Polar Quest

9

Turning away from the flaming wreckage, Kilkenny sailed back to LV Station and noticed the cluster of spherical tanks that held the station’s hydrogen fuel supply. His eyes were drawn to an irregularly shaped mass attached to the shaded side of the tanks.

Kilkenny parked the iceboat off the runway near the station and ran over to the tank farm. It became clear that the mass he’d detected in the shadows was two bodies, with hands bound behind their backs, lying facedown on the ice. Both shot in the back of the head. He rolled the bodies over, even though he already knew who they were.

Kilkenny quickly searched the station for something to wrap the bodies with and a place to store them until they could be taken home. In the crew quarters he found a pair of blankets that had been folded and packed away.

After stowing the bodies in the storage module, Kilkenny stepped into the galley looking for something to drink. He found a plastic glass in the wall cabinet, filled it with water, and slowly drained it. He emptied several more before his thirst was satisfied.

He pulled off his gloves and carefully inspected his right arm. The molded Kevlar panel that covered much of his skin showed evidence of two direct impacts — rounds that likely would have shattered the bone if not for the body armor. Along the edge of the panel, Kilkenny saw the ripped fabric of the bodysuit and the grazing wound. Blood seeped from beneath the thawing scab and Kilkenny felt a stinging sensation.

Still hurts, he thought, so I guess I didn’t get frostbite.

Kilkenny located the first-aid kit and laid out the items he needed on the galley counter. He ran a finger down the seam in the middle of his chest, opening the Velcro fastener, then gingerly began to strip off the upper half of his SEALskin suit. Imbedded in the frozen scab were threads from the frayed edge of fabric around his wound. When he reached the right sleeve, he pulled down quickly, peeling the scab off with the shirt.

‘Son of a — ’ Kilkenny growled, his arm throbbing.

Blood swelled into the freshly opened wound. Kilkenny leaned over the sink, flushed it with warm water, then wrapped a sterile dressing tightly around it. He flexed his arm and the dressing stretched without unraveling.

With his injury treated for the moment, he put his shirt back on and went into the operations module. None of the remaining equipment appeared damaged. The station looked ready for a normal end-of-season shutdown. Kilkenny accessed the station computer, made a satellite connection with his computer back at MARC in Ann Arbor, and retrieved the phone number for Jackson Barnett, the Director of Central Intelligence.

Kilkenny had first met Barnett shortly after he left the navy and returned to Ann Arbor. While working on his doctoral thesis, Kilkenny discovered a hacker stealing information through the MARC computer network. In his pursuit of the hacker, Kilkenny uncovered a ring of industrial spies and located a stolen CIA intelligence-gathering device code-named Spyder. Their paths crossed a second time when a wealthy Russian oligarch attempted to steal a promising new energy technology from a physicist working with MARC.

‘Nolan, how are things in Ann Arbor?’ Barnett drawled, his voice carrying more than a hint of South Carolina.

‘I wouldn’t know. I’m calling from Antarctica,’ Kilkenny replied. ‘There’s been an incident here that you need to know about.’

‘I see. Hold on a minute,’ Barnett replied. He punched a few buttons on his phone that put Kilkenny on the speaker and started a recorder. He then picked up a pen and flipped to a blank page on his legal pad. ‘Go ahead, Nolan.’

Kilkenny briefly described the work being done at LV Station, then launched into an uninterrupted narrative of events starting with his flight from McMurdo and leading up to the present. Barnett jotted down questions as Kilkenny spoke, key elements he wanted to explore further.

‘How long since the plane left?’ Barnett asked.

‘Less than an hour. The LC-130s aren’t fast, so they are still somewhere over Antarctica.’

‘You say the New York Air National Guard runs most of the air traffic down there?’

‘I believe that’s the case.’

Barnett wrote the guard unit’s information on a slip of paper and walked over to his office door.

‘Sally,’ Barnett said to his executive assistant. ‘Call the Pentagon and see who we can talk to at this unit. This is an emergency situation. I need the top brass right now.’

Sally Kirsch nodded and took the note with one hand as she punched the speed dial with the other.

‘Nolan, what about containment? Who knows any of what you’ve told me?’

‘Just the Russian crew at Vostok Station.’

‘Any chance they had a hand in this?’

‘I doubt it. If they did, I’d be dead right now.’

‘Jackson,’ Sally interrupted, ‘I have General Mark Jolley of the New York Air National Guard on the line.’

‘Thanks, Sally. Patch him through.’ Barnett waited until he heard a snap of static on the speakerphone. ‘General, can you hear me all right?’

‘Loud and clear,’ Jolley replied. ‘I just got a call from the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs ordering me to get in touch with you ASAP. What can I do for you?’

‘I appreciate your responsiveness, General. I have you on three-way with Nolan Kilkenny, who is in the middle of Antarctica. Nolan, tell the general about your flight.’

Kilkenny repeated the story of the downing of Skier-98.

