White Death

23

THE LOCATION RYAN had suggested for a rendezvous was

only a few minutes from NUMA headquarters. Austin drove along the George Washington Parkway to a sign that said THEODORE ROOSEVELT ISLAND. He parked his car, walked over the footbridge that spanned a narrow waterway called Little River and followed a path to the Roosevelt Memorial, a wide plaza edged by low benches. Ryan was standing with his back to the bronze statue of the president, apparently keeping an eye out for Austin.

Ryan waved him over. "Thanks for coming, Kurt." Ryan turned and gazed up at the statue. TR stood with legs wide apart, fist raised high in the air. "01' Teddy up there got me into this crazy business. He put millions of acres under federal protection, saved endangered birds from the plume hunters and made the Grand Canyon a national park. He wasn't afraid to push the law to its lim- its when he thought he was acting in the public good. Whenever I have doubts about what I'm doing, I think of this guy staring down the fat cats."

Austin couldn't help feeling that Ryan was posing for a photo op. "It's hard to believe you have doubts about anything, Marcus."

"Oh I do, believe me. Especially when I think of the task I've carved out for myself: Protecting the world's oceans and the critters that live in them."

"If I recall my mythology, the sea-god position has been filled for the last few thousand years."

Ryan smirked like a guilty child. "Yeah, I guess I do sound god- like at times. But mythology also tells us that gods commonly appoint themselves to their positions."

"I'll remember that if I ever lose my job at NUMA. Therri said you wanted to talk to me about something important."

"Yes," Ryan said, looking past Austin's shoulder. "There she is now, as a matter of fact."

Therri was walking across the plaza with a young man Austin guessed to be in his early twenties. He had reddish-brown skin, a broad face and high cheekbones.

"Good to see you again, Kurt," Therri said, extending her hand. Her manner was businesslike in front of the other men, but her eyes told Austin she hadn't forgotten the goodnight kiss in Copenhagen; or at least that's what he hoped they said. "This is Ben Nighthawk. Ben is a research assistant in our office."

Ryan suggested that they move off to the side of the memorial. When he was sure they could talk out of the earshot of any wander- ing tourists, he wasted no time. "Ben has uncovered some important information on Oceanus," he said.

With a nod from Ryan, the young Indian began to tell his story.

"I come from a tiny village in northern Canada. It's pretty remote, on a big lake, and usually it's pretty quiet up there. A few months ago, my mother wrote me a letter saying someone had bought a huge tract of land across the lake from the village. Big corporation, she thought. I hope to work against overdevelopment of the Canadian wilds when I get out of college, so I got really interested when she said they were building night and day on the lake. Helicopters and float- planes were coming in at all hours. I asked my mother to keep me up to date, and the last time I heard from her was more than two weeks ago. She was really worried." "About what?" Austin said.

"She didn't say, only that it had something to do with the stuff going on across the lake. So I got worried and went home to take a look-and my family was gone."

"You're saying they disappeared?" Austin said. Nighthawk nodded. "Everyone in the village had vanished." "Canada's a big place, Ben. Where was your village located?" Nighthawk glanced at Ryan. "In good time, Kurt," Ryan said.

"Tell Mr. Austin what happened next, Ben."

"I went looking for my family," Nighthawk continued. "I found them being kept prisoner on the other side of the lake. Guys with guns were forcing the men from my village to work, clearing land around a big building."

"Do you know who they were?"

"I never saw them before. They were dressed in black uniforms." He looked at Ryan for encouragement, then went on. "It's crazy, but when we got there-"

"We?" Ryan said, "Josh Green, my next in command, went along with

Ben. Don't be afraid to tell Mr. Austin everything you saw, no mat- ter how wild it seems."

Nighthawk shrugged. "Okay, then. When we first got there, we didn't see anything but forest, except for where they were clearing. Then this huge building suddenly appeared out of nowhere." He paused, waiting for Austin to reply with disbelieving laughter.

Austin kept his blue-green eyes leveled. "Go on," he said, his face impassive.

"That's it. Instead of trees, we were looking at a giant dome. Josh and I thought it looked like an Eskimo igloo, only hundreds of times bigger. While we were watching, the top of the thing opened like this." He cupped his hands to form an open clamshell. "Turned out it was a hangar for a blimp."

Austin said, "Something like the Goodyear blimp?" Nighthawk screwed up his mouth in thought. "Naw. Bigger and longer. More like a rocket ship. It even had a name on the fin. Niet- zsche. )

"Like the German philosopher?"

"I guess so," Ben said. "We saw the thing land in the hangar, and the roof closed again, and then a bunch of guys came out the front door. My cousin was in a work gang, and he tried to run for it, and one of those bastards killed him." Nighthawk's voice became choked with emotion.

Ryan put his hand on Nighthawk's shoulder. "That's enough for now, Ben."

Austin said, "I'd like to help. But I'm going to need more details."

Ryan said, "We'll be glad to fill you in, but the information comes with a price."

Austin raised an eyebrow. "I'm a little short of change today, Marcus."

