“It was supposed to be him?”
Cooper was still engrossed in his magazine. Peter felt some of his anger towards his colleague chip.
“Yes, Professor,” said Miller without looking. “I didn’t factor in the journalistic instinct of your lady friend. I was hoping she’d go on right up to your faculty and meet with Ted Cooper, but she went on the Internet and found a certain Hans Rutherford. You know him?”
“Sure, an old acquaintance.”
Miller pursed his lips. He slipped into deep thought for a moment. Olivia laughed with Liam Murphy. It drew the attention of the crew except for Ted Cooper who stared at Peter Williams, and then at the billionaire.
Ted averted his eyes again as Peter focused on him.
“What do you think we’ll find, Mr. Miller?”
“I think it is time you called me Frank, most of my partners call me Frank.”
Peter said it was okay to “call me Peter.”
Miller shook his head. “No one knows exactly. No one except the ones who have been there.”
“Robert Lehmann?”
“Yes, when word reached me that Harald Kruger had been killed, I had known I had to protect Lehmann. I assigned bodyguards to his home. Although, he knows nothing of it.” Miller glanced at Peter then, “I wasn’t sure you’d want to work with me, that you’d think I had Harald killed.”
“Then who did?”
Miller ignored the question. He said, “It is not in my favor to have Harald Kruger killed. He would have made a better guide than any of these men. And Lehmann I didn’t want to take away from his family.”
After a moment, Miller looked at Peter. It wasn’t an apparent change in Miller’s features but Peter thought he saw fear, uncertainty.
“There are powerful people, more ruthless people who want what is buried under the snow where we are headed. They’d do anything”—his voice dropped an octave—“and I mean anything, to stop us. You must be prepared.”
“They killed Harald Kruger. They stole the documents from my office—”
Miller turned sharply. “What are you talking about?”
“You didn’t know that one, huh.”
Peter told him how he had locked copies of the documents from Harald Kruger’s box in his file cabinet in his office. Someone had broken in, opened his cabinet, and took the documents.
“I take it you didn’t go to the police?”
“I wouldn’t be here now if I did, would I?”
“I guess not,” Miller concurred. “I hope we would find more answers in Maud Land.”
“What’s down there?”
“Novolazarevskaya,” Miller mouthed rapidly. “It’s a Russian Antarctic expedition base. I have permission to use the facility. You’ll see when we land.”
Peter repeated the name in his head; he got only as far as the fourth syllable and stopped. He thought about Frank Miller’s warning again and he forgot that long place name entirely.
He felt a chill around his back. The air in the plane was cool. Yet, sweat broke out on his neck. He searched the faces of the crew members. Who would he trust when the time comes?
Peter felt a sudden urge to protect Olivia Newton. Something about the whole show told Peter that Olivia was the star act, the character without whom the show was nothing.
Getting up from beside Peter, the billionaire said, “Trust no one.”
Miller patted Peter’s leg and stumbled off.
The pilot’s voice broke through the speakers: “Hold on to something, people. We are about to do a rough landing.”
Schirmacher Oasis, Queen Maud Land was 75 kilometers from the Antarctic’s west coast. There, it is separated from the Lazarev ice shelf, a 90 kilometers-long fringe of ice.
The runway stretched below like a shiny blue piece of rope. It became shorter and wider as they got closer.
The crew readied. Peter was close to a window, he turned to look.
He said to Miller, who had come back to sit beside him, “That runway looks so small, you think—”
“It is 3,299 meters long, Professor. It is the surface I always worry about,” Miller said as he shut his eyes.
Peter looked outside again. “What’s wrong with the surface?”
“It is ice.”
“Oh shit!”
Olivia’s eyes had grown bigger. She gripped her harness and swallowed. She had taken a seat opposite Peter, and beside Liam Murphy.
Ted Cooper had disappeared again into the cockpit. This knowledge worried Peter Williams beyond measure.
Olivia grinned at him. “Hey, Peter, don’t puke.”
“Screw you, ma’am.”
Olivia smirked.
Fifteen minutes passed and the airplane rolled to a shuddering stop in front of the Russian Antarctic Research Station. A simple establishment, it consisted of a long aluminum padded structure like a construction storehouse with a single step running half its length. A single entrance was located close to the edge. Beside it was another structure. It looked like a generator house. And nothing else could be seen but black earth where the ice had been scraped off.
Two snowmobiles plumed spurted ice in the distance as they sled towards the station.
“Poachers?” someone asked.
“Station keepers,” Miller said as he put on his gloves.
Ted Cooper whirled around and sneered, “What’s there to poach?”
The crew followed Miller’s example, each one doubling their attire. Miller had a supply of down jackets shared among the crew. Olivia was wearing a red one with a yellow hood. Peter slipped on rubber boots and dark shades.
The two snowmobiles skidded to a stop where the ice ended about three meters away.
Two men jumped off the vehicles. One with long yellow hair and a beard like a magician wore a black sweatshirt and blue denim. The other wore a blue short sleeved t-shirt and combat shorts and he took the lead. When he smiled he had such huge incisors.
“Hey, people,” he said in passable English. “Welcome to our station.”
Miller went forward and spoke with them in perfect Russian. The one with the big front teeth raised his hands. “Oh yes, yes, you Mr. Miller, the rich American. Colonel Ivanov sent word about you. Please come in, come in very much.”
Olivia whispered to Peter as they went up the metal stairs into the station, “Miller speaks Russian, fluently.”
It wasn’t a question, neither was it an observation. When Peter looked at her, he saw that Olivia was making a statement. Peter nodded in agreement, to whatever she meant.
Olivia got permission from the Russian with the big teeth to take a look at the lab, take pictures, and get an interview, if there was time. His name was Nicolai and the other was called Jude.
“Are you Jewish?” Olivia asked Jude.
The man pumped his hands. “Since birth, yes.”
The station was split into two. The half where the expedition crew was being entertained served as living quarters for the keepers. The other half was the laboratory and research hub.
There was a screen door and a glass door behind that.
Olivia walked towards it with her portable camera. Jude jumped in front of her.
“No, Mama. You no go inside.”
His teeth were better, but his eyes were suddenly cold.
“I just need to take pictures, for the magazine,” Olivia explained. “The magazine, in America.”
Olivia made to take a photo of the man. Jude posed, spreading his teeth, two fingers in the air. Olivia took the photos of him and his companion. But they wouldn’t let her in the labs.
Sitting by Peter Williams later, and the rest of the crew talking, Olivia saw Miller and Ted Cooper walk into the lab. Irked, she gestured at the Russian with the big teeth. “You discriminate against me? I have rights.”