‘My God. Why the hell would some son-of-a-bitch do this?’ Jolley asked. ‘We’re talking an act of war here.’

‘Possibly, but we don’t know the reason behind the attack,’ Barnett explained.

‘General,’ Kilkenny said, ‘the people who shot down your plane are in the air over Antarctica and I’m sure they’re not headed for McMurdo. Any idea where they could go?’

‘McMurdo is the main jump point in and out of Antarctica, particularly for something like an LC-130. To skip McMurdo, you need someplace else to refuel.’

‘Airborne tankers?’ Barnett asked.

‘Possibly, but they’ve got to have fuel, too. Best bet is a string of fuel caches stationed on the way in and out. We’ve done that before, and a good Herc crew can land just about anywhere.’

‘What about radar coverage down here?’ Kilkenny asked. ‘Is there any way to get a fix on this plane?’

‘Antarctica ain’t exactly O’Hare International,’ Jolley replied. ‘Most of the continent isn’t covered at all. Once a flight is out of range from Mac Center, we keep tabs on it through regular radio checks. What about a spy satellite?’

‘I thought of that as well. We do have a few in polar orbit, but tracking a plane in flight is almost impossible unless we have a good idea where to look. If we’re very lucky, we might catch them on the ground refueling, but we wouldn’t know it until several hours later.’

‘By which time they’d be gone,’ Kilkenny added. ‘General, in their shoes, where would you go?’

‘In an LC-130, you’ve got four choices: Australia, New Zealand, South America, or South Africa.’

‘I’ll alert our people in those locations to keep an eye out for this plane,’ Barnett said.

‘It’s hard to mistake it for anything else,’ Jolley said. ‘Kilkenny, can you locate where my plane went down?’

‘I don’t have an exact fix, but I can narrow the search area, General. We also need a crash investigation team here at LV to deal with the wreck at the end of the runway. There might be something in it that’ll tell us more about who we’re dealing with.’

‘Timing is going to be tight, but I’ll make it happen,’ Jolley promised. ‘We’re running up against the minus 54°C rule.’

‘What’s that?’ Barnett asked.

‘All work outside stops when the temperature drops below minus fifty-four degrees Celsius. It’s too dangerous for people to be outside in that kind of weather,’ Jolley explained. ‘Anything else?’

‘I’m a little low on provisions right now and the rest of my gear is in storage at McMurdo,’ Kilkenny said. ‘Also, I need another ride home.’

‘We have to keep a lid on this for the moment, General.’

‘One of my planes was shot down,’ Jolley said incredulously. ‘How are we going to keep that quiet?’

‘By publicly treating the downing as an accident. LV Station is remote enough that CNN isn’t going to send a crew down there to take a look. We release a story that the plane went down on takeoff — a mechanical problem. Give your crash team the real story, so they know what to look for, but to everyone else this was just an accident.’

‘What about your guy at LV? How do we explain him?’ Jolley asked.

‘I’m not here,’ Kilkenny replied. ‘Never was.’

‘I’ll see to it they correct any typos on the paperwork at McMurdo,’ Jolley said, catching on.

‘I have one last question, General,’ Kilkenny said. ‘You mentioned that a good Herc crew could land almost anywhere. Where would you get a good Herc crew?’

‘Lots of guys can fly the Herc, but mine are the only ones trained to land on the ice. The navy had this mission before us, so they probably have a few people with time in the LCs.’

‘That’s all we have for now, General,’ Barnett said. ‘I appreciate your help.’

‘Thanks, General,’ Kilkenny added.

‘Just keep me in the loop,’ Jolley said before hanging up.

‘“I’m not here. Never was,”’ Barnett parroted. ‘Nolan, we’ll make a spook out of you yet.’

‘Not if I can help it.’

‘Now that we’ve addressed logistics, let’s take a look at motive. What is there to gain from this attack?’

‘The probe — it’s packed with all the latest in artificial intelligence, robotics, and deep-sea exploration technology. I’d peg the R&D price tag just shy of a billion dollars.’

‘Did your researchers find anything in the lake?’ Barnett asked.

‘Yes, they found life in Lake Vostok. All the samples are stored inside the probe. Beyond its unique habitat, the commercial value of this material is completely unknown. The DNA may ultimately prove to be very similar to other more common species on the planet.’

‘What about geologic surveying?’

‘We did some sampling of the water and the silt on the bottom to determine mineral content. The crust is pretty thin there, so there’s some interesting stuff spewing out of the cracks.’

‘That may be the motive, Nolan. Several nations have competing territorial claims in Antarctica. Not much has been done with regard to these claims, but if valuable mineral rights were at stake, the situation could become quite different. If someone thought the United States was using a scientific research station as a cover to search for natural resources — say a new oil field — they might see preventing us from making such a discovery as in their national interest.’

‘Which leads us back to an act of war.’

‘Exactly.’