White Death (NUMA Files 4)

"Spoken like a true lawyer," Austin said.

Therri hadn't expected Austin's quick rebuff. "What's that sup- posed to mean?" she said, a hint of coldness creeping into her voice.

"I think this is less about the whales and the walruses and dead friends, and more about your friend's ego." He turned back to Ryan. "You're still ticked off about the loss of the Sea Sentinel. She was your pride and joy. You were going to play the martyr in front of the cable news cameras, but the Danes beat you to the punch when they dropped the charges and quietly kicked you out of their country."

"That's not true," Therri said. "Marcus is-"

Ryan silenced her with a wave of his hand. "Don't waste your breath. It's apparent that Kurt is a fair-weather friend."

"Better than no friend at all," Austin said. He pointed toward the statue of Roosevelt. "Maybe you should go back and read that guy s resume again. He didn't ask others to stick their necks out. Sorry to hear about your cousin, Ben, and about Josh Green. Nice to see you again, Therri."

Austin had had his fill ofRyan's self-aggrandizement. He'd been hopeful when he heard Nighthawk's story, but angry at Ryan for slamming the door on a possible lead. He was striding down the path when he heard footsteps from behind. Therri had followed him from the memorial. She caught up with him and grabbed him lightly by the arm. "Kurt, please reconsider. Marcus really needs your help."

"I can see that. But I can't agree to his conditions."

"We can work something out," she pleaded.

"If you and Ben want help from NUMA, you'll have to cut loose from Ryan."

"I can't do that," she said, bringing the power other lovely eyes to bear.

"

I think you can," Austin said, boring back with his own, equally intense gaze.

"Damnit, Austin," she said with exasperation, "you're one stub- born bastard."

Austin chuckled. "Does that mean you won't go out to dinner with me?"

Therri's face darkened with anger, and she spun on her heel and strode off along the path. Austin watched her until she disappeared around a curve. He shook his head. The sacrifices I make for NUMA, he thought. He started off toward the parking lot, only to stop short a minute later when a figure popped out of the woods. It was Ben Nighthawk.

"I made an excuse to get away," Nighthawk said breathlessly. "I told Marcus I had to use the rest room. I had to talk to you. I don't blame you for not wanting to hook up with SOS. Marcus has let all Ac publicity go to his head. He thinks he's Wyatt Earp. But I saw those guys kill my cousin and Josh. I tried to tell him what he's up against, but he won't listen. If SOS goes in, my family is dead meat." "Tell me where they are and I'll do what I can." "It's tough to explain. I'll have to draw you a map. Oh, hell-" Ryan was striding up the path toward them, an angry expression on his handsome face. "Call me," Austin said.

Ben nodded and walked back to meet Ryan. They became en- gaged in what looked like a heated discussion. Then Ryan put his arm around Ben and guided him back to the memorial. He turned back once, to glare at Austin, who shrugged off the evil eye and headed back to his car.

Twenty minutes later, Austin strolled into the Air and Space Museum on Independence Avenue. He took the elevator to the third floor, and was headed toward the library, when he encountered a middle-aged man in a wrinkled tan suit who had stepped out of a side room.

"Kurt Austin, as I live and breathe!" the man said.

"I wondered if I'd bump into you, Mac."

"Always a good chance of that around here. I practically live within these walls. How's the pride ofNUMA these days?"

"Fine. How's the Smithsonian's answer to St. Julien Perlmutter?"

MacDougal chortled at the question. Tall and lean, with fine sandy hair and a hawk-nose that dominated his narrow face, he was the physical antithesis of the portly Perlmutter. But what he lacked in girth he made up for with an encyclopedic knowledge of air history that was every bit the equivalent of Perlmutter's grasp of the sea.

"St. Julien carries much more, um, weight in the historical world than I do," he said, with a twinkle in his gray eyes. "What brings you into the rarified atmosphere of the Archives Division?"

'I'm doing some research on an old airship. I was hoping I'd find something in the library."

"No need to go to the archives. I'm on my way to a meeting, but we can talk on the way." Austin said. "Have you ever come across a mention of an airship called the Nietzsche?"

"Oh, sure. Only one airship had that name-the one that was lost on the secret polar expedition of 1935."

"You know it, then?" He nodded. "There were rumors that the Germans had sent an airship to the North Pole on a secret mission. If it had succeeded, it was meant to cow the Allies and tout the glories of German Kultur in the propaganda war. The Germans denied it, but they couldn't ex- plain the disappearance of two of their greatest airship pioneers, Heinrich Braun and Herman Lutz. The war came along, and the sto- ries faded."

"So that was it?" "Oh no. After the war, papers were discovered that suggested strongly that the flight had indeed taken place, with an airship sim- ilar to the Graf Zeppelin. The airship supposedly sent a radio message as it neared the pole. They had discovered something of interest on the ice."