The Ice Limit

Glinn knew he had to answer this carefully. 'I was hoping, Comandante, that we could work out an arrangement with you.'

He saw the expected anger in the captain's face, and pressed on. 'I am authorized to give you one million dollars, gold, for your cooperation.'

Vallenar suddenly smiled, his eyes veiled. 'You have it on you?'

'Of course not.'

The comandante lazily puffed on the puro. 'Perhaps, senor, you think I have a price like the others. Because I am a South American, a dirty Latin, that I am always willing to cooperate in exchange for la mordida.'

'It has been my experience that no one is incorruptible,' said Glinn. 'Americans included.' He watched the comandante carefully. He knew he would refuse the bribe, but even in the refusal there would be information.

'If that has been your experience, then you have led a corrupt life, surrounding yourself with whores, degenerates, and homosexuals. You will not leave Chile with this meteorite. I request you to take your gold, senor, and fill your mother's whorish cono with it.'

Glinn did not respond to this strongest of Spanish insults. Vallenar lowered his cigar. 'There is another, matter. I sent a man over to make a reconnaissance of the island, and he has not returned. His name is Timmer. He is my oficial de comunicaciones, my signal officer.'

Glinn was faintly surprised at this. He did not believe the comandante would bring up the subject, let alone admit the man was on a spying expedition. After all, this man Timmer had failed, and Vallenar was clearly someone to whom failure was contemptible.

'He slit the throat of one of our men. We are holding him.

The comandante's eyes narrowed, and for a moment his control seemed to slip. But he recovered and smiled again. 'You will return him to me, please.'

'I am sorry,' said Glinn. 'He committed a crime.'

'You will return him to me at once, or I will blow your ship out of the water,' Vallenar said, his voice rising.

Again, Glinn felt a twinge of puzzlement. This rash threat was far out of proportion to the situation. A signal officer was easily replaced, not of high rank. There was something more here than met the eye. His mind raced over the possibilities even as he was formulating his answer. 'That would be unwise, since your man is in the ship's brig.'

The comandante stared hard at Glinn. When he spoke again, his voice was even once more. 'Give me back Timmer, and I may consider letting you take the meteorite.'

Glinn knew this was a lie. Vallenar would no more let them go if they returned Timmer than they could return the man. The comandante, he understood from Puppup, had a fanatically loyal crew. Now, perhaps, he could understand why: Vallenar returned their loyalty just as fiercely. Glinn had believed the comandante to be a man to whom other people were dispensable. This was a side of Vallenar that he had not anticipated. It didn't fit the profile that his people back in New York had drawn up, or the background dossier he had obtained. Still, it was useful. He would have to reconsider Vallenar. At any rate, he now had the information he needed: he knew now what Vallenar knew. And his own team had had ample time to do what needed to be done.

'I will relay your offer to our captain,' he said. 'And I think it might be possible to arrange. I will have an answer for you by noon.' Glinn bowed slightly. 'And now, with your permission, I will return to my ship.'

Vallenar smiled, making an almost successful effort to cover up a simmering anger. 'You do that, senor. Because if I do not see Timmer with my own eyes by noon, then I will know that he is dead. And your lives will not be worth dog dirt under my heel.'

Rolvaag,

11:50 P.M.

MCFARLANE TOOK the call in Lloyd's suite of deserted offices. Outside the wide span of windows, a breeze had sprung up, and a swell was rolling in from the west. The great ship stood in the lee of the sheer basaltic cliffs, its hawsers strung to the shore, affixed to steel bolts in the bedrock itself. All was in readiness, awaiting the cloaking fog that Glinn said was predicted for midnight.

The phone on Lloyd's desk began to blink angrily, and McFarlane reached for it with a sigh. It would be his third conversation with Lloyd that evening. He hated this new role, a go-between, a secretary. 'Mr. Lloyd?'

'Yes, yes, I'm here. Has Glinn returned?' There was that same loud, continuous noise in the background he had heard during their last conversation. Idly, McFarlane wondered where Lloyd was calling from.

'He came back two hours ago.'

'What did he say? Did Vallenar take the bribe?'

'No.'

'Maybe he didn't offer enough money.'

'Glinn seems to think that no amount of money would make a difference.'

'Jesus Christ, everyone has a price! I suppose it's too late now, but I'd pay twenty million. You tell him that. Twenty million in gold, sent anywhere in the world. And American passports for him and his family.'

McFarlane said nothing. Somehow, he didn't think Vallenar would be interested in American passports.

'So what's Glinn's plan?'

McFarlane swallowed. He hated this more by the minute. 'He says it's foolproof, but he can't share it with us now. He says confidentiality is critical to its success —'

'What bullshit! Put him on. Now.'

'I tried to find him when I heard you were calling. Again. He's not answering his page or radio. No one seems to know where he is.'

'Damn him! I knew I shouldn't have put all my—'

His voice was drowned out by a roar of static. It returned, a little fainter than before. 'Sam? Sam!'

'I'm here.'

'Listen. You're the Lloyd representative down there. You tell Glinn to call me immediately, and tell him that's an order, or I'll fire his ass and personally throw him overboard.'

'Yes,' said McFarlane wearily.

'Are you in my office? Can you see the meteorite?'

'It's still hidden on the bluff.'

'When will it be moved onto the ship?'

'As soon as the fog rolls in. I'm told it'll take a few hours to get it into the tank, maybe half an hour to secure it, and then we're off. We're supposed to be out of here no later than five A.M.'

'That's cutting it close. And I hear there's another storm coming, bigger than the last.'

'Storm?' McFarlane asked.

The only answer was static. He waited, but the line was dead. After a minute he hung up the phone and stared out the window. As he did so, he heard the electronic clock on Lloyd's desk chime out midnight.

I'll personally throw him overboard, he'd said.

And then McFarlane suddenly understood the sound he had heard behind Lloyd's voice: a jet engine.

Lloyd was on a plane.

Almirante Ramirez,

July 25, Midnight

COMANDANTE VALLENAR stood at the bridge, staring through the binocular scope. His ship lay at the northern end of the channel, where he had an unopposed view of the activity on shore. It was a revealing sight indeed.

The Americans had brought the big tanker in against the bluff and strung hawsers to shore. Clearly, the captain of the Rolvaag knew a thing or two about Cape Horn weather. They could not know of the uncharted undersea ledge to which he had anchored the Almirante Ramirez So instead they had tethered the ship in the lee of the island, hoping to protect themselves from the worst fury of