"You've got to be joking." Fatima's voice was barely audible.
"I am not."
Fatima stared wildly around the rest of the group. "This is insane!" she cried. "We're in incredibly dangerous territory. This is the kind of place where you survive by having a plan and sticking to it. We can't just go wandering off into the mountains, that's how you get killed." Now on her feet, she whirled around to face the Russian guide. "Alexandr, back me up here!"
Arichenkov made no reply but stood stroking his beard, his eyes closed, apparently lost in a world of his own. In three strides Fatima had crossed the floor and grabbed hold of his shoulders, shaking him and yelling at him to speak. With a laugh, he took hold of her wrists and stopped her. He looked her straight in the eye. "Fatima," he said softly, "do you not trust me to keep all of you safe? Would you not like to explore new territory, perhaps find the thing that will bring you back for your next voyage of discovery? You think this story of a Nazi ice station is a fairy tale. So do I. But what if it is not? Our supplies are plentiful, our equipment is excellent, and we are well-placed to make such a detour."
"Well-placed!" Fatima erupted. "You're insane! Have you looked at this expedition? Have you? Fewer than half these people are prepared to be here at all, let alone to be going off the beaten track on some wild-goose chase. I guarantee you that if we go wandering off into those mountains, most — perhaps all — of them are going to die. Is that what you want? Is this some kind of suicide trip for you? How can you seriously be considering this?"
Alexandr shrugged. "I am paid to guide this expedition. Where it goes is of little matter to me. For the right sum, I will take you anywhere you like. And I will get you home alive."
Unable to believe the lack of support she was encountering from Alexandr, Fatima rounded on the rest of the group. "Why am I the only one who seems to have a problem with this?" she snarled. "Are you all completely suicidal? Or am I the only one who didn't know about this? Did all of you come here specifically to play Nazi hunter?" She turned a beseeching look on Nina. "Did you know?"
"I don't know anything more than I've told you already," Nina's voice was as calm as she could make it. "As far as I'm concerned, we're here in the hope of finding some evidence that there was an attempt to establish a Nazi base here. I didn't have any plans to drag you off course. But knowing what I do of Mr. Purdue, I'm not entirely surprised. I should have made it clearer to you that he's crazy and not overly concerned with anyone's safety. I didn't know about his plan, but I have to admit that now we're here… if it's feasible to investigate properly, I think we should do it while we have the chance. Especially if we're already almost on top of it."
Fatima threw up her hands in frustrated fury and went back to yelling at Purdue, demanding to know where he got his evidence and how he could justify doing this to the rest of the group. As she got close, Ziv Blomstein stepped silently forward and stood between them. Fatima dodged to one side, determined to get to Purdue, but Blomstein blocked her again. "Hands off, Arab bitch," he growled.
Sam lunged forward and grabbed Fatima as she shrieked with rage and her fist flew back to prepare for the punch. Nina had the same idea, and between the two of them they wrestled her away from Blomstein while Purdue watched with amusement. Crazy bastard, thought Sam.
"May I say a few words?"
They turned their heads in the direction of the unfamiliar voice. The white-haired old man was kneeling next to the alcohol burner, his air of quiet composure undisturbed by the tension in the rest of the tent.
"I can understand your alarm, Dr. al-Fayed," he nodded in Fatima's direction. "I can imagine that this must be a great shock to you, and that you may feel that there is not sufficient evidence to justify going in search of the ice station. But Mr. Purdue's tale, while very exciting and dramatic, is only part of the story. I can tell you more, if you are prepared to listen. But first, I would appreciate it if someone would make some tea. My hands are not as steady as they used to be and I am not confident of my ability to work the burner."
Glad of something constructive to do, Sam hurried over and fed a fuel tablet into the burner and filled the pot with melt water. While Sam added teabags and stirred the brew, the old man began to speak.
"I haven't been properly introduced to all of you," he began, "so for those of you who do not know me already, my name is Frederic Whitsun. Admiral Whitsun, if we're being completely accurate." Sam fumbled the pot and nearly spilled its contents, catching it by sheer good luck before the boiling water could end up all over the groundsheet. Nina looked at him quizzically, but she was the only one who paid any attention. Sam gave her a quick smile and she returned her focus to the old man.
"I can tell by the looks that some of you have been giving me that you are wondering why an old man such as me is making such a dangerous trip. Let me assure you that I'm not as frail as I look — and if it proves I have overestimated myself and am truly too old and infirm to survive this environment, Mr. Purdue and Mr. Arichenkov have strict instructions to leave me to my fate. I would rather die here than risk endangering any of you.
My father's name was Witzinger. As you can imagine from the name, my family was German. My mother and I fled our homeland when I was a boy, just before the outbreak of the war, and changed our name during our time in an internment camp on the Isle of Wight. My father, on the other hand, did not escape the grip of the Nazis. He was a brilliant chemist, and in the mid-1930s they recruited him to work at Peenemünde. You can imagine, I'm sure, that this was not the kind of job offer one could refuse.
"From Peenemünde he was transferred to another location — he was unable to tell us where, but I believe he spent some time as a doctor in one of the concentration camps. Then later, he was transferred out of Germany. My mother received a heavily censored letter from him, telling her that he was being sent to a remote location. Then we heard nothing from him again, apart from a letter informing my mother of his death. To the best of our knowledge, he died in that place where he was stationed. I have come here because it is important to me that I find my father's final resting place before I myself die."
The admiral reached into his pack and pulled out a small bundle of papers. "I appreciate that you may wish to know what evidence I have to suggest that my father ended up here. Please, feel free to examine these. Some are personal letters; some are the papers that were in with my father's belongings when they were returned to my mother."
"Oh, how could I have forgotten?" Purdue chimed in. "I was so wrapped up in my own story that I completely omitted one of the best parts! I have a little tangible evidence myself — something I obtained not long ago, just before we set off." From a concealed pocket he withdrew a small notebook and added it to the papers being passed around.
Professor Matlock stepped in and took charge of the papers straight away. With ostentatious care he unfolded letters and spread them out on a sleeping bag, laying the little black notebook beside them, then stood guard over them while the others crowded around to look.
"What are they?" Fatima demanded. "What are we looking at?"
"These are the letters to the admiral's mother," Nina explained, scrutinizing the papers. "I don't see much about where he's stationed — that will be under the blacked-out bits, if he wrote anything about it at all. But these are his notes here… That's the chemical symbol for mercury, and I think this is some kind of formula. Anyone understand it?"