“They are friends,” said Nicolai. “You are not.”
Olivia said to Peter, “Something about your colleague, and the billionaire, Peter.”
They watched them disappear behind the door. Whatever those two were up to, he was going to find out.
“Stay sharp,” he said.
Frustrated by the Russians, Olivia resigned herself to making recordings about the living quarters. Speaking into her Dictaphone, she went through the bookshelves. There was mostly Russian literature, a few German. She found a Mark Twain book, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. It was severely thumbed.
Olivia noted drawers on the shelf. On second thought she opened one of them and found stacks of dust-covered photos. The Russians were now distracted; a chess game had begun between the Russians and the expedition crew. Ted Cooper and Frank Miller were still absent.
Olivia began searching through the photos. Old black and white army photos, blurry with age, and a few that were taken recently. Most of it, group photos that had been taken in front of the building they were in.
“What the…”
In one of the newer group photos she saw, there were four men in street clothes and one in military fatigue. Frank Miller had his hand around the shoulders of the army man.
And one of the men in street clothes was Harald Kruger.
Three hovercrafts left the Russian Research Station in Novolavarevskaya on a 400-kilometer ride across slippery ice. The Russian named Jude rode one of the hovercrafts. It was loaded with the disassembled parts of a control station for the crew. The other three crafts bore the weight of the members of the crew.
Olivia and Peter rode on the same hovercraft. Ted Cooper kept on a dry monologue about the next location. He sat behind Peter.
“The Germans' first expedition was in early '39. They named the place New Schwabenland, after their ship. And you know what they were searching for?” he asked no one in particular.
Olivia rolled her eyes. Peter shrugged. “What?”
“Fat,” Ted said. “They were looking for whale fat. They stuck poles with German swastikas along the coast. Those sons of bitches came here looking for goddamn fat. How about that, huh?”
Frank Miller’s hovercraft was in the lead. Olivia watched the man as he gave directions from a map that the wind tried to tear out of his hands. She itched to tell Peter what she found in the Russian station. But she didn’t quite trust Ted Cooper.
“I saw you taking pictures, Ms. Olivia.”
“Yeah.”
“They don’t like it.” Ted gestured at Nicolai on the far left. “That station contains top-secret material. Just like where we are going. I hope you bear that in mind.”
“Sure.”
Olivia got her camera out. “Smile, Professor.”
“What?”
She snapped the protesting face of Ted Cooper.
And that was when the crew had its first drawback.
As they made a turn around a hill that flanked them, blocking the sun and much of the harsh wind, Frank Miller’s hovercraft suddenly started jerking. The rider, Liam Murphy, tried to compensate for the lag. He pumped the engine, the vehicle lurched.
Within seconds Liam Murphy was thrown off the craft. Frank Miller fell sideways, together with his bodyguard Itay Friedman.
Anabia Nassif, the marine biologist, sprained his elbow when he hit the ice and skidded for about a meter and a half. Ted Cooper attended to the injury using medicine from a first aid box.
Victor Borodin said, looking up in the grey skies, “We should camp somewhere at this time.”
Miller rose from the hovercraft. It turned out that he was an expert in craft repairs. He looked around. “We still have enough daylight time.”
“It may appear so,” agreed the expedition leader, “but a storm is on the way, and it’s coming fast. We should camp.”
“Where?” asked Miller with some urgency.
Itay Friedman stepped aside. “I’ll go look around.”
The crew started spreading out. Olivia took pictures and talked in her Dictaphone. Peter Williams, bored and stiff in his knees, followed behind her. When he was close enough, Olivia said, “What if your billionaire isn’t who he claims to be?”
Peter pointed at the Dictaphone. “You have it on record?”
Olivia looked at the device. She shook her head. “What if it gets in the wrong hands?”
“What if you lose it?” Peter said evenly.
“Hey.”
The two turned around. Victor Borodin waved them over. “We are going to higher ground. The ice is thin out here. Watch where you step.”
By the time Itay Friedman found a suitable spot at the leeward side of a mountain about half a mile from where the crash had happened, it was almost evening.
The breeze that was now soughing through the expanse stung and scraped at their skin. Miller’s hovercraft had crashed because of a defective mechanism in the air propeller. The metal valve had been twisted, Miller found, with uneasy surprise.
He mentioned it to no one.
Slowly, the crew traveled to the spot behind the hill. When they arrived, Victor Borodin spread his arms. “What the hell is this place!?”
Friedman shrugged. “Let's call it home.”
Miller asked what the problem was.
“We are going to get all the heat when the storm comes,” the Russian said and stumbled off.
Nicolai commenced setting up a camp house. It was semi-circular structure, sturdy enough all by itself on account of the galvanized material. All the men, except Frank Miller and Ted Cooper, joined him in the work. Meanwhile, Olivia taped the effort.
Frank Miller busied with his map. Ted Cooper was nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s Ted?” Peter asked Itay Friedman, his first conversation with the Israeli guard.
“Ted who?”
Itay ignored him.
Ten thousand miles into the South Pacific Ocean an interesting event was happening. The Argentine Navy, Armada De La Republica Argentina, was in the middle of a Readiness Test, hurriedly scheduled and highly unusual.
The last time the country itself engaged in any sort of warfare was the small stint that installed Jean Bertrand Aristide in Haiti. And it was a collaboration with the Americans and the Polish, a colorful yet amusing combination.
Admiral Anton Huebner, lean from constant drills that he made all his men go through with him, stood grim-faced at starboard. Beside him was his executive officer, Ramirez Vasquez, a young and ambitious hull head.
“Everything going fine?” Huebner asked.
“Yes sir, it is.”
The young executive would follow Huebner down with the ship if it comes to it. Huebner was aware of this fact. It was for this and other reasons that he made the switch. Huebner's former officer was a plant by the Navy.
Since his son died a shameful death all the way in America, Huebner’s career had taken a plunge and had refused to come above water. Two years ago he hatched a plan — not to set his career back on track, he was beyond that remedy now — but to punish his detractors.
Then the Navy had suddenly announced this exercise and his time had come to hatch his plan. It had required a few underhanded doings here and there but it would be worth it.
Halfway through an exercise that included all four destroyers and five warships, Admiral Huebner called his exec.
The young man also knew something was off, something was coming. The admiral was oddly quiet. They had made two errors in strikes within the past one hour.
Admiral Anton Huebner hardly ever made such errors.
Huebner brought his field glasses to his face. The exec noted that the admiral's attention wasn’t on the ocean before them, where ships were now coming back into formation.