Lost City nf-5 Page 7

  "That noise must be your generator," he said.

  "Yes, we only have one turbine now, but there are plans to build a second one." He paused at a door in the tunnel wall. "Here we are in the control room."

  The plant's nerve center was a sterile chamber about fifty feet square, that looked like the inside of a giant slot machine. Arrayed along three walls were banks of blinking lights, electrical dials, gauges and switches. Lessard went over to a horseshoe-shaped console that dominated the center of the room, sat down in front of a computer monitor and motioned for Austin to take the chair beside him.

  "You know what we do at this plant?" he said.

  "In general. I've been told that you tap the melting water from the glacier for hydroelectric power."

  Lessard nodded. "The technology is relatively uncomplicated. Snow falls from the sky and builds up on the glacier. In warm weather the glacier ice melts, forming water pockets and rivers. The torrent is channeled through the tunnels to the turbine. Voila! You have electricity. Clean and cheap and renewable." Lessard's routine explanation couldn't hide the pride in his voice.

  "Simple in theory, but impressive in execution," Austin said as he pictured the system in his mind. "You must have a large crew."

  "There are only three of us," Lessard said. "One for each shift. The plant is almost entirely automated and could probably run itself without us."

  "Could you show me a diagram of the system?" Lessard's hands played over the keyboard. A diagram flashed onto the screen, similar to the display in a metropolitan traffic control center. The intersecting colored lines reminded Austin of the map for the London Underground.

  "Those lines that are blinking blue represent tunnels that have water running through them. The red ones are dry conduits. The turbine is here."

  Austin stared at the lines, trying to make sense of the confusing display. "Which tunnel was flooded?"

  Lessard tapped the screen with a fingertip. "This one. The main access to the observatory." The line was blinking blue.

  "Is there any way to shut down the flow?"

  "We tried when we detected water getting into the research tunnel. Apparently, the concrete wall between the research and water tunnels has been breached. By diverting the flow in the other tunnels, we were able to contain it. The research tunnel remains filled with water."

  "Do you have any idea how this wall you mentioned was breached?"

  "A gate at this intersection provides access from one tunnel to another. It's closed this time of year as a safeguard because the water is high. The gate is made to withstand tons of pressure. I don't know what could have happened."

  "Is there any way to drain that tunnel water off?"

  "Yes, we could seal off some tunnels and pump the water out eventually, but it would take days," came the devastating reply.

  Austin indicated the glowing screen in front of them. "Even with this extensive network of tunnels?"

  "I'll show you what the problem is."

  Lessard led the way out of the control room and they walked along a tunnel for several minutes. The omnipresent hum of the turbine was overpowered by another sound like a strong wind blowing through the trees. They climbed a flight of metal stairs on the other side of a steel door to an observation platform protected by a watertight plastic-and-metal canopy. Lessard explained that they were in one of several off-site control rooms. The rushing noise had become a roar.

  Lessard flicked a wall switch and a floodlight illuminated a section of tunnel where a torrent raged. The foaming water level almost reached the observation bubble. Austin stared at the white water, sensing its vast power.

  "This time of year water melts from huge pockets in the ice," Lessard shouted over the racket. "They add to the normal flow. It's like the floods you get in swollen rivers when the mountain snow melts too quickly in the spring." Lessard had a pained expression on his narrow face. "I'm sorry we can't help you or the people trapped inside."

  "You've helped me a great deal already, but I'll need to see a detailed diagram of the research tunnel."

  "Of course." As Lessard led the way back to the control room, he

  decided he liked this American. Austin was thorough and methodical, qualities Lessard prized above all others.

  Back in the main nerve center, Austin glanced at the wall clock and saw that precious minutes had gone by since the tour began. Lessard went over to a metal cabinet, slid open a wide shallow drawer and pulled out a set of blueprints.

