Occasionally he used a sun compass from his backpack to take a reading. Knowing local Antarctic time and that the summer sun circles the horizon at about fifteen degrees an hour, he figured with close accuracy where they were and where they needed to go next.
That hadn't been necessary to find Carter. Blenkochev and Anna had crossed the skimobile tracks first, not knowing Carter was in the area. The KGB leader had sent his daughter to investigate in one direction while he'd gone the other. When she hadn't returned as scheduled, he'd come after her and discovered Carter as well.
Now the three skied through the pristine snow, taking turns breaking trail. Carter found himself watching Anna, intrigued by something he couldn't name. Occasionally he caught her watching him.
A few sooty albatrosses passed overhead, riding the air currents. They were perfect gliding machines. The stronger the wind, the more effortless seemed their flight. The sky remained its spectacular clear blue, the bright sun giving little warmth to the sparkling land.
At last, still very high in the mountains, wind whipping around them, Blenkochev signaled to slow.
Leading, he pushed quietly ahead. His body was hunched with concentration. He must have been exhausted, but he gave no sign of it. He headed into the gale.
He stopped at a large sheer rock face that was blown free of snow. He unsnapped his skis and plodded forward, sinking with each step.
He motioned for Carter and Anna to follow.
He disappeared around the rock face as the two agents skied forward, unsnapped their skis, and followed.
Below them extended a valley. It was deep and long, ridged by boulders and rocks naked to the sun. It was an area of almost constant wind that kept any projecting objects free of snow.
Surrounded by peaks and hanging rocks, it would be a difficult valley to see from the air. A hidden valley.
There appeared to be movement on the valley's long, narrow snow white floor. Carter couldn't quite make out what it was. He stroked his beard and studied the valley.
Blenkochev handed tiny, powerful binoculars to Carter.
"Over there." Blenkochev said, gesturing.
Two sliding doors so big that they'd be oversize even for an airplane hangar were fitted into the granite at the side of the valley. They were painted a dull gray to match the rock. They were ajar. Workmen outfitted in stark white insulated snow suits passed in and out, some driving white jeeps, others on white skis. The workers were almost invisible.
"Silver Dove?"
"Looks like Silver Dove now," Blenkochev said curtly. "A regular Soviet base before. We abandoned it when we signed the Antarctic Treaty. There was no longer a fight for the continent It's been so long now that it's mostly forgotten."
"Silver Dove didn't forget," Anna murmured. She looked at Carter and smiled.
Blenkochev glanced at his daughter, his assistant, his employee. Pride briefly filled his broad Slavic face. Then he banished it. No room for sentiment when there was a job to be done. He asked no quarter, and gave none. Not even to his daughter.
"We're going to stand out like sore thumbs down there," Carter said, gesturing at the Blenkochev's' blue clothes and at his own khaki.
"In the end, it may save us," Blenkochev said quietly.
He dropped his backpack and squatted to unzip it. He pulled out a gunny sack and opened it.
"Here's that emergency gear you brought," he said loudly to Carter. "We'll bury it. Pick it up later in case of emergency."
He opened the insulated sack and showed Carter a small radio similar to Carter's, emergency rations, a lightweight snow blanket that folded to the size of a handkerchief, and first aid gear. He'd come prepared.
"I'll take that!"
The voice was sharp, commanding. From above.
"Throw it up!"
The lookout pointed a long-barreled rifle down at them. It was a special air gun, silent. Perfectly safe in the avalanche-prone wasteland.
The lookout in his white deep-freeze clothes stood on a rock mesa. He could have been there for hours, could have watched their approach, hidden, waiting while he radioed ahead for instructions.
"Excellent," Blenkochev said.
Suddenly more men swarmed around either side of the sheer rock face, all dressed in white like German ski soldiers of World War II. They were stealthy, drifting forward like part of the landscape. Each had a small silver dove embroidered on the material over his heart.
Blenkochev raised a hand full of command.
"I am Blenkochev," he said majestically in his cultured Russian. "I've caught the notorious Nick Carter. He's the imperialist AXE agent from that overweight pig the United States."
His steely eyes swept the all-male Soviet faces, demanding that they listen and obey. Their guerrilla lessons hadn't included a chapter on a man such as Blenkochev. They were off balance Instantly he saw this. For the moment, they were malleable. He smiled coldly at the quiet men and continued.
"He's a dangerous American spy-whore," he said. "I've brought him a long way, and we're tired."
He gestured with disdain at Carter and nodded at Anna. She took her clue and reached into Carter's backpack for his weapons.
"Who's in charge here?" the powerful Blenkochev said.
"I am, sir," replied one of the men.
He stepped forward, his air rifle pointed at Carter. Only his tanned face glowing against the brilliant snow showed the possibility of something human under all that white padding.
Anna tucked Carter's weapons under her arms. Disapproving, the Silver Dove glanced at the female agent. Women belonged at home with a house full of babies, not in rugged Antarctica pretending they had the stamina and intelligence of a man.
"My daughter," Blenkochev said curtly, "and my assistant."
"Yes, sir," the Silver Dove said, impressed by the blood relationship but not by the work relationship. "I'll lake those, comrade."
He collected the weapons and allowed himself a discreet leer that he thought Blenkochev couldn't see. If she weren't good enough for a man to marry, the daughter had possibilities as something else. Bigotry found excuses for whatever a perverse man could imagine.
"You'll take us down," Blenkochev announced. "Now."
He, too, looked at Anna, but his expression was one of warning. He was telling her not to kill the chauvinistic oaf. At least not yet.
She nodded grimly, and Carter, the Blenkochevs, and the party of Silver Doves skied around the boulder and down a long, winding trail into the valley.
The massive entrance area inside the Silver Dove facility was icy cold. The bitter wind whistled through the open steel doors and over the trucks, jeeps, ski mobiles, and small helicopters that were parked in tidy rows. Other vehicles came and went. Exhaust swirled and stank in the air.
Their skis over their shoulders, the three agents and their escort group passed among the vehicles. Some were painted stark white with faint silver doves drawn on the fenders. Others were olive drab with Russian markings. None of the helicopters looked like the one that had been searching the mountains.
The group continued toward the back of the warehouse where doors were cut into more granite.
Workmen in insulated white suits checked wheels and gas, carried clipboards stacked with papers, and spoke into walkie-talkies. Small silver doves were embroidered over their hearts. They were all white and male.
They looked with little interest at the newcomers, then returned to their work. Either those who worked at the hidden Silver Dove facility were used to visitors, or their natural curiosity had been trained out of them.
Carter watched Blenkochev.
The Russian's face was impassive, but the eyes were watchful. They scanned the enormous room. He was looking for something. Or someone. Briefly his eyes settled on a square man with a bushy black mustache. If there was recognition from either, they hid it well. Carter would watch for the reappearance of the square man with the bushy black mustache.