Polar Shift nf-6

by Clive Cussler

  "I appreciate that," Karla said. "But I don't understand." Karla glanced at Maria for help.

  Arbatov gestured toward the shed, whose thick wooden door was flanked by the Japanese men. They looked like sculptures on an Asian temple. At the signal from the Russian, Sato opened the door and swept his arm in the air, inviting her to step inside.

  Everyone was smiling. For a moment, Karla wondered if she had blundered into a den of lunatics who'd been driven mad by the arctic isolation. But she tentatively stepped forward and entered the big shed. The atmosphere was far less musty than her sleeping quarters, and she detected an animal, barnlike odor. Its source was a tangle of brownish red fur that lay on the table illuminated by the generator-powered floodlights. She took another step closer and began to make out details.

  The creature looked as if it were sleeping. She half expected the eyes to pop open or the tail or short trunk to twitch.

  Lying in front of her, as lifelike as it must have looked twenty thousand years ago, was the most perfectly preserved baby mammoth she had ever seen.

  14

  JORDAN GANT was like a Chimera, the mythical Greek monster of antiquity that was an assemblage of different, incongruous parts.

  He was as disciplined as a fasting monk, and he projected an ascetic air, but the black, tailored suit and matching turtleneck that emphasized his pale skin and silver hair cost more than many people make in a week. His Washington office on Massachusetts Avenue was spartan compared to the luxurious lairs of the other high-powered foundations in the neighborhood, yet he owned a palatial Virginia farmhouse, a stable of horses and a garage full of fast cars. He had made a fortune off multinational investments, but he was the director of an organization whose stated goal was to hobble corporations like those that had made him rich.

  His ears were small and close to his head, giving him the streamlined look of a hood ornament. His facial features were smooth, as if they had been formed before any character-good or bad-was etched on them. His expressions were no more substantive than images projected on a screen. In its relaxed, natural state, his face lacked emotion of any kind. He had mastered the politician's smile to perfection, and he could turn it on as if he had a built-in electrical switch. He could feign sincere interest in the dullest of conversations, and project sympathy or joy, donning a mask like an actor from antiquity. At times, he seemed more an illusion than a man.

  Gant was wearing his most congenial facade as he sat in his office talking to Irving Sacker, a middle-aged man with jowls and thinning black hair. With their manicured fingernails, respectable haircuts and conservative suits, Sacker and the other three attorneys from his influential Washington law firm looked as if Georgetown Law School had punched them out of legal dough with a cookie cutter. Although they differed in facial features and physiques, they all had the sharp-eyed expressions of hunting raptors ready to swoop down on a legal technicality.

  "I see that you've brought along the casework and disks as I requested," Gant said.

  Sacker handed him an attache case. "Normally, we would keep a backup of our files at the office, but since you've paid so generously for privacy we have cleaned all the data from our computers and files. It's all here. It's as if we never handled your case."

  "On behalf of the Global Interests Network, I'd like to thank you for all your hard work. Thank you for keeping this entire project a secret."

  "We were simply doing our job," Sacker said. "It was an interesting challenge. What we've created on paper for you is a mega-corporation that would control every possible means of electronic communication on the planet. Cell phone networks. Satellites. Telecommunications. The whole enchilada."

  "You'll have to admit that this is the way that things have been heading, with all the buyouts and mergers in the industry."

  "Those arrangements are like lemonade stands compared to the entity we've set up for you."

  "Then you've done exactly what you've been asked to do."

  "In that case, I hope you'll retain us for any antitrust suits that arise," Sacker said with a grin.

  Gant chuckled. "You'll be the first on our list."

  "Would you mind if I asked you a question, Mr. Gant?"

  "Not at all. Fire away."

  "These agreements and contracts would, under a highly unlikely set of circumstances, position someone to assume control over the major communications systems of the world. Correct me if I'm wrong, but your foundation is at odds with what you see as oppressive world trade, market system and capitalism."

