Beneath the Ice (5 page)

“I do know that,” Perry replied. “We’ve made
it a priority to leave this area as clean as we found it. All waste
is collected and packaged for removal. Even the buildings will be
removed. I can promise you we won’t leave a single candy wrapper
behind.”

Gwen studied Perry. He
felt as if the biologist had put him under
a microscope. “You haven’t told us everything, have
you?”

“What do you mean?” Perry asked.

“Scientists are observers by nature. We are
fascinated by the details. I’ve been watching you. I think you know
more than you’re telling.”

Perry matched her gaze, his mind spinning
with possible answers. He settled on the simplest. “I do know more
than I’m telling.”

Gwen’s eyes widened. “I’m surprised you
would just admit it.”

“My only other choice is to lie to you. I’m
not comfortable with that.”

“A man of morals? You’re a rare breed.”

“Not really. There are more of us than you
think.” Perry closed his eyes and tried to push the headache to a
back corner of his skull.

“What aren’t you telling us?” A new
voice.

Perry opened his eyes to see Griffin
standing a short distance away. “In good time, Dr. James. In good
time.”

“Why not now?”

Perry sat up. The last thing he wanted was
another confrontation with Griffin. “Let me ask you something. How
much do you talk about your research, especially your
findings?”

“That’s different. Science is very
competitive, and it’s not unprecedented for research to be stolen.
A good scientist is a cautious scientist.”

“You’re right. It is different, but not
entirely. I have reasons for withholding information. Believe it or
not, it’s for your own good.”

“Ignorance is never good,” Griffin said.

“That’s where you are
wrong, friend,” Perry said, standing. “Sometimes ignorance is
bliss.” He started for his room then
stopped. “This may not come easy for you, Dr. James, but
you’re
going to have to trust
me.”

Eric Enkian gazed into the cerulean sky, where the
late spring sun hung like an enormous heat lamp, baking everything
it touched. Las Vegas was hot. It was always hot, and the
temperatures would continue to rise with each passing day. He
removed his hardhat and wiped his brow. Frowning, he turned back to
the thin man in the gray suit and white dress shirt. A white
hardhat rested on his narrow head. He wondered why a man would wear
a suit to a job site so exposed to the hot sun but decided he
didn’t care enough to pursue an answer. Architects were a breed
unto themselves.

“I know this may sound like heresy to a man
such as yourself,” the architect said, “but using synthetic stone
will speed construction and save you a great deal more than pocket
change.”

Eric forgot the sun for a moment and looked
deep into the man’s eyes. They were weak eyes—eyes that went with a
weak body. His mind was his only redeeming factor. Stewart Teller
was the finest and most sought after architect in the western
United States. His high-rise buildings were as innovative as they
were beautiful. It was this skill that forced Eric to tolerate the
man.

“You see,” Stewart went on, “the synthetic
stones are designed with ribbing on the back and interlocking
channels to make installation easier. They’re virtually
indistinguishable from the real thing. So the building will be just
as beautiful but will go up faster and for less money.”

Unlike the architect, Eric wore comfortable
slacks, a yellow T-shirt, and expensive sneakers. He hated suits
and generally hated those who wore them. At six-feet-four, Eric
towered over the shorter man. His well-muscled frame and square jaw
made both men and women take a second glance—the former with envy,
the latter with lust. He was closing in on sixty, but a meticulous
diet and rigorous exercise left him looking a decade younger.

Turning from the expensive architect, he
focused his attention on the metal skeleton that stretched for the
blistering sky. Steel girders spanned the distance between their
vertical counterparts, forming an imposing matrix that towered
thirty-three stories above the bustling Vegas boulevard. There were
two towers of equal height—sixty-six floors altogether.

Always sixty-six.

Workmen moved at an even pace around the
building like ants on a discarded watermelon rind. They worked with
purpose and steady determination. Eric liked that. It was the way
things should be. Purpose. Determination. Production. The ancients
knew the formula and had built structures that boggled the
twenty-first century mind.

