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er the wind。 The rock did not move； and the tension began to mount。 The twanging noises rose in pitch； the generators roared； and still the rock remained stationary。 And then； at the height of the cacophony； McFarlane thought he saw the meteorite move。 But with the wind shrieking in his ears and the snow obscuring his vision； he could not be sure。
Garza looked up； smiled crookedly； and gave them a thumbs…up。
〃It's moving！〃 Rachel cried。
Garza and Stonecipher shouted orders to the workers below。 Beneath the cradle； the steel runners squealed and smoked。 Workers pumped a continuous slurry of graphite on the runners and the surface of the cart。 The acrid smell of burning steel rose to McFarlane's nostrils。
And then it was over。 With a tremendous； decaying groan； the meteorite and its cradle settled onto the waiting cart。 The Kevlar straps loosened； and the generators powered down。
〃We did it！〃 Rachel pressed her index fingers to her lips and gave a piercing whistle。
McFarlane gazed down at the meteorite； now safely mounted on the cart。 〃Ten feet；〃 he said。 〃Ten thousand miles to go。〃
Beyond the Jaws of Hanuxa； there was a brilliant flash of lightning； then another。 A monstrous clap of thunder rolled past them。 The wind rose in strength； tearing at the snow； sending sheets of white across the ground and into the trench。
〃That's it！〃 Glinn called out to the group。 〃Mr。 Garza； please cover the tunnel。〃
Garza turned toward the crane operator； one gloved hand keeping his hood secure against the wind。 〃Can't do it！〃 he shouted back。 〃The wind's too strong。 It'll topple the boom。〃
Glinn nodded。 〃Then pull the tarps and ribbing over it until the storm passes。〃
As McFarlane watched； a group of workers ran down both sides of the trench； unrolling a tarp as they went； struggling to keep it in place against the rising fury； of the wind。 It was streaked with mottled white and gray； camouflaged to resemble the bleak surface of the island。 McFarlane was impressed once again by Glinn's ability to anticipate every possibility； to have a contingency plan always waiting in the wings。
Another flash of lightning； closer this time； gave a strange illumination to the snow…heavy air。
Satisfied that the tarp had been properly secured； Glinn nodded to McFarlane。 〃Let's get back to the huts。〃 He looked over at Garza。 〃I want the area cleared of personnel until the storm passes。 Post a guard at four…hour shifts。〃
Then he motioned to McFarlane and Rachel and they began to make their way across the staging area； leaning into the howling wind。
Isla Desolacion；
10：40 P。M。
ADOLFO TIMMER waited behind a large snowdrift； motionless in the dark。 He had lain； watching； until he was almost pletely buried by the storm。 Down below； he could see the faint glow of lights； fading in and out of the snow。 It was now after midnight； and he had seen no activity。 The cleared area was deserted； the workers no doubt sheltering in the huts。 It was time to act。
Timmer raised his head against the still…intensifying blast。 He rose； the wind whipping the accumulated snow from his limbs。 Around him； the storm had shaped the snow into long； diagonal fins； some more than ten feet high。 It was perfect cover。
He moved forward on his snowshoes； shielded by the drifts。 He stopped near the edge of the cleared area。 Ahead lay a pool of dirty light。 Crouching behind a snowbank； he waited； then raised his head and looked around。 Perhaps fifty yards away； a lone shack stood； the wind moaning through gaps in its corrugated roof。 On the far side of the cleared area； across from the shack； he could make out the long row of Quonset huts； their windows small squares of yellow。 Beside them were other structures and some containers。 As he stared； Timmer's eyes narrowed。 The leaching ponds and tailing piles across the island had proved to be a ruse； a cover for something else。
But what？
He tensed。 From around the corner of the shack； a man in a heavy parka appeared。 He opened the door of the shack； looked inside； closed it again。 Then he walked slowly along one edge of the cleared area； rubbing his mittens together； ducking his head against the wind and snow。
Timmer watched carefully。 The man was not out for an evening smoke。 He was doing guard duty。
But why post a guard over an old shack and a barren patch of ground？
He crept forward； slowly； until he reached another drift。 He was much closer to the shack now。 He waited； motionless； as the man returned to its door； stamped warmth into his feet； then walked away again。 Unless there was somebody else posted inside the shack； the guard was alone。
