“Alert what detail?” asked Paul Brown, the G450 copilot, as Oliver and Maxine re-entered the lobby.
“We plan to stand guard overnight in case there is an attempt to sabotage this LC-130. I don’t trust this local security detail,” said Maxine.
“Let me sit with you,” replied Paul. “After all, my plane’s parked out there on the same tarmac. Maybe you can fill me in on what’s going on here at the bottom of the world.” Paul Brown had recently retired from the Marine Corps with the rank of Colonel. He had flown many close support missions during the war in Afghanistan as an F/A-18 pilot. He was familiar with combat danger and willing to put himself at risk for the protection of these Homeland Security agents and their mission here in the Antarctic.
As they all sat at lunch, David Benjamin began to describe the facility at Amundsen–Scott and its nearby air strip. “The large central lab building’s suspended above the snow pack on pillars whose footings are set deep within the ice below. Since the entire South Pole area is a glacier, it slowly moves and over time also grows in thickness from the snow above. The facility, and its similarly designed observatories, can therefore be moved upward or downward on their pillars to keep them at the ever-changing ground level.
“As for the landing strip, it’s nothing but packed snow that can hold the weight of the LC-130. This aircraft sits here in New Zealand on wheels but can deploy skis for landings and takeoffs on the snow runways, both at McMurdo and at the Pole. In winter at the Pole, with continual darkness and blowing snow, these landings and takeoffs are tough and unpredictable.”
Both the G450 pilot and copilot agreed that such flying was out of their league.
As the lunch conversation continued Oliver received a call from Clark at I&A. “Oliver, have you learned anything yet about the relief flight from McMurdo Sound?”
“Nothing so far.”
“Well, I&A just got word that both port engines failed during pre-flight warm-up and the disabled LC-130 cannot make the rescue flight. Your LC-130 at Christchurch is the last resort. Make sure it can make the two hops to the Pole tonight. The crew at McMurdo is clearing the runway and unloading the food supplies, in preparation for the arrival of your aircraft.”
“We’re planning to put an extra guard on it this afternoon. How were the engines sabotaged?”
“The ground crew believes something was placed on the compressor blades of each of the two port engines so that at high rpm it would fly loose into the inner turbines. We now think the three workers, hired in Christchurch to help load the food pallets back in February, were part of Spencer’s plot. As you predicted, they switched oil for food by mislabeling the crates, helped load them on the Sno-Cat trailers to the Pole, and, before returning to Christchurch, sabotaged the McMurdo LC-130.”
“I’m afraid these three may still be here in Christchurch, intent on preventing any resupply of the Dark Sector Lab. After lunch we’ll have the local mechanics carefully go over the engines looking for anything like that on this LC-130. If we find nothing, then I fear we may face some form of overt attack on the aircraft tonight. This team of saboteurs must have access to the communications between here and McMurdo, and now know our LC-130 is the last means of preventing famine at the South Pole.
“By the way have you learned anything from those two brothers who murdered Khalil’s colleague at CERN?”
“Milford and Barry Smith are two pathetic pawns of Benton Spencer,” said Clark. “With a simple offer of leniency, they agreed to tell us everything they knew. Unfortunately, that wasn’t very much. They described obtaining a suitcase on a hilltop in the middle of the night that they claimed was filled with holy artifacts so powerful no one could look upon them. Finally, they assured us these artifacts would be revealed at the End of Days when ‘Jesus stands next to Muhammad and brings justice to the world.’”
Oliver thanked Clark for the heads-up and signed off, taking Maxine aside to fill her in on the new developments. As they walked past the main office they heard the facility director yelling into this phone. “How could you have missed it? It’ll take months for us to get new engines to McMurdo! I guarantee you, someone’s going to lose his job as a result of this!”
The head mechanic was standing in the corner of the office. He flinched as the director slammed down the phone and glowered at him. “I want you to inspect each single compressor and turban blade in the four engines of our LC-130 personally! It must not fail to make the flight to the Pole!” The mechanic gulped, nodded that he would comply, and quickly left the office.
