Olivia didn’t know. She just wanted some of the beaches she saw from up there.
A small contingent of black-suited men were waiting at the airport when they landed. They took Olivia and Peter’s baggage without a word, and put them in the back of a waiting limousine.
Olivia made a face at Peter. The professor shrugged his ignorance.
“This Miller guy, you trust him?”
“No.”
“Good. Cos I don’t.”
The limousine drove through narrow streets filled with shops and a babble of Spanish that Olivia found exotic. Soon they were driving through a more urban district; palm-lined plazas, neoclassical cathedrals, and deep blue rivers with yachts.
“Where are we going now?” Olivia asked Peter.
“We are meeting the crew, I guess.”
“I hope it’s a hotel. I hope we don’t leave immediately too,” she said, smiling.
Peter leaned close to her. “You are not planning to hit the bottle in Chile, are you?”
Olivia’s jaw tightened.
“You must take no offense, Olivia. I did a search on you. Assume that Frank Miller did the same thing. If we are going to get along with the crew and not let our guards down we must be sober at all times.”
Peter went back to watching the road ahead. They were on a long lonely road cutting through tall, craggy hills. The sky above was grey with sharply contrasting white clouds. Olivia was quiet for the rest of the ride.
She suspected that Peter was the one she needed to watch out for. His sanctimonious face annoyed her.
They arrived at an estate upon a brown hill. It looked like a different country. All the beautiful seaside and architecture was gone. It was replaced by dreary walls and colorless flowers.
Frank Miller was waiting in what looked like a warehouse. With him was a hard-faced man. Peter Williams quickly recognized the rough-faced man from the staff club. He wore army fatigues. Other men busied about the place. There were scraps of machinery, black and oily metal lumps lying around being attended to by men in jumpsuits.
“Welcome, Professor Williams,” Miller called from the back of the hall.
He bowed slightly. “Ms. Newton. Welcome to Punta Arenas.”
Miller was clean-shaven. He looked youthful and less menacing than in the pictures she’d seen.
“Thank you, Mr. Miller.”
“Oh, it’s Frank.” He gestured at beach chairs. “Please sit and make yourselves comfortable.”
Olivia noted the faces of the men standing around. She profiled and memorized them all. They all look like men from some military outfit: muscular and brusque in manner.
“Where’s the crew?” Pete asked.
“Come with me,” Miller invited.
They walked up a hill. The hill topped out into level ground. There was an airplane waiting on the windy grass.
“What the hell is that?” Peter called.
“That’s a Russian aircraft, a multipurpose strategic airlifter. The first of its kind was made in 1976, planned to be a passenger craft, but the military has better uses for them these days.”
Peter grunted his agreement. “Must cost a fortune on the black market.”
Miller glanced at Peter to see if he had him. He said, “I had this made for me. I travel to rough places a lot.”
The hatch behind the aircraft was open and three men were seated on crates of equipment.
Miller said, “Professor Williams, here is your crew.”
“Here is marine biologist Anabia Nassif,” Miller gestured at a white-haired, hawk-nosed man. The small-framed man nodded. He had expectant eyes.
“And here is Liam Murphy, he’s an expert in polar and ice terrains. We need him to guide us through the hazards of the Antarctic.”
Liam waved. “Hi, pleased to meet you two.” He wore a black armless windbreaker on a red flannel shirt and jeans. He had a boyish look about him. He had a crop of brown beard on his chin.
“And this is Victor Borodin, also an expert in all things Antarctica.” Miller tapped the tall Russian's shoulder. “He’ll be leading this expedition.”
There was a murmur of greetings.
“And oh, let me introduce my personal bodyguard.” He looked at the man with the pitted face.
“His name is Itay Friedman. He is former Israeli military.”
Frank Miller checked his watch. He walked over to Peter Williams and Olivia. Olivia stopped speaking into her Dictaphone. Miller gave the device a bored look. To Peter he said, “Any questions before we leave, Professor?”
“I saw that guy in the university the other day.” Peter pointed at Friedman.
Miller smiled. “He is also my emissary, Professor Williams. Don’t worry he’s harmless, when he needs to be.”
He told the crew to be ready in ten minutes and left.
Ted Cooper had been in the cockpit all along. He walked out of there like a burly ghost. Peter was talking with the marine biologist, Anabia Nassif. The scientist had been querying about the expedition.
Ted Cooper wore a baseball cap with the NYC logo on it. He was pulling up the zipper on his red windbreaker. He waved at Peter.
“Hello there, Peter.”
Miller had come back from wherever he went and was asking everyone to board. He saw the surprise on Peter’s face. Olivia looked lost.
“And that’s Professor Ted Cooper, I believe you know each other, yes,” Miller said with a broad smile.
“What is he doing here?” Peter hissed.
“Get on the plane, Professor,” Miller whispered. “We are going to Russia.”
2
Thousands of feet in the air, Frank Miller strolled over to Peter Williams. He sat beside him on a crate of equipment. The others were seated similarly. Olivia was caught in an animated discussion with Liam Murphy, the Polar expert.
Ted Cooper sat by himself on a beach chair he had brought along, reading a National Geographic. He shot Peter blank stares every minute or so.
“I understand your anger, Professor Williams,” Miller said quietly, a little above the drone of the plane. “But this expedition is more than each of our feelings.”
“These guys, do they know exactly what we’re after?” Peter asked, changing the subject.
Miller looked around the holding area. “No, they don’t. The only ones who know are you and Ms. Olivia, me and Ted Cooper. The rest of the crew think we are looking for signs of global warming in the Antarctic.”
“Global warming? These are scientists, you could have done better.”
“It’s the best I can come up with, given the circumstances. But I made sure the lie looks good enough.” He tapped the crate they sat on. “We have all equipment and tools for the research, and Liam there has some experience in geology. He’d be doing most of the fronting. He still doesn’t know, though.”
“That leaves you, Mr. Miller.” Peter glanced at the man. “I know why the cock sucker Ted Cooper is here. He likes to reap where he hasn’t sown. But you, what do you really get out of this?”
Frank Miller matched his stare. “What do you get out of this?”
Peter thought for a moment but no ready response came to him. None that would sound altruistic, that is. Just then he realized how every man was selfish in the final analysis, some more so than others.
Miller looked away. He nodded slowly.
“When I first got the news about the laboratories, and what may be down there, I knew I had to make a move. I talked to Ted Cooper then. But somehow it was you whom the lady called—”