He looked over his shoulder and saw Blenkochev bristle. The gun weaved ever so slightly. Still, if Carter were to accomplish his mission, he had to go on. Blenkochev had to be shocked into changing his attitude just enough to help him.
"Not only fear of losing your job and maybe your life," Carter continued, "but also fear for the safety of large numbers of people. Maybe even for the world. Your world in particular, and mine by circumstance. So you came to New Zealand with Anna. Only one assistant. Your one concession to age. But a woman so you'd attract less attention. You investigated at the embassy, and she went into the field. Disguised. She heard about our missing flyer and was on her way to look up Mackenzie when by accident she drove past Mike and me after the crash. She recognized me and left the first aid supplies. Already she'd begun to help me. Why?"
Apparently disinterested, the dishes done and repacked, Anna lay back on her pack and lit a cigarette. A calm professional. She blew rings into the cold air.
"Because we weren't fighting," Carter said and popped up light aluminum poles, the tent's skeleton. "Because we were after the same thing, and if she kept tabs on me and I found it first, she could steal it. The only issue was what."
"And you don't know," Blenkochev said, satisfied.
"I can make a close guess. It has to do with biological warfare."
Blenkochev said nothing, pursing his lips. His silence told Carter he was right.
"A new strain of bacteria or virus that's being developed by Silver Dove somewhere down here. Maybe at Novolazarevskaya, although I doubt it because Antarctic nations have to remain open to everyone. But nearby, probably. Near enough so that Diamond — when he had to make an emergency landing — saw something he shouldn't have, and had to be carted away. It puts you in an awkward position. With biological warfare, you can't just rush a place. Someone could break one little vial, and the world is contaminated. If you're dealing with fanatics, an order they find disagreeable will be disobeyed. And people whose main motivation is hatred don't respond to reasoning. So if you can't use force, orders, or reasoning, you have to outmaneuver, outwit, and outflank them."
Carter slipped the skeleton poles inside the tent.
"Go on," Blenkochev said. "I'm listening."
"Which also explains why you didn't kill me" — Carter smiled — "and why you "re holding that ridiculous gun on me. You won't fire it out here. You'd bring the whole damned mountainside down on us. That'll never get you reinstated with Chernenko."
Now it was Blenkochev's turn to smile, and he held up the other hand. In it was a stiletto, the twin of Carter's own.
"I'm not completely unprepared," the wily old agent murmured.
"No, and you've let me ramble like this for a purpose. You want to know how much Hawk knows. How much I guessed. And whether you want me to help. Much better to have me with you than bumbling around maybe making matters worse. The other option, of course, is to kill me."
A deep throaty laugh rumbled from Blenkochev. Anna watched Carter with respect.
"Ah, N3, too bad you can't be bought!" He held his belly and laughed. "I would love to steal you from Hawk. Finally I would get even with the old bastard!"
As the mighty KGB man roared with laughter, Carter snapped the tent skeleton in place, then sat back on his haunches to admire his work.
"Your tent's finished," he said mildly. "Now I'd like to hear your proposal."
"Give Anna back her weapons first," Blenkochev said. He took off his glasses and wiped a sleeve across his eyes. "I know you've got them hidden somewhere."
"And my Luger?"
"Anna," Blenkochev said.
The old agent was tired, and at last comfortable. He wasn't going to move until he had to.
Anna fetched Carter's gun while he took from his backpack the Walther and knife. They exchanged weapons, and Anna gave him a smile of curiosity.
"Did you hear about the Chilean soldier?" Carter asked as he sealed back onto his own insulated snow mat.
"Unfortunately, yes," Blenkochev said. "Another nail in the coffin. A group from Chile visited the Novolazarevskaya area last week. There was no way to keep tabs on all of them, and besides it doesn't look friendly if it's too obvious that they're being watched. One or more must have slipped away. Either they knew what they were doing, or they didn't." The KGB man shrugged. "It's immaterial now. Now that the one's dead."
"If there were survivors, then you must know where they were here."
Blenkochev allowed himself a short smile.
"I have certain information," he admitted.
"Don't bother being modest. Blenkochev. No one believes it."
Again the belly laugh.
"No wonder you're Hawk's favorite," he chuckled.
"So we're going to find this secret installation," Carter said. "The installation that your New Zealand attaché also visited without anyone's knowledge."
"The same," Blenkochev agreed. He stood up and stretched. "Now I must sleep I'm old, but I don't admit it in Moscow. Here I don't give a damn. Here my age can be a hindrance." He checked his watch, his face turning grim. "We leave in four hours. No longer. Rest. I expect you both in top form." He stared north across the mountains as if he could see into the future. "This insanity could destroy my country."
Dignified and powerful as an old seasoned lion, Blenkochev stalked into his tent and dropped the flap. The perfume lingered for a moment, then was swept away in a light breeze.
Carter and Anna were silent, deep in their own worry. "You're standing guard?" Carter said at last, noting Anna's lack of interest in pitching her own tent.
"Silting guard, "she said, relaxed back against her pack.
Her blond hair glowed like gold in the sunshine. Her face was solemn, watchful, its attention directed at Carter. As soon as he retired to his tent, she would focus her alertness on the area around them.
She laid the Walther on her chest and held the knife loosely in her hand. Beautiful, intelligent, good-natured, and a thorough professional. Good reasons for Blenkochev to have chosen her, but there had to be more. A reason why he trusted her more than any of his other agents. Not only was his career and life-style on the line, but also the world he'd helped to shape for the last forty years. He had less compassion for the world than he had pride in the immortality of his work.
"You grew up in Moscow?" Carter asked.
She was waiting for him to leave, wanted to be at her job. Like many agents, she worked better alone. Yet she was interested in him. Couldn't take her eyes off him. One more reason why she wanted him to leave.
"I appreciate your help back in New Zealand," he said and stood. He didn't want to leave, but it was necessary that he, too, keep his distance.
She smiled up at him.
"I was a music student," she said. "Violin. Chamber music. Does that help?"
"Not really. Why did Blenkochev choose you?"
She looked at him, her face now expressionless. She was trying to decide whether to tell him anything and, if she did, whether to tell him the truth. She was a woman worth knowing. At last she cleared her throat.
"He's my father."
The one answer Carter hadn't guessed. She watched him quizzically to see how he'd take the news. It was hard to imagine Blenkochev sexually involved with anyone. But even the most outrageous, the most cold-blooded, the most extensively distracted sometimes committed the grace of physical intimacy. Her mother must have been remarkable. He hoped that Blenkochev had loved her.
"He's a lucky man," Carter said and went into his tent.
Fifteen
Nick Carter, Leon Blenkochev, and Anna Blenkochev skied across the skimobile tracks into untouched snow. Blenkochev was leading. He knew where he was going and didn't want to lose any element of surprise he might acquire from arriving at the Silver Dove installation in an unexpected way.