  "That's right. GIN is pro-democracy and nonpartisan. We agree that free trade can be beneficial to developing countries and the promotion of peace. But we're campaigning against the current free-trade model. We're concerned when corporate interests are put above safety standards, and environmental regulations are seen as barriers to free trade. We're against a concentration of power in the hands of a few multinational corporations. We oppose the spread of investments across corporate boundaries, allowing them to evade local laws. We see the World Bank, the WTO and IMF as superseding local government." He picked up a red-white-and-blue brochure and handed it to Sacker. "You can read all about our Freedom Project campaign in this handsome little pamphlet."

  "I've read it," Sacker said, "and I don't disagree with some of your positions." He looked up at posters on the wall showing the WTO as a giant octopus. "Why would a foundation like yours spend a lot of money setting up the kind of thing you're against?"

  "Simple. We think the megacorporation you've designed will be a reality in the near future. If you want to fight your enemy, you have to know it. We're primarily a think tank. The blueprint you prepared will give us the chance to probe the weaknesses, as well as the strengths, of a globalized communications network."

  "Very clever. It seems as though GIN is pretty good at the communications business already. I can't turn on the TV news without seeing one of your talking heads pontificating on the subject of the day."

  "Thank you. Our public outreach is pretty impressive, but you're talking about influence, not power."

  Sacker glanced at his watch and heaved himself out of his chair. Gant shook hands with the team of attorneys and ushered them to the door. "Thank you again. We'll be in touch."

  When the lawyers had left, Gant went over to his telephone, punched the intercom button and said a few words. The side door to the office opened and Mickey Doyle came in.

  "Hello, Mickey," Gant said. "You heard?"

  Doyle nodded. "Sacker's a smart guy. He was getting at something; he just didn't know what it was."

  "I think I deflected him with my explanation, but I'm not sure he believed me completely. No matter. Have you talked to Margrave since the incident with Barrett?"

  "This morning. He said he tried to call Spider but couldn't get him. I told him that when I dropped Barrett off at the Portland airport, he said he wanted to get away for a few days to think things over."

  "Good work." He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a leather-bound folder. Rather than risk questions over the bullet hole in the old folder, Doyle had replaced it with a new one. "I've read the material from Karla Janos. She definitely knows something."

  "That's what Spider said. What do you want me to do about her?"

  "It's already in the works. When you called me from the island with the news about an antidote that might neutralize what we're doing, I decided to move quickly. Our security arm traced the woman to the University of Alaska in Fairbanks. We just missed her, unfortunately. She's gone off on a scientific expedition to Siberia."

  "Siberia! Jeezus! Why not the moon?"

  "Don't worry. The people who pay the bills here at the foundation have a long reach. They frequently do business in Russia and were able to put me in touch with a gentleman in Moscow. He notified his people in Siberia, and they tracked Ms. Janos down to a remote island. They'll kidnap and hold her. In the meantime, a team is on its way to interrogate her to see what she knows."

  "Do you think she
knows something that can kill the project?"

  "It's of no consequence," Gant said. "We simply want to learn if she's talked to anyone else. Then we'll dispose of her. We may have another problem to deal with. Kurt Austin, the NUMA man that Barrett mentioned. I don't like the idea that he saw the coil mechanism."

  "We'll keep an eye on him."

  "Good. I've run up a CV on Austin. He's got an impressive background. We don't want him causing problems. If we see him as a threat, he'll have to be eliminated quickly. In the meantime, stay close to Margrave, and immediately report anything important. We want him to pursue this project to the end using his own fortunes and energy."

  "It will be a pleasure."

  Gant was a master at hiding his own emotions, but he had a talent for reading the expressions of others. Doyle looked like a bulldog about to be served a slab of steak.

  "You don't like him, do you?"

  "Tris? Naw. He's always treated me like crap. He thinks I'm his monkey. Tells me to fetch coffee and drinks, and pop a beer as my reward. I'm pretty invisible to a guy like him."