“I know that mining is your business, Mr.
Enkian,” Stewart said, “so naturally you’d have a predilection for
natural stone, but we can achieve our goals faster and more
economically with this slight change. I’m sure you see my point.
Perhaps we can use some stone from one of your mines on the
interior. In fact, I have some art ideas—”

“Stone,” Eric said. “I’ll provide the
stone.”

“Um, that’s not my point, sir. I’m saying
that synthetic stone panels would allow us to move ahead of
schedule and provide a structural enhancement that would
benefit—”

Enkian stopped and turned dark eyes on the
man. “Stone. My stone. You tell me the dimensions, the needed
density, the ideal porosity, and whatever else you think is
important, and I will find it and provide it. But the exterior will
be natural stone—taken from ground I own.”

“I have no doubt that you can provide the
very best, Mr. Enkian. I mean, a man with as many and as varied
mining interests as you have around the world can certainly bring
beautiful material to the project, but it will slow things
down.”

“Stone is more than decoration, Mr. Teller.
It is the heart of our planet, and it will be the skin of my new
building. Is that clear?” Enkian watched the man squirm then
acquiesce.

“I’ll have the structural dimensions and
requirements sent to your—to which office should I send it?”

“I leave today for Mexico City. Send it
electronically.”

Stewart said he would see to it. “It’s going
to be a grand building, Mr. Enkian. Photos of the EA Mining towers
will grace all the architecture magazines around the world. It will
make you famous.”

“I care nothing about fame. I am not so
shallow. This building is a response to my growing mining concerns
in Nevada, nothing more.” Again, Enkian studied the metal skeleton.
EA Mining had a dozen such buildings around the globe, each one
designed by the best architects and engineers, each one a testament
to the mining empire he headed. In Nevada he pulled gold, copper,
tungsten, barite, and gypsum from the ground. In other countries,
he scooped out coal, gravel, platinum, uranium, and even diamonds.
Marble was sliced away in quarries and iron hauled to the surface.
Not even the sea floor was safe. Enkian had helped design a process
of manganese nodule mining that was cost-effective, making EA
Mining one of the first companies to harvest the ocean floor
profitably.

For decades EA Mining had
been one of the most successful mining operations in the world; now
it was second to none. That gave Enkian a large measure of pride.
It also made him one of the richest men on the planet. His name
appeared annually in
Forbes
magazine’s list of the world’s richest people.
Their estimate of his wealth was only 10 percent
correct.

Noise from the workers snapped Enkian back
to the moment. Whistles and catcalls joined the sounds of
hammering, humming heavy equipment, and the crackle of welding. He
turned to see what he had expected. His assistant, Tia Matteo, was
walking toward him.

Tia was younger than
Enkian by a decade and a half, slim and tall with black hair that
reached her belt line. She moved with the grace of a dancer and the
power of an athlete. Her jawline was smooth and met in a delicate
curve at her chin. Her blue eyes broadcast her intelligence and a
delicate nose graced her face. Enkian knew she could cause more
whiplashes by walking down the street than a fifty-car pileup on
the freeway. It humored him to watch how men responded to
Tia.
If they only knew,
he thought.

“Hey baby, why don’tcha bring some o’ dat
over here?” one of the workers called. Enkian recognized him as one
of the foremen. Laughter and more wolf whistles followed.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Enkian,” Stewart said. “I’ll
put an end to this right now.”

Enkian raised a hand stopping the man
midstep. “Wait.”

“But . . .”

“I said,
wait.”

“Don’t walk by, sweetheart,” the foreman
said. “I got what ya want right here.”

Enkian watched as Tia stopped and turned
toward the man. She flashed a smile that made the sun dim, then
walked over to the worker.

“
Look out, guys!” someone yelled. “He’s reeling her in.”
Laughter
floated in the hot
air.

