Polar Shift

"You'll have to excuse me if I find it hard to believe that the head of a nonprofit organization and the billionaire owner of a respected software company are in cahoots to cause this so-called polar shift over some vague neo-anarchist cause."

"You can argue about specifics," Austin said, "but this is far from a vague cause. Lucifer used the bright lights of Broadway to send its message to the world and shut down New York City as a warning. I think 9/11 proved that you ignore seemingly lunatic warnings at your peril."

"Where are these so-called transmitter ships?" asked a naval officer.

"Rio de Janeiro," Austin replied.

"You said there were four ships earlier but one sank?"

"That's right. We assumed that a replacement ship would be built, but we found no sign of it, so we're assuming they're going ahead with the trio."

"This should be a slam dunk," the assistant secretary said. "I suggest we send the closest submarine to keep track of these ships, and if they engage in suspicious behavior we sink them."

"What about diplomatic considerations?" the four-star general asked. "Shoot first and ask questions later on the high seas?"

"It would be no different than shooting down a civilian airliner targeting the White House or Congress," the secretary said. "Can we do it?" he asked the naval officer.

"The navy likes a challenge," he said.

"Then that's the plan. I'll run it by the secretary of defense and we can get the ball rolling. He'll brief the president when he gets back tomorrow." He turned to Austin. "Thanks for bringing this to our attention."

"I'm not through," Austin said. "There's reason to believe we have something that will neutralize the polar shift. We may have found an antidote."

Every eye in the room stared at him.

"What sort of antidote?" the general asked more out of politeness than interest.

"It's a set of electromagnetic frequencies that we think will counter the polar reversal."

"How do you plan to administer this 'antidote'?" the assistant secretary said, "with a big spoon?"

"I've got a few ideas."

"The only antidote I'd like to use is a torpedo right up their butt," the naval officer said.

Everyone in the room except for Austin roared with laughter.

"Don't mean to be impolite," the assistant secretary said. "Why don't you work your ideas into a report and get it to my secretary."

The meeting was over. As Austin was ushered through the labyrinth of corridors, he remembered his meeting with Gant, and his impression that he was not someone whose duplicity should be underestimated.

Slam dunk, my ass, he thought.

39

The Trouts had booked a beachside hotel room with a balcony that overlooked the harbor and offered an unimpeded view of the distant shipping docks. Since arriving in Rio, they had taken turns sitting on the balcony watching the transmitter ships.

Trout brought Gamay a cold glass of orange juice and pulled up a chair beside her. "Anything happening?"

Gamay raised the binoculars to her eyes and studied a long shipping dock on the other side of the harbor. "The transmitter ships haven't moved an inch since we got here."

Trout borrowed the binoculars and inspected three ships tied up parallel to the dock.

"Did you notice that the liner is gone?"

"It was there yesterday. They must have left before we got up this morning."

Gamay had wondered what a passenger ship was doing in a cargo vessel area. They had read the name painted on the stern: Polar Adventure. But neither one of them had given the vessel much thought. They had been more interested in the three cargo ships, which were named Polaris I, II and III, after the northern pole star.

"I think we should take a closer look," Paul said.

"My thoughts exactly. I'm about ready to go for a ride."

Minutes later, they were driving along the edge of the harbor. The resort hotels thi

Standing outside the structure was a beefy guard who carried a side arm and a rifle. He was smoking a cigarette and talking to a longshoreman. Paul kept the car at the same speed so he wouldn't attract attention, but he drove slowly enough for Gamay to give the ships a quick but thorough inspection.

"Any other guards?" Trout said.

"Only the one, that I could see. There may be more on board."

"Maybe not. They wouldn't want to attract attention by having too many security guys hanging around. This could be a golden opportunity to snoop around."

"Yes, but he had a very big gun. How do you propose to get past that?"

Trout gave Gamay a lopsided grin. "I was thinking that a beautiful woman could provide a, uh, diversion."

"Here we go again. Cherchez la femme. The oldest trick in the book. Do you think he'd fall for a ruse like that?"

"You're kidding," Trout said with a chuckle. "We're talking about a hot-blooded Latin male."

"Unfortunately," Gamay said with a sigh, "I think that you're right. Okay, I'll do my Mata Hari impression, but you're buying di

A half hour later, they were back in their hotel room. Paul mixed a couple of cool rum drinks, and they sat on the balcony sipping from their glasses and taking turns watching the ships through binoculars until the sun went down.

After a di

The shipping dock had undergone a stark personality change. The trucks, longshoremen and stevedores had left for the day, and the dock area had developed a rank, sinister atmosphere. Unevenly spaced pole lamps cast yellow puddles of light that were diffused by a fog that had moved in from the harbor. A foghorn moaned in the distance.

Gamay drove past the empty berth formerly occupied by the Polar Adventure and pulled the car over and parked under a lamppost near the guardhouse. She got out of the car, stood in the light and took a swig from a bottle of rum. With noisy fanfare, she raised the hood and poked her head underneath. Then, swearing loudly in Spanish, she kicked the fender, looked around and waved at the guard. Weaving as she walked, she made her way over to the guardhouse.

The guard was a dark-complexioned, muscular man with an expression of bored suspicion on his flat-featured face. Gamay spoke perfect Spanish, but for the benefit of the guard she slurred her words. She said her stupid car had stalled, and asked him to come take a look. He glanced at the car, which was partially obscured by the shadows, hesitating.

"Don't tell me you're afraid of me with that big gun you're carrying."

She staggered and seemed to fall before she grabbed the guard's shoulder and gave him a blast of rum-soaked breath. The appeal of a sexy, drunk woman and the veiled insult to his manhood did the trick. He laughed lustily and put his arm around her shoulder. Gamay laughed too, and they made their way back to the car.