The Ice Limit

the storm. With any luck, the offshore breeze would keep the ship away from the dangerous rocks. Still, it was a very risky maneuver for a vessel that large, particularly a ship using dynamic positioning, if the wind should change suddenly. It would have been much safer to take the ship away from land altogether. Something pressing was keeping them nearby.

And he did not have far to look for it. He swiveled the scope back to the center of the island and the wide- scale mining operation, taking place some two miles from the Rolvaag. He had been scrutinizing it even before the American, Glinn, had arrived. A few hours before, there had been a sudden increase in activity: explosions, the frantic grinding of machinery, workmen dashing here and there, huge lights bathing the worksite. The intercepted radio traffic indicated the work crews had found something. Something big.

But they were having great difficulty with this find. First, they broke their most powerful crane trying to lift it. And now they were trying to drag the thing with heavy machinery. But the radio chatter made it clear they were having little or no luck. No doubt the Rolvaag was staying nearby in case extra men or equipment was needed. Vallenar smiled: the Americans were not so competent after all. At this rate, it would take them weeks to get the meteorite on board the ship.

Of course, he would never allow that to happen. Once Timmer was safely back, Vallenar would disable the tanker to prevent their leaving, and then communicate the news of their attempted theft. It would preserve the honor of his country. When the politicians saw the meteorite — when they learned how the Americans had tried to steal it — they would understand. With that meteorite, he might even be promoted out of Puerto Williams. It would be the corrupt bastards in Punta Arenas, not he, who would suffer. But the timing was everything...

His smile faded as he thought of Timmer, locked in the brig of that tanker. That he had killed someone was no surprise; young Timmer was a quick thinker, eager to impress. What surprised Vallenar was that he had been caught. He looked forward to the debriefing.

He did not allow himself to think about the other possibility: that the American had lied, and Timmer was dead. There was a rustle, and the oficial de guardia came up behind him. 'Comandante?'

Vallenar nodded without looking at him.

'We have received a second order to return to base, sir.'

Vallenar said nothing. He waited, thinking.

'Sir?'

Vallenar looked back out into the darkness. The expected fog was now rolling in. 'Observe radio silence. Acknowledge nothing.'

There was a faint flickering in the officer's eyes at this request, but the man was far too well trained to question an order. 'Yes, sir.'

Vallenar watched the fog. It drifted in like smoke, creeping out of nowhere to shroud the seascape. The lights of the great tanker began flickering in and out, blotted by patches of fog, until they disappeared. In the middle of the island, the brilliant light of the worksite gave way to an indistinct glow, then yielded completely, leaving a wall of darkness before the bridge. He bent his head toward the FLIR scope, where the ship was outlined in a hazy yellow.

Vallenar straightened, then stepped back from the scope. He thought of Glinn. There was something strange about him, something unreadable. His visit to the Almirante Ramirez had been brazen. It had taken cojones. And yet it bothered him.

He stared out into the fog another moment. Then he turned to the deck officer. 'Have the oficial central de informaciones de combate report to the bridge,' he said softly but carefully.

Rolvaag,

Midnight

WHEN MCFARLANE arrived on the bridge, he found a troubled-looking group of officers huddled over the command station. A claxon had gone off and all hands had been called to quarters over the ship's PA. Britton, who had sent him an urgent summons, seemed not to notice his arrival. Outside the bank of windows lay a haze of fog. The powerful lights on the ship's forecastle were faint pinpricks of yellow.

'Has he got a lock on us?' Britton asked.

'Affirmative,' answered a nearby officer. 'With targeting radar.'

She drew the back of her hand across her forehead, then glanced up and caught sight of McFarlane. 'Where is Mr. Glinn?' she asked. 'Why isn't he responding?'

'I don't know. He disappeared soon after returning from the Chilean ship. I've been trying to reach him myself.'

Britton turned to Howell.

'He may not be on the ship,' the chief mate said.

'He's on the ship. I want two search parties, one forward and one aft. Have them work their way midships. Do a high-order search. Bring him to the bridge immediately.'

'That won't be necessary.' Glinn, noiseless as ever, had materialized at McFarlane's side. Behind him were two men that McFarlane didn't remember having seen before. Their shirts bore the small circular EES insignia.

'Eli,' McFarlane began, 'Palmer Lloyd has been on the phone again —'

'Dr. McFarlane, silence on the bridge, if you please!' Britton barked. The note of command in her voice was overwhelming. McFarlane fell silent.

Britton turned toward Glinn. 'Who are these men, and why are they on my bridge?'

'They are EES employees.'

Britton paused a moment, as if digesting this. 'Mr. Glinn, I wish to remind you — and Dr. McFarlane, as the onboard representative of Lloyd Industries — that, as master of the Rolvaag, I am the ultimate authority as to the handling and disposition of this vessel.'

Glinn nodded. Or, at least, McFarlane thought he did; the gesture was so slight as to be imperceptible.

'I now intend to exercise my prerogative under such authority.'

McFarlane noticed that the faces of Howell and the other bridge officers were hard-set. Clearly, something was about to happen. And yet Glinn seemed to receive this stiff announcement without concern.

'And how do you plan to exercise this prerogative?'

'That meteorite is not coming aboard my ship.'

There was silence while Glinn looked at her mildly. 'Captain, I think it would be better if we discussed this in private.'

'No, sir.' She turned to Howell. 'Begin preparations to vacate the island. We leave in ninety minutes.'

'One moment, if you please, Mr. Howell.' Glinn's eyes remained on the captain. 'May I ask what precipitated this decision?'

'You know my misgivings about that rock. You've given me no assurances, beyond guesswork, that the thing is safe to bring aboard. And just five minutes ago, that destroyer painted us with fire-control radar. We're a sitting duck. Even if the meteorite is safe, the conditions aren't. A severe storm is on its way. You don't load the heaviest object ever moved by man when you're staring down the business end of a four-inch gun.'

'He will not fire. At least, not yet. He believes we have his man Timmer in the brig. And he seems remarkably eager to get him back safely.'

'I see. And what will he do when he finds Timmer's dead?'

Glinn did not answer this question. 'Running away without a proper plan is a guaranteed way to fail. And Vallenar won't let us leave until Timmer is returned.'

'All I can say is that I'd rather try running now than with a bellyful of meteorite slowing us down.'

Glinn continued to regard her with a mild, almost sad expression.

A technician cleared his throat. 'I've got an inbound air contact bearing zero zero nine at thirty-five miles.'

'Track it and get me a call sign,' Britton said, without shifting position or dropping her gaze from Glinn.

There was a short, tense silence.

'Have you forgotten the contract you signed with EES?' Glinn asked.

'I've forgotten nothing, Mr. Glinn. But there is a higher law which supersedes all contracts: the law and custom of the sea. The captain has the last word on matters pertaining to her vessel. And, under present