The Ice Limit

'He should be back on the bridge by now.'

'Let's go.'

The bridge was alive with tension, faces drawn in the pale illumination. Lloyd paused in the doorway for a moment, drinking it in. Then he stepped heavily forward.

Glinn was standing at the EES console, speaking in hushed tones to his man at the keyboard. Lloyd strode toward him, enfolding Glinn's narrow hand in his own. 'The man of the hour,' he cried. If he had been angry on the plane, he seemed to have recovered his high spirits. He waved one hand out toward the structure rising out of the tank. 'Christ, Eli, that's incredible. Are you sure it's going to hold a twenty-five-thousand-ton rock?'

'Double overage,' was Glinn's reply.

'I should have known. How the hell is it supposed to work?'

'Controlled failure.'

'What? Failure? From your mouth? Heaven forbid.'

'We move the rock to the tower. Then we set off a series of explosive charges. These will cause the levels of the tower to fail in sequence, bringing the meteorite down, bit by bit, into the holding tank.'

Lloyd gazed at the structure. 'Amazing,' he said. 'Has it ever been done before?'

'Not in quite this way.'

'Are you sure it'll work?'

A wry smile appeared on Glinn's thin lips.

'Sorry I asked. All that's your department, Eli, and I'm not going to second-guess you on it. I'm down here for a different reason.' He drew himself to his full height and looked around. 'I'm not going to mince words. We've got a problem here, and it's not being dealt with. We've come too far to let anything stop us now. So I've come down to kick ass and take names.' He pointed out into the dense fog. 'There's a warship parked right off our bow. It's sent in spies. They're just waiting for us to make a move. And, goddammit, Eli, you've done nothing about it. Well, there's to be no more chickenshit wavering. Strong action is what's needed here, and from now on I'll be handling it personally. I'm traveling back to New York with you onboard the ship. But first, I'm getting the Chilean navy to recall this damn cowboy.' He turned back toward the door. 'It'll take my people just a few minutes to get up to speed. Eli, I'll expect you in my office in half an hour. I'm going to make some calls. I've dealt with this kind of tinpot political situation before.'

During this brief speech, Glinn kept his deep gray eyes trained steadily on Lloyd. Now he touched his brow with a handkerchief and glanced at McFarlane. As usual, it was almost impossible to read anything into his gaze: Weariness? Disgust? Nothing at all?

Glinn spoke. 'I'm sorry, Mr. Lloyd. Did you say you had contacted the Chilean authorities?'

'No, not yet. I wanted to find out exactly what was happening here first. But I've got powerful friends in Chile, including the vice president and the American ambassador.'

Casually, Glinn took a step closer to the EES console. 'I'm afraid that will not be possible.'

'What, exactly, will not be possible?' Surprise mingled with impatience in Lloyd's tone.

'Your involvement in any aspect of this operation. You would have done better to stay in New York.'

Lloyd's voice sharpened with anger. 'Glinn, don't go telling me what I can and can't do. I'll leave the engineering in your hands, but this is a political situation.'

'I assure you I am dealing with all aspects of the political situation.'

Lloyd's voice trembled. 'Oh really? And what about that destroyer out there? It's armed to the teeth, and its guns are pointing at us, in case you didn't notice. You've not done a damn thing. Nothing.'

Hearing this, Captain Britton glanced at Howell, and then — more significantly — at Glinn.

'Mr. Lloyd, I will say this only once. You gave me a job to do. I am doing it. Your role right now is very simple: let me carry out my plan. This is no time for drawn-out explanations.'

Lloyd, instead of responding, turned to Penfold, who had been hovering unhappily in the door to the bridge. 'Get Ambassador Throckmorton on the horn and conference him into the vice president's office in Santiago. I'll be down in a minute.'

Penfold disappeared.

'Mr. Lloyd,' said Glinn quietly. 'You may remain on the bridge and observe. That is all.'

'It's way too late for that, Glinn.'

Glinn turned quietly and spoke to his man at the black computer. 'Kill the power in the Lloyd Industries suite, and suspend ship-to-shore communications across the board.'

There was a shocked silence. 'You son of a bitch,' Lloyd roared, recovering quickly. He turned to Britton. 'I contravene that order. Mr. Glinn is relieved of authority.'

It appeared that Glinn hadn't heard. He punched in another frequency on his radio. 'Mr. Garza? I'll take that report now.'

He listened for a moment, then replied, 'Excellent. With the covering fog, let's start an early evacuation of the island. Order all nonessential personnel back on board. But follow the game plan precisely: instruct them to leave the lights on and the equipment running. I've had Rachel set the radio transmission routines to automatic. Bring the tender around the rear of the island, but be careful to always keep it within the radar shadow of the island or the Rolvaag.'

Lloyd broke in, his voice shaking with rage. 'Aren't you forgetting, Glinn, who's ultimately in charge of this operation? On top of firing you, I'm stopping all payments to EES.' He turned to Britton. 'Restore power to my suite.'

It again appeared for several moments as if Glinn had still not heard Lloyd. Britton, also, made no move. Glinn continued speaking calmly into the radio, giving orders, checking on progress. A sudden gust of wind buffeted the bridge windows, sending streamers of rain down the Plexiglas. Lloyd's face flushed a deep purple as he looked around at the captain and the crew. But no one met his eyes. The work of the bridge went on.

'Did any of you hear me?' he cried.

And then at last Glinn turned back. 'I am not forgetting that you are ultimately in charge, Mr. Lloyd,' he answered, his voice suddenly conciliatory, even friendly.

Lloyd took a deep breath, momentarily thrown off balance.

Glinn continued to speak softly, persuasively, even kindly. 'Mr. Lloyd, in any operation, there must be a single commander. You know that better than anyone. In our contract, I made you a promise. I'm not going to break that promise. If I seem insubordinate, please know that I am doing it for you. If you had contacted the Chilean vice president, all would have been lost. I know him personally: we used to play polo together on his Patagonian ranch. He would like nothing better than to give the Americans a swift poke in the eye.'

Lloyd faltered. 'You played polo with — ?'

Glinn went on, speaking rapidly. 'I alone have all the facts. I alone know the path to success. I am not being secretive for the sake of coyness, Mr. Lloyd. There is a vital reason for this: it is essential to prevent second-guessing and freelance decision making. Frankly, the meteorite bears no intrinsic interest for me. But I promised to move this thing from point A to point B, and no one, no one, is going to stop me. So I hope you understand now why I am not going to relinquish control of this operation, or share with you explanations and prognostications. As for you withholding payment, we can settle that question like gentlemen once we are back on American soil.'

'Look here, Glinn, that's all very well and good —'

'This discussion is over, and now, sir, you will obey me.' Glinn's voice, still soft, suddenly took on a steely edge. 'Whether that means staying here quietly, or disappearing into your office, or being escorted to the brig, is a matter of indifference to me.'

Lloyd stared at him, dumbfounded. 'You think you could put me in the brig, you arrogant bastard?'

The expression on Glinn's face provided the answer.

Lloyd was silent for a moment, his face almost purple with rage. Then he turned to Britton. 'And who are you working for?'

But Britton's eyes, deep and green as the ocean, were still on Glinn. 'I'm working for the man with the keys to the car,' she said at last.

Lloyd stood there, swelling in fury. But he did not immediately react. Instead, he made a slow circuit of the bridge, his creaking wingtips leaving a trail of water, until he stopped at the bridge windows. There he stood,