The cave meandered, going slightly left, then right, but always down. Sometimes the ceiling was high enough to allow them to walk upright. For some stretches, the cave was only about four feet high, and they had to crouch. Schroeder was glad to see that there was only one tunnel, with no branches that would have required a decision and increased the chances of becoming hopelessly lost.
After they had been walking for about an hour, the cave broke open to a larger space. They had no idea how big it was until they started to explore it.
As their flashlight beams bounced off the moisture that cast a sheen on the high ceilings and far walls, it became apparent that the cavern was as big as the lobby of a grand hotel. The floor was almost flat. At the far end, opposite where they had come in, was the only other opening, which loomed as large as a garage door.
They walked around the perimeter of the chamber, sipping from their water bottles, marveling at the size and shape of the space. Schroeder had been examining it with an eye toward setting up ambush, and had decided, with its nooks and wall crannies, that it would make an ideal killing field. Karla had wandered over to the other entrance, where she swept the interior with her light, then stepped inside.
“Uncle Karl,” she called out, her voice echoing.
He strode over to where she knelt on the cavern floor. Illuminated in the bull's-eye of light from her flashlight was a brownish mass of vegetation.
“What is it?” Schroeder asked.
She didn't answer right away. After a moment, she said, “It looks like elephant scat.”
Schroeder roared with laughter. “Do you think the circus passed this way?”
She stood up and touched it with the toe of her boot. A musky, grassy smell arose from the mound. “I think I need to sit down,” she said.
They found a wall outcropping to sit on and refreshed themselves from their water bottles. Karla told Schroeder about the baby mammoth that had been discovered not far from the cave entrance. “I couldn't figure out how it could be so well preserved,” she said. “No one has ever found a specimen like that. It seemed to have died only days or weeks ago.”
“Are you suggesting that there are woolly mammoths living in these caves?”
“No, of course not,” she said with a laugh. “That would be impossible. Maybe they once did, though, and the scat is very old. Let me tell you a story. In 1918, a Russian hunter was traveling through the taiga, the great Siberian forest, when he saw huge tracks in the snow. For days, he followed the creatures that made them. They left behind piles of dung and broken tree branches. He described seeing two huge elephants with chestnut hair and massive tusks.”
“An apocryphal hunter's tale, with no evidence, meant to impress?”
“Possibly. But the Eskimos and North American Indians recounted legends of great shaggy creatures. In 1993, the skeletons of dwarf mammoths were found on Wrangel Island, between Siberia and Alaska, not far from here. Their bones were dated between seven thousand and thirty-seven hundred years ago, which means mammoths roamed the earth well past Paleolithic times, when men were building Stonehenge and the Pyramids.”
Schroeder chuckled and said, “You'd like to explore further, wouldn't you?”
“I wouldn't want to waste an opportunity like this sitting around and twiddling our thumbs. Maybe we'll come across some well-preserved specimens.”
“I don't think preparing to repel a gang of desperate cutthroats qualifies as twiddling our thumbs, but I shouldn't be surprised. Once, when you were a child, I read you Alice in Wonderland. Not long after, I found you out in the yard trying to squeeze your head down a rabbit hole. You said you wished you had some tonic that would shrink you, like Alice.”
“It must have been your fault for reading me such stories.”
“Well, now it seems we have little choice,” he said wearily. He picked up his pack and limped toward the opening. “Down the rabbit hole we go.”
NUMA 6 - Polar Shift
26
THE CHESTNUT STALLION GALLOPED across the verdant Virginia countryside as if it were racing neck and neck in the Kentucky Derby. Jordan Gant crouched in the saddle like an overgrown jockey and whipped his crop repeatedly on his mount's haunches. The horse had been running a punishing pace. Its eyes rolled, its sleek coat was shiny with sweat and its tongue hung from its mouth. Still, Gant showed no mercy. It was not so much cruelty, which would have assumed emotion on his part, but rather the disregard he held for anything that came under his control.
Gant crossed meadows and pastures, and rode along the edge of a driveway bordered by poplar trees until he came to a sprawling country house. He headed to a stable area near the house, and allowed the exhausted animal to come to a trot, then a walk and finally to a halt. Gant slid easily out of the saddle, took a towel from a waiting groom and carelessly tossed him the reins. The horse was limping as it was led away.
Gant strode up a stone walkway toward the front door. He was dressed for polo in a black short-sleeved shirt and jodhpurs. Gant had a muscular, athletic physique, and he would have worn his clothes well even if they weren't custom-tailored. He whipped his knee-high boots of cordovan leather with his crop as he walked, as if his arm had a mind of its own. The massive wooden front door opened at Gant's approach, and he stepped into an enormous foyer with a fountain bubbling in the center. Gant handed his gloves and towel to the cadaverous butler who had opened the door.
The butler said, “Your guest has arrived, sir. He's waiting in the library.”
“A Bombay Sapphire martini, straight up, and the usual for me.”
