Several days earlier, they had traveled to France together. While Austin flew on to the Alps to hook up with the Mummichug, Joe had stopped in Paris. As an expert in the design and building of underwater vehicles, he had been asked to join a panel on manned versus unmanned submersibles sponsored by IFREMER, the French Institute of Marine Research and Exploration.
Austin had called Zavala on his cell phone after learning about the tunnel accident. "Sorry to break up your trip to Paris," he had said. "You broke up more than that. I met a member of the National Assembly who showed me the town." "What's his name?"
"Her name is Denise. After a tour of Paris, we decided to head for the mountains where the young lady has a chalet. I'm in Chamonix." Austin was not surprised to hear Zavala's story. With his soulful eyes and thick black hair combed straight back, Joe resembled a younger version of screen and TV actor Ricardo Montalban. The combination of good looks, good-humored charm and intelligence made him an object of desire to many of the single women around Washington, and the same qualities attracted females wherever he went. Sometimes it could be a distraction, especially on a mission, but in this case it was a godsend. Chamonix was only a few mountains away. "Even better. I need your help."
Zavala could tell by the urgency in his friend's voice that the situation was serious. "I'm on my way," Zavala said.
Reunited on the barren hill overlooking the lake, they shook hands and Austin apologized again for putting a damper on his friend's love life. A slight smile cracked the ends of Zavala's lips.
"No problem, pal. Denise is a fellow public servant and understood completely when I said duty called." He glanced at the helicopter. "She also pulled strings to get me transportation."
"I owe your young lady a bottle of champagne and some flowers."
"I always knew that you were a true romantic at heart." Zavala gazed around and said, "Beautiful scenery, even if it's a little bleak. What's going on?"
Austin headed for the helicopter. "I'll fill you in on the way."
MOMENTS LATER, they were airborne. As they flew over the glacier, Austin gave Zavala a Reader's Digest-style condensed version of events.
"Hell of a mess," Zavala said when he heard the story. "Sorry about your friend. Skye sounds like someone I'd like to meet."
"I hope you'll have that pleasure," Austin said, although he knew the odds were long and becoming longer with every passing minute.
He directed Zavala to the valley Lessard had pointed out from the roof of the power plant. Zavala landed at a spot of ground that was more or less level among the ledges and crags. They took an electric torch from the helicopter's emergency kit and walked up a gradual slope. The damp cold radiating from the glacier penetrated their thick jackets. A concrete casing framed the entrance to the tunnel. The area in front of the opening was washed out and dozens of miniature canyons ran down the slope. They stepped into a tunnel similar in size to those Austin had seen behind the power plant. The
slanting floor was wet, and after they had gone in a few yards, water lapped at their toes.
"Not exactly the tunnel of love, is it?" Zavala said, peering into the darkness.
"It's what I would expect the river Styx to look like." Austin stared at the black water for a moment, and then a bolt of energy seemed to pass through his body. "Let's get back to the power plant."
Drouet and his companions emerged from the plant building after Zavala's helicopter touched down. Drouet hurried over to greet Austin.
"I must apologize for my earlier behavior," he said. "I didn't have all the facts about this horrible situation. I have since talked to my superiors and the American embassy, which told me about you and NUMA, Monsieur Austin. I didn't know there were French citizens trapped under the glacier."
"Should their nationality have made any difference?"
"No, of course not. Inexcusable. You will be happy to know I have sent for help. A rescue team is on its way."
"That's a start. How long before they get here?"
Drouet hesitated, knowing the answer was unsatisfactory. "Three or four hours."
"You must know that will be too late."
Drouet wrung his hands in anguish. He was obviously distressed. "At least we can recover the bodies. It's the best I can do."
"It's not the best I can do, Monsieur Drouet. We're going to try to bring them back alive, but we'll need your help."
"You're not serious! Those poor people are trapped under eight hundred feet of ice." He studied the silent determination in Austin's face and arched an eyebrow. "Very well. I'll knock heads together to get you anything you need. Tell me what I must do."
Austin was pleasantly surprised to learn that Drouet's plump exterior hid a layer of steel.
"Thank you for your offer. First, I'd like to borrow your helicopter and pilot."
"Yes, of course, but I see your friend has a helicopter."
"I'll need a bigger one."
"I don't understand. These unfortunate people are trapped in the ground, not the air."
"Nevertheless." Austin gave Drouet a hard look that said he was through wasting time.
Drouet nodded vigorously. "Very well. You have my full cooperation."
While Drouet scurried over to talk to his pilot, Austin called the NUMA vessel's captain on a hand radio and spent several minutes sketching out his plan. Fortier listened carefully.
"I'll get right on it," he said. Austin thanked him and gazed at the glacier, sizing up the adversary he was about to tackle. He had no room in his scheme of things for self-doubt. He knew plans could go awry, and had scars all over his body to prove it. He also knew that problems could be fixed. He was certain that, with luck, his scheme would work. What he wasn't sure of was whether Skye was still alive.
SKYE WAS VERY much alive. Renaud, who was feeling the full force of her fury, could attest to that. After Renaud had made one of his self-serving comments, Skye had snapped. She had laced into the hapless Frenchman, her eyes bright with tears of rage as she tongue-lashed him for ruining the biggest discovery of her career. Renaud finally summoned up the courage to croak a protest. Skye had exhausted her repertoire and lung power by then and cut him short with a withering glare and a well-chosen word.
"Idiot!"
Renaud tried to play on her sympathy. "Can't you see I'm injured?" He held his bruised and lacerated hand.
"It's your own stupid fault," she said coldly. "How in God's name could you allow a man with a gun to come into this place?"
"I thought he was a reporter."
"You have the brain of an amoeba. Amoebas don't think. They ooze."
"Mademoiselle, please," LeBlanc entreated. "We have only so much air to breathe. Save your strength."
"Save it for what}" She pointed to the ceiling. "It may have escaped your attention, but we are stuck under a very large glacier."
LeBlanc put his finger to his lips.
Skye glanced around at the cold and frightened faces and saw she was making the others even more miserable. She realized, too, that her tirade against Renaud was a product of her fear and frustration. She apologized to LeBlanc and clamped her lips tightly together, but before she did so, she muttered, "He is an idiot."
Then she went over and plunked down next to Rawlins, the magazine writer, who was sitting with his back against a wall, writing in a notebook. He had bunched a plastic tarp together and was using it to insulate his posterior from contact with the wet floor. She snuggled close for warmth, saying, "Pardon me for being forward, but I'm freezing."
Rawlins blinked in surprise, set the notebook aside and then gallantly wrapped an arm around her shoulder.
"You were pretty hot a minute ago," he said.