“I’m afraid that’s not a very smart idea either,” Ted spoke up. “Whoever they are, what if they just wanna shoot us? What if they get here and decide we are all infected and try to clean the place?”
“It is unlikely,” Miller said.
“You know something we don’t?”
“Do you?”
The two eyed each other for many seconds.
Now there is something there, thought Olivia.
For all they knew, this disease was highly contagious. It was in the air. Or it could be communicable by mere touch. Or it could have come from any of the rooms in the facility. But at any rate, Nassif argued, the only way to find out was to go back to the lab that the major had shut them out of.
The major shook his head. “No, I have orders to not allow you in there.”
He scratched his arm by rubbing it gently. Nassif held himself from peeking at the man’s eyes. Detection was always in the eyes.
Nassif joined his group five minutes later. He threw his hands up.
“He is adamant.”
The group sighed.
His real name was Juan Santiago. Major Juan was sick. He knew it. He could feel the monster that had taken over Luigi inside him already. Squirming. He felt feverish, and very thirsty.
And that itch on his arm. It had suddenly shown up without cause. Four of his men had it too. He sat on a table in the laboratory. The one that the admiral ordered to not let the Americans stay in. The admiral said this lab was very important to him.
Juan pulled his sleeve up. The red patch had gotten redder. And more irritable.
In his other hand he held his talkie. He was going crazy with a personal dilemma.
Should he disobey a direct order and let the scientists in here so they can figure out an antidote, or wait for the admiral to arrive?
Besides, Admiral Huebner was taking longer than expected.
He pressed a button on the talkie. “Hello.”
“Everything going according to plan?” Huebner asked.
“No, sir,” Juan said. “My men are sick—”
“What’d you mean sick? What happened in there?!”
Major Juan Santiago told him.
It has to be that or nothing the major said made sense. That facility could not come to life except by human design.
Admiral Huebner had just told Major Juan Santiago that the American scientists were responsible for the disaster. They blew the disease in the air.
“You can’t trust them to provide an antidote for a disease they created, they want what’s in the lab!” he had told him. “but I know where the antidote is in the lab. You wait for me, you hear me? Don’t let them out! You understand?”
Major Juan Santiago said he understood.
The admiral threw the talkie in a corner. The Americans were on the ice. The ice was enough of a prison. People didn’t just up and enter where they hadn’t been invited and then hoped to leave the same way. No. Here, he was king.
His exec stared with anxious eyes at the ocean line. “Sir, two hundred miles and closing.”
“Let them come.”
“They are going to think we’ve been jacked, sir.”
The admiral laughed. He turned the notion over on its side, it did look like it. The implication was that he would be boarded. Forcefully.
And if that happened, he could lose his head, for he couldn’t explain away his dropping off the exit and refusing to communicate. Still smiling, he said, “I thought you had the stomach for this, Vasquez?”
Vasquez looked from the admiral and back to the Spanish retribution coming. He adjusted his posture. “Er, I am ready sir.”
The exec didn’t sound convincing.
It wasn’t a problem though. Huebner had a plan. His plan was to divert what was supposed to be his punishment for disobeying the Americans and achieve his own purpose.
“Relax, Vasquez. Relax.”
Ted Cooper was not relaxed.
No one relaxes with the sort of thoughts in his mind. He sat by himself. He followed the debate by the crew with as much interest as he could muster. Which is little. He had been talking with Admiral Anton Huebner, secretly. His suspicions have always been that their little expedition would meet an obstacle like this.
Frank Miller and his infantile notions. Here on the Antarctic, even all his money could not buy him passage. Not with Admiral Huebner.
Huebner was vengeful. A filibuster. Olivia was going to get a rude awakening when the admiral gets here. Meanwhile, Ted Cooper schemed.
Olivia’s eyes met his. He shrugged.
“What do you think, Professor?” she asked.
Ted hadn’t listened to the last couple of words spoken so he shrugged again. But the journalist was a persistent bitch. Her eyes wouldn’t leave his.
“I think our objective now should be how to get them on our side,” Ted said.
“Get who on our side?” She frowned.
He gestured at the door. “The ones here, the soldiers, of course.”
The crew all murmured their agreement. Yeah, it was a good suggestion. Miller and Liam Murphy and Peter Williams, they all agreed. Olivia was still frowning. There was something in his eyes.
She wrote something in her notebook.
Ted got up and said he needed to get some air. Olivia wrote again. This time she wrote, Get some air? Where?
Beside that question was the previous one: Ted said we should get the ones here on our side.
She showed it to Peter Williams. At first he frowned too, not quite comprehending. Then his eyes brightened.
“Shit.”
Olivia nodded. “Exactly what I thought. Ted knows something. I bet he ruined the satellite back at the campsite during the storm—”
“I thought Miller did that to himself.”
“Me too.”
Olivia said more urgently, “Something big is about to happen here, Peter. And Ted is the instrument. We can’t trust him. He leaves at odd hours and comes back anytime he wants to. He moves freely, but the rest of us can’t—”
“I have seen too,” Nicolai said in her face. He looked ragged. Half his former self.
Olivia and Peter shared a look.
“What have you seen?” Olivia asked.
“All the soldiers are sick, they turn to zombie.” Nicolai grabbed Peter’s hand. “But we can leave before it spreads to us. We can leave, now!”
Spittle hung in the corners of the Russian's cracked lips. His eyes looked like they would fall out any minute. Olivia shivered.
“What do you have in mind?”
Nicolai swallowed some from his flask. That flask never dries, thought Olivia. He glanced back at the rest of the crew, walking about the room. Frank Miller was lying down on his bunk. Anabia Nassif had found a pen and paper and was scribbling furiously.
Nicolai looked at Olivia and Peter. “The U-boat,” he whispered. “That is how we get out.”
“Nicolai, that boat is unfinished.” Peter shook his head. “We don’t even know if it even works.”
The Russian gritted his teeth. “I know it can work, I have seen the mechanics. I can make it work!”
“Even if you could, Nicolai, we could never get to it.” Olivia touched the Russian. “The soldiers are going to make sure we don’t get near that boat. And now that they are sick, they could just shoot us all.”
Nicolai was not giving up. He grabbed Peter’s hand. “I know you can make Mr. Miller agree. If you tell him I can do it. Tell him, Peter.”
Peter looked at the prone Miller on the bed. He sighed.
Ted Cooper strolled in then.
Ten minutes before:
“Even you are coming down with it, Major. If I have any sense at all I should be out of here, kayaking in the Andes or something. I mean, I could get infected just talking with you.”