Polar Shift

YES. DON'T LET IT BEGIN. IT CAN'T BE REVERSED.

IS THERE ANY WAY TO STOP THE REVERSAL?

I DON'T HAVE SUFFICIENT DATA TO ANSWER THAT QUESTION.

Trout knew he had gone as far as he could. He turned to the others. Adler and Hibbet had the look of men who had just been given tickets for a boat ride on the river Charon.

Gamay was equally stunned, but she had a calm expression on her face and determination in her eyes. 'There's something here that doesn't make sense. Why would anyone do something that could mean the end of the world and of themselves?'

Trout scratched his head. 'Maybe it's the old adage of playing with fire. It could be that they don't know the danger of what they're doing.'

Gamay shook her head. 'The capacity of our species for bone-headed actions never seems to amaze me.'

'Cheer up,' Trout said. 'Pardon the gallows humor, but if this goes through there won't be any species.'

29

Most of the Americans Captain Ivanov had encountered were tourists on adventure excursions around the New Siberian Sea. They tended to be affluent and middle-aged, armed with cameras and spotting scopes, and intrepid in their pursuit of one rare bird or another. But the two men who had descended from the sky and boarded his ship as if they owned it were cut from a different mold.

The seaplane carrying Austin and Zavala had caught up with the Russian icebreaker Kotelny northwest of Wrangel Island and touched down a few hundred feet from the vessel. Captain Ivanov ordered a boat lowered to fetch the plane's passengers. He was waiting on deck, curious about these Americans who had the political clout to commandeer his ship as their personal ferry.

The first to climb up the boarding ladder was a broad-shouldered man with pale hair and light blue eyes set in a rugged bronzed face. He was followed on deck by a slimmer, dark-complexioned man who moved with the relaxed athleticism that was a holdover from his college boxing days. They waved at the seaplane as it taxied for a takeoff.

The captain stepped forward to introduce himself. Despite his irritation, he strictly adhered to the customs of the sea. Their handshakes were firm, and behind the friendly smiles the captain detected a cool self-assurance that told him these were no bird-watchers.

The blue-eyed man said, 'Thank you for having us aboard, Captain Ivanov. My name is Kurt Austin, and this is my friend and associate Joe Zavala. We're with NUMA, the National Underwater and Marine Agency.'

The captain's stolid features softened. He had run into NUMA scientists a few times during his many years at sea and had been impressed with the agency's ships and the professionalism of its people.

'I'm honored to have you as my guests,' he said.

The captain ordered his first mate to get the ship under way. He invited his guests to his cabin and pulled a bottle of vodka from a cabinet.

'How long before we make landfall?' Austin said.

'We'll be off Ivory Island in about two hours,' the captain said.

'Then we'll pass on the vodka for now. Can we get to the island any sooner?'

The captain's eyes narrowed. NUMA or not, he was still annoyed at the directive to change course and head back to the island. The order from Naval Command had been to accommodate his visitors in whatever way they asked, but he didn't have to be happy about it.

'Yes, of course, if we increase speed,' he said. 'But I am not used to strangers telling me how fast to run my ship.'

Austin couldn't miss the sour note in the captain's tone. 'Maybe we'll take that vodka after all. What do you say, Joe?'

'Sun's over the yardarm somewhere,' Zavala said.

The captain poured three shot glasses full to the brim and passed them around. They clinked glasses, and the NUMA men tossed down their drinks, impressing the captain, who had expected-even hoped-that his guests would gag on the high-octane liquor.

Austin complimented him on his vodka, and then said, 'We apologize for diverting your ship, Captain, but it's important that we get to Ivory Island as soon as humanly possible.'

'But if you are in a hurry, why didn't you just fly there in the seaplane?'

'We'd like to arrive without our presence being detected,' Austin said.

Ivanov responded with a loud guffaw. 'The Kotelny is not exactly invisible.'

'A valid point. It's important that the ship stay out of visual range of the island. We'll go the rest of the way on our own.'

'As you wish. Ivory Island is a remote place. The only people you will see are some scientists on a crazy expedition to clone woolly mammoths.'

'We know about the expedition,' Austin said. 'That's the reason we're here. One of the scientists is a young woman named Karla Janos. We think she may be in danger.'

'Miss Janos was a passenger on the Kotelny. What sort of danger is she in?'

'We believe there may be people on the island who want to kill her.'

'I don't understand.'

'We don't have many details. We only know that we have to get to the island as soon as possible.'

Captain Ivanov snatched up the ship's phone and ordered the engine room to proceed at full speed. Austin raised an eyebrow. Karla Janos must be a remarkable young woman. She had obviously entranced the weathered old Russian sea dog.

'Another request, if you don't mind,' Austin said. 'I wonder if there is a clear area of the deck where Joe and I can work without interfering with the ship's crew.'

'Yes, of course. There is plenty of room in the stern.'

'We brought two large bags aboard. Could you see that they are brought aft for us?'

'I'll give the order right away.'

'One more thing,' Austin said as they rose.

These Americans seemed to have an endless list of requirements. 'Yes?' he said gruffly.

'Don't put that bottle away,' Austin said with a grin. 'We will want it to toast Ms. Janos's safe return.'

The captain's frown turned to a broad grin. He gave Austin and Zavala several bone-cracking back thumps and led the way to the main deck. He rounded up a couple of crewmen, who carried the large bags to an area behind the superstructure.

After the captain left to attend to his duties, the crewmen watched in fascination as Austin and Zavala pulled a circular metal framework from the bags.

The aluminum-tubing backpack unit enclosed a compact, two-stroke engine, a 2.5-gallon fuel tank and a four- blade propeller. They attached the framework to a narrow seat. Then they attached lines from the framework to a canopy made of ripstop nylon, which they spread out on the deck. In a short time, they had assembled the Adventure X-Presso, a French-made paraglider.

Zavala, who had piloted a wide range of aircraft, cast a skeptical eye at the paraglider.

'That thing looks like a marriage between an electric fan and a barber's chair.'

'Sorry,' Austin said. 'I couldn't fit an Apache helicopter into the carry-on.'

Zavala shook his head. 'We'd better pull our gear together.'

Their other luggage had been stowed in a cabin. Austin pulled a holster out of his duffel, checked the load in his Bowen revolver and stuffed extra ammunition into a fanny pack. For this mission Zavala had chosen a Heckler amp; Koch .45 model that was developed for the army Special Forces. They carried a GPS, compass, portable radios, a first-aid kit and other emergency items. They wore inflatable flotation belts instead of bulky life vests, and dressed for the damp weather with waterproof outer layers over wool.

A crewman knocked on the door and relayed the captain's invitation to come to the bridge. When they entered