“You’re kidding me?”
“No,” Simon answered with absolute sincerity. “I’m not kidding you.”
Max covered his eyes, squeezed his temples between thumb and forefinger, and said, “Well then. I guess we’d better get started.”
He stood up and brushed the last of the pastry crumbs from his coat. “Let’s go get packed,” he said. “We have a ship to catch.”
As they walked toward the door Simon stopped and turned to Max for a brief second. “By the way, how the fuck did you know I was here?” he asked, realizing that if they had managed to go under the radar, how could his best friend have found him.
Max anticipated the question before it was asked. “Don’t ask questions, and I won’t tell you lies,” he said with a wink.
Simon’s body went cold for an instant as he remembered the last time he had heard those words. He looked at Max with a mixture of confusion and anger as they stood five feet from the exit.
Max had some explaining to do but did not want to elaborate too much. He chose his sentence carefully. “I wasn’t involved, just watched the spectacle from the first phone call you made, this is way beyond your comprehension, and I needed to get here.”
Simon turned back toward the exit trying to take it all in.
They left the cafe shoulder to shoulder. Max asked plenty of questions-Simon was actually glad he did-but he never questioned the mission again. It was really quite simple: if Simon was committed, so was he. There was no reason to speak of it again.
Before they reached the Via Casa, Max said, “What do we have for protection?” He put up one finger to stop the inevitable joke before it began. “And don’t get cute. You know what I’m talking about.”
Simon couldn’t help but smile. “Well, we haven’t had any so far,” he said, “but I understand a weapons specialist has just joined the team.”
“Presumptuous little bastard,” he said.
They found themselves in front of Via Casa. Simon pulled up short, not sure what to do.
“Max,” he said. “Thanks for coming.”
Max waved the sentiment away. “You know I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’m just sorry it took me so long to get here. It was hard getting free of the cops.”
Simon nodded. “Don’t I know it. If it wasn’t for Andrew’s scrambler cards, we’d still be sitting in Oxford grinding our teeth.” He had given Max a scrambler card of his own just a few minutes before. Now he was better protected.
They shook hands and agreed once more on where to meet for the next leg of the journey. Simon could scarcely wait for the moment when he could introduce his best friend to the rest of the team.
“Okay, then,” Max said. “See you soon.”
“See you then.”
It seemed to be an oddly anti-climactic ending to one of the most important meetings Simon had had yet. But his mind was already rolling forward to the next meeting; the one he hadn’t mentioned to anyone-including Max.
* * *
Simon checked the time again-two fifteen. He had to meet Nastasia at three, but he hadn’t realized that the Longo Cafe was on the far side of town, and that Santiago’s greatest marvel wasn’t its majestic mountains, its beautiful women, or its stunning architecture. It was its traffic.
By two forty-five he had reached the proper neighborhood-a quiet part of town in a quaint walking district between a residential neighborhood and a commercial district. The cafe itself looked old and popular; even in mid-afternoon it was busy.
Simon chose a remote corner and sat down, snagging another quaintly old-fashioned newspaper at the door as he entered. He studied each new face that came through the front door, and noted every person who left. In between, he took a good, long look at everyone who was already there, wondering how in the world he was supposed to recognize a woman he had never met.
The tables were made of heavy, over-varnished wood. The art on the walls looked as if they had been made with a chainsaw and a blowtorch. The drinks were huge and generous, and the prices surprisingly moderate.
A slim figure with straight, jet-black hair and a worn but beautiful leather jacket suddenly loomed up in front of him, blocking his view. She was five-seven, but with heels she was much taller. She moved in so they were face-to-face. If she had a two-inch blade, Simon thought as his stomach fell, she could gut me and walk away unnoticed. How had she gotten so close? How could he have been so stupid?
“Good afternoon, Professor,” she said in a voice as smooth and warm as velvet. “A pleasure to meet you.”
Simon stood awkwardly, smoothing the legs of his pants, suddenly and quite inexplicably nervous.
She was absolutely stunning. Her eyes, slightly almond-shaped, were a blue he had never seen outside of photographs before, a glittering light aqua. She had slightly broad shoulders, graceful fingers, a slim waist, and legs that looked long and strong even in simple blue jeans. It was literally impossible to stop staring at her.
“I am Nastasia. May I sit?”
He glanced around the room in surprise, as if he had completely forgotten where they were. “Oh! Of course. Let me…”
They found nearby chairs in an instant. “Have you eaten?” she asked politely.
“I’m fine,” he told her.
She nodded, graceful as a flower bobbing on a stalk. “All right then.” She looked up at him, squarely into his face, and he was completely swallowed by her light blue eyes. “Professor,” she said, “I understand you have plans to go below the surface of Antarctica.”
Simon reeled back. “How did you-”
“I assume, then, that you have all the gear that’s needed to sustain the extreme temperatures you’ll find down there?”
“The note,” Simon whispered.
“I thought not.”
“In my passport. How did you-”
But Nastasia just continued. “But no matter, it’s all been taken care of. The last German team that went down about three hundred feet below the surface had spent a fortune on hi-tech gear, and when the quarantine took effect, they had to find channels to sell this stuff. I’ve convinced the authorities that I’ve bought it out of sheer scientific interest. As paraphernalia, of sorts.”
Simon was speechless.
“And furthermore, I assume you have someone on your team who can navigate the terrain below the ice? Someone who can guide you to Station 35?”
Simon was speechless.
“No again?” Nastasia leaned forward and told him with a delicate voice and a small smile, “Then Professor Fitzgerald, I have a proposition for you.”
VALPARAISO, CHILE
De Costa Azul Shipyard
It was well past midnight when Simon’s cab pulled up to a remote warehouse near Valparaiso’s largest shipyard. It was cold. He was tired, and the persistent coastal fog was seeping into him with a relentless chill that made his bones ache.
He fingered his copy of Andrew’s scrambler card in his pocket and wondered yet again if it was still working. It had to be. Without it, he and the others would be completely exposed to UNED and whoever else was watching them from the satellites and the security cams, tracing them through phone calls and RF relays and thread interrogations. Being invisible isn’t too difficult, he told himself, trying to make light of it. Trying…and failing.
He pulled himself out of the cab and paid the driver with cash. Then he simply stood there, smiling tightly and waiting for the man to drive off. They were in the center of a lopsided square of buildings, gates, and offices. He could easily head into any of them, and he didn’t want the cabbie to have the slightest idea where he was going.
The driver eventually got the hint. Simon gave him a half-serious wave as the vehicle hummed off into the night. Only then did he turn to the southwest and head down a narrow alley strewn with sheet metal waste and trash everywhere.