"Your real one."
I frowned. I'd been waiting the entire ride for this exact moment. But I still felt unprepared.
In polite company, I referred to myself as a private archaeologist. It was true enough. Plus, it allowed me to avoid dirty looks and accusations. But my former colleagues had plenty of other names for people like me.
Grave robber. Tomb raider. Relic thief. Artifact Looter. History destroyer.
And those were just the nice ones.
"I'm a treasure hunter," I replied.
"You think there's treasure here?"
"I didn't say that."
"Well, there's not."
I turned my attention back to the landscape. I noticed a few rock exposures, mostly situated around the mountains. A brilliant white cloak covered the rest of the icy land. Much of it appeared flat at a distance. But up close, it looked highly textured, like tiny waves.
After another hour of staring at the ice, my eyes started to ache. My body grew stiff. The constant sunshine threw off my internal clock.
The wind whipped and whirled, sending particles of snow hurtling into the windshield. My visibility declined but I had no trouble seeing the bright red flags marking the route. They were mounted on tall posts and flapped madly, shifting constantly with the winds.
Flags were funny things. At first glance, they appeared weak. They were at the mercy of the weather. And yet, their ability to bend was what gave them strength. A storm could destroy almost anything. But a flag, properly mounted and secured, could withstand the strongest winds.
The same couldn't be said for people. Compromise of one's ideals and beliefs didn't strengthen a person.
It weakened him.
My resolve stiffened. I didn't care what Baxter said. The Amber Room was located on the frozen continent. I didn't just believe it. I knew it. Nothing was going to change my mind.
A tiny light, a beacon amidst the bleakness, appeared out of nowhere. I shielded my eyes as Baxter took his foot off the accelerator.
"That's Kirby Station," he barked. "We'll be there in a couple of minutes."
We drew closer. A strange saucer-shaped building materialized. As I stared at it, I found myself faced with an uncomfortable truth. I'd collected substantial evidence showing the Nazis had stashed the Amber Room in some kind of vault known as Werwolfsschanze . That evidence was largely circumstantial. And yet, I believed in it all the same.
I had little use for skepticism or questions. For the first time in my life, I wasn't acting like an archaeologist or even a treasure hunter.
I was acting like a true believer.
Chapter 17
"Before we go inside, there's something I should tell you." Baxter directed the Sno-Cat into a vehicle shed. "No one comes to Antarctica for the social life. But only the true hermits end up at Kirby."
Graham zipped up his parka. "Sounds like a friendly place."
"Let me put it this way. The scientists at Fitzgerald are chomping at the bit to show off their work. That doesn't happen here. The Whitlows and Crazy Roy prefer to work in solitude. If you stick your nose in their business, they'll cut if off."
I climbed out of the vehicle. I heard humming machines and mechanical rumblings. And yet, the vehicle shed was freezing cold. It was like the machines were sucking every last bit of heat out of the air.
We exited the shed and tromped across the snow. Kirby was shaped like a giant saucer with rounded edges and a gleaming silvery surface. A spider web of hefty tubes snaked out of its sides and plunged deep into the ground. Even from a distance, it felt frosty and impersonal. It reminded me of a 1960s vision of futuristic architecture.
I carried my bag up a flight of stairs and entered the building. The common room was spacious, yet uncomfortable. Large curving windows let in too much sunlight. White sofas and chairs, decked out in fluffy blue pillows, felt hard to the touch. White coffee tables were too small to be of much use.
Two hallways led away from the common room. The sign above one hallway
I frowned. I'd been waiting the entire ride for this exact moment. But I still felt unprepared.
In polite company, I referred to myself as a private archaeologist. It was true enough. Plus, it allowed me to avoid dirty looks and accusations. But my former colleagues had plenty of other names for people like me.
Grave robber. Tomb raider. Relic thief. Artifact Looter. History destroyer.
And those were just the nice ones.
"I'm a treasure hunter," I replied.
"You think there's treasure here?"
"I didn't say that."
"Well, there's not."
I turned my attention back to the landscape. I noticed a few rock exposures, mostly situated around the mountains. A brilliant white cloak covered the rest of the icy land. Much of it appeared flat at a distance. But up close, it looked highly textured, like tiny waves.
After another hour of staring at the ice, my eyes started to ache. My body grew stiff. The constant sunshine threw off my internal clock.
The wind whipped and whirled, sending particles of snow hurtling into the windshield. My visibility declined but I had no trouble seeing the bright red flags marking the route. They were mounted on tall posts and flapped madly, shifting constantly with the winds.
Flags were funny things. At first glance, they appeared weak. They were at the mercy of the weather. And yet, their ability to bend was what gave them strength. A storm could destroy almost anything. But a flag, properly mounted and secured, could withstand the strongest winds.
The same couldn't be said for people. Compromise of one's ideals and beliefs didn't strengthen a person.
It weakened him.
My resolve stiffened. I didn't care what Baxter said. The Amber Room was located on the frozen continent. I didn't just believe it. I knew it. Nothing was going to change my mind.
A tiny light, a beacon amidst the bleakness, appeared out of nowhere. I shielded my eyes as Baxter took his foot off the accelerator.
"That's Kirby Station," he barked. "We'll be there in a couple of minutes."
We drew closer. A strange saucer-shaped building materialized. As I stared at it, I found myself faced with an uncomfortable truth. I'd collected substantial evidence showing the Nazis had stashed the Amber Room in some kind of vault known as Werwolfsschanze . That evidence was largely circumstantial. And yet, I believed in it all the same.
I had little use for skepticism or questions. For the first time in my life, I wasn't acting like an archaeologist or even a treasure hunter.
I was acting like a true believer.
Chapter 17
"Before we go inside, there's something I should tell you." Baxter directed the Sno-Cat into a vehicle shed. "No one comes to Antarctica for the social life. But only the true hermits end up at Kirby."
Graham zipped up his parka. "Sounds like a friendly place."
"Let me put it this way. The scientists at Fitzgerald are chomping at the bit to show off their work. That doesn't happen here. The Whitlows and Crazy Roy prefer to work in solitude. If you stick your nose in their business, they'll cut if off."
I climbed out of the vehicle. I heard humming machines and mechanical rumblings. And yet, the vehicle shed was freezing cold. It was like the machines were sucking every last bit of heat out of the air.
We exited the shed and tromped across the snow. Kirby was shaped like a giant saucer with rounded edges and a gleaming silvery surface. A spider web of hefty tubes snaked out of its sides and plunged deep into the ground. Even from a distance, it felt frosty and impersonal. It reminded me of a 1960s vision of futuristic architecture.
I carried my bag up a flight of stairs and entered the building. The common room was spacious, yet uncomfortable. Large curving windows let in too much sunlight. White sofas and chairs, decked out in fluffy blue pillows, felt hard to the touch. White coffee tables were too small to be of much use.
Two hallways led away from the common room. The sign above one hallway
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