Ice Station - Matthew Reilly [81]
‘Copy time at 1410 hours. Turning over to self-contained air. Preparing to leave the diving bell.’
Gant kept Schofield updated on the dive.
The four divers – Gant, Montana, Santa Cruz and Sarah Hensleigh – turned over to self-contained air without incident and left the diving bell. A few minutes later, Gant reported that they had found the entrance to the underwater ice tunnel, and that they were beginning their ascent.
Schofield continued to pace around the deck, deep in thought.
He thought about the divers from Wilkes who had disappeared down in the cavern, about the cavern itself and what was in it, about the French and their snatch-and-grab effort to seize whatever was down there, about erasing devices being fired from warships off the coast, about the possibility that one of his own men had killed Samurai, and about Sarah Hensleigh’s smile. It was all too much.
His helmet intercom crackled to life. ‘Sir, Book here.’
‘Any luck?’
‘Not a goddam thing, sir.’
For the last quarter of an hour, Book, Snake and Rebound had been trying to raise McMurdo Station on the unit’s portable radio. They were doing it from just outside the main entrance to the station, as if being outside the structure might somehow help the signal get through.
‘Interference?’ Schofield asked.
‘Mountains of it,’ Book said sadly.
Schofield thought for a moment. Then he said, ‘Book. Cancel that option and come back inside. I want you to go and find the scientists who are still here. I think they’re in that common room on B-deck. See if you can find out if any of them are familiar with the radio system here.’
‘I copy that, sir.’
Book’s voice switched off and Schofield’s intercom was silent again. Schofield stared at the pool of water at the base of the station and resumed his thoughts.
He thought about Samurai’s death and who could have done it. At the moment, he trusted only two people: Montana and Sarah Hensleigh, since they had been with him when Samurai had been murdered. They were the only two people whom Schofield knew for certain were not involved in Samurai’s murder. As far as everybody else was concerned, they were all under suspicion.
Which was why Schofield had decided to keep Book, Snake and Rebound all together. If one of them was the killer, he wouldn’t be able to kill again with the other two around . . .
Suddenly, a new thought hit Schofield and he keyed his mike again. ‘Book, you still out there?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Book, while you’re down on B-deck, I want you to ask those scientists something else,’ Schofield said. ‘I want you to ask if any of them knows anything about weather.’
The radio room at Wilkes Ice Station is situated in the south-east corner of A-deck, directly across the shaft from the dining room. It houses the station’s satellite telecommunications gear and short range radio transmitters. Four radio consoles – each consisting of a microphone, a computer screen and keyboard, and some frequency dials – were in the room, two to each side.
Abby Sinclair was sitting at one of the radio consoles when Schofield entered the radio room.
The first thing Schofield noticed was that Abby Sinclair had not borne the recent events at Wilkes Ice Station at all well. Abby was a pretty woman in her late thirties, with long, frizzy brown hair, and large brown eyes. Long, vertical streaks of black mascara ran down from beneath both of her eyes. They reminded Schofield of the two scars that cut down across his own eyes – now hidden once again, behind his opaque silver glasses.
Next to Abby stood the three other Marines – Riley, Rebound and Snake. Abby Sinclair was the only scientist in the room.
Schofield turned to Book. ‘Nobody knows anything about weather?’
‘On the contrary,’ Book said. ‘You’re in luck. Lieutenant Shane Schofield, I’d like you to meet Miss Abby Sinclair. Miss Sinclair is both the radio expert at this station and its resident meteorologist.’
Abby Sinclair said, ‘Actually, I’m not the real radio expert. Carl Price