Polar Shift (NUMA Files 6)

"I understand. Even if I'm not responsible for what is going on, my family has had a hand in it, according to what you've told me. I'll do everything I can to set things right."

"I knew you'd say that. We'll make landfall tomorrow. A NUMA plane will take us back to Washington. My colleagues Gamay and Paul Trout have a town house in Georgetown, and I'm sure they'd be very happy to put you up. NUMA will foot the bill for any clothes you need."

Karla did an unexpected thing. She leaned across the table and kissed Austin lightly on the lips. "Thank you for all you've done for me and for Uncle Karl. I don't know how I can repay you."

Austin would normally have responded to an opening from a beautiful and intelligent woman like Karla with an invitation to dinner. But the move so surprised him that the best he could manage was a polite "You're welcome" and a suggestion that they get some sleep.

Karla told him that she wanted to stay up a few minutes longer, and that she'd see him in the morning. They shook hands and said good-night. As he left the mess hall, Austin looked back. Karla was resting her chin on her hands, apparently deep in thought. For all his philosophical reading, Austin was at a loss when it came to the working of fate. The gods must be laughing themselves to tears at their latest practical joke. They had locked the secret that could save the world in the finely sculpted head of a lovely young woman.

33

Gant considered the final moments of the foxhunt as the most sublime. The riotous red jackets, the horn blowing, the raucous tallyhos and the thundering hooves were merely a prelude to the moment of the truth that came when the baying hounds caught the terrified animal and tore it to bloody shreds.

The prey had been unusually resourceful. The wily animal splashed up a stream, ran along the top of a fallen tree and doubled back in an attempt to throw off its pursuers. But, in the end, the pack cornered the doomed animal against a thick privet hedge Gant had had planted to funnel hunted foxes to a dead end against a stone wall. Even then, the fox had attempted to defend itself b

efore being ripped to pieces.

Gant had sent the other hunters back to his house to celebrate the satisfying conclusion. He dismounted near the hedge, and relived the fox's final moments. The hunt was a savage practice, but he considered it a metaphor for what life was all about. The life-and-death struggle between the strong and the weak.

A horse whinnied. Gant looked up at a low hill and he scowled. A horseman was silhouetted against the blue sky. No one was supposed to be riding in his fields and meadows except the foxhunters. He remounted, dug his heels in and galloped up the hill.

The man watched Gant's approach from the saddle of a chestnut-colored Arabian. Unlike the red-jacketed foxhunters, he was dressed simply in faded jeans and turquoise polo shirt. A black baseball cap with a Harley-Davidson emblem on the crown covered his platinum-silver hair.

Gant brought his mount to a wheeling stop. "You're trespassing," he snapped. "This is private property."

The man appeared unruffled, and his light blue eyes barely flickered.

"Do tell," he said.

"I could have you arrested for breaking the law," Gant said, upping the ante.

The man's lips parted in a humorless smile. "And I could have you arrested for foxhunting. Even the Brits have banned it."

Gant wasn't used to being challenged. He stood in his stirrups. "I own more than two hundred acres of land and every living thing on it. I'll do whatever I want to do with my property." His hand went to a portable radio clipped to his jacket. "Will you leave on your own or do I have to call my security people?"

"No need to call in the cavalry. I know the way out. The animal rights people won't be happy when they hear that you've had your mutts chewing up the local wildlife."

"They're not mutts. They are purebred foxhounds. I paid a great deal of money to have them brought in from England."

The stranger nodded, and picked up his reins.

"Wait," Gant said. "Who are you?"

"Kurt Austin. I'm with the National Underwater and Marine Agency."

Gant almost fell off his horse with surprise. He recovered nicely, and pasted a fake smile on his lips.

"I always thought of NUMA in terms of sea horses, not Arabian mares, Mr. Austin."

"There's a lot you don't know about us, Mr. Gant."

Gant let a momentary flash of irritation show on his face. "You know my name."

"Of course. I came here to talk to you."

Gant laughed. "It wasn't necessary to trespass in order to see me. All you had to do was call my office for an appointment."

"Thanks. I'll do that. And when your secretary asks what I want to see you about, I'll say I'd like to talk to you about your plans to trigger a polar shift."