Polar Shift (31 page)

The man was staring at Karla, but she was startled to hear her name from the stranger's lips. Sergei glanced at her in reflex,
then
thought better of it.

"There is no one here by that name."

The Mongol issued a curt order, and the man nearest to Karla grabbed her roughly by the arm with his dirt-encrusted fingers and pulled her away from the others.

She resisted. He squeezed her arm so hard it bruised. He smiled when she grimaced in pain, and he put his face close to hers. She almost gagged on the odor of his unwashed body and his foul breath.

She glanced over her shoulder. The other scientists were being herded along another ravine. The man at the top of the banking had disappeared. As she was hustled out of sight, she heard Maria scream, then male voices shouting.

Shots rang out, the noise echoing off the walls of the gully. She tried to run back to her colleagues, but the man grabbed her by the hair and jerked her back. First
came
excruciating pain, then anger. She whirled around and tried to claw his eyes out. He pulled his head back, and her fingernails scraped harmlessly against the stubble of his scruffy beard.

He lashed out with the back of his hand. Karla was stunned by the blow, and offered little resistance when he put his foot behind her legs and pushed her down. The back of her head hit the ground and galaxies whirled before her eyes. Her vision cleared, and she saw the man staring down at her with amusement, then lust, in his piglike eyes.

He had decided to have some fun with his lovely captive. He put his gun safely out of reach and began to unbutton his fly. Karla tried to crawl out of his way. He laughed, and put his boot on her neck. She pounded at his ankle and struggled to escape. She could barely breathe.

The man coughed suddenly, and the grin on his face changed into a mask of shock. A trickle of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth. He pivoted in slow motion, his boot slipped off Karla's neck and she saw the hilt of a hunting knife protruding from between his shoulder blades. Then his legs turned to rubber and he collapsed.

Karla rolled over to keep from being crushed by the falling body. Her elation was cut short. Another man was coming toward her.

He was tall, and limped when he walked. The sun slanting into the ravine was behind him and his face was obscured in shadow. She wanted to get up, but she was still dizzy and disoriented from hitting the ground.

The man called her by her first name. It was a voice she hadn't heard in many years.

Then she fainted.

When she came to, the man was bending over her, holding her head in his hands, soothing her bruised lips with water from a canteen. She recognized the long jaw and the pale blue eyes that were filled with concern. She smiled even though it hurt her cracked lips.

"Uncle Karl?" she asked as if in a dream.

Schroeder placed his fox-fur hat under her head as a pillow,
then
went over to retrieve his knife, wiping the blade on the man's coat. He picked up the dead man's assault rifle and slung it over his shoulder. Then he took his hat back, placed his arms under her body and lifted her like a fireman carrying a smoke-inhalation victim.

Voices were coming along the ravine.

Pain shot up his leg from his ankle, but Schroeder ignored it. Stepping smartly, he carried Karla in the opposite direction, vanishing around a bend only seconds before the Mongol man and the rest of his gang found their companion. It took them only a second to see that he was dead. Crouching low, they advanced along the wall of the ravine with their weapons cocked.

Schroeder ran for his life.
And for Karla's.

24

Less than ten hours
after leaving Washington, the turquoise executive NUMA jet descended from the skies over Alaska and touched down at Nome airport. Austin and Zavala exchanged their jet for a two-engine propeller plane operated by Bering Air and took off within an hour, heading toward Providenya on the Russian side of the Bering Strait.

The flight across the strait took less than two hours. Providenya airport was on a scenic bay surrounded by sharp-peaked, gray mountains. The town had been a World War II stopover for lend-lease aircraft being flown to Europe from the United States, but those glory days were in the past. There were only a few charter planes and military helicopters at the airport when the plane taxied up to the combination flight tower and administration building, a tired-looking, two-story structure of corrugated aluminum that looked as if it went back to the time of Peter the Great.

As the only arriving passengers, Austin and Zavala expected to be processed quickly by customs and immigration. But the attractive young immigration agent checking paperwork seemed to read every word on Austin's passport. Then she asked for Zavala's papers as well. She placed the passports and visas side by side.

"Together?" she said, looking from face to face.

Austin nodded. The woman frowned, then she signaled an armed guard who had been standing nearby. "Follow me," she barked like a drill sergeant. Gathering their papers, she led the way to a door on the other side of the lobby, with the guard taking up the rear.

"I thought you had friends in high places," Zavala said.

"They probably just want to give us the key to the city," Austin replied.

"I think they want to give us a shot," Zavala said. "Read the sign over the door."

Austin glanced at the red letters on the white placard. Written in English and Russian was the word
quarantine.
They stepped through the door into a small, gray room. The room was bare except for three metal chairs and a table. The guard followed them into the room and posted himself at the door.

The immigration agent slapped the papers down on the table. "Strip," she said.

Austin had caught a few hours of sleep on the plane, but he was still bleary-eyed and wasn't sure he had heard her correctly. The woman repeated the order.

Austin smirked. "Gosh. We hardly know each other."

"I've heard the Russians were friendly. But I didn't know they were
that
friendly," Zavala said.

"Strip or you will be made to strip," the woman said, glancing at the armed guard to emphasize her point.

"I'll be glad to," Austin said. "But in our country, ladies go first."

To his amazement, the woman smiled. "I was told that you were a hard case, Mr. Austin."

