“You're talking about a process that takes millions, billions of years,” Adler said.
Trout brought the discussion back to the computer simulation. “That's why we should look closer at the present. The image on the screen shows the earth's magnetic fields. Those splotches in blue are inward-directed fields. The gold is outward-directed. The British navy kept records of the magnetic and true north for three hundred years, which means we've got a pretty good database. What we see here is an increase in the number of blue islands.”
“Which would indicate magnetic anomalies where the field is flowing the wrong way,” Hibbet said.
“That large patch of color is the South Atlantic Anomaly where the field is already flowing the wrong way,” Trout said. “The anomaly's growth accelerated around the turn of the century. This ties in with Magsat readings that show weak areas in the north polar region and below South Africa. The observations are consistent with computer simulations that show the possible beginnings of a flip.”
“You've made a convincing case that geologic and magnetic polar reversals have occurred,” Adler said. “But what we're talking about is the possibility of man precipitating such an event. That's a lot of hubris on our part. Man is capable of much, but our puny efforts are not capable of shifting the entire surface of the planet.”
“Seems crazy, doesn't it?” Trout said with a crooked grin. He turned to Hibbet. “You're our electromagnetism expert. What do you think?”
Hibbet stared at the screen. “I had no idea the southern ocean anomalies had grown so rapidly.” He paused in thought, then, choosing his words carefully, said, “What Lazlo Kovacs got into was the nature of matter and energy. He discovered that matter oscillates between the stages of matter and energy. Energy is not subjected to the rules of time and space, so the shift from one phase to another is instantaneous. And matter follows energy's lead. In addressing this question, we have to look at the earth's electromagnetic makeup. If the electromagnetic energy changes in a certain way, matter—in this case the crust of the earth—can change as well.”
“You're saying a geologic polar shift is possible,” Gamay said.
“I'm saying that a man-made magnetic polar shift, with its intense, short-term nature, may precipitate irreversible geologic movement, especially now with a natural shift shaping up. All it needs is a nudge. An addition or discharge of electromagnetic energy that changes the field could stir up changes in matter. Cyclonic disruptions of the earth's core or magnetic field may have been responsible for the freak waves and the whirlpool. It wouldn't be the slow shifting of tectonic plates. The structure of the entire planet could change in an instant.”
“With what results?” Gamay said.
“Catastrophic. If the crust slips around the molten core, inertial forces would come into play. The shift would create tsunamis that could sweep across continents, and winds more powerful than any hurricane. Earthquakes and volcanic eruptions with massive lava flows would develop. There would be drastic climate changes and radiation storms.” He paused. “Species extinction is a definite possibility.”
“There's been an increase in violent natural phenomena over the past few decades,” Gamay said. “I wonder if those are warning signs.”
“Maybe,” Hibbet said.
“Before we scare ourselves silly, let's get back to the facts,” Trout suggested. “I've taken the polar shift simulations from Caltech and Los Alamos as a base. I fed in the report Dr. Adler compiled on the ocean disturbances and the material Al submitted on the use of electromagnetic low-frequency transmissions. We've also simulated conditions of the molten currents in the core of the earth where the magnetic fields are formed. The Kovacs papers are the final part of the equation. If we're all ready ...” He tapped the keyboard.
The globe disappeared and a message appeared on the screen:
HELLO, PAUL. HOW'S THE BEST-DRESSED MALE ON THE SPECIAL ASSIGNMENTS TEAM?
Max had picked up on his password. Trout squirmed in his chair, and yearned for the time when computers were simply dumb machines. He typed in:
HELLO, MAX. WE'RE READY FOR THE COMPUTER SIMULATION.
IS THIS AN ACADEMIC EXERCISE, PAUL?
NO.
Max paused for several seconds. It was an unusual response from the high-speed computer.
THIS EVENT CAN'T BE ALLOWED TO HAPPEN.
Trout stared at the words. Was it his imagination, or did Max seem alarmed? He typed a question:
WHY NOT?
IT WILL RESULT IN THE COMPLETE DESTRUCTION OF THE EARTH.
Trout's Adam's apple bobbed. He typed one word:
HOW?
WATCH.
The globe reappeared on the screen, and the gold patches on the oceans began to move. The red patch in the South Atlantic linked up with other patches of the same color until the entire ocean area below South America and South Africa blazed in red. Then the continents began to change their positions. North and South America did a 180-degree shift, so that they were lying on their sides. The points that had once marked the equator became the north and south poles. Violent surface phenomena spread over the globe like a virulent disease.
Trout typed another question, and held his breath:
IS THERE A WAY TO NEUTRALIZE THIS?
YES. DON'T LET IT BEGIN. IT CAN'T BE REVERSED.
IS THERE ANY WAY TO STOP THE REVERSAL?
I DON'T HAVE SUFFICIENT DATA TO ANSWER THAT QUESTION.
