The Last Odyssey (Sigma Force #15) - James Rollins Page 0,11

asked.

She shook her head, as mystified as Mac.

Nelson cleared his throat. “Guys. Maybe we’d better leave that be.”

They both turned to him. His gaze was fixed on the screen of his handheld device. He thumbed a dial, and a quiet clicking rose from it.

“What’s wrong?” Mac asked.

“I mentioned all the resources buried here in Greenland, waiting to be extracted. I failed to mention one. Uranium.” He lifted his device higher. “I forgot to bring a Geiger counter the first time we came down here and thought I’d use this opportunity to correct that mistake.”

Elena stared upward, trying to peer through the deck to the rock and ice beyond. “Are you saying we’re standing in the middle of a uranium deposit?”

“No. This is the first time I got a reading. After Mac opened the box.” He reached down and held the Geiger counter closer to the map. The clicking became more rapid and louder. “That device is radioactive.”

Mac swore and quickly slammed the box closed.

They all retreated.

“How hot is it?” Mac asked.

“About the equivalent of a chest X-ray for every minute you’re exposed.”

“Then let’s leave it here for now.” Mac herded them back into the ship’s hold. “We’ll continue to keep guards posted at the channel entrance in case word of this treasure reaches the wrong ears. We can come back later with some lead shielding and extract the device. Get it somewhere safe.”

They clambered out of the frozen ship and back to the shore of the icy river. Mac’s plan made sense, but Elena hated any delay. She stared longingly back at the stranded ship, anxious to know its history.

As she turned around, a thunderous boom shook through the channel. The river sloshed its banks. Chunks of ice crashed into the water.

She hurried closer to Mac. “Another glacialquake?”

“No . . .”

As the blast echoed away, a new noise reached them. Rapid popping, like a chain of firecrackers going off.

She stared up at Mac.

“That’s gunfire,” he said and took her hand. “We’re under attack.”

2

June 21, 12:28 P.M. GMT

Reykjavik, Iceland

Who the hell thought this was a good idea?

Joe Kowalski huffed loudly and sank his large bulk deeper into the steaming heat of the hot spring. Sweat pebbled his brow. His fingertips had desiccated into sickly prunes. Curling his lip with distaste, he inhaled the rotten-egg odor of the sulfurous waters. He feared he’d stink like this all day.

So much for a romantic detour.

That was the excuse his girlfriend, Maria Crandall, had given for stopping at the Blue Lagoon. The resort lay nestled within a black lava field, dotted with mounds of mossy green. It was also positioned halfway between Iceland’s Keflavík International Airport—where they had landed an hour ago—and the smaller domestic airfield just at the edge of Reykjavik, which offered the only flights to Greenland. Unfortunately, the next scheduled departure wasn’t for another three hours.

So, Maria had suggested this side trip while they waited.

With a sigh, he rolled his forearm out of the water to check the time—then shook his head at his bare wrist. His missing watch reminded him of the three warnings given to them upon checking into this corner of the resort, called the Retreat.

First, they were told that in order to preserve the purity of the waters, they would be required to shower naked before entering the baths. It was the only part of the experience he had appreciated. He remembered soaping every square inch of Maria’s sleek body in their private changing room’s shower, appreciating her curves as she leaned on one long leg, the way she twisted her wet blond hair into a pile atop her head, how her breasts would lift with each . . .

Nope. He shifted his bulk. Best think of something else right now.

This was a public pool.

To distract himself, he remembered why he was even here in the first place.

The second warning about this resort concerned cell phones. Such devices were forbidden within the confines of the interconnected pools. Kowalski was fine with this. Especially considering it had been an unwelcome call from his boss, Director Painter Crowe, that had set him on this path from sultry Africa to the icy freeze of Greenland.

He and Maria had been visiting the Congo, where they were scheduled to spend a week at Virunga National Park. Maria had been hoping to visit—or at the very least, spot—Baako, the western lowland gorilla she had released into the wild two years ago. He had hoped for the same. The big hairy lug had left an