ponytail. He had dark circles under his eyes and his clothes were filthy, yet he projected an aura of unmistakable dignity. When he spoke, Therri realized why the man looked so familiar.
'I'm Jesse Nighthawk,' he said, extending his hand in greeting.
'NighthawJ' she said. 'You must be Ben's father.'
His mouth dropped open. 'You know my son?'
'Yes, I work with him in the SOS office in Washington.'
The old man glanced past Them's shoulder as if he were looking for someone. 'Ben was here. I saw him run out of the woods. He was with another man, who was killed.'
'Yes, I know. Ben is fine. I just saw him in Washington. He told us that you and the villagers were in trouble.'
Ryan stepped forward and said, 'We came to get you and the oth- ers out.'
Jesse Nighthawk gazed at Ryan as if he were Dudley Do-Right, the cartoon Mountie who always arrived to save the day. Shaking his head, he said, 'You seem to mean well, but I'm sorry you came. You have put yourself in great danger by coming here.'
'We were captured as soon as we landed,' Therri said. 'It was as if they knew we were coming.'
'They have watchers everywhere,' Nighthawk said. 'The evil one told me this.'
'The 'evil one'?'
'You'll meet him, I'm afraid. He's like a monster in a heat dream. He killed Ben's cousin with a spear.' Jesse's eyes grew moist at the recollection. 'We've been working day and night clearing the forest. Even the women and children…' His voice trailed off in weariness. 'Who are these people?' Ryan said.
'They call themselves Kiolya. I think they're Eskimos. I don't know for sure. They started building in the woods across the lake from our village. We didn't much like it, but we're squatters on the land, so we don't have any say in things. Then one day they came across the lake with guns and brought us here. We've been cutting trees and dragging them off ever since. You have any idea what this is all about?'
Before Ryan could answer, there was the sound of the door being unlatched. Six men came into the garage, machine rifles draped in the crooks of their arms. Their dark faces were alike, wide with high cheekbones, and hard, almond-shaped eyes. The cruelty sculpted into their impassive expressions paled next to that of the seventh man to enter. He was built like a bull, with a short thick neck, his head sitting almost directly on powerful shoulders. His yellowish-red skin was pockmarked and his mouth was set in a leer. Vertical tattoo marks flanked his nose, which was bruised and misshapen. He was unarmed, except for the knife hanging in a scabbard at his belt.
Therri stared in disbelief at the man who had pursued Austin on the dogsled. There was no mistaking the ruined face and the body that looked as if it had been pumped up on steroids. She knew ex- actly who Jesse meant when he talked about the 'evil one.' The man swept his eyes over the new prisoners, sending chills along Them's spine as his coal-black eyes lingered on her body. Jesse Nighthawk instinctively stepped back with the other villagers.
A brutish grin crossed the man's face as he saw the fear he in- spired. He uttered a guttural command. The guards shoved Thern, Ryan and Mercer out of the building and marched them through the woods. Therri was completely disoriented. She had no idea where the lake was. If by some miracle she had the chance to escape, she wouldn't know which way to run.
Her confusion was further compounded seconds later. They were moving along a paved path toward a thick stand of fir trees that barred their way like a dark and impenetrable wall. The fat trunks and thickly grown branches were a shadowy interplay of blacks and grays. When they were yards away from the nearest trees, a section of forest disappeared. In its place was a rectangle of blinding white light. Therri shielded her eyes. When they adjusted after a moment, she saw people moving about as if she were looking through a door- way into another dimension.
They were herded through the door into an enormous, brightly lit space hundreds of feet across, and vaulted by a high, rounded ceil- ing. She looked behind her as the rectangle of forest vanished, and she realized that they had stepped into a building masked by a clever camouflage. While the structure itself was an architectural wonder, what caught their breath was the huge silvery-white airship that took up a good portion of the space inside the dome.
They gazed up in astonishment at the torpedo-shaped leviathan that was longer than two football fields. Its tail tapered down to a point that was surrounded by four triangular stabilizing fins, giving it a streamlined appearance despite its enormous size. Four massive engines in protective nacelles hung from struts below the belly of the aircraft. The airship rested on a complicated system of fixed and mov- able gantries. Dozens of men in coveralls swarmed around and over the airship. The air echoed with the sound of machinery and tools. The guards nudged the prisoners forward under the rounded nose of the airship, which loomed overhead as if it could crush them at any second. Therri had a fleeting image of what a bug must feel like just before a shoe comes down.
A long, narrow control cabin, ringed by big windows, was set into the aircraft's belly a short distance back from the nose, and they were ordered inside. The roomy interior reminded Therri of a ship, com- plete with its spoked wheel and binnacle. A man stood inside giving orders to several others. Unlike the guards, who all looked as if they had sprung from the same mold, he was tall and his skin looked as if it had been bleached. His head was shaved bald. He turned at the arrival of the prisoners and looked at them through dark sunglasses then handed off the electronic clipboard he was holding.
'Well, well, what a pleasant surprise. SOS to the rescue.' He smiled, but his voice had all the warmth of a wind blowing off a gla- cier.
Ryan responded as if he hadn't heard the taunt. 'My name is Mar- cus Ryan, the director of Sentinels of the Sea. This is Them Weld, our legal counsel, and Chuck Mercer, SOS operations director.'
'There's no need to go through the routine of name, rank and se- rial number. I know perfectly well who you are,' the man said. 'Let's not waste time. In the white-man's world, I go by the name of Fred- erick Barker. I'm called Toonook by my own people.'
'You and these others are Eskimos?' Ryan said.
'Ignorant people call us by that name, but we are Kiolya.'
'You don't fit the stereotype for an Eskimo.'
'I've inherited the genes of a New England whaling captain. What started as a humiliating liability has enabled me to pass myself off in the outside world without question, to the benefit of the Kiolya.'
'What is this thing?' Ryan said, glancing above his head.
'Beautiful, isn't it? The Nietzsche was secretly built by the Ger- mans to go to the North Pole. They planned to use it for commercial flight. It was all fitted out to take on passengers who would pay any- thing to fly aboard a real polar explorer. When it crashed, my peo- ple thought it was a gift from heaven. In a way, they were right. I've spent millions in restoration. We made improvements in the engines and their carrying capacity. The gas bags were replaced with new ones that can hold millions of cubic feet of hydrogen.'
'I thought hydrogen went out with the Hindenburg,') Mercer said.
'German airships safely traveled thousands of miles using hydro- gen. I chose it because of the weight of my cargo. Hydrogen has twice the lifting power of helium. By the means of this simplest of atoms, the People of the Aurora Borealis will achieve their rightful destiny.'
'You're talking in riddles,' Ryan said.
'Not at all. Legend has it that the Kiolya were born in the aurora, which the Inuit tribes fear as a source of bad luck. Unfortunately, you and your friends will soon learn that this reputation is well-earned.'
'You intend to kill us, don't you?'
'The Kiolya don't keep prisoners beyond their usefulness.'
'What about the villagers?'
'As I said, we don't keep prisoners.'
'Since we're doomed, why not indulge our curiosity and tell us where this aviation antique fits in.'
A cold smile crossed the pale lips. 'This is where the hero plays on the villain's vanity, hoping for the cavalry to arrive. Don't waste your time. You and your friends will live only as long as I need you.'
'Aren't you interested in learning what we know about your plans?'
In answer, Barker said something in a strange language, and the leader of the guards stepped forward and handed him one of the C- 4 explosive packets that Mercer had carefully prepared. 'Did you in- tend to do some mining?'
