Hard Line - Pamela Clare Page 0,4
get to Antarctica, they could easily beat us to the crash site. Also, this area of the continent—Dome A—has the coldest temperatures ever recorded on earth.”
He’d been researching Antarctica since they took off from Denver.
The four of them sat in silence, the full scope of this operation hitting home.
“You should know that the NSF—the National Science Foundation—has fought the Pentagon every step of the way on this,” Tower said. “By treaty, no nation is allowed to have a military presence in Antarctica unless the military serves a scientific purpose. That’s why they’re sending us. You’re security, nothing more. You’ll go in armed with revolvers and bolt-action Enfield rifles—”
“Bolt-action rifles?” Jones stared at Tower as if he’d lost his mind.
Thor laid it out for him. “Your M4 would freeze up in the cold. We carried Enfields in Sirius. It was the only rifle we trusted against polar bears.”
Jones looked unimpressed. “Huh.”
Tower picked up where he’d left off. “Your weapons come out only at the crash site and only if needed. I’m told you can expect a less than cordial welcome from the staff on station.”
Segal’s expression went sour. “Nice.”
It didn’t bother Thor. Who cared what the researchers thought of them so long as they got the job done?
Tower met each man’s gaze in turn. “I’m not exaggerating when I say this might be the most dangerous mission in Cobra’s history. You cannot let this technology fall into hostile hands.”
2
April 9
When Steve called Samantha into his office, she thought it had to do with Patty’s death. Instead, it was about the crashed satellite.
“A security team is on its way here from Christchurch. They’ll be flown out to the crash site to retrieve sensitive military technology and take it back to the US.”
“That’s crazy. What if they crash—or land in a crevasse? They’re risking their lives, and for what? Technology?”
“It gets crazier.” Steve drew a breath and exhaled, as if he didn’t know how to tell her what he had to say next. “The NSF wants you to go with them to remove the components.”
What the hell?
She gaped at him. “Go with them? I’m an astronomer. I have work to do here. I don’t know anything about military systems. They need to send an expert, one of their own people. I’m not going out there. Are you bonkers?”
This was her second year as a winter-over. She knew how dangerous it was to fly in austral winter. It had happened only a few times in Antarctic history in response to medical emergencies. Besides, Samantha got enough of the cold every day on her fifteen-minute walk to and from the Dark Sector Lab and SPT—the South Pole Telescope. She wasn’t leaving the station and going out on the ice.
Hell, no.
“Look, I know you’re going through a hard time right now, but out of the fifty people down here, the NSF and the Pentagon believe you have the skill to do this. They requested Patty, actually, but… They’re not going to risk sending anyone else.”
“Are you saying I have no choice?”
“Of course, you have a choice, but you have to understand what’s at stake here. There’s a top-secret system on that satellite that could mean the deaths of millions of innocent people if it fell into the wrong hands. Patty would have done it.”
“Don’t try to manipulate me, Steve. The satellite is sitting in the middle of the continent in winter. It’s not like ISIS is going to sneak in and steal it.”
“No, but someone else might.”
“Who? The Russians? The Chinese? Their stations are staffed by scientists just like us. We don’t do world politics or Cold War bullshit down here.”
Researchers from around the globe came to Antarctica to work together for the sake of science. There were no international tensions here, no military presence. There was barely any law enforcement—just the Special Deputy US Marshal who worked as the station manager at McMurdo.
“Don’t be naïve. You heard what Vasily said last time we saw him. ‘All the science is a pretext for maintaining a presence here so we can stake a claim.’”
“Vasily was drunk.”
Everyone had been drunk that night, one of the few times that astronomers from different countries could gather at McMurdo for a drink.
“In vino veritas.” Steve crossed his arms over his chest, sat on the edge of his desk, his brow furrowed as if he weren’t sure what to say next. “What I’m going to tell you is classified, which means you cannot repeat this. Understood?”
“I know what ‘classified’ means.” Did he