Ice Station - Matthew Reilly [20]
Upon the unit’s arrival at Wilkes Ice Station, Snake had been put in charge of setting up the laser trip-wire on the landward side of the station, about two hundred metres out. The trip-wire was not really that much different from the rangefinder units on the hovercrafts. It was merely a series of box-like units through which a tiny, invisible laser beam was directed. When something crossed the beam, it triggered a flashing red light on Kaplan’s forearm guard.
Moments ago, something had crossed the beam.
From his post on A-deck, Kaplan had immediately radioed Schofield who, sensibly, had ordered a visual check. After all, it might have just been Buck Riley and his team, returning from their check of that disappearing signal. Schofield had set follow-up time at two hours, and it had been nearly that long since Schofield’s team had arrived at the station. Buck Riley and his crew were due here any minute now.
Only this wasn’t Buck Riley.
‘Where is it, Snake?’ Schofield’s voice said over Snake’s helmet intercom.
‘South-east corner. Coming through the outer circle of buildings now.’ Snake watched as the hovercraft slowly made its way through the station complex, carefully negotiating its way between the small, snow-covered structures.
‘Where are you?’ Snake asked as he stood, picked up his rifle, and started jogging back through the snow toward the main dome.
‘I’m at the main entrance,’ Schofield’s voice said. ‘Just inside the front door. I need you to take up a covering position from the rear.’
‘Already on it.’
With the driving snow, visibility was limited, so the hovercraft proceeded slowly through the complex. Kaplan hurried along parallel to it, a hundred yards away. The vehicle came to halt outside the main dome of the ice station. It was slowly beginning to lower itself from its cushion of air when Snake dropped into the snow forty metres away and began to set up his sniper rifle.
He had just put his eye to his telescopic sight when the side door of the hovercraft slid open and four figures stepped out of it into the snowstorm.
‘Good evening,’ Schofield said with a crooked smile.
The four French scientists just stood there in the doorway to the ice station, dumbstruck. They stood in two pairs, with each pair carrying a large, white container between them.
In front of them stood Schofield, with his MP-5 held casually by his side. Behind Schofield stood Hollywood and Montana, with their MP-5s raised to shoulder height and their eyes looking straight down the barrels of their guns. Guns which were pointed right at their new visitors.
Schofield said, ‘Why don’t you come inside.’
‘The others are safely back at d’Urville,’ the leader of this new group said, as he sat down at the table in the dining room, alongside his French colleagues. Like the others, he had just passed a thorough pat-down search.
He had a lean face, hollow, with sunken eyes and high cheekbones. He had said his name was Jean Petard, and Schofield recognised the name from his list. He also remembered the short bio that had appeared under the name. It had said that Petard was a geologist, studying natural gas deposits in the continental shelf. The names of the other three Frenchmen were also on the list.
The four original French scientists were also there in the dining room – Champion, Latissier, Cuvier and Rae. The remaining residents of Wilkes were now back in their quarters. Schofield had ordered that they remain there until he and his squad had checked out the occupants of this newly arrived hovercraft. Montana and Lance-Corporal Augustine ‘Samurai’ Lau, the sixth and last member of Schofield’s team, stood guard by the door.
‘We hurried back as fast as we could,’ Jean Petard added. ‘We brought fresh food and