Austin was beginning to smell a rat. He cocked his head. "Who would have told you something like that?"

The words were barely out of his mouth when the door opened. The guard stood aside and Petrov stepped into the room. His handsome face was wreathed in a wide grin that looked lopsided because of the curved scar on his cheek.

"Welcome to Siberia," he said. "I'm glad to see that you are enjoying our hospitality."

"Ivan,"
Austin said with a groan. "I should have known."

Petrov was carrying a bottle of vodka and three shot glasses, which he placed on the table. He came over and threw his arms around Austin, and then crushed Zavala in a bone-crunching bear hug. "I see you have met Dimitri and Veronika. They are two of my most trusted agents."

"Joe and I never expected such a warm welcome in a cold place like Siberia," Austin said.

Petrov thanked his agents and dismissed them. He pulled up a chair and told the others to do the same. He unscrewed the cap from the bottle of vodka, poured the glasses full and passed them around.

Raising his glass high, he said, "Here's to old enemies."

They clinked glasses and downed their drinks. The vodka tasted like liquid fire, but it had more wake-up power than pure caffeine. When Petrov went to pour another round, Austin put his hand over the glass. "This will have to wait. We have got some serious matters to deal with."

"I'm pleased you said
we.
I felt excluded after our call." He poured himself another shot. "Please explain why you found it necessary to hop onto a plane and fly halfway across the world to this lovely garden spot."

"It's a long story," Austin said with a weariness that wasn't all due to the hours on a plane. "It begins and it ends with a brilliant Hungarian scientist named Kovacs."

He laid the story out chronologically, going back to Kovacs's escape from Prussia, bringing it to the recent past, with the giant waves and whirlpool and his talk with Barrett.

Petrov listened in silence, and, when Austin was done, he pushed away his untouched glass of vodka.

"This is a fantastic story. Do you truly believe that these people have the capacity to create this polar reversal?"

"You know everything we know. What do
you
think?"

Petrov pondered the question for a moment. "Did you ever hear of the Russian 'woodpecker' project? It was an effort to control weather for military purposes, using electromagnetic radiation. Your country followed the same line of research for similar purposes."

"How successful were these projects?"

"Over a period of time, there was a series of unusual weather events in both countries. They ranged from high winds and torrential rains to drought.
Even earthquakes.
I'm told the research ended with the Cold War."

"Interesting.
That would fit in with what we know."

A slight smile cracked the ends of Zavala's lips. "Are we
sure
it ended?"

"What do you mean?"

"Have you looked out the window lately?"

Petrov glanced around the windowless room before he realized that Zavala was speaking metaphorically. He chuckled, and said, "I have a tendency to take statements literally. It's a Russian thing. I'm well aware that there the world has experienced a number of weather extremes."

Austin nodded. "Joe makes a good point. I don't have the statistics in front of me, but the empirical evidence seems to be pretty strong.
Tsunamis.
Floods.
Hurricanes.
Tornadoes.
Quakes.
They all seem to be on the rise. Maybe this is a hangover from the early experiments."

"But from what you say, these electromagnetic efforts are causing disturbances in the ocean. What has changed?"

"I don't think it's that difficult to understand. Whoever is behind this has seen a reason to focus on a specific end with a specific goal in mind."

"But you don't know what that goal is?"

"You're the former KGB guy. I'm just a simple marine engineer."

Petrov's hand went to the scar. "You're far from simple, my friend, but you're right about my conspiratorial twist of mind. While we talked, I remembered something one of your government officials, Zbigniew Brzezinski, said many years ago. He predicted that an elite class would arise, using modern technology to influence public behavior and keep society under close surveillance and control. They would use social crises and the mass media to achieve their ends through secret warfare, including weather modification. These people you talked about, Margrave and Gant. Do they fit this role?"

"I don't know. It seems unlikely. Margrave is a rich neo-anarchist, and Gant runs a foundation that does battle with the multinationals."

"Maybe you
are
a simple engineer. If you were part of an elite class that had conceived a plot against the world, would you advertise it?"

"I see your point. No, I would lead people to believe that I opposed the elite."

Petrov clapped his hands. "You don't know how pleased I am to learn that the latest plot against the world is being hatched by
Americans
rather than a mad Russian nationalist with czarist pretensions."

"I'm glad to know that this is making you warm and bubbly, but we should get down to business."

"I'm completely at your service. You obviously have a plan or you wouldn't be here."

"Since we're not sure of
who,
and don't know
why,
we're stuck with
what.
Polar reversal.
We have to stop it."

"I agree. Tell me more about this so-called antidote you mentioned."

"Joe's the technical guy on our team. He can explain it better than can.

"I'll do my best," Zavala said. "From what I understand, the idea is to cause a polar shift using electromagnetic transmissions beamed into the earth's mantle, creating sympathetic vibrations in the inner core. You can compare these transmissions to sound waves. If you're in a hotel and you want to mask loud voices from the next room, you could turn on a fan and the vibrations would neutralize the racket. If you wanted to mask a higher tone, like a hair dryer, you would need a different set of frequencies. It's called white noise, or white sound. You might hear it as a hiss or something like rustling leaves. This antidote is comparable. But it wouldn't work unless you had the exact frequencies."

"And you think this woman, Karla Janos, knows about these frequencies?"

"She may not know it, but the evidence seems to point that way," Austin said. "Aside from the global implications, there is an innocent young woman here who could lose her life."