  "Here is the main entrance to the research tunnel. It's not much more than a culvert. These rectangles are the living quarters for the scientists. The lab is about a mile from the main entrance. As you can see in this side view, there are stairs that run up through the ceiling to another level, where there is a passage that leads to the subglacial observatory itself."

  "Do we know how many people could be trapped?"

  "There were three in the scientific team most recently. Sometimes, when they get sick of being underground, we get together to drink a few glasses of wine. Then there is the woman from your ship. A float plane brought some people in before the accident, but I don't know how many it had aboard when it took off a short while ago."

  Austin leaned over the diagram, his eyes taking in every detail. "Suppose the people under the glacier made it to the observatory. The air trapped in this passageway would keep the water from inundating the observatory area."

  "That's true," Lessard said with little enthusiasm.

  "If there is air, they could still be alive."

  "Also true, but their supply of air is limited. This may be a case of the living envying the dead."

  Austin didn't have to be reminded of the gruesome fate that awaited Skye and the others. Even if they had survived the flood, they faced a slow and uneasy death from lack of oxygen. He concentrated on the diagram and noticed that the main tunnel continued on for some distance beyond the observatory. "Where does this go?"

  "It continues about 1.5 kilometers, rising gradually to another entrance."

  "Another culvert?"

  "No. There is an opening like a mine entrance in the side of the mountain."

  "I'd like to see it," Austin said. A plan was forming in his mind. It was based on conjecture and assumption, and would need a healthy dose of luck to work, but it was all he had.

  "It's on the other side of the glacier. The only way to get to it is by air, but I can show you where it is from here."

  Minutes later, they were on the flat roof of the power plant. Lessard pointed to a ravine on the far side of the glacier. "It's right near that little valley."

  Austin followed the pointing finger with his eyes, and then glanced toward the sky. A big helicopter was lumbering toward the power plant.

  "Thank God!" Lessard said. "At last, someone has answered my call for help."

  Hurrying downstairs, the two men emerged from the power plant as the helicopter dropped out of the sky. The truck driver and another man Austin assumed to be the plant's third shift were outside, watching the helicopter touch down on a landing pad a few hundred feet from the plant's front door. As the rotors whirled to a halt, three men emerged from the chopper. Austin frowned. This was no rescue party. All three men were wearing dark suits that had middle management written all over them.

  "It is my superior, Monsieur Drouet. He never comes here," Lessard said, unable to contain the awe in his voice.

  Drouet was a portly man with a Hercule Poirot mustache. He hustled over and in an accusatory tone said, "What is going on, Lessard?"

  While the plant supervisor explained the situation, Austin checked his watch. The hands seemed to be flying around the dial.

  "What effect has this incident had on production?" Drouet said.

  Austin's smoldering temper erupted. "You might be more interested in what effect it has on the people trapped inside that glacier."

  The man tilted his chin, managing to look down his nose at Austin even though he was shorter by several inches.


  "Who are you?" he said, like the caterpillar addressing Alice from the mushroom.

  Lessard intervened. "This is Mr. Austin with the American government."

  "American?" Austin could swear he heard the man sniff. "This is none of your business," Drouet said.

  "You're wrong. It is very much my business," Austin replied in a level voice that cloaked his anger. "My friend is in that tunnel."

  Drouet was unmoved. "I have to wait for orders from my superior after I report to him. I'm not without sympathy. I'll order a rescue attempt immediately."

  "That's not soon enough," Austin said. "We have to do something now."

  "Nevertheless, it's the best I can do. Now, if you'll excuse me."

  With that, he and the other suited men filed into the power plant. Lessard glanced at Austin, shook his head sadly and trailed after them.

  Austin was trying to stifle the impulse to drag the bureaucrat back by the collar when he heard the sound of an engine and saw a dot in the sky. The dot grew larger and became a helicopter, smaller than the first. It shot across the lake, circled once around the power plant, then set down next to the other chopper in a cloud of dust.