Still angry and red in the face, the facility director entered the lunchroom and approached Oliver. “Those fools at McMurdo allowed someone to destroy two of the supply aircraft’s engines. We have to prepare this last LC-130 for the rescue flight!” Oliver indicated that he had just received the same news and added that this remaining air transport may also be attacked in some way. “Not on my watch! My ground crew is inspecting each engine carefully as we speak, and in the morning we will begin fueling for the run to McMurdo. I have also increased our guards.”
“We plan to stay up and watch the aircraft tonight as well. Can you give us a radio so we can contact the guards if we spot anything?”
“I welcome your help,” said the director; “I’ll give you a two-way radio that will link you into the communication network.”
“Thanks.”
By late afternoon darkness was falling over the airport along with a bitter cold. Oliver, Maxine, and copilot Paul Brown had settled into chairs in the shadows of the hangar in plain sight of the two aircraft. The thorough inspection of the LC-130 engines had revealed no evidence of tampering, which made Oliver even more concerned about a late attempt at this facility to stop supplies to the South Pole. He began to go over in his mind the confessions of the Smith brothers. What had Spencer told them about Muhammad? Why had he brought non-Christian ideas into his indoctrination of these two rather simple-minded brothers? Maybe they had overheard his discussions with the Iranian member, Ibrahim Gilani.
Suddenly it struck Oliver that the brothers had inadvertently given away the place of the final horrific event, a nuclear detonation. The holy mosque known as the Dome of the Rock, in the heart of Jerusalem, is where the teachings of Islam say that on the final day of judgment Jesus and Muhammad will appear and stand together on the rock from which, some say, Muhammad was taken up to heaven. From this rock, in the center of this most holy Mosque, the two prophets would judge the world.
Now I think I have the place, Oliver thought to himself, but when will the plot come together? There must be a clue hidden in what we have learned up to this point, but we are running out of time fighting these battles far from the true site of this devised Armageddon. We must find the three!
Oliver then realized that he had just repeated Peter’s warning, and was about to say something to Maxine, when she whispered, “Over at the edge of the field, by those out-buildings, I thought I saw some movement.”
Oliver and Paul both looked. Paul, with the eyes of a good Marine aviator and Top Gun pilot, also saw the dark forms and whispered, “There are two of them, and they’re moving this way seeking cover just to the left of where we’re sitting.”
Maxine keyed the two-way radio in order to alert the security detail, but the radio made a loud beep as it was activated. The advancing figures immediately turned toward the familiar noise and opened fire with automatic weapons. Maxine had fallen prone onto the hangar floor as soon as her position was compromised. The hail of bullets flew above her as she returned fire with deadly accuracy. She had hit both intruders before the rush of security guards was able to reach their position. It was then that Maxine noticed groaning from Oliver and found him and Paul Brown slumped beside their chairs.
Lights suddenly came on over the entire air terminal. Colonel Paul Brown, mortally wounded in the chest by the attacker’s gunfire, slumped near to Oliver who was bleeding badly from his upper left arm. The attackers were still alive, but both h
ad suffered critical wounds.
As Oliver was being led to the local field hospital holding a compress on his bleeding arm, Maxine followed the stretcher carrying Paul Brown into the emergency section. She was there in the room as his life slowly slipped away.
Anger pounded in Maxine’s ears. She found herself back in combat mode, reliving the entire trauma she had worked so hard to overcome in the past year. Unfortunately, the two attackers never regained consciousness and had just been pronounced dead as Maxine pushed past nurses and entered the operating room. Now unable to interrogate these attackers, she struggled to calm herself. She looked at the two young men’s faces as the nurse pulled sheets over them. With hands trembling, she examined their black clothing for some indication of their identity but found no clues. Even the tags on the clothing had been carefully removed.
As Maxine was leaving the room, a nurse held out her hand to reveal a pin in the shape of an eagle. “One of these young men had this pin clasped tightly in his hand. It fell on the floor as we were attempting to save his life.”
