great deal to be desired. I'd like to be consulted before any further changes are made."
Smith clasped his hands on the polished tabletop. "I understand fully, Doctor," he lied, "and I promise you will be fully consulted on any further developments. It's in everybody's best interest for us to work together on this."
"I can't disagree with that, Colonel. Just as long as it is recognized that the university expedition was there first and that we have priority."
Smith shook his head. "That's not exactly true, Doctor. Some other people were on Wednesday Island a long time before your expedition arrived. The job of my team is to identify them and return them to where they belong. I think they should receive a degree of concern?"
Smith found that his words were only half cover sophistry. There were men up there on the ice. Men who had been there for a long time. They had served another flag, but they had been soldiers, like Smith himself. They had also been abandoned and forgotten by the world. The fate of the Soviet aircrew might be overshadowed by political expediency, but after half a century, they still deserved to go home.
Smith kept his gaze locked on Trowbridge until the academic backed down. "Of course, you're correct, Colonel. I'm sure we'll be able to accommodate everyone involved."
"I'm sure we will."
"I've been going over the Wednesday camp setup with Dr. Trowbridge," Valentina said, "and the personnel roster, just to see what we might have to work with. I was thinking some of the expedition members might be able to help us with the crash site investigation."
"If it doesn't interfere with their official duties within the university expedition," Trowbridge interjected hastily.
"Of course."
Smith claimed the personnel file and flipped it open. Actually Smith had no intention of letting any of these people anywhere near the Misha 124. But that didn't mean one of them might not have already paid the bomber an illicit visit. The leak about the TU-4's warload must have come from somewhere. Could it have come from the source? And had it been inadvertent or deliberate?
He'd seen these files and faces before, but now he studied them again in this new light.
Dr. Brian Creston, Great Britain, meteorologist and the expedition leader. By his picture a big, smiling bear of a man with a brown flattop and a ruddy outdoorsman's face. An accredited field researcher, he had a number of expeditions in both the Arctic and Antarctic to his credit.
Dr. Adaran Gupta, India, climatologist and assistant expedition leader. A lean, dark scholar's face peered back at Smith from the file photo. You are a long way from New Delhi, Doctor.
"Climatology and meteorology?" Smith commented. "I gather global warming and the melting of the arctic ice pack were major points of concern?"
"It was the major point of concern, Colonel."
Smith nodded and flipped to the next page.
Kayla Brown, U.S.A., graduate student, geophysics; pretty, delicate, almost elfin. She was hardly the classic image of the hard-bitten polar explorer. But apparently she'd had the guts and skills to claw her way onto this expedition over what must have been several hundred male applicants.
Ian Rutherford, a biology major from England, handsome in a boy-next-door kind of way, if next door happened to be the British Midlands.
Dr. Keiko Hasegawa, Japan, a second meteorology specialist. Sober, studious, a little on the plain and plump side. Possibly she'd balanced a slow social life with an exceptional dedication to her field of endeavor.
Stefan Kropodkin, Slovakia, cosmic ray astronomy; lanky, dark-haired, an amiable slaunchwise grin, and a little older than the other graduate students. Probably you're the one giving Ms. Brown the most attention, desired or not.
Smith flipped the folder shut. He wasn't prepared to make any assumptions on nationality, race, sex, or potential political orientation. That was a fool's game, for greed or fanaticism could wear any face. Covert One and a variety of other intelligence and law enforcement agencies would be hard at work dissecting the past lives of these six individuals. When he arrived on Wednesday Island it would be his duty to dissect their here and now.
He felt himself being regarded, and he looked up to find both Dr. Trowbridge and Professor Metrace looking at him. From Trowbridge's expression, he was puzzled. From Valentina's smile and the ironic lift of her eyebrow, she was busy reading Smith's mind.
Smith returned the file folder to the mess table. "Professor Metrace, have you seen Major Smyslov?"
"I think he's out on deck absorbing a little nicotine," she