White Death - Cussler Clive - Страница 54
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They shook hands. Austin felt like his fingers were clutching a frozen side of beef.
"I hope you don't mind if I share our little joke," Gleason said to Kurt. "Mr. Austin thought that the head of Oceanus was named Toonook."
"Mr. Gleason explained that Toonook was not a man, but an evil spirit," Austin said.
Barker stared at Austin through the dark lenses. "It's more com- plicated than that," he said. "Toonook is considered to be evil in the Inuit culture. He is the embodiment of that clever light display on the ceiling. But like others through history, the people of the North wor- shipped the thing they feared the most."
"Toonook is a god, then?"
"Sometimes. But I assure you that the head of Oceanus is very human."
"I stand corrected. If it's not Toonook, what is his real name?"
"He prefers to keep his identity a secret. If you'd like to call him Toonook, feel free to do so. He has been called worse names by his competitors. He stays out of the limelight, and it falls upon his em- ployees to represent him. In my case, I work for a company named Aurora, which is a subsidiary of Oceanus."
"What sort of work do you do for Aurora?"
"I'm a geneticist." Austin glanced around the room. "This is a wide departure from genetics."
"I like to get out of the lab. I suggested that Oceanus sponsor this exhibition. I have a direct interest in the Kiolya. My great-great- grandfather was a New England whaling captain. He stayed with the tribe and tried to stop the walrus hunting that led to its dissolution." "Mr. Gleason tells me that the other Eskimos ran the Kiolya off because they were thieves and murderers."
"They did what they had to do to survive," Barker said. "I'd love to continue this discussion," Gleason said, "but you'll
have to excuse me. I see an assistant who needs my attention. Please give me a call sometime, and we can talk at length, Mr. Austin." When Gleason was gone, Austin said, "Tell me, Dr. Barker, what part of business is Oceanus involved in that would require the serv- ices of a geneticist?"
The frozen smile disappeared. "Come on, Austin. We're alone, so we don't need to play games, anymore. You know very well what Oceanus does. You broke into our Faroe Islands operation, caused a lot of damage and killed one of my men. I won't forget it."
"Gee," Austin said. "Now you've got me confused. You've obvi- ously mistaken me for someone else."
"I don't think so. The Danish press published your picture every- where. You're quite the hero in Denmark, you know, for rescuing their sailors after that collision."
"A collision which your company engineered," Austin said, drop- ping all pretense.
"And which would have worked, except for your meddling." The soft, cultivated voice had become a snarl. "Well, that ends now. You've interfered in my business for the last time."
"Your business? I thought you were a humble employee for Oceanus, Dr. Barker… or should I call you Toonook?"
Barker removed his glasses and stared at Austin with pale-gray eyes. The moving colors played across his ashen features as if pro- jected on a screen. "Who I am is not important. What I am has a di- rect bearing on your future. I am the instrument of your death. Turn around."
Austin glanced over his shoulder. Two swarthy men stood behind him, blocking the way. They had closed the door to keep the other guests out. Austin wondered which would offer him the better chance, pushing Barker through the display glass or bulling his way between the men at the door. He had already decided he didn't like either option and was groping for a third, when there was a knock at the door and MacDougal stuck his head in.
"Hey, Kurt," he called out. "I'm looking for Charlie Gleason. Sorry to interrupt you."
"Not at all," Austin said. MacDougal wasn't the Seventh Cavalry, but he would do.
The guards looked for direction to Barker. He replaced his sun- glasses, gave Austin his glacial smile and said, " 'Til we meet again," and made for the door. The guards stepped aside to let him through, and a second later, all three men were lost in the crowd.
Austin's reunion with MacDougal didn't last long. As they merged with the crowd, Mac spotted a senator who was a friend of the Smith- sonian, and he dashed off to collar him for funding. Austin mingled with the other guests until he heard an announcement saying that the dogsled races were about to begin. He was heading back to the ro- tunda when he caught a glimpse of chestnut hair cascading to bare shoulders. Therri must have felt his attention. She turned and glared in his direction. Then she smiled.
"Kurt, what a nice surprise," she said. As they shook hands, she eyed him from head to toe. "You look quite handsome in your tuxedo."
Austin hadn't expected the friendly greeting after the acrimony of their parting exchange on Roosevelt Island. "Thanks," he said. "Hope it doesn't smell too strongly of mothballs."
She adjusted one of his lapels as if she were his prom date. "You smell quite nice, as a matter of fact."
"The same thing that attracted you. I'm sure it didn't escape your attention that these displays are the property of Oceanus."
"That's the main reason we're here." Therri glanced off to the side of the rotunda, where Ben Nighthawk stood. He looked uneasy in his black tuxedo, unsure of what to do with his hands, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. She waved him over.
"You remember Ben," Therri said.
'Good to see you again," Austin said, shaking hands. "Nice tux." 'Thanks," Nighthawk said, without enthusiasm. "It's rented." He glanced around at the other guests. "I'm a little out of my element." "Don't worry," Austin said. "Most of the people who come to these receptions are here for the food and the gossip."
"Ben agreed to escort me," Therri said. "Marcus thought Ben's memory might be jogged by something he saw." "Has it been?"
"Not yet," Therri said. "What about you? Have you learned any- thing?"
"Yes," he said with a tight smile. "I've learned that you don't lis- ten to warnings of possible danger."
"That's ancient history," Therri said, like someone trying to be patient with an annoying child. Austin took in the challenging gaze and decided he was wasting his breath trying to change her mind.
"I'm on my way outside to see the dogsled races," he said. "Would you like to join me?"
"Thank you," she said, hooking her arm in Nighthawk's. "We were headed that way ourselves."
A guide directed them outside. Traffic on Madison Drive had been stopped to allow spectators to cross to the National Mall. It was a beautiful night. Lit by floodlights, the red sandstone turrets of the Smithsonian Castle were clearly visible across the eight-hundred- foot width of greensward. Toward the Potomac, the plain white spike of the Washington Monument soared into the night sky.
A large section of open grass had been marked off with yellow po- lice tape and was brightly illuminated by portable lights. Inside the enclosure, orange pylons were arranged in a rectangle. Hundreds of reception guests in evening attire, and passersby attracted by the lights and crowd, ringed the perimeter. A few National Park Service uniforms could be seen. From the other side of the racecourse, where several trucks were lined up, came a sound like a kennel at feeding time. Then the excited yelps and barks were drowned out by a male voice on the public address system.
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