Vostok (22 page)

“No.”

My eyes widened. “This is true? This conspiracy stuff is real?”

She nodded. “I was sent to East Antarctica to determine the feasibility of accessing Lake Vostok from Prydz Bay. The Loose Tooth Rift is opening above a subglacial river that runs west beneath the Avery Ice Shelf before forging south to connect with Vostok’s northern basin. As for your involvement, Ben is right; we used the discovery of the Miocene fossils as an excuse to mount an exploratory mission into the lake. And your presence legitimized the ruse.”

“I don’t get it. What ruse? What mission?”

Ben took another swig of whiskey and passed the near-empty bottle back to Ming as another swath of sand rained down upon our sub. “A few years ago SOAR, the Support Office for Aero-physical Research, sent a reconnaissance flight to conduct magnetic resonance imaging over Antarctica. When they flew over Lake Vostok, their magnetometers went nuts. Scientists from Japan
and Germany later confirmed the presence of a magnetic anomaly in the subglacial lake along a rise located in its eastern sector. The affected area spans a sixty-five-mile radius. Whatever’s responsible for throwing us off-course probably packs enough juice to power every city in the world for the next hundred years.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s an extraterrestrial spaceship.”

“What else could it be?”

“Any one of a dozen things—from a localized variation in the earth’s magnetic field to the magnetism of the geology due to the impact of an asteroid. Antarctica got walloped by a huge one about 250 million years ago—killed just about every life-form on the planet.”

“Believe what you want, Zach. Eighteen months ago, my buddy at Skunkworks told me he saw engineering schematics for a thirty-seven-foot submarine named the
Tethys
. He told me it was a black-budget project designed for one purpose—to access Lake Vostok by traveling
beneath
the East Antarctic ice sheet through a network of subglacial rivers. The sub’s bow is equipped with a Europa-class Valkyrie laser, an energy-sucking beast designed specifically for Jupiter’s frozen moon. The E-class is powered by its own nuclear reactor that superheats its exterior hull plates. The conductor plates are composed of a calcium isotope that can maintain temperatures of fifteen hundred degrees Fahrenheit without compromising the metal.”

“And your friend saw this sub being built?”

“No, just the plans. The moment it gets funded, Dr. Greer will go public with photos of the E.T. ship I was assigned to bring back with me.”

Ming drained the remains of the whiskey. “The Chinese have a similar project in development. The project gets funded or derailed based on my report.”

“So you used me, the two of you. Thanks for nothing.”

“Sorry, Doc.”

“Zachary, if it means anything to you, your family will be compensated.”

I thought of Brandy raising William alone and teared up.

Ben whispered something to Ming. Then I heard him climb back into her cockpit.

A million lightyears from home, sitting alone in the dark, I watched the minutes count down, still too sober to cope with what was coming—the futile gasps, the panic. I thought of Brandy and our final minutes alone together by Urquhart Castle. I thought of William—

—my memory disrupted as the sub started rocking and filled with the sound of Ming and Ben groaning.

Great. My last few minutes on Earth will be spent listening to these two getting it on in the backseat
.

The cockpit began spinning in my head.

Less than six minutes of air left
.

I decided to record my final goodbyes on the
Barracuda’s
black box and my audio journal before I lost consciousness.

“This is Dr. Zachary Wallace. We’re marooned on Vostok’s plateau, caught in a low tide, our air supply nearly exhausted. Please tell my wife that she was the only woman I ever loved. Brandy, please forgive me for not being a better husband. To my son, William: Willy, I was so blessed to have met you. I wish… I wish I had the chance to see you grow up. I wish there was a happier ending. Just know that Daddy loves you so very much and that I’ll watch over you and Mommy from heaven. I promise.”

The countdown approached two minutes.

I closed my eyes against the whirling darkness.

“Brandy, when you see Joe Tkalec, please tell him that he was a great teacher and I should have been a better student. This whole mission, it was ego-driven. Had I acted like a real scientist instead of a celebrity—so stupid, so selfish. Forgive me.”

AUDIO ENTRY: FINLAY MACDONALD

25 SEPTEMBER 01:26 HOURS

Testing… test. This is Finlay MacDonald, True tae my Mukkers. If yer hearin’ this, then I’m deid or worse. Or maybe I’m just prepping fer my
own
memoir… seemed tae work for my friend, Zachary Wallace.

