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  “Of course I can. This is a bank.” Cummings extracted one of the coins with pudgy fingers and peered at it through his spectacles.

  “Good,” Amy said, handing one of the pictures to him. “We are looking for this man. He is overdue from an Outback excursion. There is a substantial reward for his safe return.”

  The manager leaned back in his chair, his necktie and silk shirt undulating over rolls of skin hiding his waist. His eyes shifted from the coin to the photo and back to the stacks of Kruggerands.

  “Did he have a guide?” Cummings asked her.

  “Yes,” she replied, “a man named Sed, who operates out of Perth under the name Aboriginal Expeditions. They were dropped at Lake Mackay three weeks ago. Their destination was Alice Springs.”

  Cummings nodded. “I know Sed. He comes to The Alice about fifteen times a year as a guide for the rich and famous. He has a shack out in the desert where he stays while his customers are wined and dined here in town. He’s done the trek you’re talking about dozens of times, and he’s consistent in his route, just in case there is a problem. It’s odd…three weeks, you say?”

  He retrieved a large topographical map and unrolled it on the desktop. “Here is Lake Mackay. Here is Alice Springs.” His fat finger traced a line between them. “In two weeks, they should have been here.” He tapped the map. “Here, in the Ranges. Three weeks…that is strange.”

  Amy leaned over and studied the map, which indicated a sharp drop in elevation where the manager pointed.

  “Where is the shack?” she asked.

  “What shack? Oh, you mean Sed’s.”

  An hour later, John pried the crowbar into the mortise around the front door of Sed’s cabin and the door swung open with a crack.

  Amy peered inside, then entered, followed by John.

  It was a fairly comfortable-looking abode—four propane lanterns hung from rafters in the two rooms; the walls were plastered with posters of past and present movie stars. An antique, four-post log bed filled the smaller room. A kitchen counter split the remaining five hundred square feet and was lined with milk jugs containing water. A rickety wooden table and chairs were on the other side of the counter. Amy opened the refrigerator, then removed two beers, opened one and tossed the other to John when he returned from the adjoining bedroom.

  “Nobody’s been home for quite awhile,” she observed, running her finger through the accumulated dust on the table.

  “Dead end,” John muttered.

  “Not necessarily.” Amy sipped her beer. “Tell the others we are now looking for two men, George and his guide, a black man named Sed, and they are probably still in the Outback.”

  MACDONNELL RANGES

  WEST OF ALICE SPRINGS, AUSTRALIA

  LATITUDE: 23° 42’ SOUTH

  LONGITUDE: 133° 51’ EAST

  Day 26; 0160 UTC, 11:10 AM LTD

  “Washout ahead,” Joe told John as he stuck his head through the open passenger window of Amy’s stopped Land Rover. The search team leader had a broad Australian accent.

  His team had canvassed the rough terrain for over a week, crisscrossing the trails that George and Sed might have taken. They’d begun their search on foot, but as the area had expanded, they now used the Rovers.

  Amy shrugged and turned off the ignition. “Shall we go look?” she asked John.

  Joe stepped back and lit a cigarette as John and Amy got out to assess the road.

  The narrowed gravel roadway ahead seemed only half-a-Rover wide. The washed-out section was only fifteen meters long, but had a sheer drop of several hundred meters on the right side; on the left side, a steep wall climbed thirty meters. Past the washout, the road once again became wide enough for the Rovers.

  John unfolded his map. “The trail is ahead of us and below.” He whistled softly. “It’s a long way around. Best we try again tomorrow from a different direction.”

  “No,” Amy said. “The trackers from Lake Mackay should arrive today.”

  Without waiting for a response, she climbed back into the lead Rover and gunned the engine. The seatbelt alarm buzzed until she snapped the belt closed beneath her.

  When John motioned for her to roll down her window, she tossed him the rental agreement from the Rover’s glove box.

  “You’re not thinking what I’m thinking you’re thinking, are you?” he asked.

  “Worth a try,” she said with a faint smile.

  “Joe,” John shouted, “get out of the way! Amy’s going across.”