  Even before the rotors stopped, a slim, dark-complexioned man hopped out and gave Austin a wave. Joe Zavala strode over with an easy lope and a slight athletic swing to his shoulders, his relaxed walk

  a holdover from his boxing days, when he fought professionally as a middleweight to earn his way through college. His handsome, un-marred features testified to the success of his time in the ring.

  The gregarious, soft-spoken Zavala had been recruited by Admiral Sandecker as soon as he graduated from the New York Maritime College, and he had been an invaluable member of the Special Assignments Team, working with Austin on many jobs. He had a brilliant mechanical mind and was a skilled pilot, with thousands of hours flying helicopters, small jets and turboprop aircraft.

  Several days earlier, they had traveled to France together. While Austin flew on to the Alps to hook up with the Mummichug, Joe had stopped in Paris. As an expert in the design and building of underwater vehicles, he had been asked to join a panel on manned versus unmanned submersibles sponsored by IFREMER, the French Institute of Marine Research and Exploration.

  Austin had called Zavala on his cell phone after learning about the tunnel accident. "Sorry to break up your trip to Paris," he had said. "You broke up more than that. I met a member of the National Assembly who showed me the town." "What's his name?"

  "Her name is Denise. After a tour of Paris, we decided to head for the mountains where the young lady has a chalet. I'm in Chamonix." Austin was not surprised to hear Zavala's story. With his soulful eyes and thick black hair combed straight back, Joe resembled a younger version of screen and TV actor Ricardo Montalban. The combination of good looks, good-humored charm and intelligence made him an object of desire to many of the single women around Washington, and the same qualities attracted females wherever he went. Sometimes it could be a distraction, especially on a mission, but in this case it was a godsend. Chamonix was only a few mountains away. "Even better. I need your help."

  Zavala could tell by the urgency in his friend's voice that the situation was serious. "I'm on my way," Zavala said.

  Reunited on the barren hill overlooking the lake, they shook hands and Austin apologized again for putting a damper on his friend's love life. A slight smile cracked the ends of Zavala's lips.

  "No problem, pal. Denise is a fellow public servant and understood completely when I said duty called." He glanced at the helicopter. "She also pulled strings to get me transportation."

  "I owe your young lady a bottle of champagne and some flowers."

  "I always knew that you were a true romantic at heart." Zavala gazed around and said, "Beautiful scenery, even if it's a little bleak. What's going on?"

  Austin headed for the helicopter. "I'll fill you in on the way."

  MOMENTS LATER, they were airborne. As they flew over the glacier, Austin gave Zavala a Reader's Digest-style condensed version of events.

  "Hell of a mess," Zavala said when he heard the story. "Sorry about your friend. Skye sounds like someone I'd like to meet."

  "I hope you'll have that pleasure," Austin said, although he knew the odds were long and becoming longer with every passing minute.

  He directed Zavala to the valley Lessard had pointed out from the roof of the power plant. Zavala landed at a spot of ground that was more or less level among the ledges and crags. They took an electric torch from the helicopter's emergency kit and walked up a gradual slope. The damp cold radiating from the glacier penetrated their thick jackets. A concrete casing framed the entrance to the tunnel. The area in front of the opening was washed out and dozens of miniature canyons ran down the slope. They stepped into a tunnel similar in size to those Austin had seen behind the power plant. The

  slanting floor was wet, and after they had gone in a few yards, water lapped at their toes.

  "Not exactly the tunnel of love, is it?" Zavala said, peering into the darkness.

  "It's what I would expect the river Styx to look like." Austin stared at the black water for a moment, and then a bolt of energy seemed to pass through his body. "Let's get back to the power plant."

  Drouet and his companions emerged from the plant building after Zavala's helicopter touched down. Drouet hurried over to greet Austin.

  "I must apologize for my earlier behavior," he said. "I didn't have all the facts about this horrible situation. I have since talked to my superiors and the American embassy, which told me about you and NUMA, Monsieur Austin. I didn't know there were French citizens trapped under the glacier."

  "Should their nationality have made any difference?"

