The Third Gate

17

The following morning at nine o’clock, a conference was called to perform a postmortem on the prior day’s accident. Logan wasn’t invited, but-learning about it from Rush at breakfast-he managed to slip into Conference Room A in White on the doctor’s coattails.

The room was large and windowless, with two semicircles of chairs. One wall was covered by several whiteboards; another sported dual digital projector screens. A huge satellite map of the Sudd hung from an overhead support, decorated with pushpins and handwritten legends scribbled on Post-it notes. Logan recognized a few of the assembled faces: Christina Romero was there, and so was Valentino; the chief of the digging operation was surrounded by a small knot of his techs and roustabouts.

Logan helped himself to a cup of coffee, then took a seat in the second tier of chairs, behind Rush. No sooner had he done so than the older man with thinning blond hair-the one he’d seen at the generator the previous day-cleared his throat and spoke.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s talk about what we know.” He turned to a man wearing a white coverall. “Campbell, what’s the status of our power grid?”

The man named Campbell sniffed. “We’ve ramped up generator one to ninety-eight percent of rated load. Our core nominal output is down to sixty-five percent.”

“Status of the methane gathering and conversion system?”

“Unaffected. The scrubbers and interface baffles are at peak efficiency. In fact, with generator two out, we’ve had to dial back fuel production.”

“Thank God they’re still functional.” The older man turned to someone else-a short woman with a tablet computer on her lap. “So output’s down by thirty-five percent. How does that affect Station functionality?”

“We’ve scaled back on nonessential services, Dr. March,” she replied.

Logan looked at the man with fresh interest. So that’s Fenwick March, he thought. He’d heard of March: he was the head archaeologist for the dig. He was, according to Romero, second in command in Stone’s absence-and he seemed to enjoy hearing the sound of his own voice.

“What about the primary search operation?” March asked the woman.

“Unaffected. We’ve diverted power and personnel, as necessary.” Now March turned to a third person. “Montoya? What about a replacement?”

The man named Montoya shifted in his chair. “We’re putting out inquiries.”

March’s expression changed abruptly, almost as if he’d caught a whiff of something foul. “Inquiries?”

“We have to be tactful. A six-thousand-kilowatt generator isn’t a common item around here, and we can’t afford to increase our visibility in Khartoum or-”

“Damn it,” March interrupted, “don’t give me excuses! We need that replacement generator-and we need it now!”

“Yes, Dr. March,” the man replied, ducking his head.

“We’re on a tight schedule-we can’t afford any snags, let alone the loss of half our power output.”

“Yes, Dr. March,” the man repeated, ducking his head farther, as if he wanted it to vanish between his shoulders.

March looked around, his gaze landing next on Valentino. “You’ve examined what’s left of generator two?”

Valentino nodded his burly head.

“And?”

Valentino shrugged. He clearly was not intimidated by the head archaeologist-and March seemed to sense it.

“Well?” March pressed. “Can you tell me what caused the explosion?”

“It’s hard to say. The unit was torn apart, the mechanism half melted. Maybe a stator fault, maybe a turn-to-turn failure in one of the coils. Either way, overheating spread to the couplers and collector rings, and from there to the aux tank.”

“The auxiliary tank.” March turned to Rush, almost as an afterthought. “Have you heard any more about Rogers’s condition?”

Rush shook his head. “Last I heard he was in critical condition in Coptic Hospital. I’m waiting for the nurse’s report now.”

March grunted. Then he turned back to Valentino. “Can you at least tell me whether this was caused by mechanical failure or structural weakness or if some… external element was involved?”

At this, Christina Romero looked up and caught Logan’s eye. She gave him an expression that was half smile, half smirk.

“External element,” Valentino said. “You mean, like sabotage?”

“That’s one possibility,” March said carefully.

Valentino thought about this for a moment. “If it was sabotage-and, yes, it’s possible some figlio di puttana monkeyed with the works-the fire would have destroyed any evidence.”

“What makes you think of sabotage, Fenwick?” Rush said in a quiet voice. “You of all people know how carefully the entire crew was vetted.”

“I know,” March replied, lowering his eyes. “But I’ve never been on an expedition where so much has gone wrong. It’s as if-” He paused. “It’s as if someone wants our mission to fail.”

“If that were the case,” Rush went on, “there are much easier ways to accomplish that than compromising a generator.”

Slowly, March raised his eyes and looked meaningfully at Rush. “That’s true,” he said. “That’s very true.”