‘About ten minutes,’ said Probst. The de Havilland was nearing the end of its long northeasterly flight from Greenland’s capital of Nuuk, traversing the vast empty wastes of the huge island’s central glaciers. Its destination was, quite literally, in the middle of nowhere.
As Kit had expected, the tail numbers of the two wrecked helicopters on Mount Kedarnath confirmed that the Khoils’ company had indeed hired them. As a result, he had convinced Interpol to issue a red notice on the Khoils - and now it was going to be enacted.
There were two officers of the Rigspolitiet, the Danish police service, aboard the plane, but their presence was largely a formality; Probst’s team of eight men, all armed and wearing body armour beneath their Arctic clothing, would carry out the actual mission. The objectives were simple - serve the warrant, arrest the Khoils for extradition to Interpol headquarters in Lyon, and search for evidence linking them to the artefact thefts. No advance warning had been sent ahead; the hope was that by the time their lawyers were able to take action, the Khoils would already be on their way to France.
The final preparations were being made, the team examining pictures of the building they would be searching. ‘What
‘It used to be an American radar station,’ said Nina, having found the background on the giant structure known only as DYE-A unexpectedly interesting, a piece of modern-day archaeological research. ‘Part of a chain going right the way from the Atlantic coast of Greenland across Canada to Alaska. There were four others like it in Greenland, but this one was also part of a secret operation called Project Iceworm, where they tried to hide nuclear missile bases under the ice.’
‘And everyone thought it was the Russians who were supposed to be sneaky,’ said Eddie, raising a few chuckles from those team members old enough to remember the Cold War.
‘It didn’t work out at the other sites because the glaciers weren’t stable enough,’ Nina continued. ‘The tunnels they built collapsed after a few years. DYE-A was the only place where they stayed intact, because it’s sited above an extinct volcano; the ice is trapped inside the caldera and can’t move. So they built an emergency bunker there as well, a sort of backup NORAD where they could keep running World War Three even if everywhere else got nuked. But it was never used. At least, not by America.’
‘You think the Khoils are planning to use this bunker as a hideout?’ asked Probst.
‘It’s definitely a possibility. It was designed to support people for years, if necessary.’
The German indicated a locker at the rear of the cabin where the team’s weapons were stowed. ‘Okay. As soon as we land, collect arms, and we will go to the building. Our friends from the Rigspolitiet will issue the warrant - we will make sure they are not, ah, obstructed in their duties.’ A small ripple of laughter.
The rasp of the propellers changed as the plane started its descent. ‘Better strap in,’ Eddie told Nina. He sat on one of a pair of rear-facing seats at the front of the cabin, Nina beside him. Outside the window, the spectacular auroral display played across the wings.
Pramesh Khoil stood in the eye of a hurricane of information. The infotarium around him, its hundreds of screens flashing at a dizzying rate, was a larger version of the one in Bangalore, constructed on a scale to match the huge chamber topping the former early warning station. The fifty-five-foot-high geodesic dome had once housed one of DYE-A’s three massive radar antennas; now, it was his command centre. He was raised twenty feet on a circular platform, a staircase curling down to a lower elevated walkway ringing it, from where two more sets of steps descended to the floor. Directly above him, hanging from the domed ceiling, was a large rig housing projectors for the biggest screens. A small lectern at the platform’s edge contained the sensors for the gestural control system.
Despite the visual overload, Khoil’s attention was focused on three screens in particular. One showed mostly darkness, the lights of a city seen from the air glinting like gems on black velvet; beside it, the same view was repeated with the benefit of night vision, the cityscape rendered in ghostly shades of green. Both giant projection screens were overlaid with the graphics of an aerial head-up display, an artificial horizon showing the aircraft’s course and speed, altitude and attitude.
The third, smaller LCD screen was a live feed from a news network. The President and Prime Minister of India stood on a red carpet at the majestic Rashtrapati Bhavan, the President’s official residence in Delhi, greeting the German Chancellor. The leaders of the world’s most powerful nations were assembling for the G20 summit, meeting for the evening’s opening ceremony and state banquet before the conference proper began the next day.
But, Khoil knew, there would be no next day for the attendees. The world was about to change for ever. The corrupt and decadent Kali Yuga would end, and a new, purified cycle of existence would begin.
Tonight.
Vanita stood beside him, trying to shut out the visual distraction of the other screens to concentrate on the news feed. ‘How much longer?’ she asked. ‘Are they all there?’
‘Not yet,’ said Khoil. He held out his right hand with the palm flat, fingers slightly opened, and tilted it. On the two main screens, the image of the city followed suit, the speed of the aircraft’s turn increasing slightly. ‘Be patient, my beloved.’
‘I
Khoil lowered his hand, the artificial horizons levelling automatically. ‘It will not be long now. Just another —’
A trilling sound interrupted him. ‘What’s that?’ Vanita demanded. ‘A security alert.’ A gesture, and Zec’s face appeared on one of the screens. ‘What is it?’ he asked the Bosnian.
‘Radar has picked up a plane,’ Zec told him. ‘About five minutes out - and descending.’
Khoil immediately raised both hands, fingers playing a silent concerto in the air as virtual keyboards flashed up. A radar tracking display appeared, showing the intruder’s course. A dotted line predicted its final destination: DYE-A’s long ice runway. A flick of a finger, and the aircraft’s identity was revealed, its transponder code cross- checked in a millisecond against Qexia’s vast database. ‘A government aircraft,’ he said. ‘But they would not turn up unannounced, unless . . .’ His gaze snapped back to Zec’s image. ‘Jam its radio! Shoot it down - and send a team to eliminate any survivors!’
The de Havilland shuddered, buffeted by the winds sweeping across the ice plain. Nina grabbed Eddie’s hand. ‘Ow,’ he complained.
‘What?’
‘Bloody nails, digging into me!’ He pulled open her clenched fingers.
‘I’m just nervous - we’re about to land on a glacier hundreds of miles from anywhere, and I’m pretty sure we won’t get a warm welcome.’
‘Oh, come on. You’ve been to the Antarctic - this is like Central Park in comparison. Besides, we’ve got all these guys and their guns on our side - and the Khoils don’t even know we’re coming.’
Shouts of alarm in Danish from the cockpit, the plane banking sharply—
A bright flash outside the windows - then a hole burst open in the fuselage with an earsplitting bang and the shriek of shredding metal. One of the cops was hit in the head by shrapnel, a splash of blood flying across the cabin.
The plane dropped, loose items tumbling in freefall as a freezing wind screamed through the rent in the hull. One of Probst’s men had not fastened his seat belt - he was dragged through the torn hole, the jagged metal ripping his clothing and flesh before the slipstream snatched him away.
Another light outside, the orange flicker of flames. The engine was on fire. The de Havilland lurched, the rasp of its remaining propeller rising as the pilots increased power. ‘What the hell’s happening?’ Nina shrieked.
Eddie clutched his armrests. ‘A missile! Those fuckers are trying to shoot us down!’ He twisted to look into the cockpit. The co-pilot yelled into his headset, declaring a Mayday - but from his expression was getting no reply. Beside him, the pilot struggled with the controls. The plane was dropping fast, nose angled downwards. Through the cockpit windows, Eddie saw a light in the distance, a glowing blue sphere on the snow.
DYE-A. The Khoils’ base. They would crash within sight of it.
A loud whine and a shrill grind of metal ran through the cabin as the pilot extended the wing flaps. The de Havilland’s dive started to level out. ‘Can you land?’ Eddie shouted.
Panic cracked the co-pilot’s mask of professionalism. ‘We can’t make the runway! Crash positions! Brace for
