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Maybe this cold weather gear is a cover-up " She laughed. "Get it? A
cover-up?"
Mulrooney laughed politely. She put her lipstick away. Spicer was wearing a
watch that looked as if it belonged on a man's wrist instead of a woman's.
"What time have you got?"
"Five to six at least that's the time if we're still in the Eastern Zone and
maybe we are."
"Five to six gotcha. Thanks, Margaret, uh, Meg." Mulrooney started for the
door.
She stopped abruptly. She walked back to the bunk, picked up her notebook and
put it into her purse. "I'm a writer. You never know when you might need to
take some notes." And she started for the door again.
* * *
The officers' mess was a good-size room, Culhane noted. He'd been memorizing
everything he could to use the data in a book someday. Nuclear submarines and
their workings were one of the most closely guarded secrets of any nation, and
for an adventure writer, closely guarded secrets always represented problems.
To write about helicopter chase scenes, it helps if you've flown in a
helicopter and understand the basic workings. For detailed information on
instrument panels so the hero reaches to the left for something rather than
to the right, for example you might contact the helicopter manufacturer.
Culhane had an extensive library of pamphlets, instruction manuals,
photographs and technical diagrams. But none of this was available for
submarines. To research them was a monumental effort, and this was a golden
opportunity. He was more interested in the trip to the area between Wilkes
Land and Victoria Land in Antarctica than what they'd find when they got
there.
His right foot up on the edge of a chair, a cigarette in his right hand, he
glanced beside him. Fanny Mulrooney, looking pretty in her gray skirt and
black blouse, had eyes that looked as if they were on fire. He knew why. She
was on her way to an alien starbase under the antarctic ice pack at least
that was what she said it was. And for her, he realized, it was the
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opportunity of a lifetime, as well. On impulse, he reached out to her lap,
holding her hands folded there. She looked at him, smiling, her green eyes
like flashing emeralds.
Captain Macklin entered the officers' mess, and Wilbur shouted, "Ten hut!"
"As you were, gentlemen, as you were," Macklin called out, cutting him off.
Macklin sat at the head of the long table, as he had done at dinner. Culhane
and Mulrooney sat at the opposite end. On Culhane's right were Partridge, the
three CIA penguins and two women Margaret Spicer and Angela Basque.
On Culhane's left, next to Mulrooney, was Janet Krull. Then came Lieutenant
Wilbur, Lieutenant Hardestey and the four other scientists and technicians.
Culhane had met them briefly when they'd come aboard, but he hadn't yet
matched names with faces. He imagined there would be enough time for that.
Macklin was speaking. "Introductions may not be necessary, anyway. So let's
get down to it." He paused for a moment. "Mr. Culhane, Miss Mulrooney, Mr.
Partridge tell these people all about the Gladstone Log, the alien starbase.
Give 'em the whole nine yards."
Culhane felt Mulrooney's breath against his left ear. "You do it," she
whispered.
"Thanks a lot," he muttered, standing up. He looked at the faces staring at
him expectantly. "Well...."
* * *
Hardestey had gone on watch, Partridge's three men had left either because
Partridge had told them to do so earlier or because they really didn't care
and Meg Spicer looked bored. Lieutenant Wilbur was just smiling.
A short man with a goatee, an expert in human engineering, looked at Culhane.
"Mr. Culhane, these so-called hieroglyphics indicating some creature from
another planet crash-landed here are they available for perusal or not?"
Culhane looked at Partridge, who said, "Couldn't much expect you to translate
what we find unless you see this stuff first. I'll have packets of all the
information in summary to all of you within the hour. My men are assembling
the packets now. All of you will have the photographs of the cave drawings,
the hieroglyphics "
"If these are the Piri Reis maps," a tall, bald man cut in, "then I think we
might all benefit from knowing the real side of the maps rather than what Mr.
Culhane says Miss Mulrooney supplied." The man's name was Dr. Erwin Fell, and
he was the linguistics expert.
"What the hell do you mean by that?" Mulrooney asked, getting up from her
chair and stubbing out her cigarette.
"Relax," Culhane said to her through his teeth.
She sat back down.
"What I mean, Miss Mulrooney, is that you have presented only the
sensationalist aspect of these socalled maps. There is another side. That
Antarctica is represented at all is quite speculative indeed. Since not all of
Admiral Piri Reis's maps have been found, it is impossible to understand the
strange projection "
Mulrooney cut in. "All I know is that Henry Chillingsworth, in his diary,
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spoke about starships, spoke about weird writing and pictures "
"I should like the opportunity of perusing this document as well," said the
goateed man.
"Fine," Culhane answered for her. "I don't think that Miss Mulrooney or myself
wishes to have an adversary relationship. I'm not a believer in flying saucers
or the occult or anything like that and Miss Mulrooney knows it," he added,
seeing her eyes boring into him. "But we found what we found, and the
important thing is that this maniac Steiglitz seems to know something about it
that we still don't. And whatever that is, it was important enough to kill
Ethyl Chillingsworth for, to kill my brother, to try to kill Miss Mulrooney
and me. And that's what I want to find out about. Whatever the hell the
Madagascar found or didn't find, we've gotta know the answers."
Chapter Thirty-Two
Culhane looked at his notes.
The diving panel metallic gray in color depth gauges, gyrocompass repeater,
speed indicator, annunciators for use by bow and stern plainsmen. Much like
airplane controls. These guys responsible for keeping uniform depths, etc. See
if Macklin will let me sit in one of the red leatherette chairs and get the
feel of it while on the surface next time.
He made a stab with his Bic pen to make the period and looked up from his
notes.
As much as he liked submarines, other things were on his mind. The meeting in
the officers' mess had confirmed something he'd suspected from the start.
Though he didn't know who, someone aboard the Churchill had to work for
Steiglitz. Partridge, perhaps. Partridge very likely. Perhaps one or more of
the scientists the linguistics expert who had known about the Piri Reis maps,
perhaps the little guy with the goatee was on Steiglitz's payroll.
Maybe one of the women. Perhaps one of them was Sonia Steiglitz herself.
He stood up.
Lieutenant Hardestey was still on watch. Culhane looked at his watch. It was
just after midnight.
The suspect standing out in his mind, however, was Commander Macklin. They had
been alone together for less than a minute. Culhane was using a head near the
officers' mess, and Macklin came in. Both men were standing almost shoulder to
shoulder while urinating. Macklin had said, "I really do read your books. If
you've got that Detonics Scoremaster with you, I'd give even money to anybody
you've got one of the little Detonics .45s with you, too. Just like Sean Dodge
would. But you keep it for you and Miss Mulrooney. Maybe you'll need it."
Culhane had zipped up, flushed and started to wash his hands. Macklin had done
the same, but hadn't bothered washing his hands; he just left.
Macklin had been right. If Steiglitz had someone aboard, it was his move now.
* * *
At an average speed of thirty-five knots under the sea, traveling from
approximately 25° north latitude and 80° west longitude, the distance to 65°
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