.

Conner’s suggestion that she try to track down the aircrew of the plane that had made the runs from Eternity Base to McMurdo made sense, but Sammy wasn’t exactly sure where to find the information. She figured that Hawaii — where the plane was supposedly based— was her best bet.

Twenty minutes of work yielded two C-130 squadrons stationed at Hickam Air Force Base in Hawaii at the appropriate time: the 746^th Tactical Airlift Squadron (TAS) and the 487th TAS. Sammy stood and stretched her back, preparing for the plunge into the stacks.

She pulled the 746th’s records first. An hour and forty minutes later she was familiar with the operations of that unit in 1971 but had found no record of flights to Antarctica. Her luck changed with the 487th. The records showed that C-130s from that unit had regularly made runs from Hawaii, across the Pacific, and down to McMurdo. But there was nothing to indicate that one plane had been detached for four months to the Antarctic, so Sammy went to her old standby — TDY records.

She was halfway through the folder that held the TDY records for the 487th and about to turn a page when something caught her eye. Sammy’s breathing grew faster as she read the DD-1610. It detached one plane and crew on 15 August 1971 to the operational control of MACV-SOG, Vietnam, for the duration. It was too much of a coincidence. Sammy quickly copied the tail number of the plane and the name of the five crew members.

Returning to her computer, she accessed the personnel database and punched in the name of the pilot. The screen glowed with the reply. Sammy quickly checked the other four crew members of that C-130. Their entries all read the same. With a shaking hand she dialed her sister’s work number.

“SNN. Conner Young.”

Sammy wasted no time on preamble. “Constance, what was the last day that engineer lieutenant told you he was down there? The day they flew out?”

“Hold on.” Sammy licked her lips as she waited for her sister’s answer. “Well, he didn’t give a date. He just said it was four or five days before Christmas.”

Sammy looked at the date on the screen and felt her stomach lurch. “And Freely said that only that aircrew knew the location of Eternity Base?”

“He said that crew and some major named Claxton or something like that. Why?”

Sammy told her sister what she’d just uncovered. There was a long silence on the other end.