Subterranean

"Ah, these Americans have too many rules. Who knows which to follow and which to ignore? Do you wish a cigarette?"

"Thanks for the offer," Ben retorted. "But right now I've a date to play pool."

The restroom door was shoved open, and Khalid tromped out.

Jason put his feet back on the floor and stood up. While fastening his belt, he looked down. The Egyptian man had missed one of those plastic-wrapped cubes. It had rolled to the far side of the toilet. Jason reached down and picked it up, wondering what to do. It squeezed like firm clay. He knew he should return it to Khalid, but then he would know Jason had been there eavesdropping. He was shoving it into his pocket when his stall door popped open.

"There you are!" Ben stood before him. "Your mom thought maybe you fell in."

Jason grinned. He pushed the cube the rest of the way into his pocket.

"What've you got there, mate? Did you pinch that third cookie?" Ben's smile took the heat from the accusation.

"No," Jason said, with a hiccup of laughter. "It's nothing."

"All right, then. Let's shoot some pool."

Blakely leaned into a gust of wind as he crossed the base. The CO's office was on the far side of the camp, away from the trash dump. If he didn't need this damned equipment so badly, he would have proceeded directly to Alpha Base. But communiqués and requests by Roland failed to sway the obstinate CO. He needed those damned circuit boards; they were essential to the communications net.

He strode up the steps to base headquarters, where a guard checked his identification. Blakely gave him a sour look while waiting. A red U.S. Navy helicopter buzzed them, spraying ice and debris into the guard's cubicle. Frowning, the guard glanced up.

"You're clear, Dr. Blakely."

"Thank you." He proceeded inside. Damned rules. He continued down the corridor after hanging up his parka. The CO's corner office was on the first floor. He strode up to the secretary, a yeoman with black-framed glasses and poor posture.

"I've come to speak to Commander Sung," Blakely said before the secretary could open his mouth.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"Just tell him it's Blakely. He'll see me."

"He's quite busy at the moment."

Blakely shook his head, recognizing bullshit when he smelled it. "Tell him I'm here."

"Just a moment." The secretary punched a button on a board of yellow lights. He turned away as he spoke, but Blakely could discern the words. "Excuse me, sir, but there's a Dr. Blakely wanting to speak to you." A pause as he listened to the phone, then, in an even quieter voice, "I tried that, sir. He's insistent." Another pause, his face reddening. It didn't take much to discern the secretary was on the receiving end of a good dressing-down. The conversation finished with a final, "Yes, sir."

The secretary, beads of sweat on his forehead, turned to face Blakely again. "The commander will see you now. Thank you for your patience."

Blakely felt sorry for the yeoman. He leaned down as he passed around the desk and whispered, "Don't worry, son, everyone knows Sung's an ass**le."

The secretary grimaced. "Good luck."

You make your own luck, Blakely thought, as he pushed through the door to the inner office.

Commander Sung sat behind a wide mahogany desk so thickly lacquered it looked wet. Spread out before him were several open files. He pushed one file toward Blakely with a single finger as if repulsed by the touch. "I've read your request, Andrew."

Blakely hated when anyone called him by his first name. Especially a sanctimonious paper pusher like Sung. This was not the first time the two had locked horns. As the head researcher for the National Science Foundation, he was often in deadlock with Sung, the senior Navy officer. Oftentimes, science and the military were at odds on certain subjects-especially the scarce supplies stocked at this remote base.

Their animosity had intensified once Blakely had made his discovery of the diamond idol. He watched Sung turn green, coveting all the attention and money that had been flowing his way. Ever since, any cooperation with the military on the base was like pulling an impacted tooth.

Sung continued, a slight sneer at the corner of his lips, "I thought I already made myself perfectly clear. Those circuit boards are the last in stock. I cannot authorize their release until the backup supply arrives."

"That's bullshit, and you know it. I need those to repair a critical communications board."

Sung shrugged. "Damned unfortunate that your boards short-circuited."

"They wouldn't have if you'd supplied me with new boards instead of those ancient ones you scavenged off old equipment." He leaned his fists on the desk. "I want those new boards. I won't have you jeopardize this team."

"Then wait until the next shipment. It'll be here in three weeks."

"We've delayed long enough already."

"As CO of this camp, my decision is final." Sung rocked back in his chair.

Blakely had had enough of this bastard. He reached across the desk. Sung slid away, a look of shock on his face. Blakely suppressed a smile. The bastard thought he was being attacked. What a fool! He grabbed the phone on the desk and pulled it to him. What he was going to do was much worse.

Ignoring Sung's objections, he dialed a number and gave a password. He listened as he was connected through a series of operators. Finally, a familiar voice. Blakely answered, "Sir, I'm having trouble with the base commander." He paused. "Yes, sir. That's right. He's right here, sir."

Blakely smiled and passed the phone to Sung. "Your boss."

Sung slowly reached and took the phone. "Hello, this is Commander Sung."

Blakely watched the commander's face drain of color, then refill a bright red. Again Blakely could tell when someone's ass was getting chewed.

"Yes, I'll do it," Sung said, voice high. "Right away, Mr. Secretary. I understand the President's wishes."

SIX

JUST A MINUTE LONGER. THEN IT WILL BE OVER.

Even though Ashley was strapped securely to her seat on the Navy helicopter, she gripped the handhold above her head. A sudden bump and turn of the craft caused her grip to tighten to a white-knuckled clamp. A dull throbbing behind her eyes warned of an impending headache. Just land this damned contraption, she thought. As if in answer, the helicopter dived downward.

Jason whooped as the helicopter tilted toward the icy wall of rock. The slopes of Mount Erebus filled the entire starboard view, seemingly an endless series of snowy cliffs and black chasms climbing to heaven.