The butler bowed and disappeared down a long hallway. Gant went through a door off the foyer into a spacious chamber lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with the priceless volumes that he collected. Margrave stood near a set of French doors that overlooked manicured lawns that were as green as the top of a billiard table. He was perusing an antique book bound in red Moroccan leather.
“That's a rare edition of the Divine Comedy published in 1507,” Gant said. “There are only three known copies. I own them all.”
“You've got quite the extensive collection of Dante.”
“Actually, it's the best in the world,” Gant said without pretense.
Margrave smiled and slipped the book back onto the shelf. “I would expect no less. Did you have a good ride?”
Gant tossed the whip onto a side table. “I always have a good ride. The horse does all the work. The animal that I rode today is new to my stables. It's a stallion that needed to be shown who the boss is. I always take a new horse out for a test-drive. Those that survive are treated like royalty. Those that don't end up in a glue factory.”
“Survival of the fittest?”
“I'm a great believer in Darwin.”
The butler arrived carrying a tray with two drinks. Gant handed one glass to Margrave, and took the sixteen-year-old, double-matured scotch whisky on the rocks for himself. Margrave sipped his drink. “Perfect martini,” he said. “You know exactly what I drink. I'm impressed.”
“You forget that I'm in a business where deals are often lubricated with alcohol,” Gant said. “Nothing makes a favorable impression like remembering someone's particular poison.” He settled into a comfortable chair, and gestured for Margrave to take a seat. “What's the latest on our project?”
“On schedule. But I'm worried about Spider. I haven't heard from him since he left the island a few days ago.”
“Barrett is a big boy,” Gant said. “He can take care of himself.”
“I don't care about his health; it's his mouth I'm concerned about. He's had an acute attack of conscience. I don't want to see him on 60 Minutes telling Mike Wallace about our project.”
“You said he agreed to stay with the project until you made contact with Karla Janos.”
“That's right. He wanted a fail-safe option that could shut the project down in a hurry.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about. Barrett is probably off sulkin
g somewhere. The main question is whether the project can proceed without him.”
“That's not a problem. Spider has already laid the groundwork that made him indispensable. We don't need him anymore. All is proceeding according to plan. I worked up this presentation for you.”
Margrave opened a carrying case and pulled out a portable DVD player, which he set up on a mahogany desk. He pressed the ON button and the schematic profile of a ship appeared on the screen.
“This is one of the transmitter ships as originally designed. Here are the power plants in the hold leading to the electromagnetic low-frequency antenna, which can be lowered into the sea.” He forwarded the picture. “This is the new ship that will do the work of our four experimental vessels.”
“A small ocean liner.Ingenious. How soon will it be on-site?”
“The old transmitter vessels have left the Mississippi shipyard and are on their way to the debarkation point in Rio. They can still be useful as decoys for insurance. The name of the liner is the Polar Adventure. She'll be in Rio as well, but no one will suspect she is carrying the payload.”
“You've made a final choice of a target site, then.”
Margrave pressed a key on the player. A map of the Southern Hemisphere appeared on the screen. The map showed a reddish patch shaped like a flattened sphere that covered a good portion of the ocean between the coast of Brazil and South Africa.
“The South Atlantic Anomaly.”
Margrave nodded. “As you know, the anomaly is a region where the earth's geomagnetic field flows the wrong way. Some scientists describe it as a 'pothole,' or a dip, in the field. There are sections where the field is completely reversed and weakened. Magsat discovered a North Polar region and a spot below South Africa where the magnetism has been growing extremely weak. Exploiting the weakness in the south ocean magnetic field will cause a similar reaction in the north pole region.”
Gant chuckled. “That's the beauty of this whole scheme. We're not precipitating the event as much as we're hastening its arrival.”
“True. The north and south magnetic poles have reversed themselves in the past without help, and the earth's electromagnetic field started collapsing on its own about a hundred and fifty years ago. Some experts say a shift is overdue. The earth's magnetism is already affected by the vortices in the molten layer under its crust. Stir up some additional turbulence and only a nudge will be needed to cause a shift. As you say, we're just helping the process along.”
“Fascinating,” Gant said. “I take it that there has been no change in our original expectations of the impact of this little flip.”
“The computer models still hold. The main magnetic fields will weaken, and then almost vanish. For three days or so, there will virtually be no magnetic poles. Then they will return with opposite polarity. Compass needles that normally point north will point south. The electromagnetic battering will knock out power grids and satellites, confuse birds and mammals, send polar auroras flashing around the equator and widen ozone holes. That will be the period of optimum danger. The collapse of the field will temporarily eliminate the earth's defense against solar storms. In the longer term, there will be an increase in the number of people who develop skin cancer.”
“Unfortunate collateral damage,” Gant said without sympathy. “There's an extensive shelter under this house. You've taken similar precautions, I understand.”
“The ship is shielded for radiation to protect us on the return trip. I've got a comfortable shelter under the lighthouse. I could live there in great comfort for a hundred years, although the period of danger should lessen after the initial bursts.”
“Will the other members of Lucifer be keeping you company on the island?”
“Only a select few. Anarchists are good at creating chaos, but they don't have a clue about what to do once they're done smashing windows. The others will have served their purpose by then and are on their own.”
