Pandora's curse

anything he forgot here could most likely be purchased in Iceland before they boarded the Njoerd for the run to Ammassalik, Greenland. He also trusted Charlie Bryce about Geo- Research being a first-class outfit. Surely they’d take care of him.

REYKJAVIK, ICELAND

Since Mercer was a geologist, this small island in the middle of the Atlantic fascinated him. Formed a mere eighteen million years ago by subsea volcanoes that were still active today, Iceland was living proof of the turbulent nature of our planet. Earthquakes were a daily occurrence, and one of the many volcanoes dotting the country erupted every couple of years. The landscape was littered with incredible geologic features — geothermal vents, ancient craters, and a mountain valley that was the only place where the mid-Atlantic ridge crossed dry land. By contrast, Greenland, its huge neighbor to the west, was once part of Pangea, the supercontinent that formed as the earth cooled. The rock there was upward of 3.5 billion years old and geologically dead.

That didn’t mean that Mercer was too keen on the place as a tourist. Iceland was rather desolate. Half of the population of a quarter million lived in and around the capital, Reykjavik. If not for the geothermal plants that provided hot water for heat and electricity, the sustainable population would have been only a fraction of that number. Also, its isolation ensured that everything was sickeningly expensive.

Reykjavik’s international airport sat on an open plain blistered by the radar domes of an adjacent American military base. As Mercer stepped through the revolving exit door of the futuristic terminal, he was hit by a blast of cold wind shrieking off the north Atlantic. The Gulf Stream, the river of warm water that flowed from Florida to Europe, passed along Iceland’s south coast and warmed the island enough to make it habitable, but by no stretch was it comfortable, even in summer. The sky was leaden, with low tumbling clouds that seemed to hang just a few hundred feet off the ground. A distant beam of sunlight made a far-off mountain glow neon green.

Mercer zipped up his bomber jacket and donned a khaki baseball cap while he waited at the curb with his two large bags. The air smelled fresh, sharp with the scent of the sea, and it only added to the unreality of his position. Eight hours ago Harry had dropped him at Dulles with the promise that he wouldn’t use the Jag, and now he was here. Though he traveled constantly, the thrill of being in a new place never wore off. It was like a flicker of lightness in his chest.

Mercer had also asked Harry to forward his mail to the satellite office Geo-Research would maintain in Reykjavik to transship mail and supplies to the team in Greenland once a week. While downloading the two hundred e-mail messages from his server, Mercer had come across a cryptic note from a lawyer in Munich about some documents being sent to him on behalf of an unnamed client. Mercer had no idea what it was about and had sent a query back. There hadn’t been a reply by the time he and Harry left for the airport, so Mercer asked his old friend to keep an eye out for it and make sure it reached him.

Mercer had been waiting for five minutes when a Toyota van pulled up to the building. The burly passenger rolled down his window. “Dr. Mercer, da?” His accent was Russian.

“I’m Mercer.”

The Russian threw open the door with a big grin. Even without the bright blue parka he was huge, taller than Mercer by at least a foot and broad across the shoulders and chest. To judge by his florid face, he appeared to be in his early fifties, but he looked like an outdoorsman and might have been younger. “Welcome to Iceland. I am Igor Bulgarin.”

Mercer’s hand vanished in his grip. “Thank you. Are you part of Geo-Research?”

“Nyet. They are all Germans. I am from Russian Academy of Science. But I am lone Russian on expedition. All others from my group are from Western Europe.” He spoke in a flood of words as if fearful they would dry up.

The driver got out of the Toyota. He was Mercer’s age and about the same build. His sour expression seemed to be a permanent feature, and he had slow, watchful eyes. Mercer made the quick assumption that the two were not working together. Bulgarin had the jocularity of an excited puppy, while the blond-haired driver seemed overly taciturn.

“This is Ernst Neuhaus,” Igor introduced. “He is head of Geo-Research support office here in Iceland.”

“Oh, how do you do?” Mercer said.

“Good evening, Dr. Mercer,” Neuhaus replied, briefly shaking hands without first removing his glove. His voice was sharp and lightly accented. “You’re the last of the Society’s people to arrive. In fact, everyone’s here except for one person from Igor’s group.”

Mercer turned to the Russian. “Is there a problem?”

“We have medical doctor coming. She is German who studies stress but not part of Geo-Research. She had accident back home and will join us on Greenland.”

“I thought your group were all meteorologists?”

“Nyet. Three of them investigate sunspots, I look for meteorite fragments, and Dr. Klein looks at us.”

“I never asked you, Igor,” Neuhaus interrupted. “Why go to Greenland to look for meteors?”

“Meteor doesn’t hit ground. Meteorite does,” Igor Bulgarin corrected. “We search on ice for same reason polar bear is white. White bear, white ice — no can see. Black meteorite on white ice, find easy. Meteorite in desert looks like all other rocks. Very hard to find.”

Mercer decided quickly that he liked the animated Russian. His less than positive reaction to Neuhaus was irrelevant since the German wasn’t going to Greenland. “Are you guys my ride to town?”

“Da. Others wait at hotel. Very boring. I volunteer to come with Ernst for something to do.”

Mercer’s luggage was tossed into the cargo section at the rear of the van, and he jumped into the seat behind Neuhaus’s. “I’m surprised Marty Bishop didn’t come to pick me up.”

“He’s getting drunk,” Igor Bulgarin scoffed. “Last night he learn that friend of his not coming on trip. Last- minute crisis cause him to cancel.”

“You mean there’s only going to be three of us opening Camp Decade?” Mercer had thought that four was ludicrous but losing Marty’s buddy meant they would be even more shorthanded.

“Mr. Bishop has already taken care of that,” Neuhaus said. “Geo-Research is sending thirty people to the ice. He’s made arrangements to use some of our workers as needed. Plus, we have enough equipment and provisions to last a couple of months for anything else you may need.”

“Da, is true,” Igor admitted with a grunt. “Four Sno-Cats with trailers, a Land Cruiser with special tires, and many, many preformed buildings that are supposed to go up like house of cards.”

“How are we getting all that equipment to Camp Decade?” Mercer asked. “It’s too much for choppers.”

Bulgarin twisted in his seat so he could look at Mercer. Although his smile was missing a tooth, it conveyed his boundless energy. “From dock in Ammassalik, everything is transferred to ice by blimp.”

Mercer must have made a surprised sound because Ernst Neuhaus elaborated. “It’s a heavy-lift cargo airship that Geo-Research leased for the job. I guess it’s only been flying a few months.”

“Believe it or not I know something about it,” Mercer said. “It’s got a semirigid body that supports four engine pods with tilt-rotors that can pivot from horizontal like an airplane’s to vertical like a helicopter’s. It’s similar to the system used in the Marines’ V-22 Osprey.”

“This type of dirigible’s a modification of Frank Piasecki’s ill-fated heli-stat. The owners call it a rotor-stat.” Neuhaus steered the van off the airport grounds and on to Route 41 for the drive to Reykjavik. “It will ferry the vehicles to the ice directly inland of Ammassalik, where you then drive them to the camp. The heavier stores and prefab buildings will be flown to the site. By the time you arrive, an advance team will have one building ready for your use while you erect everything else.”

“Sounds like this is going to be one hell of a trip.” Mercer had always been fascinated by airships. They represented something special in the world of aviation, an evolutionary branch that was as elegant as it was short- lived. Modern materials and computer-aided design, as well as the use of nonflammable helium, were creating a minor resurgence in these flying behemoths. That flicker of anticipation he’d felt since arriving was burning a little