Ice Station ss-1
Page 44
"From what? The truth?" Schofield retorted.
"We could have had an Army Ranger unit filled with ICG men down at that station six hours after you got there. They could have taken that station?even if the French had already got there?and held it and no American soldiers would have had to have been killed."
Kozlowski shook his head. "But no, you just happened to be in the area. And that's why we stack units like yours with ICG men?for this very eventuality. In a perfect world, the ICG would get there first every time. But if the ICG can't get there first, then we make sure that Reconnaissance Units like yours are properly constituted so as to ensure that whatever information is found at the site stays at the site. For the sake of national security, of course."
"You kill your own countrymen," Schofield said.
"Scarecrow. This didn't have to happen. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. If anything, you got to Wilkes Ice Station too fast. If this had all been done as it should have been done, I wouldn't have to kill you now."
The Buick came to the guard station at the outer fence of the dockyard. A boom gate was lowered in front of it. The driver wound down his window and had a short conversation with the boom gate guard.
And then suddenly the door next to Kozlowski was yanked open from the outside and an armed Naval Policeman appeared in the open doorway with his gun aimed squarely at Kozlowski's head.
"Sir, would you please get out of the car?" Kozlowski's face darkened. "Son, do you have any idea who you are talking to?" he growled.
"No, he doesn't," a voice said from outside the car. "But I do," Jack Walsh said as he appeared outside the open car door.
Schofield, Kirsty, and Renshaw all got out of the car, totally confused. The navy blue Buick was surrounded by a swarm of Naval Police, all with their guns out.
Schofield turned to Walsh. "What's going on? How did you know?"
Walsh nodded over Schofield's shoulder. "Looks to me like you got yourself a guardian angel."
Schofield spun, looked for a familiar face amid the crowd. At first he didn't see a single face that he knew.
And then suddenly he did. But it wasn't a face he expected to see.
There, standing ten yards behind the ring of Naval Police surrounding the Buick, with his hands in his pockets, was Andrew Trent.
As Kozlowski and his driver were taken away in handcuffs, Schofield walked over to Trent.
Standing with Trent were a man and a woman whom Schofield had never met before. Trent introduced them as Pete and Alison Cameron. They were reporters with the Washington Post.
Schofield asked Trent what had happened. How had the Naval Police?backed up by Jack Walsh?known to stop Kozlowski's car?
Trent explained. A couple of days ago, he had seen the amateur footage of the Wasp's damaged flight deck on TV. Trent knew missile damage when he saw it. Then, when he learned that the Wasp was heading back to Pearl?"from a training exercise in the Southern Ocean".?he jumped on a plane to Hawaii.
The Camerons had come along with him. For if, by some chance, Shane Schofield or, indeed, any survivors from Wilkes Ice Station were on board the Wasp, then it would be the story?and the scoop?of a lifetime. Other reporters saw a damaged flight deck. The Camerons saw the inside running on the Wilkes Ice Station story.
But when they had got to the dockyard at Pearl, Trent had seen Chuck Kozlowski standing next to a navy blue Buick, waiting for the Wasp to dock.
Trent had felt a sudden chill. Why was Kozlowski here? Had the ICG won?as it had in Peru?and was Kozlowski here to congratulate the traitors? Or was he here for some other reason? For if Schofield had survived, then the ICG would almost certainly want to eliminate him.
And so Trent and the two reporters had just watched and waited. And then, when they saw Schofield emerge from the ship and get escorted to Kozlowski's Buick, Trent had called the only person he could think of who could?and would? pull rank on Chuck Kozlowski.
Jack Walsh.
"Who'd have thought it?" Walsh said, coming over. "There I am, on the bridge of my wrecked boat, minding my own business, when my comtech comes running in and says he's got some guy on the external switch who says he has to talk to me. Says it's an emergency regarding Lieutenant Schofield. Says his name is Andrew Trent." Walsh smiled. "I figured I oughta take the call."
Schofield just shook his head, amazed.
"You've been through a lot," Trent said, putting his arm around Schofield's shoulder.
"You should talk," Schofield said. "I'd like to hear about Peru sometime."
"You will, Shane, you will. But first, I have a proposition for you. How would you like to be on the front page of the Washington Post?"
Schofield just smiled.
On June 23?two days after Schofield and the Wasp docked at Pearl?the Washington Post ran a front-page story containing a photo of Shane Schofield and Andrew Trent holding a copy of the previous day's Post between them. Beneath the photo were displayed copies of their official United States Marine Corps death certificates. Schofield's death certificate was several days old. Trent's was over a year old. The headline read:
ACCORDING TO THE U.S. MILITARY, THESE TWO MEN ARE OFFICIALLY DEAD.