Zachary’s the reason I’m recording this entry, which I hereby authorize to serve as my
Last Will and Testament
, whereas I leave all my worldly belongings tae my sister, Brandy MacDonald-Wallace, and her son, my nephew William. Brandy, be sure tae check my savings account, as there’s a sizeable deposit jist come in. Which leads me tae tonight’s adventure and why I’m blabbing intae this device like a schoolgirl on prom night.

As I dictate this story, I’m confined inside an ADS. An ADS, William, is an Atmospheric Dive Suit tha’ looks like something an astronaut might wear fer a walk on the moon. Being self-contained and pressurized, it protects the diver against extreme pressures and the bends. But it’s a bit like carrying a cow tae market, so the joints have oil in them tae assist with movin’ aboot.

The ADS I’m standing inside of right now is called a SAM suit, which is a newer, less confining version of the JIM suit I once made my living in, workin’ oil rigs in the North Sea. I was a deep-sea plumber of sorts, fixin’ leaks in two hundred meters of water. Not a job fer the squeamish.

Wouldnae recommend this job neither, truth be told. The SAM is packed inside an aluminum pod slightly bigger than our fat Aunt Lizzy’s coffin. The pod’s attached to a sled, and the sled’s attached tae a torpedo-looking laser device called a Valkyrie which, as I speak, is burnin’ its way through a bloody mountain of
ice wit’ yers truly stowed and towed as baggage.

Ben Hintzmann, tha’ bloody bastard, the moment I saw him I teld Zach he was too full of himself tae be trusted as a pilot. Made a muck of this mission, he did. Now yers truly has tae take the plunge intae Antarctica’s frozen arse like a warm suppository jist tae save my boy and keep my sister from bein’ a widow. Bloody hell.

Jist so ye ken, Brandy, t’was the gents from NASA who recruited yer brother fer this rescue mission and not Ming Liao’s team. The eggheads woke me up from a hard night’s sleep tae tell me they had lost contact with Zachary’s submersible, which had run aground. “Run aground?” says I. “How do ye run aground in a bloody subglacial lake?”

The lead gent, whose name fer any lawsuits was Stephen Vacendak, yammered about tides and volcanic rock and such, and then he put it simple: either we get Ming and the boys some air, or they’ll be deid by mornin’.

Next thing I ken, I’m bein’ dressed and hustled out of the dome intae the frigid night. A helicopter lands and they shove me in the cargo hold. Vacendak, who’s apparently a colonel, talks tae me aboot his kayaking and mountain climbing adventures in some place called Ketchum before he hits me with the mission. “It’s easy,” he says. “The laser burns through the ice, towing the supply sled and pod. You’ll be inside the pod wearing the ADS. The laser, sled, and pod are attached by steel cable to a surface winch. Once the laser melts through the ice you’ll be lowered to the lake’s plateau. Touch down, climb out, and we’ll direct ye to the sub.

“Power is the first priority. You need to connect the fiber-optic cable to the
Barracuda
so we can remotely open the aft hatch and give you access to change out the sub’s empty air tanks. Once you save yer friend, you’ll need tae reverse the cable
connections. The Valkyrie is the first thing we’re hauling up tae the ice sheet, followed by the sled and your pod. You’ll be topside before the hole freezes over.”

Maybe these rocket scientists took me for a dumb Highlander, but I had questions—like exactly how long will I be cramped in the pod, to which he says, “Not long at all. We’ve already burrowed through, so you’ll shoot straight into Vostok. Simple.”

“Simple?” I says. “Colonel, simple is pickin’ yer nose. Carrying yerself inside an ADS on land is more akin tae pickin’ yer mate’s nose whilst the two of ye are riding high-speed motorbikes down a mountain road. One wrong move and yer on yer belly, pinned under the suit’s weight.”

Then this Colonel Vacendak fella says, “True, we’ll make it a risk worth taking.” And he offers me money tae rescue yer husband. Good money. Well, that got me tae thinkin’. First off, this entire rescue operation required serious planning and preparation. Second, ye don’t come tae Antarctica with a SAM suit unless ye’ve got an experienced diver to use it. Which means the hole they already burned through must’ve had a diver on-board, which makes me Plan-B, which means Diver-A failed in his attempt… which means he’s dead.

So’s I teld the Colonel, “Look, lad, I love Zach like a brother, but seein’ how I’m the only qualified diver on this entire bloody continent, ye’ll be payin’ me triple fer my services, with half tha’ money wired intae my account
before
I climb intae that sardine can of yers.” And he agrees without batting an eye.

