Ice Station - Matthew Reilly [12]
‘How many?’ Schofield asked.
‘There were five of them at first,’ Sarah said. ‘Four stayed here with us, while the fifth guy took the others back to d’Urville on their hovercraft.’
‘You know them?’
Sarah said, ‘I know Luc and I know Henri – who I think wet himself when he saw you guys walk in – and I know of the fourth one, Jacques Latissier.’
After Montana had led Hensleigh into the dining room a few minutes earlier, it hadn’t taken long for Schofield to figure out that she was the person to speak to about the previous week’s events at Wilkes Ice Station.
While all the others looked either dejected or tired, Sarah had appeared collected and in control. Indeed, Montana and Hollywood had said that they’d found her while she had been showing one of the French scientists the core-drilling room down on E-deck. His name had been Jacques Latissier – a tall man with a thick black beard – and he was also on Schofield’s mental list.
Sarah Hensleigh stared out over the central shaft of the station, deep in thought. Schofield looked at her. She was an attractive woman, about thirty-five, with dark brown eyes, black shoulder-length hair and high arching cheekbones. Schofield noticed that around her neck she wore a glistening silver locket on a chain.
At that moment, the little girl came out onto the catwalk. Schofield guessed that she must have been about ten. She had short blonde hair, a small button nose, and she wore thick glasses that hung down awkwardly over her cheeks. She looked almost comical in the bulky pink parka that she wore – it had a terribly oversized wool-lined hood that flopped down over her face.
And behind the little girl, loping out onto the metal catwalk, came the seal.
‘And who is this?’ Schofield asked.
‘This is my daughter, Kirsty,’ Sarah said, putting her hand on the little girl’s shoulder. ‘Kirsty, this is Lieutenant Schofield.’
‘Hi there,’ Schofield said.
Kirsty Hensleigh just stood there for a moment and stared up at Schofield, taking in his armour, his helmet and his weapons.
‘Cool glasses,’ she said at last.
‘Huh? Oh, yeah,’ Schofield said, touching his silver anti-flash glasses. Combined with his snow fatigues and his white-grey body armour, he knew the reflective, single-lens glasses made him look particularly icy. A kid would like that. Schofield didn’t take the glasses off.
‘Yeah, I guess they are pretty cool,’ he said. ‘How old are you?’
‘Twelve, almost thirteen.’
‘Yeah?’
‘I’m kind of short for my age,’ Kirsty added matter-of-factly.
‘Me, too,’ Schofield said, nodding.
He looked down as the seal flopped forward and started sniffing at his knee. ‘And your friend here. What’s his name?’
‘She’s a girl, and her name is Wendy.’
Schofield reached down and let the seal sniff his hand. She wasn’t very big, about the size of a medium-sized dog and she happily wore a cute red collar.
‘Wendy. What kind of seal is she?’ Schofield asked, as he began to pat Wendy on the head.
‘Arctocephalus gazella,’ Kirsty said. ‘Antarctic fur seal.’
Wendy started winding her head around in Schofield’s hand, forcing him to pat her behind her earflap. He did, and then suddenly Wendy dropped to the ground and rolled over onto her back.
‘She wants you to rub her tummy,’ Kirsty said, smiling. ‘She likes that.’
Wendy lay on the catwalk, on her back, her flippers held out wide, waiting to be patted. Schofield bent down and gave her a quick rub on the stomach.
‘You just won yourself a friend for life,’ Sarah Hensleigh said, watching Schofield closely.
‘Great,’ Schofield said, rising.
‘I didn’t know Marines could be so friendly,’ Sarah said suddenly, taking Schofield slightly off guard.
‘We’re not all heartless.’
‘Not when there’s something here that you want.’
The comment made Schofield stop and look at Sarah for