Cold War - Jerome Preisler [13]
“None of it was your fault,” Nimec said. “People can’t always be protected.”
Gordian nodded.
“I know, Pete. I came to realize it standing there on the tarmac,” he said. “It was sunset when the plane touched down, and the light was golden on its wings . . . gold on gray. Then it deepened to orange. And then violet as the coffins were brought out. I’d arranged for a band to be present, and they were playing Bach, an excerpt from one of his Passions. I remember the music. Solemn, meditative. But something about it, coupled with that majestic sunset, helped lift me above the sorrow and despair. Something that was untouchably hopeful. Or that aspired toward hope. And I remember promising myself I’d re-commit to my own marriage, make it a testament to the love that Arthur and Elaine had had for each other. Remember vowing I’d press forward, continue using whatever resources and influence I had to do some good in the world. I owed it to them. Owed it every one of the people who’d been killed. They can’t always be protected from violence. But we have to keep our watch.”
Nimec stared at the photo and thought for a while. Then he switched his attention to Gordian.
“Meg was clear about wanting me at Cold Corners,” Nimec said.
“Yes.”
“And you’re with her on it.”
“Yes,” Gordian said. “Your thoughts?”
“I have to wonder what difference I’d make. Our staff down there knows the territory. They’re getting an open assist from MacTown. We’ve got to believe they’re doing everything they can.”
Gordian looked steadily at him.
“They’re racing against the calendar,” he said. “The Antarctic winter is just three weeks off. Months of darkness and bad weather. Once they have to bunker in, that’s the end of any sort of investigation. Megan doesn’t want to waste time. And she knows what you can accomplish given very little to spare.”
Nimec suddenly felt thickheaded. Investigation, he thought. He’d misunderstood Megan Breen’s request. This wasn’t about whether his involvement would effect the conclusion of their search. Wasn’t about conclusions at all, but rather undefined suspicions. Megan’s, Gordian’s, and his own. Antarctica was a brutal place. Nobody went there without a keen awareness of that fact. But the back-to-back disappearances of Scout IV and its S&R team equaled a huge, ominous question mark. And a likely tragedy. Something strange was going on out in the dry valleys, and Nimec was being asked to help get to the bottom of it. That was where his participation could be of important benefit.
The problem was that he considered his principal responsibilities to be with Roger Gordian in San Jose.
“I’ve got some questions before I hurry to pack my bags,” Nimec said. “With Ricci deep in the field, who’s left to man home plate? He pressed hard for my go-ahead, and it would be a mistake to pull him back without good cause. In my opinion we don’t have it. Not yet.”
“Ricci can carry on with his assignment. I don’t expect you’ll be gone too long. The last flight out of base is in three weeks. And you’ll have a reserved seat, I promise,” Gordian said. “Meanwhile, Rollie Thibodeau is here to handle things in your absence.”
“The way he’s been acting, I’m not sure Rollie can—”
“I am,” Gordian interrupted. “And I would think you’d have faith in the rest of our local Sword team.”
“Not the issue,” Nimec said. “We’ve had some close calls in the past few months. And the snakes responsible are still holed away underground.”
Gordian kept his gaze on him.
“I don’t need constant babysitting, Pete,” he said. “What are your other concerns?”
Nimec paused. It had taken about five sentences to exhaust his arguments. That left him scuffling for a dignified surrender.
“My Corvette,” he said “You going to take care of her for me?”
The faintest of smiles touched Gordian’s lips.
“She’ll be okay.” He carefully put down the picture frame. “That’s promise number two.”
Nimec sat there looking at Gordian for about thirty seconds. Then he gave him an acquiescent nod, rose from his chair, and started out of the office.
“Pete, one final thing . . .