  "No, of course not. Inexcusable. You will be happy to know I have sent for help. A rescue team is on its way."

  "That's a start. How long before they get here?"

  Drouet hesitated, knowing the answer was unsatisfactory. "Three or four hours."

  "You must know that will be too late."

  Drouet wrung his hands in anguish. He was obviously distressed. "At least we can recover the bodies. It's the best I can do."

  "It's not the best I can do, Monsieur Drouet. We're going to try to bring them back alive, but we'll need your help."

  "You're not serious! Those poor people are trapped under eight hundred feet of ice." He studied the silent determination in Austin's face and arched an eyebrow. "Very well. I'll knock heads together to get you anything you need. Tell me what I must do."

  Austin was pleasantly surprised to learn that Drouet's plump exterior hid a layer of steel.

  "Thank you for your offer. First, I'd like to borrow your helicopter and pilot."

  "Yes, of course, but I see your friend has a helicopter."

  "I'll need a bigger one."

  "I don't understand. These unfortunate people are trapped in the ground, not the air."

  "Nevertheless." Austin gave Drouet a hard look that said he was through wasting time.

  Drouet nodded vigorously. "Very well. You have my full cooperation."

  While Drouet scurried over to talk to his pilot, Austin called the NUMA vessel's captain on a hand radio and spent several minutes sketching out his plan. Fortier listened carefully.

  "I'll get right on it," he said. Austin thanked him and gazed at the glacier, sizing up the adversary he was about to tackle. He had no room in his scheme of things for self-doubt. He knew plans could go awry, and had scars all over his body to prove it. He also knew that problems could be fixed. He was certain that, with luck, his scheme would work. What he wasn't sure of was whether Skye was still alive.

  SKYE WAS VERY much alive. Renaud, who was feeling the full force of her fury, could attest to that. After Renaud had made one of his self-serving comments, Skye had snapped. She had laced into the hapless Frenchman, her eyes bright with tears of rage as she tongue-lashed him for ruining the biggest discovery of her career. Renaud finally summoned up the c
ourage to croak a protest. Skye had exhausted her repertoire and lung power by then and cut him short with a withering glare and a well-chosen word.

  "Idiot!"

  Renaud tried to play on her sympathy. "Can't you see I'm injured?" He held his bruised and lacerated hand.

  "It's your own stupid fault," she said coldly. "How in God's name could you allow a man with a gun to come into this place?"

  "I thought he was a reporter."

  "You have the brain of an amoeba. Amoebas don't think. They ooze."

  "Mademoiselle, please," LeBlanc entreated. "We have only so much air to breathe. Save your strength."

  "Save it for what}" She pointed to the ceiling. "It may have escaped your attention, but we are stuck under a very large glacier."

  LeBlanc put his finger to his lips.

  Skye glanced around at the cold and frightened faces and saw she was making the others even more miserable. She realized, too, that her tirade against Renaud was a product of her fear and frustration. She apologized to LeBlanc and clamped her lips tightly together, but before she did so, she muttered, "He is an idiot."

  Then she went over and plunked down next to Rawlins, the magazine writer, who was sitting with his back against a wall, writing in a notebook. He had bunched a plastic tarp together and was using it to insulate his posterior from contact with the wet floor. She snuggled close for warmth, saying, "Pardon me for being forward, but I'm freezing."

  Rawlins blinked in surprise, set the notebook aside and then gallantly wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

  "You were pretty hot a minute ago," he said.

  "Sorry for losing my temper in front of everyone," she murmured.

  "I don't blame you, but try to look on the bright side. At least we've got lights."

  The floodwaters must have missed the wires that ran along the top of the tunnel to the power plant. Although the lights had flickered a few times, the power was still on. The wet and weary survivors were crowded into the stretch of tunnel that ran between the ice cave and the stairs.

  Despite his optimistic observation, Rawlins knew they were short on time. He and the others were finding it more difficult to breathe. He attempted to divert his thoughts.