By Nathan Archer
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He hesitated, peering out into the empty darkness to the east. ”It ... it’s getting colder, Lieutenant,” he said uncertainly. “Forty below zero, and the snow is heavier. ” ”It’s just four kilometers farther, Salnikov,” Ligacheva said, keeping her annoyance out of her voice. “That’s nothing. ” Salnikov bit back a reply and turned the tractor, away from the comforting solidity of the pipeline and into the unrelieved gloom of the Siberian wilderness. When he had, Ligacheva reached down into her pack and pulled out something she would have preferred not to have needed.
Then she remembered where she was, who she was, and who was with her. ”All of you,” she barked, “follow me! ” Dolzhikov hesitated, holding Taro’s legs. ” Ligacheva shouted. ” Dolzhikov obeyed and dropped his burden; the frozen corpse teetered, then rolled slowly out of the truck and onto the ice. Dolzhikov joined the others as they charged up the ridge, past the pole. Ligacheva was shouting orders as she ran. “As soon as we reach Salnikov and the others, take up defensive positions! Use the ridge and the drifts for cover, if you can!
He asked. ”Yes,” Westfield said. ” ”Warheads don’t melt down,” Westfield interrupted. ” ”All right, it’s not a warhead, then,” Mavis said. ” He pulled out the printout of the raw satellite data, before Shearson or Meeters had added any comments or interpretation, and fed it into the fax. ”It’s not a warhead, damaged or otherwise,” Westfield told him. “And it’s not a meltdown-too much heat, not enough neutron emission for a meltdown. ” ”Good question,” Mavis replied. It took hours and dozens of calls-to seismologists, CIA analysts, and several agencies that weren’t supposed to exist-before General Mavis was satisfied.