Free Terminal Freeze by Lincoln Child Page A

operator boosted power to the maximum. The block tilted, yawing wildly, then slowly settled back onto the floor of the cave. The crane operator throttled down for a moment. Then-slowly and carefully-he raised the block again, swung it around, and maneuvered it onto the flatbed. There was a sharp hiss of hydraulics. As the cameras rolled, a few of the other roustabouts secured the block to the vehicle and threw a heavy insulating tarp over it. Within minutes it was all over, the machinery was rolling back up the tunnel, and the countless spacers were being removed from their positions and returned to their canvas bags. And the cat-along with its surrounding block of ice-was on its way to the climate-controlled vault, where it would be kept securely locked until it was thawed and displayed to a live audience of millions.
    Conti surveyed the tunnel, a look of evident satisfaction on his face. “We’ll use the departing machinery as a keyframe,” he told Fortnum. “We’ll do a series of cutaways exiting up the tunnel, then a jump cut back to the base. Shoot a lot of coverage. And that’ll be a wrap.”
    He turned to Marshall. “So. Ready for that interview?”

10
    As they stepped back into the overpowering warmth of the base’s entrance plaza, Conti nodded for the soundman and Toussaint to accompany them. Then he turned to Marshall. “We might as well shoot this from your lab.”
    “It’s this way.” Marshall led the small group down the central staircase, along the wide corridor, then right at an intersection, stopping at a half-open door. “Here we are.”
    Conti leaned in, took a quick look around. “This is your lab?”
    “Yes. Why?”
    “It’s too neat. Where’s all the equipment? The samples? The test tubes?”
    “My samples are kept in a refrigerated locker down the hall. We’ve set up separate rooms for the scientific equipment, though we left most of the heavy stuff back in Woburn. This expedition is primarily about observation and sample collection-the analysis will come later.”
    “And the test tubes?”
    Marshall smiled thinly. “Paleoecologists don’t have much use for test tubes.”
    Conti thought for a moment. “I noticed that we passed a more appropriate lab a few doors back.”
    “Appropriate?” Marshall echoed. But Conti was already walking back down the hall, the soundman and photographer in tow. After a moment, Marshall shrugged and followed.
    “Here.” Conti had stopped outside a room whose every horizontal surface was covered with journals, printouts, plastic sample containers, and instrumentation.
    “But this is Wright’s lab,” Marshall protested. “We can’t use it.”
    Conti had raised the lens dangling around his neck to one eye and was examining Marshall through it. “Why not?”
    Marshall hesitated. He realized that, in fact, there was no good reason why they couldn’t use Faraday’s lab. “Why don’t you interview him, then?”
    “Because, Dr. Marshall-how can I put this delicately?-the camera would not be kind to Dr. Faraday. You, however, have a rugged academic appeal. Now, may we proceed?”
    Marshall shrugged again. He found it difficult talking to a man who was regarding him through a fist-sized lens.
    Conti stepped inside and-lens still in place-motioned Toussaint where he wanted the camera placed. The photographer walked to the back of the lab, followed by the soundman. “Dr. Marshall,” Conti went on, “we’re going to film you walking in and having a seat behind the desk. Ready?”
    “I suppose so.”
    Conti dropped the lens. “Action.”
    As the camera rolled, Marshall walked into the lab, stopping when he saw the tottering pile of papers placed on Faraday’s lab chair.
    “Cut.” Conti swept the papers onto the floor, shooed Marshall back out into the hall. “Let’s try that again.”
    Once again, Marshall walked through the door and into the office.
    “Cut!” Conti barked. He frowned at Marshall. “Don’t just come strolling in.