Ice Station - Matthew Reilly [163]
‘We saw a couple of seals with teeth like that, too,’ Gant said. ‘Smaller ones, though. Juvenile males. The one you saw must have been the bull. From what you’re saying, though, it seems like only the males have large lower canines.’
Schofield paused at that. ‘Yes.’
And then at that moment, something clicked inside his head. Something about why only the male elephant seals had abnormally large lower teeth.
If the spaceship really had a plutonium core inside it, then it was a good bet that that core was slowly emitting passive radiation. Not a leak. Just passive, ambient radiation, which occurred with any nuclear device. If the elephant seals had set up a nest near the ship, then over time the passive radiation from the plutonium might have had an effect on the male seals.
Schofield remembered seeing the infamous Rodriguez Report about passive radiation near an old nuclear weapons facility in the desert in New Mexico. In nearby towns, there were found to be unusually high instances of genetic abnormality. There were also found to be strikingly higher instances of such abnormalities in men than in women. Elongated fingers was a common mutation. Elongated dentures was another. Teeth. The writers of the report had linked the higher incidence of genetic abnormalities in men to testosterone, the male hormone.
Perhaps, Schofield thought, that was what had happened here.
And then suddenly, Schofield had another thought. A more disturbing thought.
‘Gant, when did the SAS team arrive in the cave?’
‘I’m not sure, somewhere around eight o’clock, I think.’
‘And when did you arrive in the cave?’
‘We left the diving bell at 1410 hours. Then it took us another hour or so to swim up the tunnel. So I’d say about three o’clock.’
Eight o’clock. Three o’clock.
Schofield wondered when the original team of divers from Wilkes Ice Station had gone down to the cave. There was something there, something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on just yet. But it might have been able to explain . . .
Schofield looked at his watch.
9:50 p.m.
Shit, time to go.
‘Gant, listen, I have to go. There’s a window in the solar flare coming over the station in ten minutes and I have to use it. If you and the others are safe down there, do me a favour and look around that hangar. Find out everything you can about that plane, okay?’
‘You bet.’
Schofield clicked off. But no sooner had he done so, than he heard a voice from somewhere high up in the station.
‘Lieutenant!’
Schofield looked up. It was Renshaw. He was up on B-deck. ‘Hey! Lieutenant!’ Renshaw shouted.
‘What?’
‘I think you better see this!’
Schofield and Kirsty entered Renshaw’s room through the square-shaped hole in the door.
Renshaw was standing over by his computer.
‘It’s been on all day,’ Renshaw said to Schofield, ‘but I only looked at it just now. It said I had new mail, so I brought up my e-mail screen and had a look. It came in at 7:32 p.m. and it’s from some guy in New Mexico named Andrew Wilcox.’
‘What’s it got to do with me?’ Schofield said. He didn’t even know anyone named Andrew Wilcox.
‘Well, that’s the thing, Lieutenant. It’s addressed to you.’
Schofield frowned.
Renshaw nodded at the screen. On it was a list of some sort, with a message written above it.
Schofield read the message. After a moment, his jaw dropped. The e-mail read:
SCARECROW,
THIS IS HAWK. BE ADVISED:
AWARE OF YOUR LOCATION.
USMC PERSONNEL DEPARTMENT HAS YOU LISTED
AS DEAD.
SECONDARY TEAM IS EN ROUTE TO YOUR LOCATION.
SUSPECT THAT YOUR MISSION HAS BEEN TARGETED FOR TERMINATION BY ICG.
FEAR THAT THIS SECONDARY UNIT WILL BE HOSTILE TO YOUR INTERESTS. WOULD HATE FOR THE SAME FATE TO BEFALL YOU AS BEFELL ME IN PERU.
WITH THIS IN MIND, SCAN THE FOLLOWING LIST OFKNOWN ICG INFORMERS. MY UNIT IN PERU HADBEEN INFILTRATED LONG BEFORE I GOT THERE.YOURS