Tia stepped to the man and leaned over to
whisper in his ear. “That’s it, sweetheart, tell Daddy what you
want.”

She did.

Enkian could not hear what
his assistant had said, but he did
n’t need
to. Whatever words she uttered drained the blood from the foreman’s
face. Tia turned and resumed her course.

“Hey, boss,” a welder called out. “Did she
give you any good ideas?”

The foreman didn’t respond immediately. He
stood as still as the steel columns behind him.

“Come on, boss, share with the rest of
us.”

“Shut up! Get back to
work. The next guy who talks will be draw-ing unemployment.” The
foreman walked away, his face red, his head
down. Slowly, stunned workers returned to their
jobs.

Enkian smiled as Tia approached. They
exchanged knowing glances. Again, she leaned forward and whispered,
this time in Enkian’s ear. He nodded, then asked, “Everyone? You’re
certain?”

“Yes,” was all she said.

Enkian smiled. “Good. Very good.”

She raised her hand to adjust the hardhat
she wore. Despite having seen it many times, Enkian couldn’t help
noticing the tattoo on the back of Tia’s right hand. He stared at
it. The dragon seemed to stare back.

Enkian turned to Stewart. “That foreman.
Have him fired.”

“He doesn’t work for me,
Mr. Enkian. He works for the gener
al
contractor.”

“Then have the general contractor fire him.
Fire the construction company if you have to. That man is not to
set foot on this site again.”

Chapter
3

It had taken four
days
for the small group of Seabees and
Perry’s crew of six to erect the dome that would house their
activities. Unlike the dome that had been set up the week before,
this one contained only two rooms: the four-thousand-square-foot
work area and a bathroom.

Perry, Jack, and Gleason had designed the
structure from scratch. In some ways, it was one of the most
challenging designs Perry had ever faced. When first presented with
the difficulties of working in Antarctica, Perry assumed warmth and
protection from the wind and ultraviolet light would be the most
important considerations. He had been wrong. The more he learned of
Lake Vostok and the need to keep it uncontaminated, the more he
realized sterility was the most difficult job before him. He had
requested and received consultations from scientists working for
the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta as well as
microbiologists throughout the country.

The number of bacteria, viruses, and
microbes associated with the human body surprised him. Simple
exhalation could be an ecological contaminant in a pure environment
such as that found under two miles of ice. Microscopic creatures
lived on the skin, in hair, mucus, saliva, and under fingernails
and toenails. A simple cough could have unforeseen
consequences.

The reverse was also a problem. No one knew
what might be living in the lake beneath the ice. For all he and
the experts knew, the lake could harbor a virulent and deadly
strain of bug that could kill them all, though few thought that
likely. Infectious disease had a complicated host-disease cycle,
something not likely to be found in the ice-capped lake. Still, the
idea couldn’t be dismissed.

Perry stood in the center of the dome and
waited for the last of the team to enter. This was a practice run.
To keep the Chamber as free of human contaminants as possible, each
worker had to enter a “suiting” cubicle and don a “clean” suit and
respirator that filtered all exhalations. A negative-pressure
locker prevented air exchange between the Chamber and the “normal”
facility.

Jack was the last person
through the locker. “Sorry to keep every
one waiting. I couldn’t decide what kind of tie to
wear.”

Perry smiled through the full-face shield
that rested in the hood of his clean suit and looked over the
others. Each wore a metallic silver suit with an antiglare face
mask.

“You look marvelous,” Gleason joked.
“Personally, I would have preferred something in blue.”

“Are they always like this?” Larimore asked
Perry.

“You have no idea,” Perry replied. “If I can
have everyone’s attention, please.” A short-range transmitter
carried his voice to the others. “Welcome to the Chamber. We will
be spending a great many hours in here. We’ll consider this a clean
room. We’re meeting in here so that each of us can practice donning
our suits and passing through the various locks designed to keep
the air uncontaminated.”