Maxine carefully examined the pin which had the form of an eagle with a spear and cycle behind its head. She remembered seeing this symbol when she first began researching the Haredi sect, but could not immediately recall its significance. Carrying the pin in her hand as she walked down the hospital hall to where Oliver was being attended, she was aware she was still trembling.
As she approached his room she heard his voice. “Yes I’m sure of it: Jerusalem, at the Foundation Stone.” Finishing his call he looked up at her and noticed she was trembling slightly. “Max, are you all right?”
“I just left the operating room. The surgeon was unable to save Paul or the two attackers.”
Oliver stood in stunned silence. First one death, followed by another, now three.
He saw the tears welling up in Maxine’s eyes as she said, “I just couldn’t stop them in time.”
He reached for her hand. “Max, you protected Paul and me as well as anyone could.”
Max now began to cry and Oliver put his right arm around her shoulder. “But I killed two young men. I’m a trained marksman. I could have disabled them.”
“Wounded, they would not have stopped their attack. They were combat soldiers.”
Maxine sucked in her breath and tried to calm herself. She extended her hand. “They were Haredi warriors. I was handed this pin, carried by one of them. I think it’s the insignia of a Haredi special-forces group that was disbanded some time back. I ran across a description of it while researching our Father Abraham conspiracy.”
Examining the pin Oliver said, “Let me send a photo of this to Clark and see if he can find out anything about this Haredi group and who might be its leader. He has to be the third conspirator. Based on some of the comments that the Smith brothers made as they were being interrogated, I’m now convinced the planned nuclear detonation will be in Jerusalem at the Foundation Stone. Clark has dispatched a team of agents to Jerusalem, led by our friend Robert Swift, to try to find the three.”
“What does he want us to do?”
“Clark has asked us to fly to Jerusalem to advise Robert Swift, but not join in the arrest efforts. I’ve just talked to David Benjamin; he says he wishes to fly to the Pole with the supplies, and will join the research team there for the long winter. Our G450 pilot indicated we could each take turns serving as copilot on the long trip, much of which is on autopilot anyway.”
“I’m willing to keep going, if I can help put a stop to this madness.”
“Max, you and I are fighting a war on behalf of all of mankind. We will prevail, but right now we both need time to rest. This long flight will give us that chance.”
Meanwhile, David Benjamin was boarding the LC-130 with his research notes and cold weather gear. With no cargo, and an extra load of fuel, this large, four engine, air transport would be able to fly out over the Southern Pacific Ocean and across the Antarctic Circle to McMurdo Station. David was seated in the cockpit along with the pilot and copilot and watched as the large transport taxied away from the Antarctic Program hangar.
At the end of the runway he held his breath as the engines were revved to maximum power prior to take off. With no indication of trouble, the brakes were released and the plane thundered down the runway lifting off over the cold and choppy waters of the southern Pacific. The steady easterly caused the ride to be rough, but David had made enough trips to McMurdo from Christchurch that he was not alarmed.
He was alarmed, however, by the amount of sea ice and large icebergs that were visible out his window on this flight. He had never made the winter run and realized why it was considered so dangerous; the further south they went into the Antarctic winter darkness, the lower the visibility became until it was impossible to see the ocean surface or its increasing population of icebergs.
The pilot was communicating with the ground controllers at McMurdo, and David was able to listen through his headset to the exchanges. He was comforted only slightly by the matter-of-fact way the pilot replied to the ground controller’s indication that McMurdo was experiencing fifty knot winds off the Victoria Ridge and the visibility was down to a few hundred feet.
The choppy ride got worse as the pilot began his descent through the lower cloud layers and into the low-level ice fog. In the darkness of the Antarctic winter the wind gusts tossed the big aircraft around like it was a theme park ride. The airfield was a snow pack, now covered with fresh snow which ground crews had been working feverishly to maintain level and free of drifts.