Timmer came around the side of the drift and approached the building； keeping it between him and the guard。 He stayed close to the ground； letting the darkness and the storm conceal him； careful to expose only the white nylon of his snowsuit to the circle of light。
Before he left the Almirante Ramirez； the andante had told him to take no unnecessary risks。 He had said it more than once： Be very careful； Mr。 Timmer。 I want you back in one piece。 There was no way to know if the guard was armed： Timmer would assume he was。 Crouching in the shadow of the shack； he reached into his snowsuit。 His hand closed around the handle of his knife and slid it out of the scabbard； making sure it had not frozen in place。 Tugging off one glove； he felt the blade： ice cold and razor sharp。 Excellent。 Yes； my andante； he thought： I will be very； very careful。 He clasped it tightly； ignoring the cold that bit into his fingers。 He wanted the blade warm enough to cut through flesh without freezing and snagging。
He waited as the storm grew even stronger。 The wind whipped around the bare sides of the shack； howling and crying。 He pulled his hood from his head； listening with his naked ear。 Then he heard it again： the soft swish and crush of footsteps approaching through the snow。
A faint shadow came into view around the edge of the hut； barely visible in the dim light。 Timmer pressed against the shack as it approached。 There was the sound of breathing； the thumping of arms as the man hugged himself against the cold。
Timmer spun around the er； lashing out low with his foot。 The figure fell facedown in the snow。 In a flash Timmer was on top of him； knee digging into his back； dragging the man into shadow while wrenching back his head。 The knife came forward； scoring deeply across the man's neck。 Timmer felt the blade grating against the cervical vertebrae。 There was a soft gurgle； then a rush of hot blood。 Timmer continued to hold the man's head back； letting his life drain into the snow。 Then he relaxed his grip and eased the body forward。
Timmer turned the man over and examined his face。 He was white； not the mestizo the andante had told him to watch for。 He patted the man's pockets quickly； finding a two…way radio and a small semiautomatic weapon。 He slipped them into his pocket； then concealed the body in a nearby drift； sweeping snow over it and smoothing over the area。 He cleaned his knife in the snow and carefully buried the bloody mush。 The fact that he had seen only one guard did not mean there could not be another。
Moving around the rear of the shack and keeping out of the light； he crept along the edge of the cleared area； following the path the guard had walked。 It was most curious： there was nothing here but snow。 As he stepped forward again； the ground yielded suddenly beneath one of his snowshoes； and he scrambled backward in surprise。 Exploring cautiously； on his hands and knees now； he felt something strange beneath the thin covering of snow。 It was not earth； it was not a crevasse； there was a hollow beneath the ground； with some kind of cloth stretched tight across it； held up by spacers。
Carefully； Timmer made his way back to the shadows behind the shack。 Before he explored further； he would have to make sure there were no surprises inside。 Keeping his knife poised； he crept around to the front； opened the door a crack； and glanced within。 It was deserted。 He slipped inside and closed the door behind him。 He pulled out a small flashlight and swept it around。 The beam illuminated nothing but kegs full of nails。
Why would somebody post a guard in front of a useless； empty shack？
Then he noticed something。 Quickly； he turned out his light。 A faint line of light was ing from the edge of a steel plate beneath one of the kegs。
Moving it aside； Timmer saw a trapdoor of banded metal。 He knelt beside it； listening intently for a moment。 Then he grasped the door and lifted it gingerly。
After the hours of waiting and watching in the winter night； the fluorescence that streamed up was blinding。 He closed the trapdoor again and crouched in the darkness； thinking。 Then he removed his snowshoes； concealed them in the far er of the hut； and opened the door again； waiting a moment for his eyes to adjust。 Then； knife in hand； he descended the ladder。
Thirty feet down； he stepped off the ladder into the tunnel。 He paused。 It was warmer down here； but at first Timmer barely noticed： in the glare of the light he felt exposed and vulnerable。 He moved rapidly along the tunnel； keeping low。 This was like no gold mine he had ever heard of。