“Help me,” Oleg said gregariously. “North is closer to the U.S., right? Maybe get the gravitational shift going sooner.” Which would raise the seas on both sides of America higher than in the rest of the world, but not the full 25 percent bonus that Oleg wanted most. That wouldn’t come till the whole WAIS was bombed loose.
“Maybe not such a big gravity shift with just one ice shelf,” Uno told him, “but oceans would get deeper. I can guarantee that. No telling how deep because this is chaos theory, like you say, Oleg.”
Trying to butter me up. Another Americanism. Oleg knew he was watching too much American TV. But it was so much fun.
“Either one, north or south,” Uno said, “will be like blowing up a big dam so lots of ice can slide into the ocean.”
“Like a sleigh ride!” Oleg laughed.
“Sleigh ride? I don’t think so,” Uno replied soberly. “But very good chunk of ice. Hard to be so precise.”
What? “You have their launch systems.”
“Don’t you worry. I’ll take care of it.”
“How are things on board? They still dead?” Oleg laughed again. He hadn’t checked on the Delphin for a while. Didn’t like micromanaging Uno or the men whom the Ukrainian was working with on the vessel, all under severe duress. Oleg had the same well-dressed crew that had seen to the Ahearns keeping a close eye on the families of the sailors assigned to the submarine’s Operations Compartment, including the upper level where Control housed the ballast control panel, a navigation station, attack center, and more. In fact, photos of the Ahearns had even been shown to them. That was just in case they decided they didn’t want to cooperate in keeping the vessel moving through the southern ocean, though watching the rest of the crew drop dead would have persuaded most anyone to put on an oxygen mask.
“Still dead,” Uno replied.
“And Hector Gomez?”
“Don’t see much of him but he’s still kicking.”
“Try to nail down what happens when you hit those ice dams,” Oleg ordered before hanging up. “And I mean work on it,” he texted Uno promptly. The hours were ticking by. He wanted to launch tomorrow. And Uno knew that. He should be ready now.
What? Do I have to do everything? Take out life insurance on deadbeat dad? Arrange his accident? Find way to hack into White House? And now Galina was texting him: “I must see u.”
What’s going on?
Made him a horndog to think of her so worked up.
Make-up sex, he thought right away, imagining her next to him, already quivering. Are you really sorry? Super sorry? He would whisper those words in her ears, lick the curly cartilage and watch her squirm with delight. Listen to her breath grow faster. How sorry are you? Show me, bad girl, Galina. Show me.
The “bad girl” business always got her. Made her crazy. Made her do things she swore she’d never done with deadbeat dad. And now she never would. Oleg was sure of that. Deadbeat dad would never do anything to anyone again, except provide a nice death benefit to little Alexandra.
He brought up the sound on his flat screen to hear the American President, who did not race cars. He did not race horses. But he had a very racy wife. So hot. Like horrible Henry Kissinger once said, “Power is the great aphrodisiac.” Only reason toadstool like him got laid.
But the American President was starting to look like a woolly mammoth. Too tired for sex. He was getting grayer every day. All the American Presidents do. Fun to watch it happen. Like Grecian Formula 44 in reverse.
“My fellow Americans,” he started. “We face an unparalleled challenge…”
Must have been reading a boilerplate response filed under “Nuclear Bomb Threat.” But what Oleg listened for most closely was the finger-pointing. And there was lots of that. But—Ho-ho-ho—at everyone. Which meant no one. Everyone who’s a terrorist, that is. Oleg wasn’t a terrorist. Oleg was a Pirate of Diplomacy.
But now he needed to be sensitive for Galina, who texted that she was on the elevator: “I’m coming now. Now!”
He’d heard that many times before, under the most pleasing circumstances.
The elevator stopped and he opened the door, ready for some frisky fun.
But she was carrying Alexandra, arms under her knees and shoulders. The girl’s head lolled back like a rag doll’s. She looked shriveled, too, which did not arouse Oleg, who didn’t appreciate Galina bringing such sickness into his apartment. Penthouse, no less! That made Galina a very bad girl, but not a good bad girl. Just a bad girl. Nothing he would want to whisper into her ear. What did she think the penthouse was? Kiddie cancer ward? Like book by Solzhenitsyn, Cancer Ward. Great story with magnificent hero named — what else? — Oleg.
Galina rushed Alexandra to his couch and spread the girl’s bunny blanket over her, the one that matched her bunny pajamas. The girl’s eyes were slits. Such a pretty kid not so long ago. What happened? She needs to smile more. Cancer feeds on despair. Just read Solzhenitsyn. That was why they had an epidemic of cancer in America.
Galina turned to him. “What have you done?”
She sounded hurt, really upset. Not sexy.
“Done? What do you mean?”
“I’ve been busy.” She moved her hands as though they were working an invisible keyboard, then pointed both index fingers at him. “You are doing this to the world. Do you know what could happen down there?”
“Down where?” He walked to his Sub-Zero Pro. “Do you want some fresh-squeezed orange juice? From Florida, the Sunshine State, but we better drink fast. I hear it’s going to be Florida the Flood State pretty soon.”
Smiling at her. Making joke! Brushing his dark bangs aside, giving her all the moves that made her moist.
She shook her head and advanced on him. She looked murderous.
“I worked hard on those AAC files. Did you think I couldn’t figure out who developed it just because you tried to hide that from me?” She made her fingers dance on the invisible keyboard again, but Oleg noticed her eyes. On fire. “It was Professor Brian Ahearn, and he was murdered! So was his wife. They had two children, little girls even younger than Alexandra. And the prototype was stolen. Where is it? What did you do with it? And I want to see the rest of his files. You have everything, Oleg, because you took everything, or someone working for you did. I know you’ve got it. And don’t try to tell me that the plan to bomb Antarctica isn’t yours. It closes the circle, doesn’t it?”
“Circle? What circle?” He poured her some juice. “Maybe her, too?” He looked at the cancer kid. “She looks like she could use some sunshine.”
“Her? You mean Alexandra? Say her name. You haven’t used it once since I told you about the leukemia. Show some guts, Oleg. Don’t pull away because someone you love is sick.”
Someone I love? Oleg found that most presumptuous.
He watched her glance at the TV. The woolly mammoth looked like he’d been eating ashes for hours, but he was still talking. All politicians can talk. But his words hadn’t caught Galina’s eye, and they didn’t snag Oleg’s for long, either. What held their attention was a simple declaration crawling continually across the bottom of the screen: “He lies! He lies!”