Trout knew he had gone as far as he could. He turned to the others. Adler and Hibbet had the look of men who had just been given tickets for a boat ride on the river Charon.
Gamay was equally stunned, but she had a calm expression on her face and determination in her eyes. “There's something here that doesn't make sense. Why would anyone do something that could mean the end of the world and of themselves?”
Trout scratched his head. “Maybe it's the old adage of playing with fire. It could be that they don't know the danger of what they're doing.”
Gamay shook her head. “The capacity of our species for bone-headed actions never seems to amaze me.”
“Cheer up,” Trout said. “Pardon the gallows humor, but if this goes through there won't be any species.”
NUMA 6 - Polar Shift
29
MOST OF THE AMERICANS Captain Ivanov had encountered were tourists on adventure excursions around the New Siberian Sea. They tended to be affluent and middle-aged, armed with cameras and spotting scopes, and intrepid in their pursuit of one rare bird or another. But the two men who had descended from the sky and boarded his ship as if they owned it were cut from a different mold.
The seaplane carrying Austin and Zavala had caught up with the Russian icebreaker Kotelny northwest of Wrangel Island and touched down a few hundred feet from the vessel. Captain Ivanov ordered a boat lowered to fetch the plane's passengers. He was waiting on deck, curious about these Americans who had the political clout to commandeer his ship as their personal ferry.
The first to climb up the boarding ladder was a broad-shouldered man with pale hair and light blue eyes set in a rugged bronzed face. He was followed on deck by a slimmer, dark-complexioned man who moved with the relaxed athleticism that was a holdover from his college boxing days. They waved at the seaplane as it taxied for a takeoff.
The captain stepped forward to introduce himself. Despite his irritation, he strictly adhered to the customs of the sea. Their handshakes were firm, and behind the friendly smiles the captain detected a cool self-assurance that told him these were no bird-watchers.
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 annoyed at the directive to change course and head back to the island. The order from Naval Command had been to accommodate his visitors in whatever way they asked, but he didn't have to be happy about it.
“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 fanny pack. For this mission Zavala had chosen a Heckler & Koch .45 model that was developed for the army Special Forces. They carried a GPS, compass, portable radios, a first-aid kit and other emergency items. They wore inflatable flotation belts instead of bulky life vests, and dressed for the damp weather with waterproof outer layers over wool.
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 connected them to the backpack. Austin hit the starter button and the engine whirred softly. The prop wash inflated the canopy so that it rose off the deck. Austin squeezed the hand throttle to rev up the engine, and they began their awkward, double-legged run toward the stern and into the wind. The three-hundred-square-foot canopy caught the wind and jerked them into the air.
Austin added power and they began to climb. The paraglider had a climb rate of three hundred feet per second, but its ascent was logy because they were riding tandem. Eventually, though, they reached an altitude of five hundred feet. Austin pulled on the left-hand line, which brought the wingtip down, and the paraglider went into a left-hand turn. They flew toward the island at a speed of twenty-five miles per hour.
As they neared land, Austin pulled both wingtips down simultaneously and the paraglider went into a gradual descent. They came in over the right-hand spit of land that enclosed the harbor and swung around on a gradual tu
rn that took them over the deserted beach toward the river he had seen in the charts. Austin saw an object near the river, but the mists enshrouding the paraglider made it difficult to see details.
Zavala shouted, “There's a body down there!”
Austin brought the paraglider lower. The body was in a small, inflatable life raft that had been drawn up on the beach barely out of reach from the river's flow. He saw that the figure had long gray hair. He forced into the wind, stopped the engine and pulled back on both brake handles.
The wing was supposed to act like a parachute and allow for stand-up landings. But they came in too fast and too high. Their knees buckled, and they did a double nose plant in the sand, but at least they were down.
They collapsed the wing, unharnessed the backpack and approached the body of a woman, who was curled up in the raft in a fetal position. Austin squatted next to the raft and felt her pulse. It was weak, but she was alive. He and Zavala gently rolled her over onto her back. Blood stained her jacket near the left shoulder. Austin pulled the first-aid kit from his pack, and Zavala went to open the jacket so they could inspect the wound. The woman groaned and opened her eyes. They filled with fear when she saw the two strangers.
“It's all right,” Zavala reassured her in his soft-spoken voice. “We're here to help you.”
Austin brought his canteen to the woman's mouth and gave her a drink of water.
“My name is Kurt, and this is my friend Joe,” Austin said when the color came back to her face. “Can you tell us your name?”
“Maria Arbatov,” she said in a weak voice. “My husband ...” Her voice trailed off.
“Are you with the expedition, Maria?”
“Yes.”
“Where are the others?”
“Dead.All dead.”
Austin felt as if someone had kicked him in the stomach. “What about the young woman? Karla Janos?”