"Quite sure. You need an ID tag to open the exterior doors here, so we always know who's where. Neither Kane nor Brewster opened any doors in the last twelve hours. They aren't here."
"So you think they may be on the plane?"
"McMurdo Tower wasn't sure. They're pretty casual about the daily transport--if somebody wants to go, they just hop on and leave. It's a C-130, so there's always plenty of room. You see, a lot of the research grants don't permit you to leave during the period of your research, but people have birthdays and family events back on the mainland. So they just go, and come back. It's unrecorded."
"If I recall," Kenner said, "Brewster came here with two graduate students. Where's the other one?"
"Interesting. He left from McMurdo yesterday, the day you arrived."
"So they all got out," Kenner said. "Got to give them credit: They're smart." He looked at his watch. "Now let's see what, if anything, they left behind."
The name on the door said "Dave Kane, U. Mich." Evans pushed it open, and saw a small room, an unmade bed, a small desk with a messy stack of papers, and four cans of Diet Coke. There was a suitcase lying open in the corner.
"Let's get started," Kenner said. "I'll take the bed and the suitcase. You check the desk."
Evans began to go through the papers on the desk. They all seemed to be reprints of research articles. Some were stampe u mich geo lib followed by a number.
"Window dressing," Kenner said, when he was shown the papers. "He brought those papers with him. Anything else? Anything personal?"
Evans didn't see anything of interest. Some of the papers were highlighted in yellow marker. There was a stack of 3-by-5 notecards, with some notes written on them, but they seemed to be genuine, and related to the stack of papers.
"You don't suppose this guy is really a graduate student?"
"Could be, though I doubt it. Eco-terrorists aren't usually well educated."
There were pictures of glacier flows, and satellite images of various sorts. Evans shuffled through them quickly. Then he paused at one:
ISS006. ESC1.03003375 SCORPION B
What caught his eye was the caption. "Listen," he said, "on that list of four locations, wasn't one of them called 'Scorpion'?"
"Yes..."
"It's right here, in Antarctica," Evans said. "Look at this."
Kenner started to say, "But it can't be--" and abruptly broke off. "This is extremely interesting, Peter. Well done. It was in that stack? Good. Anything else?"
Despite himself, Evans felt pleased by Kenner's approval. He searched quickly. A moment later he said, "Yes. There's another one."
ISS006. ESC1.03003375 SCORPION B
"It's the same basic pattern of rock outcrops in the snow," Evans said, excitedly. "And, I don't know about these faint lines...roads? Rocks covered in snow?"
"Yes," Kenner said. "I think that's almost certainly correct."
"And if they're aerial photographs, there must be a way to trace them. Do you think these numbers are references of some kind?"
"There's no question." Kenner pulled out a small pocket magnifying glass, and scanned the image, peering closely. "Yes, Peter. Very well done."
Evans beamed.
From the doorway, MacGregor said, "You found something? Can I help?"
"I don't think so," Kenner said. "We'll deal with this ourselves."
Evans said, "But maybe he will recognize--"
"No," Kenner said. "We'll get the ID off the NASA image files. Let's continue."
They searched in silence for several minutes more. Kenner took out a pocketknife and began cutting the lining of the suitcase lying open in the corner of Brewster's office. "Ah." He straightened. In his fingers, he held two curved arcs of pale rubber.
"What are those?" Evans said. "Silicon?"
"Or something very similar. A kind of soft plastic, at any rate." Kenner seemed very pleased.
"What're they for?" Evans said.
"I have no idea," Kenner said. He resumed his search of the suitcase. Privately, Evans wondered why Kenner was so pleased. Probably he was not saying what he knew in front of MacGregor. But what could two bits of rubber mean, anyway? What could they be used for?
Evans went through the documents on the desk a second time, but found nothing more. He lifted the desk lamp and looked under the base. He crouched down and looked under the desk, in case something was taped there. He found nothing.
Kenner closed the suitcase. "As I thought, nothing more. We were very lucky to find what we did." He turned to MacGregor. "Where's Sanjong?"
"In the server room, doing what you requested--cutting Brewster and his team out of the system."
The "server room" was hardly larger than a closet. There were twin racks of processors running floor to ceiling, and the usual mesh ceiling for cabling. There was a master terminal in the room, on a small steel table. Sanjong was crowded in there with a Weddell technician at his side, looking frustrated.