The Gulf Stream, the river of warm water that flowed from Florida to Europe, passed along Iceland’s south coast and warmed the island enough to make it habitable, but by no stretch was it comfortable, even in summer. The sky was leaden, with low tumbling clouds that seemed to hang just a few hundred feet off the ground. A distant beam of sunlight made a far-off mountain glow neon green.
Mercer zipped up his bomber jacket and donned a khaki baseball cap while he waited at the curb with his two large bags. The air smelled fresh, sharp with the scent of the sea, and it only added to the unreality of his position. Eight hours ago Harry had dropped him at Dulles with the promise that he wouldn’t use the Jag, and now he was here. Though he traveled constantly, the thrill of being in a new place never wore off. It was like a flicker of lightness in his chest.
Mercer had also asked Harry to forward his mail to the satellite office Geo-Research would maintain in Reykjavik to transship mail and supplies to the team in Greenland once a week. While downloading the two hundred e-mail messages from his server, Mercer had come across a cryptic note from a lawyer in Munich about some documents being sent to him on behalf of an unnamed client. Mercer had no idea what it was about and had sent a query back. There hadn’t been a reply by the time he and Harry left for the airport, so Mercer asked his old friend to keep an eye out for it and make sure it reached him.
Mercer had been waiting for five minutes when a Toyota van pulled up to the building. The burly passenger rolled down his window. “Dr. Mercer,
da
?” His accent was Russian.
“I’m Mercer.”
The Russian threw open the door with a big grin. Even without the bright blue parka he was huge, taller than Mercer by at least a foot and broad across the shoulders and chest. To judge by his florid face, he appeared to be in his early fifties, but he looked like an outdoorsman and might have been younger. “Welcome to Iceland. I am Igor Bulgarin.”
Mercer’s hand vanished in his grip. “Thank you. Are you part of Geo-Research?”
“
Nyet
. They are all Germans. I am from Russian Academy of Science. But I am lone Russian on expedition. All others from my group are from Western Europe.” He spoke in a flood of words as if fearful they would dry up.
The driver got out of the Toyota. He was Mercer’s age and about the same build. His sour expression seemed to be a permanent feature, and he had slow, watchful eyes. Mercer made the quick assumption that the two were not working together. Bulgarin had the jocularity of an excited puppy, while the blond-haired driver seemed overly taciturn.
“This is Ernst Neuhaus,” Igor introduced. “He is head of Geo-Research support office here in Iceland.”
“Oh, how do you do?” Mercer said.
“Good evening, Dr. Mercer,” Neuhaus replied, briefly shaking hands without first removing his glove. His voice was sharp and lightly accented. “You’re the last of the Society’s people to arrive. In fact, everyone’s here except for one person from Igor’s group.”
Mercer turned to the Russian. “Is there a problem?”
“We have medical doctor coming. She is German who studies stress but not part of Geo-Research. She had accident back home and will join us on Greenland.”
“I thought your group were all meteorologists?”
“
Nyet
. Three of them investigate sunspots, I look for meteorite fragments, and Dr. Klein looks at us.”
“I never asked you, Igor,” Neuhaus interrupted. “Why go to Greenland to look for meteors?”
“Meteor doesn’t hit ground. Meteorite does,” Igor Bulgarin corrected. “We search on ice for same reason polar bear is white. White bear, white ice — no can see. Black meteorite on white ice, find easy. Meteorite in desert looks like all other rocks. Very hard to find.”
Mercer decided quickly that he liked the animated Russian. His less than positive reaction to Neuhaus was irrelevant
Mercer zipped up his bomber jacket and donned a khaki baseball cap while he waited at the curb with his two large bags. The air smelled fresh, sharp with the scent of the sea, and it only added to the unreality of his position. Eight hours ago Harry had dropped him at Dulles with the promise that he wouldn’t use the Jag, and now he was here. Though he traveled constantly, the thrill of being in a new place never wore off. It was like a flicker of lightness in his chest.
Mercer had also asked Harry to forward his mail to the satellite office Geo-Research would maintain in Reykjavik to transship mail and supplies to the team in Greenland once a week. While downloading the two hundred e-mail messages from his server, Mercer had come across a cryptic note from a lawyer in Munich about some documents being sent to him on behalf of an unnamed client. Mercer had no idea what it was about and had sent a query back. There hadn’t been a reply by the time he and Harry left for the airport, so Mercer asked his old friend to keep an eye out for it and make sure it reached him.
Mercer had been waiting for five minutes when a Toyota van pulled up to the building. The burly passenger rolled down his window. “Dr. Mercer,
da
?” His accent was Russian.
“I’m Mercer.”
The Russian threw open the door with a big grin. Even without the bright blue parka he was huge, taller than Mercer by at least a foot and broad across the shoulders and chest. To judge by his florid face, he appeared to be in his early fifties, but he looked like an outdoorsman and might have been younger. “Welcome to Iceland. I am Igor Bulgarin.”
Mercer’s hand vanished in his grip. “Thank you. Are you part of Geo-Research?”
“
Nyet
. They are all Germans. I am from Russian Academy of Science. But I am lone Russian on expedition. All others from my group are from Western Europe.” He spoke in a flood of words as if fearful they would dry up.
The driver got out of the Toyota. He was Mercer’s age and about the same build. His sour expression seemed to be a permanent feature, and he had slow, watchful eyes. Mercer made the quick assumption that the two were not working together. Bulgarin had the jocularity of an excited puppy, while the blond-haired driver seemed overly taciturn.
“This is Ernst Neuhaus,” Igor introduced. “He is head of Geo-Research support office here in Iceland.”
“Oh, how do you do?” Mercer said.
“Good evening, Dr. Mercer,” Neuhaus replied, briefly shaking hands without first removing his glove. His voice was sharp and lightly accented. “You’re the last of the Society’s people to arrive. In fact, everyone’s here except for one person from Igor’s group.”
Mercer turned to the Russian. “Is there a problem?”
“We have medical doctor coming. She is German who studies stress but not part of Geo-Research. She had accident back home and will join us on Greenland.”
“I thought your group were all meteorologists?”
“
Nyet
. Three of them investigate sunspots, I look for meteorite fragments, and Dr. Klein looks at us.”
“I never asked you, Igor,” Neuhaus interrupted. “Why go to Greenland to look for meteors?”
“Meteor doesn’t hit ground. Meteorite does,” Igor Bulgarin corrected. “We search on ice for same reason polar bear is white. White bear, white ice — no can see. Black meteorite on white ice, find easy. Meteorite in desert looks like all other rocks. Very hard to find.”
Mercer decided quickly that he liked the animated Russian. His less than positive reaction to Neuhaus was irrelevant
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