“No, the new one — in Tibet. I need to speak with Dr. Chase.”
Dorian heard mouse clicks in the background.
“Dr. Chang?”
“No, Chase. Nuclear section.”
“Stand by.”
Dorian watched Naomi scratch at the robe bunched around her on the couch. He wondered how long she could hold out.
The phone clicked. A distracted voice said, “Chase.”
“It’s Sloane. Where are we with the nukes?”
The man coughed and spoke more slowly. “Mr. Sloane. We have, I think, 50, or 49 operational.”
“How many total?”
“That’s all we have, sir. We’re trying to get more, but the Indians and Pakistanis — neither will sell us anymore.”
“Money doesn’t matter, whatever it co—”
“We’ve tried sir, they won’t sell them at any price, not without a reason, and we don’t have a better story than backups for our nuclear reactor.”
“Ok, can you work with Soviet Bloc weapons?”
“Yes, but it will take more time. I think they will probably be older devices, they would need to be checked out and converted. They will likely be lower yield.”
“Fine. I’ll see what I can do. Be prepared for a new shipment. And speaking of conversions, I need you to make two bombs portable… something a small person, or… someone… tired could carry easily.”
“That will take some time.”
“How much?” Dorian exhaled. It was never simple with these freaks.
“Depends. What’s the weight limit?”
“Weight? I don’t know. Maybe 30 or 40 pounds. Wait, that’s way too much. Maybe… 15 pounds. Assume 15 or so, can you do that?”
“It will decrease the yield.”
“Can you do it?” Dorian said impatiently.
“Yes.”
“How long?”
The scientist exhaled. “A day, maybe two.”
“I need it in 12 hours — no excuses, Dr. Chase.”
A long pause. Then, “Yes sir.”
Dorian hung up the phone.
Naomi had finally broken. She was pouring herself another martini, and she tilted the bottle to him expectantly.
“Not right now.” Dorian never drank when he was working.
He thought for a minute, then picked up the phone again. “Get me the Tibet facility again. Dr. Chang”
“Chase?”
“Chang, rhymes with hang.”
The clicks were faster this time.
“Chang here, Mr. Sloane.”
“Doctor, I’m in route to your facility, and we need to make some preparations. How many subjects do you have there?”
“I think—” Chang started. Dorian heard papers shuffling, keys clacking and the man was back on the line. “382 primates, 119 humans.”
“Only 119 Humans? I thought the enrollment was much higher, the project plan is for thousands.” Dorian looked out the plane window. 119 bodies might not be enough.
“Yes it is, but, well, with the lack of results, we’ve halted human recruitment. We’ve focused more on rodent and primate trials. Should we start back up? Is there a new therapy—”
“No. There’s a new plan. We’ll have to work with what you have. I want you to treat all the humans with the last treatment — Dr. Warner’s research.”
“Sir, that therapy was ineffective—”
“Was, Doctor. I know something you don’t. You have to trust me.”
“Yes sir, we’ll have them ready. Give us three days—”
“Today, Dr. Chang. Time is one thing we don’t have.”
“We don’t have the staff or facilities—”
“Make it happen.” Dorian listened. “Hello?”
“I’m here, Mr. Sloane. We’ll make it happen.”
“One more thing. Don’t incinerate the bodies this time—”
“The risk—”
“I’m sure you’ll find a way to deal with them safely. You have quarantine rooms there, do you not?” Dorian waited, but the scientist didn’t say a word. “Good. Oh, I almost forgot. How much weight do you think the two children could support — each?”
Chang seemed surprised by the question, or perhaps distracted or worried about the last order not to destroy the bodies. “Uh, you mean, weight, as in—”
“In a backpack, if they were carrying it.”
“I’m not sure—”
Scientists — the bane of Dorian’s existence. Risk-averse, scared, time wasters. “Guess, Doctor. It doesn’t have to be exact.”
“I think, about, 10 to 15 pounds maybe. It would depend on how long or far they had to carry it and—”
“Fine, fine. I’ll be there shortly, you better be ready.” Dorian hung up the phone.
Naomi didn’t give him a chance to pick it up again. She downed the last of her martini, sauntered over to him, put her glass on the table, and straddled him, pulling her robe off and letting it drop to the floor. She reached for his zipper, but Dorian grabbed her hands and pinned them to her side, then lifted her off of him, and tossed her on the couch beside him. He punched the call button behind him.
Five seconds later, the flight attendant opened the door and when she saw the scene, began retreating.
“Stop. Stay.” Dorian commanded. “Join us.”
Comprehension spread over the young woman’s face. She gently closed the door as if she were a teenager sneaking out of her bedroom at night.
Naomi heaved herself off the couch and took the woman’s face in her hands, kissing her, then pulling her scarf off, and finally fiddling with the buttons on the blue blazer over her white blouse. Her top was off before the kiss ended, and Naomi finished the job, pushing her skirt to the floor.
CHAPTER 48
Snow Camp Alpha
Drill Site #4
East Antarctica
Robert Hunt closed the door to his portable living pod and picked up the radio.
“Bounty, this is Snow King. We have reached depth seven-five-zero-zero feet, repeat, our depth is seven-five-zero-zero feet. Status unchanged. We’ve hit nothing but ice.”
“Snow King, Bounty. We read you. Depth is seven thousand five hundred feet. Stand by.”
Robert set the radio mic on the fold-out table and leaned back in the flimsy chair. He couldn’t wait to leave this frozen hell hole. He had drilled for oil in the world’s harshest places — Northern Canada, Siberia, Alaska, and the North Sea above the Arctic Circle. Nothing compared to Antarctica.