  Joe hurried towards them. “She’s what?”

  Amy steered the right-hand drive Rover to her left and crawled forward, deliberately grinding into the cliff wall. Carefully, she inched the Rover along; there was a pop as the left rear-view mirror disintegrated, then a sickening sound as the rock wall ripped at the car’s metal body. She kept steering to the left; on the driver’s side, the tires hung precariously over the edge with only the inner tread in contact with the road. The crumpled metal began to twist and curl; the grating sound grew louder.

  Halfway across the washout, the tires on the right lost their grip entirely and the Rover slipped sideways, hanging precariously by the inner edges of the left tires on the brink, its undercarriage bottomed out.

  “That method doesn’t look like an option,” Joe observed dryly to John. “At least we can still back the other one out of here.”

  Amy calmly opened the passenger-side door, carefully climbed out of what was now a hatch and walked back to the men.

  John told her, “You might be right. This could work.”

  “What could work?” Joe asked. Then he paled. “Oh no, no-no-no. Do you know how far it is to walk out of here? Hey, come on…no.”

  Amy ignored him and got into the second Rover with John. She started it, then gunned the engine.

  Joe waved frantically at them as Amy floored the accelerator and released the clutch. The rear wheels spun, the Rover roared forward over the left side of the first Rover which functioned as additional road width. Amy bumped across to the other side, then hit the brakes hard.

  Jostled from its perch, the first Rover plunged down the cliff, rolling and crashing as it tumbled to the bottom, landing on its roof.

  Amy walked back to Joe, who was clearly disturbed.

  “You can’t do that!” he sputtered. “You can’t roll Rovers off the sides of mountains and leave them. It’s not done…it’s simply not done!”

  Amy looked at him passively. “Do you want to come with us…or would you prefer to walk back to town?”

  Amy lurched her Rover down the mountain road for the next two hours. When she stopped, John radioed the trackers while Amy scouted for the trail, pushing back brambles, then hoisting herself up a scramble.

  The trackers weren’t far away. They’d found no sign of George, but they were still on the trail. John said they would wait for them and signed off.

  Amy called to him from the bush, “I think you better have a look at this.”

  He climbed up next to her as she peered into a deep, black fissure.

  “There are footprints on the other side,” she said.

  Chapter 7

  ELLESMERE ISLAND, CANADA

  LATITUDE 82° 10’ NORTH

  LONGITUDE 73° 42’ WEST

  Day 28

  1220 UTC, 6:20 AM LTD

  Near the end of Boster Denton Expedition “Ice-Pick”

  Mitch and Jack had found the abyss; everyone was relieved they were finally moving toward their goal.

  Kathy was packing sandwiches, cans of soda and potato chips into front-packs.

  She told Des, “Something special for a special day. Jack and Hans already ate breakfast and left; they were pretty excited. They’re setting up the equipment right now.”

  Stephen said, “Jack’s GPS differed from yours, so the base camp is
twenty-five kilometers from where it should be. If you had been using Jack’s GPS, it would’ve been a simple matter to find it.”

  Des nodded.

  Mitch said, “Yup, when Jack said we were searching in the wrong direction, we took the Gliders east and fucking near drove into the thing. Hans said we should bring parachutes because the chasm’s at least a kilometer straight down.”

  “Why wasn’t I informed earlier?” Des asked him.

  “No need.”

  “Yes, there was a need. I want you to take out a Glider and bring the others back. We’ll plan out the exploration here.” Des felt his tenuous grip on leadership slipping even further. He knew he needed to assert himself before it got any worse.

  “You’ve got to be kidding!” Mitch’s jaw dropped.

  “No, I’m not kidding. Look, we’re dealing with unknown factors, so we need to work through contingencies. I’m responsible for everyone’s safety and I’m not going to let excitement interfere with proper planning. Bring them back.”

  Stephen said softly, “Des, you are absolutely correct: You should have been told as soon as the discovery had been made. No one wishes to undermine your authority, but there’s a time factor to consider. Now that Hans and Jack are out there, what harm would be done if we glide on over and take a peek? You could survey the surface and maybe a short descent into the interior to give you a better idea of what we’re dealing with and what contingencies need to be discussed. A little look-see today and an all-out exploration tomorrow would leave us with one day to pack for our ride home.”

