Cold War - Jerome Preisler [11]
Nimec raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t realize you’d heard about it.”
“Murmurs and whispers,” Gordian said. “I’d be glad to see it sometime. Test my skill at Fourteen-one Continuous.”
Nimec gave his surprise a chance to wane.
“You’re on,” he said.
Gordian nodded, his face becoming serious. He took a slow, deep breath that worked as a kind of unintentional segue.
“Now,” he said. “We need to talk about Antarctica.”
“Yeah,” Nimec said.
Gordian hesitated. He glanced down at the picture frame again, then back at Nimec.
“The missing search team,” he said. “Do you know any of its members?”
Nimec shook his head. “I’ve read their personnel files. That’s about it.”
“I’ve met them all at one time or another,” Gordian said. “My association with Dave Payton and Shevaun Bradley has been strictly in connection with the rover project. They’re top people in their field. And they’re our people.”
They looked at each other in silence. Our people. Nimec fully grasped the connotations of that short phrase. Nothing meant more to Gordian than the safety of his employees in the far-flung regions where UpLink had established many of its outposts. His Dream, capital D, was to bring greater freedom, prosperity, and stability to the citizens of corrupt and oppressive governments by opening them up to information that otherwise might be blocked by their political leadership. Staking his legacy on the old axiom that knowledge was democracy’s best tool, he’d brainstormed and funded the world’s largest telecommunications network with a fortune earned in military aviation technology. That had involved building and staffing satellite ground station facilities on some very dangerous turf. It had also made him some very serious enemies. Bad guys in places high and low got touchy when their control was threatened. Thus Gordian had spared no cost putting together a global corporate security division superior to the armed forces of many countries. Dubbed Sword, it was conceived as an antidote to their enemies’ rabid impulses. A way of staying a step ahead of them. But the unpredictable was always a factor. Sometimes the enemy had the cunning and stealth to lurk beneath your radar until he was ready to strike. Sometimes his claws were sharper, and his reflexes quicker, than you thought. And sometimes it was just a fluke accident that got you where it hurt.
If experience had taught Nimec anything, it was that there was no guaranteed inoculation against human vulnerability.
“What can you tell me about the guide?” he said. “Scarborough . . . that his name?”
“Alan Scarborough,” Gordian said. “We were introduced at our send-off for the original outfitting crew at Cold Corners. He’s ex-Marine, took officer training at A&M, saw combat as a platoon commander in the Persian Gulf . . . 2nd Division, I think. A strapping, brawny Texan with a personality to match. The type of man that you like right away. And feel you can depend on whatever the circumstances.”
“Understandable why Meg would choose him to head the expedition.”
Gordian nodded.
“If his party was in distress, I’m convinced Scarborough could manage the situation until help arrived. And he wouldn’t need to wait for Cold Corners to launch a rescue effort. There are scattered NSF encampments closer by. Helicopters regularly fly out of McMurdo Station to monitor them and provide emergency aid. Short term, he’d have access to reserve caches of food and medical supplies that have been airdropped throughout the valley system.”
“If Scarborough’s as competent as you say, I’d expect him to send out an SOS,” Nimec said. “But he doesn’t. One morning his team starts out from camp. Next thing you know they’re gone.”
Gordian took another deep breath, released it.
“Yes,” he said. “That’s the bottom line.”
Nimec was thoughtful.
“There family members we need to contact?”