She looked at him sharply. “You have heard of it?”
“Part of my mission is to reopen the base,” Mercer said, somehow knowing this news wouldn’t please her.
“You know what the base was supposed to be, yes?”
“It was an experiment to create a town under the ice. To see if such a place could be habitable.”
She shook her head as though he’d given her the wrong answer. “Why would your government want to know if such a thing was possible? Have you ever asked yourself that question?”
Mercer hadn’t, which was unusual. “Do you know why?”
“No. But I want to show you something.” She made no move to show him anything. She sat very still, her mind elsewhere, probably with her dead son. Finally she spoke. “Camp Decade was off-limits to the searchers. They weren’t even supposed to know it was there, though they did fly over it once. Stefansson told me he asked about it and was informed by the military pilot that he hadn’t seen anything.”
“That was the height of the Cold War.” Mercer felt a need to explain his nation’s paranoia. “My government thought that everything should be classified top secret. To look back now, so much of what they did seems comical.”
Mrs. Rosmunder winced. Mercer wasn’t sure what he’d said to cause such a reaction. She reached into her handbag and withdrew a leather wallet. From inside, she pulled out two black-and-white photographs. She handed one to him. It showed a handsome young man in a thick roll-necked sweater, his blond hair falling around his head in heavy rings. He was smiling at the camera with the easy confidence of youth.
“That is Stefansson about two months before he left for Greenland,” Elisebet Rosmunder informed him, taking back the picture and staring at it before handing over the other.
This shot showed a skeletal figure lying on a bed with sheets drawn up to the neck so all Mercer could see was an enormous head. Bony shoulder blades created sharp ridges in the covers. Whatever was wasting the person rendered its face sexless. Its eyes were sunken, and it had hollowed cheeks and just a few stray hairs covering its skull. Dark splotches marred its skin. Mercer was reminded of pictures of Holocaust victims.
Mrs. Rosmunder held out her hand to take the photo back from Mercer. This time she didn’t even glance at it before replacing it in her wallet. Mercer waited quietly for an explanation.
“That was Stefansson six months after returning. He died a couple of days after a nurse took that picture. I never wanted to be reminded what happened to him, but I am grateful that she gave it to me anyway.” Her eyes were filled with tears while her voice had tightened. “Doctors told me it was cancer, a very aggressive cancer that he must have had for quite some time but only showed itself in those final months.”
“You don’t believe what you were told?” Mercer’s voice was as gentle as possible.
“It was certainly cancer,” she replied. “But I never believed that he’d had it before going to look for that plane.”
She spoke with absolute conviction, yet Mercer couldn’t help but think she’d fooled herself into believing that something other than cruel fate had stolen her son from her. Newspapers were full of stories about healthy people dying of cancer without having symptoms until the very end. It was the most feared disease for that and many other reasons.
Elisebet Rosmunder turned so she faced him on the bench, taking his hand into her bird-like fingers. “Dr. Mercer, you don’t have to believe me. I have long ago given up trying to convince people that there is something on Greenland that killed Stefansson. My government never looked into it, your military never looked into it, and I would never allow my husband to go over there and search for himself. I am certain that my son was exposed to some toxin or some radiation, and that is what gave him accelerated cancer. I also believe it has to do with Camp Decade.” She forestalled the question on Mercer’s lips by squeezing his hand. “I have no proof. There is no reason for me to think this. And as far as I know, no Americans stationed there suffered the way Stefansson did. I just wanted you to know the suspicions of an old woman who lost her son in the same area you are now going to. In good conscience I could not let you or your team go without warning you.”
She turned back and tossed another handful of crumbs to the ducks.
Mercer knew she had nothing more to say. He stood. “Thank you for sharing this with me, Mrs. Rosmunder. You’ve given me something to think about.”
When she looked up at him, her smile was wan. “You are years older than Stefansson when he died, but you remind me a great deal of him. Not your looks. Well, you’re as handsome as he was, but I’m talking about your spirit. You both have the same confidence in your abilities.” Mercer made a small gesture of denial. “It is true. Yet all the confidence in the world couldn’t save my son. But maybe the truth could have. I wanted you to know the truth or as much of it as I know.”
Mercer took her hand. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
As he turned to go, she stopped him with one more comment. “Dr. Mercer, three months after the plane crash and failed search, Camp Decade was abandoned. Your military didn’t dismantle it and cart it away. They deserted it on Greenland for the ice and snow to bury. No reason was ever given. I think it is a mistake for you to reopen it.”
Mercer could understand now why he’d detected fear in her voice when they spoke on the phone. More disturbed than he wanted to admit, he left Elisebet Rosmunder with her memories and her ducks. As he walked toward the hotel, he felt a creeping suspicion, a sense of unease that he’d felt all too often. There was something to her story, even if she couldn’t provide any proof.
Given the times, Mercer had little doubt the U.S. government might have carried out some sort of experiment at Camp Decade. With its isolation, it would have been the perfect place to test chemical or biological weapons. While the camp was powered by a small reactor, he discounted nuclear testing or an accident because even a small atomic detonation registered on seismographs. He also thought that if something did get away from them, the area around Camp Decade would have been rendered safe by time and the elements; otherwise the Surveyor’s Society would not have received permission from the military to reopen it.
Mercer checked his watch. The Njoerd was leaving in an hour, which left him just enough time for two stops if he hurried. One stop was a liquor store. Despite Geo-Research’s prohibition against alcohol at the Greenland base, he’d bought a bottle of brandy at the airport duty free, and if he was going to spend three weeks with them, he’d need at least one more. The second stop was a matter of suspicion, Mrs. Rosmunder’s and his own. Mercer had built his career on risk and didn’t mind taking chances as long as he had time to manipulate the odds first. Such was his concern that he headed to the second location before finding booze, a move that would have stunned Harry White or anyone else who knew him.
HAMBURG, GERMANY
It was with an unnatural stillness that Klaus Raeder sat in the conference room. His breathing barely made an impression against his suit coat, and his eyes blinked at long, regular intervals. When the phone next to his elbow chimed, his hand made a graceful gesture to pick it up, almost as if he’d paused between rings. In fact, he’d remained motionless for more than an hour.
“Yes, Kara?”
“The board members are here, Herr Raeder. Shall I show them in?”
“Please.” Raeder pressed a button on the console built into the blond wood conference table, and the heavy drapes over the large picture windows swept closed, obscuring the view of the Alster River far below.
His secretary opened the door and stood aside for the six members of the board whom Raeder had called in this afternoon. He ignored them as they took their seats. “Kara, has Gunther Rath returned yet?”
“He got back from Paris about an hour ago.”