"We're not interested in money. We want SOS and NUMA to work together to bring Oceanus down. We share the information. You include us in any mission."

Austin showed his teeth in a wide grin. "You'd be better off call- ing in the marines, Ryan. NUMA is a scientific organization dedi- cated to gathering knowledge. It's not a military organization."

"C'mon, Kurt, you're being disingenuous," Ryan said, with a knowing smile. "We researched your job at NUMA. This Special As- signments Team you run has come up against some pretty hard cases. You didn't stop the bad guys by whacking them over the head with a scientific treatise."

"You flatter me, Marcus. I don't have the power to authorize a joint mission. I'd have to run it by higher-ups."

Ryan took the answer as a qualified yes. "I new you'd come around," he said triumphantly. "Thank you so much."

"Save your thanks. I have no intention of going to the head hon- chos."

"Why not?" "NUMA would be putting its reputation on the line if it worked with a fringe organization like SOS. On the other hand, you'd gain public support for the Sentinels by putting them under NUMA's um- brella of legitimacy. Sorry. It's a one-sided deal."

Ryan brushed back his hair. "We haven't told you everything, Kurt. I have a personal stake in this, as well. It wasn't just Ben's cousin-Josh Green was killed."

"It was my fault," Ben said. "I ran into the open, and he tried to stop me. They shot him."

"You did what anyone would have done in your place," Ryan said.

Josh was a brave man." "You're talking about two murders now," Austin said. "Have you reported them to the police?"

"No. We want to deal with this ourselves. And there's something olse that may persuade you to change your mind. We tracked down Ae new owner of the land around Ben's lake. It was a real estate straw corporation… set up by Oceanus."

"You're sure of that?" "Positive. Are you with us now?"

Austin shook his head. "Before you buckle on your six-shooters and ride off, let me remind you what you're up against. Oceanus has money, and worldwide connections, and as you've seen, they don't hesitate to commit cold-blooded murder. They'd swat you and any- one you brought in from SOS like a fly. I'm sorry about Ben's cousin and your friend getting killed, but it only proves what I've been say- ing. You'll be putting your people in similar danger." He glanced pointedly at Therri.

"They're willing to take any risk for the environment," Ryan said. "Apparently, NUMA doesn't give a damn about it."

"Hold on, Marcus," Therri said. She had seen Austin's jaw harden. "Kurt has a point. Maybe we could offer a compromise. SOS could work behind the scenes with NUMA."

"Spoken like a true lawyer," Austin said.

Therri hadn't expected Austin's quick rebuff. "What's that sup- posed to mean?" she said, a hint of coldness creeping into her voice.

"I think this is less about the whales and the walruses and dead friends, and more about your friend's ego." He turned back to Ryan. "You're still ticked off about the loss of the Sea Sentinel. She was your pride and joy. You were going to play the martyr in front of the cable news cameras, but the Danes beat you to the punch when they dropped the charges and quietly kicked you out of their country."

"That's not true," Therri said. "Marcus is-"

Ryan silenced her with a wave of his hand. "Don't waste your breath. It's apparent that Kurt is a fair-weather friend."

"Better than no friend at all," Austin said. He pointed toward the statue of Roosevelt. "Maybe you should go back and read that guy s resume again. He didn't ask others to stick their necks out. Sorry to hear about your cousin, Ben, and about Josh Green. Nice to see you again, Therri."

Austin had had his fill ofRyan's self-aggrandizement. He'd been hopeful when he heard Nighthawk's story, but angry at Ryan for slamming the door on a possible lead. He was striding down the path when he heard footsteps from behind. Therri had followed him from the memorial. She caught up with him and grabbed him lightly by the arm. "Kurt, please reconsider. Marcus really needs your help."

"I can see that. But I can't agree to his conditions."

"We can work something out," she pleaded.

"If you and Ben want help from NUMA, you'll have to cut loose from Ryan."

"I can't do that," she said, bringing the power other lovely eyes to bear.

"I think you can," Austin said, boring back with his own, equally intense gaze.

"Damnit, Austin," she said with exasperation, "you're one stub- born bastard."

Austin chuckled. "Does that mean you won't go out to dinner with me?"

Therri's face darkened with anger, and she spun on her heel and strode off along the path. Austin watched her until she disappeared around a curve. He shook his head. The sacrifices I make for NUMA, he thought. He started off toward the parking lot, only to stop short a minute later when a figure popped out of the woods. It was Ben Nighthawk.

"I made an excuse to get away," Nighthawk said breathlessly. "I told Marcus I had to use the rest room. I had to talk to you. I don't blame you for not wanting to hook up with SOS. Marcus has let all Ac publicity go to his head. He thinks he's Wyatt Earp. But I saw those guys kill my cousin and Josh. I tried to tell him what he's up against, but he won't listen. If SOS goes in, my family is dead meat." "Tell me where they are and I'll do what I can." "It's tough to explain. I'll have to draw you a map. Oh, hell-" Ryan was striding up the path toward them, an angry expression on his handsome face. "Call me," Austin said.