As the lumbering turbo-jet flew lower and lower, David heard the growling sound of the snow skids being deployed for landing but was unable to see anything but the white glare of the snow in the beams of the landing lights. He never saw the lights of McMurdo, or the landscape, or runway. He only started breathing again when he saw the runway lights suddenly appear, lined up ahead of the aircraft, and felt the slight jolt as the LC-130 met the runway and reversed thrust to stop its forward run down the frictionless sheet of packed snow.
“Wow,” he exclaimed into his lip mike, “that was scary!”
The pilot replied, “Wait ‘til our landing at South Pole; they don’t have a ground controller. We‘ll be on our own to find the runway, such as it is, in complete darkness, praying our GPS doesn’t get flaky at the South Pole like it sometimes does.”
David had made that run once before, but in the summer months when continual sunlight softened the snow covered landing strip beside the lab facility, and visibility was always good. He began to dread the next leg of this trip into the winter darkness.
The LC-130 turned at the end of the runway and taxied to a large hangar where crews were bringing tracked vehicles into position to move the proper food crates into the transport’s cargo hold. Once it had been reported from the Amundsen – Scott South Pole Station that oil and hydraulic fluid crates had been mislabeled as food a search of the McMurdo storage hangar was made. In short order, the food crates were found.
The pilot now turned the aircraft so that its tail pointed toward the open door of the hangar, and shut down the four engines. A ground crew team then attached a tractor to the front landing skid and pushed the transport toward the hangar until its elevated tail almost touched the top of the door.
While fuel trucks replenished the fuel tanks the loading ramp at the tail of the aircraft was lowered and one-by-one the food pallets were loaded and carefully secured within the cargo bay. All present knew the flight to the Pole would be rough, and wanted to make sure no part of the cargo could work loose during the turbulent flight and endanger the LC-130.
The loading took two hours, allowing David to hurry across the frigid and windy tarmac and into the supply facility in order to get a cup of hot chocolate. He used the local ground line to contact the research office of the South Pole Station. Speaking to a fellow researcher, David indicated the food supplies would be on their way soon and that he had planned to stay with the small research team for the wi
nter.
His colleague at the radio observatory was happy to hear his news and said, “As long as you bring food you’re welcome, David. Are you bringing that pepperoni pizza I ordered?”
“I thought you ordered sausage and cheese,” replied David, belying his inner anxiety over the up-coming flight into this dark sector. “By the way how’s the wind there at the Pole?”
“It comes and goes, but for the last day it hasn’t gusted over fifty knots, and is sometimes pretty calm.”
“How badly drifted is the runway?”
“It drifted up pretty bad last week, but we’ve been busy laying out the red carpet for you, and it’s now pretty smooth. Hopefully the wind’ll stay down long enough for you to get here.”
“We’re loading food and fuel at present and should be on our way in the next hour,” said David as he looked at his watch, fogged with inner ice crystals.
“We’ll be ready for you. We’re approaching the darkest days of the year so you are going to have to look for the lights,” said his friend as he signed off.
What lights? David thought to himself as he walked back out to the aircraft. The tail ramp was being raised and locked as he approached the ladder into the front of the aircraft. Climbing aboard and taking his seat next to the copilot, he felt the movement of the tractor towing the LC-130 away from the hangar door and around to face the runway, so that the turbo-prop wash would not blow snow into the ground servicing area.
David’s tension increased as the loaded aircraft taxied toward the far end of the runway, faced into the wind, and began to increase engine power. The big aircraft lifted off well before the end of the lighted runway but immediately flew up into the blowing snow and clouds, causing the runway lights to disappear.
Meanwhile at the Amundsen – Scott Station, the entire 47 members of the winter crew were bundled in their cold weather gear and face masks, carrying five gallon cans of motor oil out of the snow cat shed. Like all of the buildings here at the South Pole, this garage was heated to keep the equipment warm enough to operate. Out in the cold, an engine that was not running would become so cold its motor oil would freeze solid.
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