p&c.icelimit-第50部分

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er　the　wind。　The　rock　did　not　move；　and　the　tension　began　to　mount。　The　twanging　noises　rose　in　pitch；　the　generators　roared；　and　still　the　rock　remained　stationary。　And　then；　at　the　height　of　the　cacophony；　McFarlane　thought　he　saw　the　meteorite　move。　But　with　the　wind　shrieking　in　his　ears　and　the　snow　obscuring　his　vision；　he　could　not　be　sure。
　Garza　looked　up；　smiled　crookedly；　and　gave　them　a　thumbs…up。
　〃It's　moving！〃　Rachel　cried。
　Garza　and　Stonecipher　shouted　orders　to　the　workers　below。　Beneath　the　cradle；　the　steel　runners　squealed　and　smoked。　Workers　pumped　a　continuous　slurry　of　graphite　on　the　runners　and　the　surface　of　the　cart。　The　acrid　smell　of　burning　steel　rose　to　McFarlane's　nostrils。
　And　then　it　was　over。　With　a　tremendous；　decaying　groan；　the　meteorite　and　its　cradle　settled　onto　the　waiting　cart。　The　Kevlar　straps　loosened；　and　the　generators　powered　down。
　〃We　did　it！〃　Rachel　pressed　her　index　fingers　to　her　lips　and　gave　a　piercing　whistle。
　McFarlane　gazed　down　at　the　meteorite；　now　safely　mounted　on　the　cart。　〃Ten　feet；〃　he　said。　〃Ten　thousand　miles　to　go。〃
　Beyond　the　Jaws　of　Hanuxa；　there　was　a　brilliant　flash　of　lightning；　then　another。　A　monstrous　clap　of　thunder　rolled　past　them。　The　wind　rose　in　strength；　tearing　at　the　snow；　sending　sheets　of　white　across　the　ground　and　into　the　trench。
　〃That's　it！〃　Glinn　called　out　to　the　group。　〃Mr。　Garza；　please　cover　the　tunnel。〃
　Garza　turned　toward　the　crane　operator；　one　gloved　hand　keeping　his　hood　secure　against　the　wind。　〃Can't　do　it！〃　he　shouted　back。　〃The　wind's　too　strong。　It'll　topple　the　boom。〃
　Glinn　nodded。　〃Then　pull　the　tarps　and　ribbing　over　it　until　the　storm　passes。〃
　As　McFarlane　watched；　a　group　of　workers　ran　down　both　sides　of　the　trench；　unrolling　a　tarp　as　they　went；　struggling　to　keep　it　in　place　against　the　rising　fury；　of　the　wind。　It　was　streaked　with　mottled　white　and　gray；　camouflaged　to　resemble　the　bleak　surface　of　the　island。　McFarlane　was　impressed　once　again　by　Glinn's　ability　to　anticipate　every　possibility；　to　have　a　contingency　plan　always　waiting　in　the　wings。
　Another　flash　of　lightning；　closer　this　time；　gave　a　strange　illumination　to　the　snow…heavy　air。
　Satisfied　that　the　tarp　had　been　properly　secured；　Glinn　nodded　to　McFarlane。　〃Let's　get　back　to　the　huts。〃　He　looked　over　at　Garza。　〃I　want　the　area　cleared　of　personnel　until　the　storm　passes。　Post　a　guard　at　four…hour　shifts。〃
　Then　he　motioned　to　McFarlane　and　Rachel　and　they　began　to　make　their　way　across　the　staging　area；　leaning　into　the　howling　wind。
　
　Isla　Desolacion；
　10：40　P。M。
　
　ADOLFO　TIMMER　waited　behind　a　large　snowdrift；　motionless　in　the　dark。　He　had　lain；　watching；　until　he　was　almost　pletely　buried　by　the　storm。　Down　below；　he　could　see　the　faint　glow　of　lights；　fading　in　and　out　of　the　snow。　It　was　now　after　midnight；　and　he　had　seen　no　activity。　The　cleared　area　was　deserted；　the　workers　no　doubt　sheltering　in　the　huts。　It　was　time　to　act。
