“I wanted to speak with you privately,” Kurt said. “About your sister.”
“Ah,” Ryland said. “Back to my sister. What has she done this time? Gone running to the American government to tell them of my secret plan to pollute the Arctic, destroy the environment and kill all the baby seals? It’s a fantastic scheme, I assure you. And we’re well along with it.”
“She’s missing,” Kurt said calmly. “And, unfortunately, she’s almost certainly dead. I figured you’d rather hear that in private.”
Ryland stared at him blankly. As if an internal logic program was running slowly as it tried to figure out the correct response. “Well,” he said finally. “That is . . . terrible news . . . I appreciate you telling me before it hit the press. How did it happen?”
“We don’t have all the details,” Kurt admitted. “But as you may know, she was on a science expedition to Antarctica. Her ship must have run into trouble on the way home.”
“Go on.”
“The strange part is, no one seemed to be looking for it. We only found it because a NUMA survey plane flew over it while dropping remote sonar buoys. We went to investigate and render assistance. The ship was frozen solid. It must have been adrift for weeks, if not months. Worse yet, everyone on board had been shot. Unfortunately, the ship was in bad condition. It sank before we could collect any evidence or retrieve any of the bodies.”
Ryland’s expression began to resolve, as if some mystery were clearing in his mind. “An expedition to Antarctica,” he said, sounding dismayed. “Of course that’s what she does with the money I give her. I suppose it makes sense. At least to her. In my sister’s mind, I’m the evil industrialist polluting the world. She’s the white knight saving it. What better way to use my support than to study snowflakes or penguins, just like all her useless friends?”
Kurt assumed he was talking about Cora. But the lack of emotion was astonishing. “I’m not sure you heard me correctly. This was no accident. The ship’s crew had been gunned down.”
“I heard you quite clearly,” Ryland insisted. “And it doesn’t surprise me at all. If you only knew how radical she truly was. My sister had many enemies. She collected them like trophies. It wasn’t just my company she attacked, there were others. She and her friends detonated explosives in a mine in Lesotho, collapsing the main gallery and the entry shafts. Several employees were killed. And the damage to the mine was so extensive, repairing it put the company out of business. They used computer hacking to damage pipelines, causing them to overload and destroying pumping stations in the process. Just last year they blew a hole in a Japanese whaling ship that had come to port to make repairs. It sank in Cape Town Harbour. Leaking oil and toxic chemicals, I might add. And six months ago, one of my seagoing rigs was sabotaged. She and her friends beat two security guards half to death in the process. I feel anger, but it’s my sister, so I let it go. Some of the others whom she’s attacked are run by more ruthless men who might have wanted a pound of flesh in return for their pain.”
Ryland had suddenly become worked up. He settled quickly. “I’m sorry to hear of her demise, but, trust me, my sister is not some pacifist environmental warrior. She’s a terrorist.”
“Was a terrorist,” Kurt said.
“Yes. Of course. Was.”
“And an unreasonable woman, by the sound of it.”
Ryland glared at Kurt before conceding the point. “She was that as well. The only thing we had in common.”
Kurt found the whole exchange curious, especially Ryland blaming his sister for her own death. “Do you have any idea what she and her friends were studying in the Antarctic?”
“What do you mean?”
“You describe them as saboteurs,” Kurt said. “So why go out on the glaciers? Not much in the way of mining or drilling for oil down there. Unless, that is, you know something I don’t.”
“I know a great many things you don’t,” Ryland insisted. “But what drove my sister to act as she did will baffle me to the end of my days.”
Kurt nodded politely and said nothing more.
Ryland sighed and looked over to the waiting glasses. “Let us drink to her,” he said. “And to your brave efforts to save her ship.”
He slid one of the glasses toward Kurt, moving it along the polished desk with care and ease. As Kurt lifted it, Ryland took the other glass in his hand. After briefly waving it under his nose to sample the aroma, he raised the glass high. “To my wayward sister. May she find peace wherever the afterlife takes her.”
Kurt raised his glass respectfully, then took a sip of the cognac. The hint of nutmeg and dried apricots came through. Ryland had chosen an excellent bottle. As he savored the taste, he glanced at the clock behind Ryland. To his surprise, only seven minutes had passed. The unreasonable man had reached for the glasses three minutes early.
19
While Kurt shared a drink with Ryland, Joe and Leandra watched the foreign guests whom they’d spotted.
“The ‘internationals’ are doing their best to remain wallflowers,” Joe noted.
“Which in a strange way makes them stick out,” Leandra said. “Considering how far they’ve traveled to be here, they haven’t done any mixing or mingling. Not exactly social butterflies.”
“More like birds of a feather,” Joe said. “They haven’t moved from that spot or spoken with anyone but each other all night. I noticed the Russian guy keeps checking his watch. They’re clearly waiting on someone. And not all that patiently.”
“My money is on that someone being held up, entertaining your partner,” Leandra added. “They’ve been in there awhile. What do you suppose they’re talking about?”
“Knowing Kurt, something boring and humdrum. Run-of-the-mill small talk is his specialty. Trust me. You wouldn’t want to spend your free time with him. You’d be bored to tears.”
