“Ten-seconds,” said the director as Bonnie glanced down at her notes. When the director pointed at her, she smiled into the camera.
“I’m here with well-known New York billionaire Alan Paulson and expert mountain climber and professional adventurer Jack Hobson. They recently completed an extremely dangerous ascent of Mt. Everest.” She leaned forward and engaged them with a curious but practiced expression. “What in the world makes you want to climb a mountain that,” she looked at her notes, “kills one in every six climbers?”
“Because it’s there, Bonnie,” Paulson said. “It’s as simple as that. A personal test, you could call it.”
“I understand it was a grueling climb through very dangerous conditions,” she said, addressing Jack. “Did you ever think Mr. Paulson might not make it?”
Jack felt her piercing eyes probing his body language and facial movements, looking for weakness. He straightened up in the chair and smiled. “Al Paulson is very determined and incredibly strong-willed. I never had any doubts he’d make the summit. It’s the descent that tests the best of us.”
“Apparently a former client of yours, Alex Stein, was not so lucky. Coincidentally, you were on Mt. Everest the same time he died attempting to summit the mountain. Did you see Alex Stein, and was he in trouble?”
Jack squirmed uncomfortably in the chair. “We did see Alex Stein and I recommended he turn around and return to base camp — but he was determined to continue.”
“We’re responsible for our own lives on a mountain like Everest,” Paulson cut in. “Alex knew the risks, like every world-class climber does. He was a good man. A great man, really, and we all miss him a great deal.”
Bonnie turned her attention back to Jack. “Jack you are well known to our audiences not only for guiding Alan Paulson up Mt. Everest, but also for a host of other extreme adventures.” She glanced again at her notes. “I understand you’re in the planning process of another trip to Mt. Everest for our show.”
Jack nodded. “Much depends upon the weather and permits, but it should be quite a live broadcast for your audience.”
She turned her attention back to the billionaire. “What is your next great adventure, Mr. Paulson?”
Paulson leaned back in the chair and smiled. “I think I’m done risking my neck — at least for a while.”
“Oh?” Bonnie mocked surprise.
Oh is right, thought Jack. Oh shit.
“I understand you’re traveling to the continent of Antarctica, repairing and possibly even flying a World War II-era B-29 bomber off the ice.” Bonnie smiled sweetly. “Is that true?”
CHAPTER 31
There was a rapid knock on Secretary Emerson’s door. The Secretary glanced up from a stack of paperwork as the door glided open.
“Are you watching the Morning Show, sir?”
Emerson looked at the flat screen in his office, now hosting a 24-hour news network.
“What have I missed?”
“That rich guy, Alan Paulson, he’s planning some kind of expedition to the interior of Antarctica.”
Emerson reached for his television remote and switched channels. “Have we authorized him to be in Antarctica?”
“Not that I remember, sir.”
He instantly recognized the face of the host: Ms. Bonnie Glass. The White House communication director had nicknamed her the Coifed Crocodile after she’d nailed him more than once with a disarming smile and a trunkful of unnamed sources.
“Mr. Paulson,” Glass said as Emerson turned up the sound, “I understand you’re attempting to salvage a World War II B-29 bomber that crashed in central Antarctica nearly fifty years ago while on a surveying mission by the Chilean Air Force.”
Emerson blinked in surprise, and then gestured toward his assistant. “Make sure we have a record of this.”
“According to our reports,” Glass continued, “a Russian transport aircraft crashed near the bomber during a salvage attempt.” Like an Academy Award-winning actress, Bonnie Glass changed her expression to one of serious concern. “In light of the President’s restrictions on Antarctica and the fact that this bomber lies in territory claimed by the former Soviet Union, doesn’t this seem like a risky venture?”
Emerson bounced his pen off the top of his desk, watching it fly into the wall from the force. This was a direct slap in the face of his boss’s new unilateral environmental policy on Antarctica.
“The story of the Tortugas is well known to aviation enthusiasts,” replied Paulson, his expression conceding nothing to the crocodile. With an expression every bit as practiced and perfect as the television anchor’s, Paulson continued, “As you know, I have experience in removing World War II aircraft out of rugged environments.” Paulson hesitated. “I’m not sure after spending fifty years in that harsh a climate, this aircraft could be salvaged, or even should be.”
Bonnie reviewed her notes. “According to certain sources, the Chilean government has given you permission to attempt the resurrection of the Las Tortugas, to keep one of the Chilean people’s most revered treasures out of the hands of those who might steal the aircraft for profit.”
Jack almost slid out of his chair at that. They’d been ambushed. The producer, who’d told Karen he didn’t have any hard information, clearly knew a lot more than he’d let on. Denying it would be nearly impossible, given the specific details the network had.
Paulson chuckled and remained the picture of cool. “Your rumor mill is running overtime as usual. I’m sure the Chileans, should they want to lay claim on the Tortugas, have the resources to handle it.” He smiled at Bonnie Glass. “If I should be asked to assist, Bonnie, you’ll be the first to know.”
CHAPTER 32
Emerson watched the morning show go to commercial. He sat down on the top of his desk and signaled his aides. “See if you can get me into to see the President this afternoon.”
“Sir, I have the Director of the BLM on the telephone. She wants to speak with you.”
Emerson shook his head. “Tell her I’m busy. Whatever it is, it can wait until I learn about this Paulson/Antarctica development.”
“She says to tell you it’s directly related to the Antarctica report.”
Wick Emerson felt the first tinges of anger working up into his chest. “Remind Ms. Simpson her job is management of domestic lands. This issue will be dealt with at a higher pay grade.”
The aide holding the telephone flushed as he listened to Teresa’s response. “She says it has to do with a Dr. Leah Andrews and, excuse me, sir, these are her words — she said to ‘Tell the prick to pick up the telephone.’”
Emerson stopped in his tracks and his face turned crimson. “Put her through.” He stomped over to his phone and picked it up, taking a deep breath as he did.
“Did you happen to catch any of the morning show?”
“Regarding this bomber retrieval in Antarctica?” he asked.
“The climbing guide who took Alan Paulson up Mt. Everest is married to Dr. Leah Andrews.”
“So he made a poor choice in a lifelong mate? I don’t understand what that has to do with an apparent B-29 retrieval in Antarc—”
The telephone dropped as Emerson searched his desk top for the photographs of the mystery pickup truck. When he found the photo with the face looking out the dusty rear window, the blood drained from his face. It wasn’t clear enough to use in a court of law, but Emerson had little doubt whose face stared out through the rear window. He slowly reached for the telephone, bringing it up to his ear.
“I told you Leah was going to find a way to get to Antarctica,” Teresa said. “She made a connection between those granite crystals found in the dwelling and something in Antarctica. Her husband and his buddy the billionaire are funding her trip to the frozen continent of international peace.”