  "That's what makes you so valuable to the Freedom Project. You're better than a fly on the wall. You'll be rewarded far beyond your dreams. If it's any consolation to you now, for all Margrave's brilliance he doesn't have a clue about what's going on under his nose. He has no idea that the security company working for him is a private army for the very 'Elites,' as he calls them, whom he wishes to humble. He thinks his little project is going to forward the goals of his neo-anarchist friends. He doesn't realize that what he is doing will destroy him and his unwashed fools, and solidify the power of those he would like to defeat."

  "What do you want to do about the old guy in Montana?"

  Gant chuckled. "My philosophic ravings must bore you."

  "Not at all. I just need some direction."

  "I wouldn't think that you'd want to tangle with that old grizzly bear again after he mauled two of your men."

  "He was smart. They were dumb."

  "I don't like loose ends, but he is no longer a priority. With the information on the girl, we don't need him anymore. One more thing. Those lawyers who were in my office. I'd like you to dispose of them. Do your best to make it look accidental. An explosion in their office, perhaps."

  Doyle rose from his chair. "I'll get on it right away."

  After Doyle left, Gant went to his window and looked out at Massachusetts Avenue. The fools in this city thought that they were living in the most powerful country in the world. They never understood that military power was limited. The organization of Elites that he was part of knew that political ends were not achieved by guns alone but by close surveillance and total control of all communication.

  Goals that would soon be realized.

  15

  Austin leaned against a rail on the Throckmorton and peered through binoculars at the ship that had suddenly appeared from the heart of the sea. The vessel listed drunkenly to one side, and sat so low in the water that the three-foot seas were splashing onto the deck. By some miracle, the ship somehow managed to stubbornly resist being pulled back to its watery grave.

  As an experienced salvage expert, Austin had pulled objects of every size and shape off the bottom, ranging from atomic bombs to submarines. He knew that simple physics suggested that the ship should not be afloat at all. At the same time, he was aware that strange things happen at sea. He was not a superstitious man, but years sailing the world's oceans had made the unexplainable commonplace. He was no different from many sailors who bestowed vessels with human qualities. The ship seemed determined to tell its story. And Austin was just as determined to hear what it had to say.

  "What's keeping her afloat?" said Zavala.

  "I don't know what's keeping her up or why she popped to the surface," Austin said. "She could have been stuck in the muddy bottom or weighted down by cargo. Maybe the whirlpool shook things loose, and it rode to the surface like a wood chip." He noticed Zavala's skeptical expression, and said, "Okay, I don't have the foggiest idea why she came to the surface and why she hasn't sunk. Are you up for taking a closer look at her?"

  Like Austin, Zavala was wrapped in a blanket that the crew had supplied when they came aboard after rescuing the Trouts. "I was hoping to settle in with a bottle of reposada, but I can be ready to get up in the chopper again as soon as I change into some dry clothes."

  Austin had forgotten that his clothes were soaking wet from his ocean dip.

  "I was thinking of going over by boat so we could go aboard and look around," he said.

  "I'm always up for a boat ride. Besides, tequila tastes better as it ages."

  Austin suggested that they meet at the boat launcher. He went to his cabin and exchanged his soggy clothes for dry ones. Before hooking up again with Zavala, he stopped at the sick bay to check on the Trouts. They were sleeping. The medical tech said they were suffering from exposure and exhaustion but after a few hours of rest they would be fine.

  On the way out of sick bay, he encountered Professor Adler, who was anxious to talk to the Trouts about their firsthand experience in the whirlpool. The professor was disappointed that he couldn't see them, but he seemed happy when Austin suggested that he speak instead to some of the crew of the Benjamin Franklin, who had been transported to the Throckmorton to have their injuries treated. The Franklin was anchored near the Throckmorton while recovering from its battering.