　Timmer　raised　his　head　against　the　still…intensifying　blast。　He　rose；　the　wind　whipping　the　accumulated　snow　from　his　limbs。　Around　him；　the　storm　had　shaped　the　snow　into　long；　diagonal　fins；　some　more　than　ten　feet　high。　It　was　perfect　cover。
　He　moved　forward　on　his　snowshoes；　shielded　by　the　drifts。　He　stopped　near　the　edge　of　the　cleared　area。　Ahead　lay　a　pool　of　dirty　light。　Crouching　behind　a　snowbank；　he　waited；　then　raised　his　head　and　looked　around。　Perhaps　fifty　yards　away；　a　lone　shack　stood；　the　wind　moaning　through　gaps　in　its　corrugated　roof。　On　the　far　side　of　the　cleared　area；　across　from　the　shack；　he　could　make　out　the　long　row　of　Quonset　huts；　their　windows　small　squares　of　yellow。　Beside　them　were　other　structures　and　some　containers。　As　he　stared；　Timmer's　eyes　narrowed。　The　leaching　ponds　and　tailing　piles　across　the　island　had　proved　to　be　a　ruse；　a　cover　for　something　else。
　But　what？
　He　tensed。　From　around　the　corner　of　the　shack；　a　man　in　a　heavy　parka　appeared。　He　opened　the　door　of　the　shack；　looked　inside；　closed　it　again。　Then　he　walked　slowly　along　one　edge　of　the　cleared　area；　rubbing　his　mittens　together；　ducking　his　head　against　the　wind　and　snow。
　Timmer　watched　carefully。　The　man　was　not　out　for　an　evening　smoke。　He　was　doing　guard　duty。
　But　why　post　a　guard　over　an　old　shack　and　a　barren　patch　of　ground？
　He　crept　forward；　slowly；　until　he　reached　another　drift。　He　was　much　closer　to　the　shack　now。　He　waited；　motionless；　as　the　man　returned　to　its　door；　stamped　warmth　into　his　feet；　then　walked　away　again。　Unless　there　was　somebody　else　posted　inside　the　shack；　the　guard　was　alone。
　Timmer　came　around　the　side　of　the　drift　and　approached　the　building；　keeping　it　between　him　and　the　guard。　He　stayed　close　to　the　ground；　letting　the　darkness　and　the　storm　conceal　him；　careful　to　expose　only　the　white　nylon　of　his　snowsuit　to　the　circle　of　light。
　Before　he　left　the　Almirante　Ramirez；　the　andante　had　told　him　to　take　no　unnecessary　risks。　He　had　said　it　more　than　once：　Be　very　careful；　Mr。　Timmer。　I　want　you　back　in　one　piece。　There　was　no　way　to　know　if　the　guard　was　armed：　Timmer　would　assume　he　was。　Crouching　in　the　shadow　of　the　shack；　he　reached　into　his　snowsuit。　His　hand　closed　around　the　handle　of　his　knife　and　slid　it　out　of　the　scabbard；　making　sure　it　had　not　frozen　in　place。　Tugging　off　one　glove；　he　felt　the　blade：　ice　cold　and　razor　sharp。　Excellent。　Yes；　my　andante；　he　thought：　I　will　be　very；　very　careful。　He　clasped　it　tightly；　ignoring　the　cold　that　bit　into　his　fingers。　He　wanted　the　blade　warm　enough　to　cut　through　flesh　without　freezing　and　snagging。
　He　waited　as　the　storm　grew　even　stronger。　The　wind　whipped　around　the　bare　sides　of　the　shack；　howling　and　crying。　He　pulled　his　hood　from　his　head；　listening　with　his　naked　ear。　Then　he　heard　it　again：　the　soft　swish　and　crush　of　footsteps　approaching　through　the　snow。
　A　faint　shadow　came　into　view　around　the　edge　of　the　hut；　barely　visible　in　the　dim　light。　Timmer　pressed　against　the　shack　as　it　approached。　There　was　the　sound　of　breathing；　the　thumping　of　arms　as　the　man　hugged　himself　against　the　cold。