Leandra smiled. “Whereas you’re charming and interesting, I assume.”
Joe raised his glass. “So glad you noticed.”
Despite the banter, they kept their eyes on Ryland’s international visitors. Novikov checked his watch for the third time, venting his frustration to the others. In response, Liang, the Chinese shipping magnate, turned to one of his assistants and whispered a few words.
The man left, returning shortly with a member of Ryland’s staff. The woman spoke with each of them, trying to reassure them. Having done that, she relayed a message via her radio.
A response must have come quickly. The radio went back into the woman’s jacket pocket and she turned and led the group from the middle level down the stairs and toward the veranda that lay beyond the wall of glass.
“The birds of a feather are flocking together,” Leandra noted. “Should we follow?”
Joe glanced down the hall. Kurt was nowhere to be seen, but he could take care of himself. Joe offered his arm. “Let’s go for a walk.”
Leandra looped her arm through his and they took the stairs to the ground floor. The international group continued toward the glass wall and then through a doorway and out into the garden.
“Let’s follow them,” Joe said. “But without it looking like we’re following them.”
“Those are not very precise instructions,” Leandra said.
“Just keep it loose,” Joe said. “Improvise as the moment strikes you.”
With Leandra no less foggy on what to do, the two of them walked out into the garden, moving along a pebble path. They kept the international group in sight, even as they passed shoulder-high rosebushes and a fountain with an elephant sculpture in the middle spraying water from its trunk.
“They’re clearly not out here to admire the scenery,” Leandra noted.
“They’re heading for that building,” he said, nodding toward a maintenance shed with walls of corrugated metal and several garage-style doors. Bales of hay sat out front, feed for the animals.
Oil drums stood stacked nearby, two of them with hand pumps attached. An old pickup truck was parked behind the hay.
“Must be the motor pool,” Joe said. “Which means our guests are about to go for a ride.”
The international group followed Ryland’s assistant to a door cut into the side of the building. The Russian entered first, followed by his security team and then Liang’s small group.
“Let’s go,” Joe said.
They took the same path around the fountain, arriving at the door and pausing. Joe put his hand to the knob and turned it slowly. It opened without resistance.
Joe looked inside. He saw no one in the immediate vicinity, just equipment, tractors and supplies.
“Hey,” a voice called out from behind them. “What are you doing here?”
Joe turned to see one of Ryland’s men. An earpiece with a coil cord looping to a radio on his belt suggested he was part of the security team.
“Sorry,” Joe said. “We were—”
“Just looking for some privacy,” Leandra said, batting her eyes at the man while curling up to Joe.
“In the work shed?”
He wasn’t buying it. His left hand went to the radio while his right slipped into the inside pocket of his jacket.
“Have you ever heard of ‘a roll in the hay’?” Leandra asked.
The man hesitated. Joe considered rushing him, but officially they were still guests. He doubted they were about to get shot. Most likely they’d be ordered back into the main building or, at worst, they’d get kicked out of the party. That made a fight seem unnecessary. A second man coming up behind the security guard suggested it was a losing proposition anyhow.
“Base, this is two-eight,” the man said into the radio. “We have a problem out by the work shed. Two of the guests have—”
Before the man could finish his sentence, the figure approaching him from behind reached out and pulled the cord from the radio.
The guard turned in surprise. “What the—”
He didn’t finish that sentence either. A punch to the gut followed, doubling him over. A right cross finished him off in record time.
Joe raced forward and helped subdue the man. “About time you showed up,” he said, recognizing Kurt. “Where have you been?”
“Sharing a drink with Ryland,” Kurt said. “Interesting guy. I was coming to tell you all about it when I saw you guys following some of the guests out the door. And then I saw that guy following you. So, I followed him.”
“A whole lot of following going on,” Joe said, pulling off the guard’s tie and using it to bind his hands. As Joe did that, Kurt found a cloth nearby, creating a makeshift gag so the man wouldn’t be able to shout for help when he woke up.
As Kurt and Joe finished securing the security guard, Leandra found a place to hide him, opening the door of the old truck. “Put him in here. We can cover him with this blanket.”
Kurt and Joe lifted the man and slid him onto the bench seat of the truck. Joe used the seat belt to bind his feet and Leandra threw an old blanket over the top of him.
She closed the door quietly, but another sound was heard.
“Say again, two-eight, you were cut off.”
The security guard’s radio lay on the ground demanding a response. Joe cleared his throat and pressed the talk button. “This is two-eight,” he said, doing his best to sound like the South African. “Disregard. Just a guest who can’t hold his liquor. Helping him to the washroom.”
“Better you than me,” the voice from base said. “Update us when you’re back on patrol.”
“Wilco,” Joe said.
“That was quick thinking,” Kurt said. “But no one says ‘wilco’ anymore.”
“Let’s hope you’re wrong about that,” Joe said.
With nothing more coming from the radio, Joe turned toward the work shed. “They went in there. I think we should find out why.”
“Lead the way,” Kurt said.