  Austin met Zavala at the launch boom as planned, and minutes later their boat was cutting a foamy way toward the mystery ship. Austin steered the inflatable around the vessel in a big circle while Zavala snapped photographs. The sea was covered with dead fish and debris of every kind. Austin measured the vessel with his eye, comparing it to the NOAA and NUMA ships.

  "She looks fairly new. I'd say she's around three hundred feet long," he said.

  "She looks like I feel after a night out on the town," Zavala said. "She's fairly wide in the beam. Built to take a sizable load of cargo. But I don't see any cargo booms. They must have been knocked off in the whirlpool."

  "There's no name or registration numbers on the hull," Austin said.

  "Maybe we're looking at a pirate ship."

  Zavala's suggestion was not as bizarre as it sounded. Modern-day piracy was a big problem on the seas of the world. Like their ancient counterparts, pirates captured ships and used them to attack other vessels.

  "Maybe," Austin said, but he sounded unconvinced. The vessel was in fairly good condition, considering that she had lain on the bottom of the sea. "From the look of her, she was only submerged a short while. I don't see any unusual rust, although it might have been blasted off." He slowed the boat down to a crawl. "We've seen everything we can from sea level. Let's go aboard?"

  "Proper protocol says we should wait for an invitation from the captain?" Zavala said.

  "Yes, under ordinary circumstances. But he seems to be otherwise occupied. I think I see the cocktail flag flying," Austin said.

  "You've got better eyesight than I have. All I see is a hulk that looks as if it would roll over if a seagull landed on the deck."

  "In that case, we'd better make sure we're wearing our water wings."

  While Zavala contacted the Throckmorton on a hand radio and asked the ship to stand by in case of an emergency, Austin brought the boat around to the lower side of the ship. He waited for a wave to roll in, then gunned the motor. The boat rode up on the crest and the power of the sea carried the Zodiak onto the deck. Zavala quickly tied the boat to a metal stub projecting from the deck. Leaning forward like roofers to compensate for the ship's list, they half walked, half crawled up the slanting deck. The broad expanse was clear except for a twisted tangle of metal that protruded from the deck at the ship's midpoint.

  They made their way across the deck using their loping, bent-over walk. Four girders had been bolted to the deck to form a rectangle of steel. The framework surrounded a rectangular opening in the deck about twenty feet square. They leaned over and
peered into a dark shaft. They could hear the hollow swish of waves against metal.

  "The shaft goes all the way to the bottom," Zavala observed. "Wonder what it was for?"

  "My guess is that they used it to put something in and take it out. This framework might have supported a crane of some sort."

  The fallen framework was partially obscured by a tangle of thick electrical cable that looked like a pile of black spaghetti. Austin scanned the tumble of steel and cable, looking for some semblance of order. His gaze came to a stop at a metal mesh cone about twenty-five feet long. It lay on its side, tangled in supporting cable and electrical conduits that snaked down through openings in the deck.

  The sight of the cone stirred up images in his mind. Tall fins cutting through the water. The bald man with the strange tattoo on his head fiddling with a black box, assuring him everything was going to be okay. The orcas breaking off their attack as suddenly as it had started.

  Without thinking, Austin said: "Spider Barrett."

  Zavala looked. "Spider who?"

  "Spider Barrett was the guy who pulled me onto his boat when the orcas went crazy in Puget Sound. He had a miniaturized version of that metal cone on his boat."

  "What's it for?"

  "You're the team's mechanical expert. Hazard a guess."

  Zavala scratched his head. "All the cables lead to that big cone. My guess is that it sat over the hole on some sort of framework. It may have been lowered through the hole into the water. I can't figure out any practical shipboard use for a setup like that. If you gave it some juice, you might get an effect like a big spark plug."

  Austin pondered Zavala's assessment for a few seconds, then said, "Let's pop the hood and see what's down below."

  A wry smile crossed Zavala's face. "Who in his right mind could resist an opportunity to crawl into the innards of a ship that could roll over with a sneeze?"

  "I thought you were worried about a seagull."