“You're going to abandon Lucifer's Legion to a possibly painful death?” Gant said.
“You can invite them to your shelter,” Margrave said with a sardonic smile.
“I need room for my horses,” Gant said.
“Understandable. What are your plans for the period following the big flash?”
“There will be confusion on a massive scale. People will be unable to communicate or navigate. Power will be out temporarily. Once communications are reestablished at great expense, we will broadcast a message to the world's leaders demanding an international conference to dismantle the instruments of globalization. For starters, we will call for immediate steps to disband the World Bank and the WTO.”
“And if they don't do what we ask?”
“I don't think that will be a problem,” Gant said. “We will point out the fragility of the global infrastructure and suggest that even if they rebuild it will be a simple matter to destroy it again. We can play topsy-turvy with the magnetic poles for as long as they like.”
Margrave grinned. “How does it feel to be one of the gods on Mount Olympus?”
Gant took a sip of his drink. “Intoxicating. But even the gods have housecleaning matters they have to deal with. There's the matter of the woman, Karla Janos.”
“The last I heard, we had a team on its way to Siberia to take care of her.”
Gant rose from his chair and went over to the French doors. He gazed at the rolling lawns, lost in thought, then turned to Margrave.
“There's something going on and I'm not sure what it is. The assassination team never got any farther than Fairbanks, Alaska. They were all murdered in their hotel rooms.”
Margrave set his drink aside. “Murdered?”
“That's right. They were all shot in the head. The killings were done quite professionally. These were crack members of our security company. There was no effort to dispose of the bodies. The executions were bold, even reckless, which makes me think that whoever put the plan together did it in a hurry.”
“Who knew about the team?”
“You. Me. And the Russian Mafia, of course.”
“You think the Russians are responsible?”
“They're capable of anything. But it doesn't fit. They knew a team was on its way, but had no idea who they were or where they were staying. They were passing themselves off as a television production crew and were due to leave for Siberia within hours when they were killed.”
“Do the police have any leads?” Margrave asked.
“One. The charter pilot who was hired to transport the team said he talked to someone who may have been the last one to see them. In fact, he took their place on a charter flight to Siberia. He was an older man, probably in his seventies.”
“Your original contact on Karla Janos, the one who killed two security men, wasn't he an older man as well?”
“Yes,” Gant said. “My guess is that they are one and the same.”
“Who is this guy? We go looking for Karla Janos and we turn up a killer old enough to collect Social Security.”
“When my men broke into his house, they found letters written to Janos on his computer and replies from the woman. He referred to himself as 'Uncle Karl.' ”
Margrave frowned. “The dossier we compiled on the Kovacs family never said anything about any uncle.”
“I wouldn't worry too much about him. When I let the Russians know that the team wasn't coming for Ms. Janos, they asked what they should do with her. I told them to kill her, and the old man, if they should come across him, as I expect they will.”
Margrave nodded. “You've been busy.”
“I don't like loose ends, like Kurt Austin, the NUMA man. I think he should be taken out.”
“I thought we were going to watch and wait on Austin to see if he developed into a threat.”
“When Austin first came into the picture, I looked into his background. He's a marine engineer and salvage expert with NUMA who has been involved in some high-profile missions. He saw the apparatus on Barrett's boat. He's in a positi
on to cause us a great deal of trouble.”
“It has the potential for trouble, but it's nothing we can't deal with.”
“Are you saying that Austin could torpedo our project?”
“Not if he's dead. As Joseph Stalin said, '... no man, no problem.' Doyle was making plans to take care of Austin. Unfortunately, Mr. Austin left his house suddenly for an unknown destination.”
“So what do we do?”
“We keep Austin's house under constant surveillance. When he comes back we solve our problem. In the meantime, I'd suggest that you do everything you can to expedite the technical end of the project.”
“Then I'd better get going,” Margrave said.
Gant walked his guest to his car. They shook hands and agreed to stay in touch. He was on his way back into his house when the groom came up to him.
“How is the new horse?” Gant said.
“He's lame, sir.”
“Shoot him,” Gant said. Then he went back into his house.
NUMA 6 - Polar Shift
27
THE ROOMS AND PASSAGES of the cavern were like a dreamscape. Mineral curtains of soft orange and yellow draped the walls and the stalactites that ranged in size from pencil-thin rods to tall cascading columns as thick as a man's waist hung from the ceiling.
The ethereal beauty of his subterranean surroundings was lost on Schroeder. The bruise on his forehead throbbed like a tom-tom, and walking on the uneven floor of the cave aggravated his swollen ankle. He was struggling up a natural staircase when the exertion triggered a dizzy spell.
His vision swam and he began to see double. The loss of equilibrium made him nauseous. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead even though the air was cool. He stopped and pressed his head against the cave wall. The cold rock had the soothing effect of an ice pack.
Karla was right behind him. She saw him falter and went to his aid.
“Are you all right?”
“I cracked my head back there at the cave entrance. Probably suffered a slight concussion. At least it takes my mind off my sore ankle.”