  Des contemplated so long that Mitch sighed in resignation. “Fine. I’ll go get them.”

  Des said, “Wait! I’ll go with you. Stephen’s right.”

  It was the first time they had let the Gliders run full-bore in the fog. Mitch checked his speedometer—fifty miles-per-hour. He thought Des was driving a little carelessly, but gunned his engine to catch up with him. It took them twelve minutes to reach the abyss.

  Jack was working on his computer and carrying out soundings. For the latter, he’d pull a tab on a small globe to start it chirping, then toss it into the chasm and track the globe on his computer, recording course and depth. Steam rolled over the glassy lip behind him to briefly envelope the monitor.

  “Look at this.” Jack indicated the numbers to Mitch and Des. “I can track the bird sixteen kilometers before I lose it—sixteen kilometers straight down! That’s almost twice as deep as Everest is tall!”

  Hans climbed out of the far side of the chasm near a fully assembled Climber’s Buddy. The Buddy had four legs and was attached to the ice with stakes and four steel cables. Above the legs was a 55-gallon steel drum. Cable snaked from the drum, past the motor, brakes and computer, up to an arm almost a meter in length that could be pushed out over the edge. A climber could hang in a suspended harness or walk up a vertical wall while the Buddy’s arm kept the cable taut above him. Directly opposite was a second Buddy, next to Jack, hanging over the lip of the crevasse; it was also fastened to the ice with cables and stakes.

  Hans made a thumbs-up—the Buddies were good to go.

  “Did you remember the chutes?” he called as he walked over to them. Grinning, Mitch held up one in each hand.

  Hans asked him, “Do you know what a ripcord is?”

  Mitch nodded.

  “Do you know how to open it?” Des asked Mitch.

  Mitch put on one of the parachutes and started to pull the ring, but Des stopped him.

  Des decreed that Hans would stay topside to supervise the descent because he was the only one capable of operating the Buddies, but Hans would need to train Mitch before the all-out exploration tomorrow when Des and Hans would descend. Jack could track their location via their beacons.

  Hans said, “OK, Des, put on the other chute. Both of you wear front-packs with food and water. If you need to use the chutes, we want to find you alive. Crampons on too—it’s sheer ice, at least to start. Flashlights, specimen bags…“ He continued through his checklist.

  When they had on their helmets, Hans made sure the communications functioned. “Can you hear me?”

  Mitch and Des replied “Yes” in unison.

  Hans corrected them. “No, Des is in charge in the cave, so he responds first; then you, Mitch. Try it again. Do you hear me?”

  Des said, “Yes.”

  Mitch followed with, “Roger.”

  “Switch on your headlamps.” Both complied, both lamps lit. “OK, turn off your lights and remove your helmets. The Buddies are ready. Mitch, you go down here; Des, you’re on the far side. I’ll help each of you start. Keep an eye on each other and descend together. I’ve been down a thousand meters and it’s all good ice—strong walls, no chatter, nothing loose. Good luck, and God be with you.”

  Jack threw in a chirping globe and typed vigorously, while Hans checked the climbers’ nylon harnesses. “OK, Mitch, rope-up here, while I take Des over to the far side. Don’t start until I get back.”

  Mitch watched as Des and Hans walked around the rim. At the other Buddy, Hans fastened Des to the rope and the rope to the cable. He set the computer to feed out the cable slowly to one thousand meters. His headlamp lit, Des swung out over the lip. Hans belayed him down until the rope played out, then pushed the start button. Des began to descend slowly.

  His Buddy suspended Mitch over the abyss; his feet were planted on the rim. It wasn’t as scary as parachuting because he was anchored, but he was still nervous. He turned on his headlamp, and nodded to Hans.

  Hans set the computer, checked Mitch’s connections, then hit the start button and Mitch followed Des downward.

  “Hey, Des, nothing but ice,” Mitch said into his helmet mike.

