“How about the Osprey with the Special Forces men?” he asked.
“Just lifted from McMurdo. A little less than three hours out.”
“Divert them directly to the coast.”
“Yes, sir.”
Morris looked up as General Kolstov strode in. He idly wondered how the Russian managed to appear so unruffled after being dragged out of bed so early in the morning. The uniform was immaculate. Kolstov’s bald head gleamed under the overhead lights.
“I understand you have something new?” The English was perfect also.
“Yes.” Morris quickly filled him in on the data picked up by the Hawkeye, then played the translation tape. He concluded with his best estimate of the situation: “I think this has something to do with the mobilization intelligence we are picking up in North Korea.”
Kolstov raised an eyebrow. “You did not inform me of the situation in Korea.”
“I didn’t think it was applicable.”
Kolstov nodded. “Yes. Hmm. Well, I was aware of the situation there from my own sources.” Morris knew he meant the coded radio messages that poured in and out of the Russian embassy. He had no doubt that the Russians kept a close eye on their sometime ally the North Koreans.
“What are you going to do?” Kolstov asked.
“From the message it appears that the ship is waiting for a party on foot that has one of the bombs. We’re going to have to stop it.”
“What if the party boards the ship before you can stop it?” Kolstov was looking over Morris’s shoulder at the situation board and could easily see that there were no U.S. forces in the immediate vicinity of the ship.
“Then we stop the ship,” Morris coldly replied.
“Ah, my American friend. You have no right to stop that ship in international seas.”
Morris bristled. “My job is to get that bomb back.” He knew they never should have let the goddamn Russians in on this. The guy was going to give him bullshit arguments about freedom of navigation when a nuclear weapon was involved.
Kolstov appeared not to have heard. “In fact, my friend, you are not even certain that ‘the package’ referred to in the message is your lost bomb. What if you attempt to board that ship and you are wrong?”
Morris bit off his words. “They’ve already detonated one bomb. That proves they are capable of doing it. I have no doubt that they would detonate the second. I will not allow that ship anywhere near a potential target. And I am sure this is tied in to what is presently happening in North Korea.
“We have the potential here for all-out war on the Korean peninsula, and I believe that your government is in agreement with mine that we don’t want war. I am willing to take the chance I am wrong, but I will stop that ship.”
“Ah,” Kolstov said. “But what if your boarding that ship constitutes an act of war in the eyes of the North Koreans? What if they are drawing you into a trap?”
That hadn’t occurred to Morris. This whole thing was so vague he wasn’t sure about anything. “Could be,” he conceded. “But we’re going to make sure.”
Kolstov held up a hand, palm out. “My friend, perhaps in the interest of world peace, I might be able to help you with your little problem.”
Morris thought he would rather crawl naked over broken glass for a mile. But he forced a smile. “What do you have in mind, my friend?”
“How are you feeling?” Riley asked as they collapsed to their knees on the crest of the ridge.
‘Tired,” Sammy replied.
“Ditto,” remarked Conner.
“Are either of you sweating?”
“No,” they answered in turn.
“Good. Drink half your canteen. I’ll melt some more ice in a minute.” Riley pulled his own canteen out of the flap pocket of his parka — the only place it could be carried and not freeze — and took a deep drink of the chilly water.
He peered down to the ocean, scanning in sections. “Look — out there!” The ship lay like a black bug miles out in the ice pack.
“Where are the ones on foot? Have they reached it yet?” Conner asked.
“The ship doesn’t appear to be moving, and I don’t think they could have gotten there that quickly.” Riley brought his gaze in closer. After a minute he spotted them. “There. See that large square iceberg? To the left and in.”
“They’re halfway out there.” Conner’s voice sounded resigned. “We’ll never catch them.”
The walk up the ridge had just about wiped out Riley. A quarter of the way up, Conner had started stumbling from exhaustion, so he’d taken Conner’s pack and strapped it on top of his own. For a little while she’d done better, but he could tell she was at the limit of her resources. Sammy seemed to be doing better than her sister, which for some reason didn’t surprise Riley. When he’d first met Sammy in St. Louis, he’d sensed her strength.
“You two stay here. I’ll go after them alone.” Riley knew if he didn’t catch the Koreans before they got on the ship, the chase was in vain.
Sammy shook her head. “I’ll go with you. If it’s a choice between being tired and being cold, I choose tired. As long as I keep moving I’ll be all right.”
“I’m not staying here alone,” was Conner’s only comment.
Riley was too numb to argue. He took out the stove and got it started. He emptied his canteen into the metal cup and placed it on top of the stove. Once the water was boiling he scooped up ice and melted it, gradually filling their canteens.
“Are you ready?” he asked as he put away the stove.
Sammy stood. “Do you think we can catch them?”
In reply, Riley took two snap links and slipped them through small loops at the end of his twelve-foot length of rope. He reached under Conner’s parka and hooked one end to her belt. He hooked the other to Sammy’s and then himself to the center.
“What’s this for?” Sammy asked.
Riley pointed to the left, where the deceptively smooth surface of the glacier glistened a quarter mile away. “We’re going to make up some time going down.”
The tall man sat in the shadows, watching his partner work Woodson under the glare of the track lighting.
“Who was Peter?”
Woodson blinked, trying to see in the face of the bright lights. The drugs had altered the chemical balance of the old man’s brain; reality was no longer a valid construct for him, nor would it ever be. But the two men wanted answers, and they’d keep on until Woodson could no longer think.
“Peter? Peter?” Woodson muttered.
“Peter,” the short man intoned. They’d been at this one question for two hours now.
The tall man could barely hear the next words. “The keeper of the gate.”
The short man glanced over at his partner and turned down the lights to half power. “The keeper of the gate?”
“The keeper. Yes. The keeper.”
“What gate?”
“To the base.” Something must have clicked in Woodson’s brain, for the information began spilling out. “Peter made up the list of who would come in. There were fourteen. He picked them all.”
Woodson hesitated a few seconds, then continued. “It was his ace in the hole. The base. The last refuge.”
“Why did he put the bombs—” The short man halted as the tall man made a chopping motion with his hand. He mouthed, “Stay with Peter.”
“Who is Peter?”
“The gatekeeper… the builder. The man with the money.”
“A name.”
“Peter.”
“His real name.”
Woodson blinked and his face settled into normalcy for a brief moment. “Bradford P. Kensington.” Woodson gave a dreamy smile. “He uses his middle name for people like me.”
The two interrogators exchanged glances. The tall man stood and headed for the door; this had just gone to the highest echelons, and he wanted nothing further to do with it.