Polar Shift

The blue-eyed man said, "Thank you for having us aboard, Captain Ivanov. My name is Kurt Austin, and this is my friend and associate Joe Zavala. We're with NUMA, the National Underwater and Marine Agency."

The captain's stolid features softened. He had run into NUMA scientists a few times during his many years at sea and had been impressed with the agency's ships and the professionalism of its people.

"I'm honored to have you as my guests," he said.

The captain ordered his first mate to get the ship under way. He invited his guests to his cabin and pulled a bottle of vodka from a cabinet.

"How long before we make landfall?" Austin said.

"We'll be off Ivory Island in about two hours," the captain said.

"Then we'll pass on the vodka for now. Can we get to the island any sooner?"

The captain's eyes narrowed. NUMA or not, he was still a

"Yes, of course, if we increase speed," he said. "But I am not used to strangers telling me how fast to run my ship."

Austin couldn't miss the sour note in the captain's tone. "Maybe we'll take that vodka after all. What do you say, Joe?"

"Sun's over the yardarm somewhere," Zavala said.

The captain poured three shot glasses full to the brim and passed them around. They clinked glasses, and the NUMA men tossed down their drinks, impressing the captain, who had expected-even hoped-that his guests would gag on the high-octane liquor.

Austin complimented him on his vodka, and then said, "We apologize for diverting your ship, Captain, but it's important that we get to Ivory Island as soon as humanly possible."

"But if you are in a hurry, why didn't you just fly there in the seaplane?"

"We'd like to arrive without our presence being detected," Austin said.

Ivanov responded with a loud guffaw. "The Kotelny is not exactly invisible."

"A valid point. It's important that the ship stay out of visual range of the island. We'll go the rest of the way on our own."

"As you wish. Ivory Island is a remote place. The only people you will see are some scientists on a crazy expedition to clone woolly mammoths."

"We know about the expedition," Austin said. "That's the reason we're here. One of the scientists is a young woman named Karla Janos. We think she may be in danger."

"Miss Janos was a passenger on the Kotelny. What sort of danger is she in?"

"We believe there may be people on the island who want to kill her."

"I don't understand."

"We don't have many details. We only know that we have to get to the island as soon as possible."

Captain Ivanov snatched up the ship's phone and ordered the engine room to proceed at full speed. Austin raised an eyebrow. Karla Janos must be a remarkable young woman. She had obviously entranced the weathered old Russian sea dog.

"Another request, if you don't mind," Austin said. "I wonder if there is a clear area of the deck where Joe and I can work without interfering with the ship's crew."

"Yes, of course. There is plenty of room in the stern."

"We brought two large bags aboard. Could you see that they are brought aft for us?"

"I'll give the order right away."

"One more thing," Austin said as they rose.

These Americans seemed to have an endless list of requirements. "Yes?" he said gruffly.

"Don't put that bottle away," Austin said with a grin. "We will want it to toast Ms. Janos's safe return."

The captain's frown turned to a broad grin. He gave Austin and Zavala several bone-cracking back thumps and led the way to the main deck. He rounded up a couple of crewmen, who carried the large bags to an area behind the superstructure.

After the captain left to attend to his duties, the crewmen watched in fascination as Austin and Zavala pulled a circular metal framework from the bags.

The aluminum-tubing backpack unit enclosed a compact, two-stroke engine, a 2.5-gallon fuel tank and a four-blade propeller. They attached the framework to a narrow seat. Then they attached lines from the framework to a canopy made of ripstop nylon, which they spread out on the deck. In a short time, they had assembled the Adventure X-Presso, a French-made paraglider.

Zavala, who had piloted a wide range of aircraft, cast a skeptical eye at the paraglider.

"That thing looks like a marriage between an electric fan and a barber's chair."

"Sorry," Austin said. "I couldn't fit an Apache helicopter into the carry-on."

Zavala shook his head. "We'd better pull our gear together."

Their other luggage had been stowed in a cabin. Austin pulled a holster out of his duffel, checked the load in his Bowen revolver and stuffed extra ammunition into a fa

A crewman knocked on the door and relayed the captain's invitation to come to the bridge. When they entered the pilothouse, Ivanov beckoned them over to a radar screen and pointed to an elongated blip on the monitor.

"This is Ivory Island. We're about ten kilometers from landfall. How close do you want to go?"

There was a slight haze rising from the ice-flecked green water. The sky was overcast. Visibility was less than a mile. "Have someone keep watch through binoculars," Austin said. "When he sees the island, drop anchor."

The captain spread out a chart. "The main harbor is on the south side of the island. There are many smaller coves and inlets around the perimeter."

After conferring with Zavala, Austin decided to explore the expedition headquarters, then follow the river inland.

"We have enough fuel for roughly two hours in the air, so we'll have to keep our search itinerary tight," Austin said.

They went over their plans again and had wrapped up the discussion when the lookout said he could see the island.

"Joe and I are grateful for all your help," Austin told the captain.

"It's nothing," Ivanov said. "Ms. Janos reminds me of my own daughter. Please, do whatever you can to help her."

At Austin's request, the ship was positioned with its stern to the wind and a portion of the deck cleared for takeoff. Austin was pleased to see that the wind was no more than ten miles an hour. A stronger wind might push them backward. He knew, too, that the wind speed in the air would be higher than on the ground.

They first practiced takeoff without the canopy. The trick in a tandem takeoff was to run with synchronized leg movements and launch gently.

"That wasn't bad," Austin said after their first clumsy attempt.

Zavala glanced at the crewmen, who had been watching the practice runs with a mixture of amusement and horror. "I'll bet our Russian friends have never seen a four-legged duck before."

"We'll do better the next time."

Austin's confidence was misplaced. They stumbled halfway to takeoff, but the next two practice runs were nearly perfect. They put on their goggles, spread the canopy on the deck, extended the lines and co