Logan debated asking how he’d found out. He decided the sergeant probably wouldn’t tell him.

“So what were you looking for?” Gonzalez asked.

Logan aimed a thumb at the hatch behind him.

Gonzalez frowned. “Why?”

“That’s the north wing, right? The science section?”

Gonzalez’s expression grew guarded. “What do you know about it?”

“Not much. That’s why I’m down here.” Logan took a step forward. “You wouldn’t have a key on you, by any chance?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t use it. It’s unauthorized, off-limits. Even to me.”

“But scientific work went on there, right?”

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to answer that.”

“Look, Sergeant, I came all the way up here just to learn more about what happened beyond that door. I learned about this from sifting through a pile of recently declassified papers. It piqued my interest. I’m not a spy, and I’m not a journalist. Isn’t there anything you can tell me?”

Gonzalez didn’t answer.

Logan sighed. “Okay. What if I tell you what I know? In the 1950s this base was used not only as an early warning system. Scientific work was going on here, as well. Whether it was research, or experiments, or what, I don’t know. But something went wrong-something that shut down the work prematurely. Does that jibe with what you’ve been told?”

Gonzalez looked at him from behind the flashlight-a long, appraising look. “All I ever heard was rumors,” he said. “From the guys stationed here before me.”

Logan nodded.

“The northern wing is built deep inside the natural declivity here, basically intended as a support structure for the rest of the base. That hatchway leads to its upper level.”

“The upper level?”

“That’s right. The northern wing is completely underground. I don’t know what was inside except that it was top secret.” Gonzalez hesitated, then-despite their remote location-lowered his voice. “But word was that some strange stuff went on.”

“What kind of strange stuff?”

“No idea. The guys here before me didn’t know, either. One of them heard that a bunch of scientists got mauled by a polar bear.”

“Mauled?” Logan echoed. “In the north wing?”

“That’s what he said.”

“How did a polar bear get down here?”

“Exactly.”

Logan pursed his lips. “You don’t know if anybody talked to these scientists?”

“No idea.”

“Where did they bunk?”

Gonzalez shrugged. “C Level, I think. Anyway, there’s extra berths there that no military ever used.”

There was a brief silence before Logan spoke again. “From the background research I’ve done, it seems neither of the other two early warning bases had any detachments of scientists.”

Instead of replying, Gonzalez pointed at the warning bolted to the wall.

“What’s F-29 clearance?” Logan asked.

“Never heard of it. Now, Doctor, shall we head back upstairs?”

“One last question. How often do you come down here?”

“As little as I can. It’s cold, it’s dark, and it stinks.”

“Then I’m sorry to have put you to the trouble.”

“And I’m sorry you came all the way up here for nothing.”

“That remains to be seen.” And Logan gestured. “After you, Sergeant.”

23

Marshall strode down the corridor toward Conti’s quarters, Penny Barbour at his side. He’d wanted to bring along more of his fellow scientists, if only for a cosmetic show of numbers-to display a solidarity that, in fact, did not exist-but it had been impossible. Sully’s whereabouts were still unknown. And Marshall hadn’t wanted to disturb Faraday and Chen from their analysis. And so, ultimately, it had come down to him and the computer scientist.

As they stopped before the door, Marshall became aware of a murmur of conversation in the room beyond. He glanced at Barbour. “Are you ready for this?”

She looked back. “You’re going to do the talking, luv. Not me.”

“But you leveled with me, right?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

“Okay.” Marshall raised his hand to knock.

Just as he did, one of the voices on the far side of the door grew abruptly louder. “It goes beyond decency!” Marshall heard Wolff say. “I absolutely forbid it!”

Marshall rapped on the metal door.

Instantly, a hush fell. Ten seconds went by before Wolff’s voice sounded again, calm this time. “Come in.”

Marshall opened the door for Barbour and stepped in behind her. Three people were standing in the center of the elegant room: Conti, Wolff, and Ekberg. Marshall stopped, looking at them. Conti was very pale, and Ekberg’s eyes were red and puffy. Both of their gazes were cast downward. Only Wolff stared back at Marshall, his narrow face inscrutable.

Marshall took a deep breath. “Mr. Conti, the deadline you imposed still has an hour to run. But I don’t need any more time.”

Conti looked up at him briefly, then looked away.

“I’ve spoken to my colleagues. And I’m convinced that none of them had anything to do with the cat going missing.” This was mostly true: Barbour had almost bitten his head off when he’d asked if she knew what happened to the cat, and if Faraday was responsible he wouldn’t be in his lab now, studying its disappearance. Marshall still hadn’t found Sully-and the climatologist had been acting a little strange-but Sully surely couldn’t have acted alone.

Conti didn’t answer, and Marshall continued. “Furthermore, I find your bullying tactics and intimidation insulting. And this insistence that somebody sabotaged your show-that there’s some conspiracy to force you into leaving the site-borders on the paranoid. Go ahead and make your revised documentary if it will help soothe your vanity. But if you say, or intimate, or allege anything about me or my colleagues that in any way deviates from pure fact, you and Terra Prime can expect to hear immediately from a large and very angry group of lawyers.”

“All right,” said Wolff. “You’ve made your point.”

Marshall didn’t reply. He looked from Conti to Wolff and back again. He realized his heart was hammering and he was breathing hard.

Wolff continued to look at him. “Now if there’s nothing else, would you mind leaving?”

Marshall returned his gaze to Conti. At last the director looked up at him, nodded almost imperceptibly. It wasn’t even clear whether he’d heard a single word of the exchange.

It seemed there was nothing else to say. Marshall glanced at Barbour, gestured toward the door.

“Aren’t you going to tell them?” Ekberg asked, very quietly.

Marshall looked at her. The field producer was looking from Conti to Wolff, a haunted expression on her face.

“Tell us what?” Marshall asked.

Wolff frowned, made a small suppressing gesture.

“You can’t keep it secret,” Ekberg said, her voice louder now, more self-assured. “If you don’t tell them, I will.”

“Tell us what?” Marshall asked.

There was a brief silence. Then Ekberg turned toward him. “Josh Peters. One of our PAs, assistant to the supervising editor. He was found outside the security fence ten minutes ago. Dead.”

Shock lanced through Marshall. “Frozen?”

At this, Conti at last roused himself. “Torn apart,” he said.