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The pilings extend into a cove slightly off to one side of the glacier."
"Approximate distance from the ship?"
"A baseball outfielder with a good arm could lob a ball from the dock against the hull."
"I should have seen it," Pitt murmured bitterly. "I missed it, everyone missed it."
"What are you talking about?" demanded Findley,
"The terrorists' support team," answered Pitt. The hijackers on the ship need an advance base for their escape. They couldn't disembark at sea without detection and capture unless they had a submarine, which is impossible to find
without legitimate government backing. The abandoned mine site makes a perfect hiding place for helicopters. And they can use the narrow-gauge railroad for commuting back and forth from the fjord."
"Hollis," said Gunn briefly, "We'd better inform him."
"Can't," said Giordino. "Our friendly neighborhood Colonel refused to provide us with a radio."
"So how do we warn Hollis?" Gunn put in.
"No way." Pitt shrugged. "But we might help by finding and disabling their helicopters while pinning down any terrorist force in the mine camp to keep them from catching Hollis and his assault teams in a vise."
"There could be fifty of them," protested Findley. "We're only four."
"'Their security is lax," Gunn pointed out. "They don't expect anyone to drop in from the interior of a deserted island in the middle of a storm."
"Rudi's right," said Giordino. "If they were alert they'd have been onto us by now. I vote we evict the bastards."
"We have surprise on our side," Pitt continued. "As long as we stay careful and keep undercover in the dark, we can keep them off balance."
"If they come after us," asked Findley, "do we throw rocks?"
"My life is guided by the Boy Scout motto," replied Pitt.
He and Giordino knelt in unison and unzipped the tote bags. Giordino began passing around bulletproof vests while Pitt handed out the weapons.
He held up a semiautomatic shotgun for Findley. "You said you hunted some, Clayton. Here's an early Christmas present. A twelve-gauge Benelli Super Ninety."
Findley's eyes gleamed. "I like it." He ran his hands over t
he stock as lightly as though it were a woman's thigh. "Yes, I like it." Then he noticed that Gunn and Giordino carried Heckler-Koch machine guns modified with silencers. "You can't buy this stuff at a corner hardware store. Where did you get it?"
"Special Operations Forces issue," Giordino said nonchalantly. "Borrowed when when Hollis and Dillenger weren't looking."
Findley was further amazed when Pitt shoved a round drum in an ancient"Mompson submachine gun. "You must like antiques."
"There's something to be said for old-fashioned craftsman ship," said Pitt. He looked at his watch again. Only six minutes remained before Hollis and Dillenger attacked the ship. "No shooting until I give the word. We don't want to screw up the Special Forces assault. They have precious little chance of surprise as it is."
"What about the glacier?" Findley asked. "Won't our gunfire send out shock waves that could fracture the forward wall of ice?"
"Not from this range," Gunn assured him. "Our concentrated fire will seem more like the distant bang of firecrackers."
"Remember," ordered Pitt, "we want to stall off a gun battle as long as we can. Our first priority is to find the helicopters."
"A pity we don't have any explosives," mumbled Giordino. "Nothing ever comes easy."
Pitt gave Findley a few seconds to get his bearings. Then the geologist nodded and they moved out, skirting the backs of the old, weathered buildings, keeping to the shadows, stepping as quietly as possible, the crunch of their soles against the loose gravel muffled by the stiff breeze that reversed and now came sweeping down the mountainside.
The buildings around the mine were mostly built of wooden support beams covered by corrugated metal sheeting that showed signs of corrosion and rust. Some were small sheds, others rose two to four stories into the sky, their walls trailing off into the gloom. Except for the smell of the roasting lamb, it looked like an old American West ghost town.