Vacendak had the money wired intae my bank account before we landed in the middle of nowhere, on a desert of ice beneath a night sky sparkling with a billion stars. I climbed out into minus fifty-seven-degree temperatures and a wind that caught the open cargo hold and nearly blew the chopper over.
Two men in orange extreme weather gear grabbed my arms and led me tae a configuration of three trailers positioned bumper-to-bumper to form a triangle. In the space that separated them was a three-story, silo-shaped enclosure. There was also two trucks holding them large satellite dishes.

They led me inside the nearest trailer and through a control room to the central area, which was the launch site for the Valkyrie sled. The SAM suit hung upright on its support post like a scarecrow, its aluminum skin reflecting the portable overhead lights. As the NASA lads stripped me down tae my thermals, a serious-looking woman with brown hair and blonde highlights joined us.

“Mr. MacDonald? My name is Ashlynn Archer, and I’m here to brief you.”

“I’ve already been briefed, lass,” says I, “but do it all again if ye think it’ll help.”

“I’m not an engineer,” she says. “I’m an animal behaviorist.”

25 SEPTEMBER 05:02 HOURS

Sorry, Brandy, must’ve dozed off. Standing inside the SAM suit in this coffin is nae tha’ bad. Sorta like bein’ in a grinding, lurching down-elevator. However, there’s lights and snacks and water inside my SAM suit, and a video monitor that plays movies. I fell asleep watching
Caddyshack
.

There’s a window above my head. All’s I can see is meltwater and ice and darkness. My helmet is off, held loosely and tilted so I can see the depth gauge, which reads 3,682 meters. Guess I’m nearly—

—ahhh… ! Bloody hell! I jist went intae freefall oot the ass-end of the bloody ice sheet. Cable must’ve caught. Now we’re swaying and lowering through whit looks like a gray fog.

Thankfully, my left knee caught the helmet. I’m puttin’ it on now. I’ll record my internal communications and replay them for ye on the return trip, God willing.

25 SEPTEMBER 05:13 HOURS (Internal Recording)

“Mr. MacDonald, how was the ride?”

“Tha’ last drop near give me a heart attack. How’s aboot ye call me True, and I’ll call ye Ashlynn.”

“Mister—True—we’re lowering you to the surface. Let us know the moment you touch down, and we’ll do our best to keep your pod upright to make it easier to exit. When you’re ready to exit, let us know and we’ll open the pod’s bay doors.”

“Understood. Okay, I’m doon, but I’m leaning. Ashlynn, darlin’, have yer team take up a meter of slack before I fall oot and cannae get up.”

“Stand by. How is that?”

“Better. Thank ye, darlin’. Ye can open the doors now. Activating my night vision. Looks like I landed in a gully… shite.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I think ye dropped me intae the river bed. I jist sank knee-deep in mud and sand. Where’s the bloody sub?”

“Eleven meters on heading two-six-three. Before you head out, be sure to bring the air tanks with you.”

“I’m opening the storage container now. Six air tanks on a sled. Ye NASA folk think of everything.”

“True, don’t forget the fiber-optic cable. The adapter plug is attached to the back of the Valkyrie.”

“Got it. I’m proceeding on heading two-six-three. Stand by.”

“True, you’re breathing very hard. Your heart rate is over one-seventy.”

“Try… walking… through sand… up tae yer knees… in a metal suit.”

“Can you see the sub? It should be right in front of you.”

“It’s not here. Wait… there’s somethin’ buried. I think it’s the sub. Ashlynn, the sub’s covered. Can’t find the arse end tae load the air. Give me a moment tae rest.”

“No! True, listen to me. There’s a good chance they’re already out of air. If this rescue is going to happen—”

“Bloody hell.”

“What is it?”

“There’s water streaming around my legs. Holy shyte, looks like the beginning of a flash flood.”

“True, the tide’s rising. In a few minutes you’ll be underwater.”

“Water’s clearing the debris off the sub, but I’m sinking deeper. Where’s the bloody outlet for the fiber-optic… ? There ye are. Ashlynn, be a good lass and take up the slack from the cable before my ride home’s washed away.”

“Acknowledged. True, describe what’s happening.”

“The water’s knee-high. I nearly lost the air tanks beneath the sub. Plug’s now locked intae the outlet. Ye should have power to the sub.”

“Yes, we’ve reestablished contact. We’re opening the chassis now.”

“Okay, lass, I’m in. Six empty tanks. Popping out the cylinder in slot number one… tha’ was easy. Bugger! Havin’ trouble lifting the replacement with this bloody clasper. Come on, ye bastard. Okay, tank one’s connected.”