  “Roger” came through the speakers.

  Mitch shone his flashlight down into the void and caught a glimpse of Des’ headlamp through billowing steam.

  “What the fuck’s up with all this steam?” he asked.

  “It means it’s not all ice. There’s something warmer below.”

  When they had reached a thousand meters, Mitch heard Des ask Hans to set his Buddy for two thousand meters.

  Hans told them, “Remember, if you want to get a better look at something, you can command your Buddy to stop with the remote switch. It’s the red button on the right side of your harness.”

  Watching Des descending across from him, Mitch said, “Well, before I can stop, I gotta start.”

  “I’m trying,” Hans replied, his breathing through Mitch’s headset sounding labored.

  Mitch finally started downward again.

  Des said, “Hans, are Stephen and Bearters with you?”

  “No.”

  “Where are they?”

  No reply.

  Mitch began to sing, “Mary had a little lamb…” but stopped abruptly. “Hey, this is fucking spooky.” He kicked the ice wall, then turned on his flashlight. “Des, where are you?”

  “Down here. I’ll shine my light at you.”

  Mitch looked down and saw flickering light through spasms of steam.

  When they were at two thousand meters, Hans said, “Gentlemen, I think we should call it a day, at least until the others arrive.”

  “Fuck no, Hans, three thousand. Then we can call it a day,” Mitch replied.

  “Des?”

  “Roger. Three thousand.”

  “OK, I’m starting Mitch first.”

  When both men were moving, Hans said, “Snow Gliders are coming—when they arrive, I’ll get Stephen to help with one of the Buddies. I’m tired of running back and forth.”

  “Roger that,” Des said.

  Mitch faced Des on a shelf of ice at three thousand meters below ground level. The shelf extended two and a half meters away from the wall and encircled the entire cave. It wasn’t level; the shelf sloped down at a 45° angle tow
ards the central abyss.

  Mitch saw Des lean out over the edge and point his light down, then he heard a sudden rushing sound. Steam rolled up the chasm. There was a whoosh as another of Jack’s chirping sensors passed them as it whizzed into the darkness; the sound faded out of range.

  Des said, “Tell Jack not to throw any more birds while we’re down here!”

  “Sure thing, Des.”

  Des aimed his lights under the ice ledge, then announced, “There’s bare rock underneath that looks like granite. On Mitch’s side, there’s also a kind of greenish rock that glows a little. Mitch, I’m going down. You can wait here if you like.”

  Hans cut in. “Stay together and stay put. I need to talk with Stephen, so I’m going to be taking my helmet off.”

  “Roger,” Des said. “How long will communications be broken?”

  “Not long. Stephen is standing next to me. I’ll walk him over to Mitch’s Buddy and teach him how to use the computer, then I’ll run just yours. Stay put.”

  “That’s no fucking fun,” Mitch replied. He kicked, testing the wall with his crampons.

  A few minutes later, Hans said, “Everything OK?”

  “Bored to tears,” Mitch responded.

  Des said, “Can you play out about twenty or thirty meters, just enough to get me over this ice rim and down to the rock?”

  After a short delay, Hans replied, “OK, but I’ll have to start you first, then give me a few seconds, and I’ll start Mitch.”

  “I thought Stephen was helping,” Des said.

  “He is. He doesn’t know that command.”

  Des started to descend, and Mitch was soon following on his side. When his cable stopped, Mitch was hanging one and a half meters away from the granite wall. He started swinging until he could grab onto the rock with his hands and feet. The wall was rough so he held on firmly.

  “Now what?” he asked.

  Des’ light flashed past Mitch, then settled just to his right. “There. Do you see that…next to you…that bluish-green rock?”

  Mitch looked at an elongated finger of green rock encased in the granite. He’d never seen anything like it before. Unsnapping his rock hammer from his belt, he used the claw to cut into the green rock twice, levering out a piece about fifteen centimeters long. He studied it briefly; it glowed brighter, and Mitch had a brief sensation that it wiggled while he was putting it into a specimen bag. He tucked the bag in a zippered pocket of his pack.