throw, he came up on his knees, grabbed a handful of the supine opponent’s
“Give,” Gunther Rath croaked.
Raeder’s eyes were glazed with bloodlust, his mind empty of everything but absolute victory. He was so close to administering the killer blow that he had to jerk himself away, pounding a palm against the padded carpet to vent a portion of his raw aggression.
Just as quickly as the berserker fury washed over him, it faded. He stood and extended a hand to his special-projects director, a triumphant smile splitting his handsome face. “For a second there, I thought you had me.”
“For a second, I did,” Rath replied. An injury to his throat during his years as a professional judo instructor had left his voice box severely damaged. Each word rasped as if spoken over sandpaper.
His tortured voice, oft-broken nose, and large build combined to make Rath appear menacing, a man others intentionally avoided. People also thought him slow-witted because of his bulk but he had a street cunning that Klaus Raeder had identified early in their relationship.
He had found Rath in East Germany during a particularly difficult corporate takeover. In 1991, Raeder was trying to buy a factory that made industrial hot-water boilers but a nascent union movement would not agree to terms, putting the deal in jeopardy. The delay caused Raeder’s purchase price to spiral to the point where the purchase no longer made economic sense. Yet he would not give up. Never one to let legality interfere with his plans, Raeder went in search of a specific type of problem solver.
A few discreet inquiries led him to Gunther Rath, a former Olympic medal winner in judo working as an enforcer for an underworld leader. When they met the first time, Raeder saw a potential in Rath that went far beyond the petty intimidation he’d been using. The lawless scramble following the demise of communism opened unprecedented opportunities if one had the vision and the will. Raeder had little difficulty imagining the profits to be wrung from East Germany, and he saw that Gunther Rath, with his shadowy contacts, could help provide the means.
Raeder made him an offer. Break the union and he could have a permanent position in Raeder’s company. Rath had never considered his particular skills could be used in the legitimate world, so he jumped at the chance to escape his current situation. It was an opportunity for a new beginning and an escape from the mistakes that had tumbled him from the Olympic podium to the streets. The labor problem came to a quick end, following an arson attack against the labor leader’s house that nearly wiped out his family.
During his years in the East, Klaus Raeder relied on Rath to be his blunt instrument of corporate coercion. However, by the time Klaus Raeder came to the attention of Kohl AG, the two had tempered their tactics since their reputation alone was enough to intimidate. While Reinhardt Wurmbach, Kohl’s legal counsel, questioned Rath’s suitability in such a prestigious firm, Raeder would not have accepted the presidency if Rath weren’t brought in as his special-projects director.
After a few moments of rest, the two squared off again. Gunther Rath had begun teaching Raeder martial arts early in their partnership. Raeder excelled, very quickly becoming his teacher’s equal. In the past few years he’d actually become better than Rath, something he delighted in proving. The two had sparred thousands of times, and yet their workouts had never become stale because each had such drive. It was a contest of ego and desire as much as skill.
Before the first punch was thrown, a buzzing phone interrupted them.
Raeder bowed to Rath and turned away.
The
The phone was on a table near the stairs leading to the ground floor.
“Raeder.”
“Herr Raeder, it’s Ernst Neuhaus.” The head of Geo-Research’s support office in Reykjavik sounded agitated.
“Yes, what is it?” Raeder looked at a wall clock, noting it wasn’t yet six in the morning. It would be five in Iceland and another hour earlier in Greenland.
“Sir, we’ve had communications problems from Greenland. Otherwise you would have been informed last night.”
“What happened?” Raeder’s stomach tightened. Neuhaus was being obsequious, never a good sign.
“The Americans have already opened Camp Decade and they discovered a body that’s been frozen there for many years.”
“Whose?” he snapped, dreading what he was about to hear. The news, if it was what he feared, would instantly nullify his carefully laid plans.
“It appears to be the body of an American Air Force pilot.”
“Thank Christ.” Raeder sagged. Had the corpse been of one of the others, Kohl AG would have been destroyed in hours. Gunther Rath approached his superior when he saw the fleeting look of panic on his face. Raeder waved a hand to indicate that everything was all right. “He was a survivor of the cargo plane crash in 1953?”
“That’s what they think, yes,” Neuhaus answered quickly. “The Americans speculate that he survived out on the ice by living in the plane and eating provisions meant for Thule Air Force Base. Some discussed the possibility that he also ate his crewmates as well.”
“Has anyone done a detailed analysis of the body?” Raeder didn’t honestly believe that anyone could have survived the accident in the Pandora cavern and ten years of isolation, but he had to make certain.
“Not yet,” Neuhaus said. “The corpse is still in Camp Decade. The Americans want to contact their Air Force about how to proceed.”
“No!” Raeder shouted. “That can’t be allowed to happen. There are already too many people at the site. The U.S. Air Force will want to send in a full forensic team as well as soldiers to escort the body home.” He paused, thinking furiously. “The Surveyor’s Society group must be prevented from contacting the outside. Use the communications problems as an excuse.”
“That won’t be much of a stretch,” Neuhaus said. “The solar-max phenomenon has made the satellite phones at the base worthless, and the radio works only sporadically.”
“Good. Make sure they remain isolated. No one is to use the radio other than our people.” That was one problem solved, at least temporarily. “I still want that body examined.”
“That may pose a risk. None of our people have a legitimate excuse to inspect it.”
“Tell them to do it in secret.” Irritation strained Raeder’s voice. Neuhaus should have seen such a simple solution. “I don’t want an autopsy performed, just a quick examination to confirm that the man is really who the Americans believe.” Because of the compartmentalization of this project, men at Neuhaus’s level did not know who else could have infiltrated the long-abandoned base. Raeder couldn’t afford to say whose body he initially feared had been discovered without compromising security. “Just pass on my orders.”
“Yes, sir.” Neuhaus paused. “Ah, Herr Raeder, there is one more thing.”
“What?”
“We learned the identity of the woman Mercer spoke to here in Reykjavik.” Raeder heard his employee snap open a piece of paper. “Elisebet Rosmunder.”
“Who is she?”
“Her son was involved with the failed search for the C-97 back in the ’50s. Rosmunder herself is more than eighty years old.”
“Are you having her watched?”
“Yes, sir. As far as we can tell, her routine hasn’t changed since that meeting. She’s had no visitors nor has she gone to meet anyone. Do you want us to tap her phone?”
Raeder considered for a moment. He doubted her interest in Greenland went beyond the plane crash. But what of Mercer’s interest in her? With no link between the crashed cargo plane and Pandora, the mining engineer was looking up a blind alley. “No, you don’t need to tap her phone. Maintain a loose surveillance for a few days, and if she does nothing suspicious let it drop. I believe she’s a dead end.