Joe went for the shed’s door and eased it open. As he peeked inside, the sound of a finely tuned engine coming to life reverberated off the metal walls.
“Sounds like the safari tour is about to begin,” Leandra said.
Joe saw lights near the front of the building but nothing nearby except silent machinery and farm equipment. He moved inside. Leandra and Kurt followed.
Picking his way through, Joe led them to a spot beside a front-end loader. The hulking piece of construction equipment was half covered with mud, but it made for a good hiding spot. Crouching behind it, they could see most of the room, including the taillights of a rugged but modern-looking vehicle.
“Mercedes G63,” Joe whispered.
The G63 was an extended version of the topflight Mercedes SUV. The six-wheeled chassis added a third axle and a short pickup-style bed on the back. Joe noticed the wheels had been shod with large off-road tires. This was a workhorse of a machine, one that could drive over the roughest terrain while keeping its passengers comfortable in the luxury of its spacious cabin.
As the garage door in front of it rattled up and out of the way, the driver revved the engine. The twin-turbo V-8 made a throaty sound and the gleaming vehicle drove through the open bay and out into the park.
“We’ll never keep up with that on foot,” Leandra said.
Joe pointed to a small dump truck being loaded and attended to by a pair of Ryland’s game wardens. “We could steal that one.”
“Stealing it would cause more trouble than it’s worth,” Kurt said. “If it’s going anywhere near where they went, however, it couldn’t hurt to hitch a ride.”
“While I’m not against getting dirty,” Leandra said, “don’t you think one of us should stay behind? In case that truck isn’t going where you think it is? Or in case the guests come back and go somewhere else?”
Kurt nodded.
“Good idea,” Joe said. He handed Leandra the radio.
“I was thinking one of you two would hang back,” she said. “But if you insist . . .”
“Rudi would kill us if anything happened to you,” Joe said.
“So I’m going to miss all the fun?”
“What follows will be less than fun,” Joe said. “Of that I have no doubt.”
Kurt nodded. “Keep your ears open,” he said, pointing to the radio. “If they discover us, you’ll hear about it. And if that happens, get out of here and away from the danger. We’ll link up with you back in Johannesburg.”
Leandra gave the thumbs-up and Kurt and Joe turned and crept within spitting distance of the truck.
Taking cover behind a support girder, they watched as Ryland’s workers pushed a wheelbarrow up a ramp for at least the tenth time and dumped its contents into the back of the truck.
“That’ll do it,” one of the men said, sounding exhausted. “Let’s move. Ryland doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
One man made his way toward the cab of the truck and climbed in on the driver’s side. The second man shoved the wheelbarrow to the side and then walked around the truck and climbed in on the passenger’s side.
“We can ride in the back,” Kurt suggested.
“You realize it’s probably filled with manure,” Joe said.
“Good thing these tuxes are rentals.”
The diesel engine rumbled to life, with black smoke pouring from the stack behind the cab.
“Go,” Kurt said.
Joe took off, running, with Kurt right behind him. They cut in directly behind the truck, raced up onto the loading ramp and leapt in the air just as the dump truck lurched forward.
Joe landed on its bed and slid awkwardly. Kurt dropped in behind him with more grace, but he just about lost his balance as the truck lurched again when the driver shifted gears.
Joe remained still despite the awkward position. He heard the men in the cab speakin
g.
“Where’d you learn to drive?” the passenger joked. “You’ll strip the ruddy gearbox like that.”
“This truck has had it,” the driver replied. “One of these days it’s going to strand someone out in the bush with those bloody lions. You know they almost killed Vance the other day. Rushed him in a blink as soon as he turned his back.”
Even with the windows open, the men hadn’t heard Kurt and Joe. Nor had they felt the impact of their awkward landings. The roaring engine, straining to pull the heavy load, combined with the creaks and groans of the truck’s suspension as it bounced along the dirt track, had drowned out every sound.
Relieved that they were safely aboard, Joe turned his attention to the contents of the truck’s bed. His hands were going numb where they rested, a cold aura soaked his body.
He moved to a more comfortable position and studied the material below him. It wasn’t manure after all.
He looked over at Kurt and whispered a single word. “Ice.”
20
The dump truck was filled with ice, from large blocks that might have been good for building igloos to piles of cubes and crushed ice good for drinks.
Timing his movements with the next shift of gears, Kurt moved nearer to Joe. “It seems we can’t get away from the stuff.”
Joe was busy getting in a more comfortable position than the one he’d landed in. “Now I know what it feels like to be a shrimp cocktail.”
There was little chance they’d be discovered. There was no rear view into the dump truck’s bed from the cab and the roar of the engine and constant jostling along the bumpy dirt track they were on made it impossible for the driver or passenger to hear them.
“What do you suppose they’re doing with all this?”
Joe offered a thought. “When I was a kid, I worked on a ranch in New Mexico during the summer. They used to dump blocks of ice into the drinking troughs so all the water wouldn’t evaporate. This is a game park. It’s hot out there. They might be doing something similar.”
“Meaning we could be on our way to a watering hole surrounded by lions,” Kurt asked.
Fast Ice Page 13