　Timmer　spun　around　the　er；　lashing　out　low　with　his　foot。　The　figure　fell　facedown　in　the　snow。　In　a　flash　Timmer　was　on　top　of　him；　knee　digging　into　his　back；　dragging　the　man　into　shadow　while　wrenching　back　his　head。　The　knife　came　forward；　scoring　deeply　across　the　man's　neck。　Timmer　felt　the　blade　grating　against　the　cervical　vertebrae。　There　was　a　soft　gurgle；　then　a　rush　of　hot　blood。　Timmer　continued　to　hold　the　man's　head　back；　letting　his　life　drain　into　the　snow。　Then　he　relaxed　his　grip　and　eased　the　body　forward。
　Timmer　turned　the　man　over　and　examined　his　face。　He　was　white；　not　the　mestizo　the　andante　had　told　him　to　watch　for。　He　patted　the　man's　pockets　quickly；　finding　a　two…way　radio　and　a　small　semiautomatic　weapon。　He　slipped　them　into　his　pocket；　then　concealed　the　body　in　a　nearby　drift；　sweeping　snow　over　it　and　smoothing　over　the　area。　He　cleaned　his　knife　in　the　snow　and　carefully　buried　the　bloody　mush。　The　fact　that　he　had　seen　only　one　guard　did　not　mean　there　could　not　be　another。
　Moving　around　the　rear　of　the　shack　and　keeping　out　of　the　light；　he　crept　along　the　edge　of　the　cleared　area；　following　the　path　the　guard　had　walked。　It　was　most　curious：　there　was　nothing　here　but　snow。　As　he　stepped　forward　again；　the　ground　yielded　suddenly　beneath　one　of　his　snowshoes；　and　he　scrambled　backward　in　surprise。　Exploring　cautiously；　on　his　hands　and　knees　now；　he　felt　something　strange　beneath　the　thin　covering　of　snow。　It　was　not　earth；　it　was　not　a　crevasse；　there　was　a　hollow　beneath　the　ground；　with　some　kind　of　cloth　stretched　tight　across　it；　held　up　by　spacers。
　Carefully；　Timmer　made　his　way　back　to　the　shadows　behind　the　shack。　Before　he　explored　further；　he　would　have　to　make　sure　there　were　no　surprises　inside。　Keeping　his　knife　poised；　he　crept　around　to　the　front；　opened　the　door　a　crack；　and　glanced　within。　It　was　deserted。　He　slipped　inside　and　closed　the　door　behind　him。　He　pulled　out　a　small　flashlight　and　swept　it　around。　The　beam　illuminated　nothing　but　kegs　full　of　nails。
　Why　would　somebody　post　a　guard　in　front　of　a　useless；　empty　shack？
　Then　he　noticed　something。　Quickly；　he　turned　out　his　light。　A　faint　line　of　light　was　ing　from　the　edge　of　a　steel　plate　beneath　one　of　the　kegs。
　Moving　it　aside；　Timmer　saw　a　trapdoor　of　banded　metal。　He　knelt　beside　it；　listening　intently　for　a　moment。　Then　he　grasped　the　door　and　lifted　it　gingerly。
　After　the　hours　of　waiting　and　watching　in　the　winter　night；　the　fluorescence　that　streamed　up　was　blinding。　He　closed　the　trapdoor　again　and　crouched　in　the　darkness；　thinking。　Then　he　removed　his　snowshoes；　concealed　them　in　the　far　er　of　the　hut；　and　opened　the　door　again；　waiting　a　moment　for　his　eyes　to　adjust。　Then；　knife　in　hand；　he　descended　the　ladder。
　Thirty　feet　down；　he　stepped　off　the　ladder　into　the　tunnel。　He　paused。　It　was　warmer　down　here；　but　at　first　Timmer　barely　noticed：　in　the　glare　of　the　light　he　felt　exposed　and　vulnerable。　He　moved　rapidly　along　the　tunnel；　keeping　low。　This　was　like　no　gold　mine　he　had　ever　heard　of。