The accompanying story about the events that transpired at Wilkes Ice Station?a feature that ran for three pages? was written by Peter and Alison Cameron.
Later stories that ran about the events at Wilkes Ice Station told of the ICG and the systematic infiltration by it of elite military units, universities, and private corporations. Flashbulbs popped across the country for the next six weeks as ICG moles were expunged from various regiments, institutions, and companies and charged under various statutes with espionage.
No mention, however, was made in any of the newspaper and TV reports about the presence of French and British troops at Wilkes Ice Station.
Rumors abounded in the tabloids about which other countries had sent troops to Wilkes Ice Station. Iraq. China. Even Brazil had rated a mention.
It was claimed in some quarters that the Washington Post knew exactly who else had been down there. One rival newspaper even went so far as to say that the President himself had paid a surprise visit to Katharine Graham?the legendary owner of the Post?and asked her, in the name of America's diplomatic relations, not to publish the names of the countries that had a presence at Wilkes Ice Station. This rumor was never confirmed.
The Post, however, never mentioned Britain or France.
It reported that a battle had taken place down in Antarctica, but it steadfastly maintained that it did not know the identity of the opposing force or forces. Every article that appeared in the Post simply said that the conflict had been against "enemies unknown,"
In any case, the Wilkes Ice Station story ran for six whole weeks before it was forgotten.
A few days after the Wasp returned, the NATO conference in Washington, D.C. concluded.
Every TV and newspaper article on the event showed the smiling faces of the American, British, and French delegates standing on the steps of the Capitol Building, shaking hands in front of their interwoven flags, smiling for the cameras, and proclaiming that the NATO alliance would continue for another twenty years.
The French representative, Monsieur Pierre Dufresne, was quoted as saying, "This is the strongest treaty on earth." When asked where this strength emanated from, Dufresne said, "Our genuine friendship is our bond."
In a private room at the Naval Hospital at Pearl Harbor, Libby Gant lay in a bed with her eyes closed. A soft beam of sunlight filtered in through the room's window and draped itself across her bed. Gant was still in a coma.
"Libby? Libby?" a woman's voice said, invading her consciousness.
Slowly, Gant's eyes opened, and she saw her sister, Denise, standing above her.
Denise smiled. "Well, hey there, sleepyhead."
Gant struggled to open her eyes. When she did, she just said, "Hey."
Denise offered Gant a crooked smile. "You have a visitor."
; "What?" Gant said.
Denise cocked her head to the left. Gant looked over that way and saw Schofield, slumped in the guest's chair by the window, fast asleep.
He had a pair of silver Oakley sunglasses perched on top of his head. His eyes?and the two scars that cut down across them?were there for all the world to see.
Denise whispered, "He's been here ever since they fixed his rib. Wouldn't leave until you woke up. He gave one interview to the Washington Post and told the rest of them to come back after you woke up."
Gant just looked at Schofield, asleep under the window. And she smiled.
EPILOGUE
Near Isla Santa Ines, Chile
30 November
It was a small island, one of the many hundreds to the south of the Straits of Magellan, at the bottom of Chile, at the bottom of South America, at the bottom of the world.
Barely five hundred miles south of the island lay the South Shetland Islands and Antarctica. This small island was the closest one got to Antarctica without actually being there.
The boy's name was José and he lived in a small fishing village on the west coast of the island. The village lay on the edge of the bay that the old women called La Bahia de la Aguila Plata, "the Bay of the Silver Eagle."
Local lore said that many years ago, a great big silver bird, with a tail of fire trailing behind it, flew into the sea just outside the bay. The bird, the women said, had offended God with its speed and its beauty, and so God had set it alight and cast it into the sea.
José didn't believe such stories. He was ten now, and he knew better. For instance, he knew that the great silver bird that the women spoke of was in all likelihood an airplane of some sort that had crashed into the sea.
In any case, today was diving day and José planned to dive for oysters and hopefully sell them to his father for pocket money.
The small boy dived into the sea and swam downward. At this time of the afternoon, the ocean currents were coming in toward the island. José hoped they would bring the oysters with them.
He came to the bottom and quickly found his first oyster of the day, but he also found something else.
A small piece of plastic.
Jose grabbed the piece of plastic and headed back up to the surface. When he broke the surface, he peered at the strange object in his hand. It was rectangular in shape and quite small. It was heavily faded, but José could read the name engraved on it:
NIEMEYER.
José frowned at the name badge. Then he threw the worthless piece of plastic away and resumed his search for oysters.
The End
FB2 document info
Document ID: 19642a36-96eb-4e25-a12f-c3e66714acd3
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 23.8.2012
Created using: calibre 0.8.65, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
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