Ben nodded and walked back to meet Ryan. They became en- gaged in what looked like a heated discussion. Then Ryan put his arm around Ben and guided him back to the memorial. He turned back once, to glare at Austin, who shrugged off the evil eye and headed back to his car.

Twenty minutes later, Austin strolled into the Air and Space Museum on Independence Avenue. He took the elevator to the third floor, and was headed toward the library, when he encountered a middle-aged man in a wrinkled tan suit who had stepped out of a side room.

"Kurt Austin, as I live and breathe!" the man said.

"I wondered if I'd bump into you, Mac."

"Always a good chance of that around here. I practically live within these walls. How's the pride ofNUMA these days?"

"Fine. How's the Smithsonian's answer to St. Julien Perlmutter?"

MacDougal chortled at the question. Tall and lean, with fine sandy hair and a hawk-nose that dominated his narrow face, he was the physical antithesis of the portly Perlmutter. But what he lacked in girth he made up for with an encyclopedic knowledge of air history that was every bit the equivalent of Perlmutter's grasp of the sea.

"St. Julien carries much more, um, weight in the historical world than I do," he said, with a twinkle in his gray eyes. "What brings you into the rarified atmosphere of the Archives Division?"

'I'm doing some research on an old airship. I was hoping I'd find something in the library."

"No need to go to the archives. I'm on my way to a meeting, but we can talk on the way." Austin said. "Have you ever come across a mention of an airship called the Nietzsche?"

"Oh, sure. Only one airship had that name-the one that was lost on the secret polar expedition of 1935."

"You know it, then?" He nodded. "There were rumors that the Germans had sent an airship to the North Pole on a secret mission. If it had succeeded, it was meant to cow the Allies and tout the glories of German Kultur in the propaganda war. The Germans denied it, but they couldn't ex- plain the disappearance of two of their greatest airship pioneers, Heinrich Braun and Herman Lutz. The war came along, and the sto- ries faded."

"So that was it?" "Oh no. After the war, papers were discovered that suggested strongly that the flight had indeed taken place, with an airship sim- ilar to the Graf Zeppelin. The airship supposedly sent a radio message as it neared the pole. They had discovered something of interest on the ice."

"They didn't say what?" "No. And some people believe it was a fabrication, anyhow. Maybe something Josef Goebbels made up."

"Butyo believe the accounts." "It's entirely possible. Certainly the technology was there."

"What could have happened to the airship?" "There are all sorts of possibilities. Engine failure. Sudden storm. Ice. Human error. The Graf Zeppelin was a highly successful aircraft, but we're talking about operating in extreme conditions. Other air- ships have come to similar fates. It could have crashed into the pack ice, been carried hundreds of miles away and gone into the sea when the ice melted." His face lit up. "Don't tell me! You've found traces of it at the bottom of the sea?"

"Unfortunately, no. Someone mentioned it to me… and, well, my scientific curiosity got the better of me."

"I know exactly what you mean." He stopped in front of a door. "Here's my meeting. Come by again and we'll talk some more." "I will. Thanks for your help."

Austin was glad that Mac wasn't pressing him further. He didn't like being evasive with old friends.

MacDougal paused with his hand on the doorknob. "The fact that we're talking about the Arctic is a funny coincidence. There's a big reception tonight to open a new exhibition on Eskimo culture and art.

'People of the Frozen North,' or something like that. Dogsled races, the whole thing."

"Dogsled races in Washington?"

"I said the same thing, but apparently it's so. Why don't you come by and see for yourself? "

"I may just do that."

As he was leaving the museum, Austin stopped at the information booth and picked up a brochure for the exhibition, which was in fact called Denizens of the Frozen North. The opening night reception was by invitation only. He ran his eye down the brochure and stopped at the name of the sponsor: Oceanus.

He tucked the brochure in his pocket and drove back to his office. A few calls later, he had wrangled an invitation, and, after working awhile longer on his report to Gunn, he went home to change. As he walked past the bookshelves in his combined living room-library, he ran his fingers along the spines of the neatly shelved volumes. The voices of Aristotle, Dante and Locke seemed to speak to him.

Austin's fascination with the great philosophers went back to his college days and the influence of a thought-provoking professor. Later, philosophy provided a distraction from his work and helped shed light on the darker elements of the human soul. In the course of his assignments, Austin had killed men and injured others. His sense of duty, justice and self-preservation had shielded him from crippling, and perhaps dangerous, self-doubt. But Austin was not a callous man, and philosophy gave him a moral compass to follow when he examined the rightness of his actions.

He extracted a thick volume, flicked on the stereo so that the liq- uid notes flowed from John Coltrane's saxophone, then went out on the deck and settled into a chair. Riffling through the pages, he quickly found the quote he'd been thinking about since MacDougal had mentioned a blimp named Nietzsche.

Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And when you lool into an abyss, the abyss also loofs into you.

He stared off into space for a few moments, wondering if he had seen the abyss, or more important, whether it was looking back at him. Then he closed the book, put it back on the shelf and went to get ready for the reception.