again dissecting every layer of it, looking for the fatal flaw that he might have somehow missed. As with every previous run-through, he couldn’t find anything to worry about. There were a lot of unknowns, of course—there had to be, by definition. But that didn’t trouble him. Oversights and miscalculations—now those were different. Those he wouldn’t tolerate. A lot of effort had gone into making sure there wouldn’t be any. But unknowns were, well, unknowable. A lifetime of making questionable deals in smoke-filled rooms had taught him that unknowns weren’t worth worrying about until they materialized. If and when they did, his thoroughness, his focus, and his level of commitment would ensure that, if it pleased the Lord—he smiled inwardly at his little joke—they wouldn’t prove too hard to deal with.
His BlackBerry nudged him out of his reverie. The ring tag told him who it was, and a quick glance at the screen before picking up the call confirmed it.
The Bullet got straight to the point, as was his norm. They’d already spoken twice that evening.
“I got a call from our friend at Meade.”
“And?”
“He got a hit. A phone call, between two of the peripherals on the watch list.”
Drucker mulled the news for a beat. The Bullet, aka Brad Maddox, had initially suggested using one of his contacts inside the National Security Agency to—quietly—monitor for unexpected trouble. Although Drucker had thought the risk of exposure outweighed the unlikely benefits, it now looked like Maddox had made the right call. Which was why Maddox was in charge of the project’s security.
“You’ve heard the recording?” Drucker asked.
“Yes.”
“Is it anything to worry about?”
“I think it might be. The call itself was too brief to read either way, but its timing raises some concerns.”
Drucker winced. “Who are the peripherals?”
“One of them’s a techie, an engineer here in Boston. Vince Bellinger. He was Danny Sherwood’s college roommate. They were tight. Best buddies. The other’s Sherwood’s brother, Matt.”
A flash of concern flitted across Drucker’s eyes. “And there’s no history there?”
“Last communication we have between them goes back almost two years.”
Drucker thought about it for a moment. Two years ago, they had a natural reason to chat. The timing of this new call, though, was indeed troublesome. “I take it you’ve got it under control.”
Maddox couldn’t have sounded more detached if he’d been sedated. “Just bringing you up to speed.”
“Good. Let’s hope it’s a coincidence.”
“Not something I believe in,” Maddox affirmed.
“Me neither, sadly,” Drucker replied. Then, almost as an afterthought, he asked, “And the girl?”
“Just waiting to be plucked.”
“You’re going to need to handle that one with even more discretion,” Drucker cautioned. “She’s key.”
“She won’t be a problem,” the Bullet assured him. “My boys are ready. Just say the word.”
“It’s imminent. Keep me posted on the roommate,” Drucker added before hanging up.
He stared at his phone for a moment, then shrugged and tucked it back into his suit’s inside breast pocket. He looked out at the streaks of red and white light gliding past his wet window, and played out the next moves in his mind.
It was a good start, no question.
But the hardest part was yet to come.
Chapter 8
Amundsen Sea, Antarctica
Gracie watched the screen fade to a fuzzy gray and shook her head. The adrenaline rush was petering out, and she now felt exhausted, battered by a hurricane of exuberance, confusion, and unease. Yet another cup of the ship’s surprisingly decent coffee beckoned.
“Let’s see it again,” one of the scientists told Dalton.
Dalton glanced over at Gracie, who shrugged, got up, and headed over to the corner bar for her caffeine fix. Her throat felt dry and hoarse, and she’d lost all sense of time. The continuous, seemingly never-ending daylight didn’t help.
They’d stayed out on deck, scanning the skies, for about an hour after the apparition had vanished before heading inside for some warmth. Some crew members stayed out on watch, in case it reappeared, while Gracie and the others had crowded into the officers’ and scientists’ lounge—which sounded a lot more grand than it was—and watched the footage from both of Dalton’s cameras on a big plasma screen. Several viewings and countless cups of coffee later, they still weren’t anywhere remotely close to explaining what they’d witnessed.
The comfort zone of ascribing it to some spectacular weather phenomenon was quickly dispelled. The obvious candidates—aurora australis southern lights, fogbows, and green flashes—didn’t fit the bill. One possibility that did generate a brief debate was something called “diamond dust.” Gracie had never heard of it. Simmons had explained that it was a phenomenon that involved ice crystals that formed from the condensation of atmospheric water vapor. When these crystals caught the sunlight at a particular angle as they drifted down to earth, they generated a brilliant, sparkling effect, sometimes in the form of a halo. Which might have explained the first part of the apparition, at a stretch, and a pretty big one at that. But it didn’t even begin to explain the dazzling symbol that it had turned into.
Looking around the lounge, Gracie could see that the discussion was purely academic. Despite the heated debates and arguments, they were just grasping at straws, skirting the obvious. From the strained faces around her, from the wavering voices and the nervy eyes, it was clear that not one of those assembled really believed that this was a natural weather phenomenon. And this wasn’t a simple group of layfolk prone to flights of imagination. They were all highly qualified scientists, experts in their fields, and more than familiar with the unique conditions out there. And they’d all been seriously shaken up by what they’d seen. All of which meant one of two things. If it wasn’t natural, it was either man-made—or supernatural.
The first was easier to deal with.
Dalton frowned as he turned away from the footage. “Well if it isn’t a freak of nature, then maybe it’s some goofballs messing with us.”
“You think it could be a prank?” Gracie asked.
“Well, yeah. Remember those UFO sightings in New York a few years back?” Dalton continued. “They had half the city convinced. Turns out it was a bunch of guys flying some ultralights in formation.”
“On the other hand, no one’s been able to explain the lights over Phoenix back in 1997,” another scientist, a geophysicist with a thick goatee by the name of Theo Dinnick, countered. The sighting in question, a major event witnessed by hundreds of independent and highly credible people, remained unexplained to this day.
“You’re forgetting this was in broad daylight,” Gracie remarked.
Simmons, the paleoclimatologist with the binoculars, nodded dubiously. “If it’s a prank, I want to meet the guys behind it and find out how the hell they pulled it off, ’cause it sure isn’t something I can explain.”
Gracie glanced around the room. Her eyes settled on Musgrave, the glaciologist who’d become testy on deck, and his wife. They were both sitting back, not participating. They were clearly discomfited by the conversation, giving each other the occasional glance. Musgrave seemed really irritated, and finally stood up.
“For God’s sake, people. Let’s be serious here,” he announced. “You saw it. We all saw it. You really think something that magnificent, something that . . .
“What do you think it is?” Simmons asked.
“Isn’t it obvious? It’s a sign.”
