Raising Atlantis

14

Inside Ice Base Orion on the surface, O’Dell was lying on his bunk, listening to Chopin, waiting for some word from Yeats and the team below, when suddenly the walls began to shake and the Klaxon sounded.

Every so often the daily monotony of the base was broken by a “sim,” or simulation. A Klaxon would sound, and the crew would rush to their posts in the command center, where warning light panels and the diagnostic computers were located. A flashing SIM light on the panel was the crew’s notification that the emergency was not real.

But since O’Dell was the man who ordered sims, and he didn’t order this event, he knew no SIM light would be flashing. He could feel his pulse quicken and his adrenaline spike as he darted out of his wardroom and headed for the command center module, where the crew was already gathered around the main monitor screen.

“We’ve got a breach at the outer perimeter, sir,” said the lieutenant on duty. “Sector Four.”

O’Dell looked at the grainy picture of swirling snow. And then a large gray object emerged through the mist. “It’s the Russians,” he cursed as he recognized the Kharkovchanka tractor.

“Breach in Sector Three,” shouted another officer, followed by several others.

“Sector Two breach, sir!” another said.

“Sector One!”

“Sector Three!”

O’Dell looked around the room at the monitors: Kharkovchanka tractors everywhere. The Russians had surrounded the base. He stood very still, the gravity of the situation slowly sinking in. Then he felt a tap on his shoulder. “Sir?”

O’Dell turned to see his communications officer. He blinked. The officer’s lips were moving, but O’Dell couldn’t hear anything. “What?”

“I said the Russians are hailing us, sir. Do you want to respond?”

O’Dell took a breath. “Can we reach General Yeats?”

“We lost contact with his party as soon as they penetrated P4.”

Before O’Dell could reply, a call came over the intercom from the east air lock. “Ivans at the gate!” O’Dell heard the Russians banging against the door with what sounded like the butts of their AK-47s. He exhaled and turned to his communications officer. “Inform the Russians that a reception committee will greet them at the east air lock.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Meanwhile, let’s hide everything we can.”

O’Dell marched out of the command center and into a maze of polystyrene corridors lined with bright, reinforced glass windows. A glance outside at the village of cylindrical modules and geodesic domes told him it would be impossible for him to hide what his team was doing here.

He passed through an air lock into a module where the strains of a Mozart symphony grew louder. He passed a cleanup crew outside the lab containing the benben stone. The double doors with the PERSONNEL ONLY sign had disappeared behind a fake glass window that was conveniently fogged up. He just hoped the Russians wouldn’t look too closely. But it was probably too much to ask for, much like his prayer that they would miraculously be blinded to the dosimeters located in various panels to measure radiation from the base’s nuclear reactor. That alone qualified as a smoking gun that would effectively end his career, O’Dell realized. Yeats would then end his life.

Two unarmed MPs were waiting for him by the air lock. O’Dell nodded, and slowly the heavy inside door opened. The icy air took his breath away as two figures-one large and squat, the other tall and slim-came in and stomped their boots. The squat man lifted his hood and O’Dell saw the ugliest red swollen face of his life.

“I am Colonel Ivan Kovich,” he said triumphantly in English but with a thick Russian accent. “And you are in very big trouble. Very big.”

Before O’Dell could reply that Ice Base Orion was simply a humble research station, Kovich began to cough uncontrollably. His tall, lanky aide pounded his commanding officer on the back until Kovich waved him off.

“Read it to him, Vlad,” Kovich said, and by way of introduction added, “This is Vladimir Lenin, great-great-grandson of Lenin himself.”

O’Dell watched with interest as the young officer produced a crumpled piece of paper from his parka and smoothed it out. Apparently this Lenin hadn’t risen quite so high in the ranks as his ancestor. In halting English he said, “You are in violation of Article One of international Antarctic Treaty. No military allowed. Treaty gives us right to inspect base.”

The young Lenin glanced at Kovich, who nodded, and then put the piece of paper away.

“Any questions?” Kovich asked O’Dell.

O’Dell said, “How many of you will be joining us?”

“As many Russians as there are Americans here on this base and at the bottom of that gorge outside,” Kovich said.

“What about Colonel Zawas and his team?”

“We hope you tell us,” Kovich said. “We have not heard from his patrol. They have vanished into thin air.”