p&c.icelimit-第60节

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　observer　rather　than　a　participant。　And　to　observe　it　under　such　circumstances　…　tethered　to　shore　in　the　lee　of　a　storm…went　against　everything　she　had　ever　learned　in　her　career。
　At　last　the　tower　was　even　with　the　shed　perched　on　the　bluff。　She　watched　Glinn　murmur　to　the　console　operator。　Instantly；　the　pumps　ceased。
　A　loud　crack　echoed　from　the　bluff。　A　cloud　of　smoke　expanded　as　the　metal　shed　blew　apart。　The　smoke　rolled　away　to　merge　with　the　fog；　revealing　the　meteorite；　bloodred　under　the　sodium　lights。　Britton　caught　her　breath。　She　was　aware　that　all　eyes　on　the　bridge　had　locked　on　the　meteorite。　There　was　a　collective　gasp。
　On　the　bluff；　diesel　engines　roared　into　life　and　a　plicated　series　of　pulleys　and　capstans　began　to　turn。　A　highpitched　squeal　sounded；　diesel　smoke　billowed　skyward　to　mingle　with　fog。　Inch　by　inch；　the　meteorite　began　moving　toward　the　reinforced　edge　of　the　bluff。　Britton　watched；　transfixed；　the　flood　of　emotions　inside　her　temporarily　stilled。　There　was　something　regal　about　the　meteorite's　progress：　stately；　slow；　regular。　It　crept　past　the　edge　onto　the　platform　atop　the　tower。　Then　it　stopped。　Again　she　felt　the　whole　ship　vibrate　as　the　puter…controlled　pumps　kept　the　ship　trim；　emptying　precisely　enough　ballast　to　pensate　for　the　growing　weight　of　the　meteorite。
　Britton　watched　the　process　in　tense　silence。　The　meteorite　would　creep　a　little　farther　onto　the　platform；　then　stop；　to　an　answering　shudder　from　the　ballast　pumps。　The　jerky　ballet　continued　for　twenty　minutes。　At　last；　it　was　finished：　the　meteorite　was　centered　atop　the　tower。　She　felt　the　Rolvaag's　top…heaviness；　the　destabilization　caused　by　the　meteorite's　weight；　but　she　could　also　sense　the　ballast　tanks　now　refilling　with　water；　the　ship　sinking　back　down　into　the　water　for　stability。
　Glinn　spoke　again　to　the　puter　operator。　Then；　nodding　at　Britton；　he　walked　out　onto　the　bridge　wing　nearest　the　bluff。　The　bridge　remained　silent　for　another　minute。　Then　she　felt　Chief　Mate　Howell　e　up　behind　her。　She　did　not　turn　as　he　leaned　toward　her　ear。
　〃Captain；〃　he　murmured。　〃I　want　you　to　know　that　we　…　I　mean；　the　officers　and　myself　…　aren't　happy　about　this。　It　isn't　right；　the　way　you　were　treated。　We're　behind　you　a　hundred　percent。　You　just　say　the　word　and。。。〃　There　was　no　need　to　finish　the　sentence。
　Britton　remained　rigidly　at　attention。　〃I　thank　you；　Mr。　Howell；〃　she　replied　in　a　quiet　voice。　〃But　that　will　be　all。〃
　After　a　moment；　Howell　stepped　back。　Britton　took　a　deep　breath。　The　time　for　action　had　passed。　Now；　they　were　mitted。　The　meteorite　was　no　longer　a　land…based　problem。　It　was　on　the　ship。　And　the　only　way　to　get　it　off　was　to　see　the　Rolvaag　docked　safely　in　New　York。　Once　again　she　thought　of　Glinn；　of　the　way　he　had　wooed　her　into　manding　the　Rolvaag；　how　he　had　known　everything　about　her；　how　much　he　had　trusted　her　in　customs　at　Puerto　Williams。　They　had　been　a　good　team。　She　wondered　if　she　had　done　the　right　thing　in　yielding　her　mand　to　him；　however　temporary。　But　then　she　had　had　no　choice。
　Through　all　these　thoughts；　Britton　stood　rigidly　at　attention。
　Outside；　there　was　another　sharp　cracking　sound；　a　gleaming　row　of　titanium　struts　flew　away　from　the　top　rung　of　the　tower　with　a　dozen　puffs　of　smoke。　They　spun　away；　coruscating　into　the　fog；　dropping　lazily　out　of　sight。　The　meteorite　sank　onto　the　next　layer　of　the　tower；　the　whole　ship　shuddered　again；　and　the　ballast　pumps　rumbled　into　life。　Then　there　was　another　round　of　explosions；　another　narrow　layer　of　the　tower　crumpled　into　itself；　and　the　meteorite　sank　a　few　inches　closer　to　the　tank。
　A　part　of　Britton　realized　this　was　an　awesome　engineering　feat；　utterly　original；　perfectly　planned；　beautifully　executed。　But　another　part　of　her　found　no　pleasure　in　it。　She　glanced　down　the　length　of　the　vessel。　The　fog　was　getting　patchier；　and　the　sleety　rain　was　now　blowing　horizontally　across　the　windows。　Soon　the　fog　would　blow　away。　Then　the　game　would　be　up。　Because　Vallenar　was　not　some　engineering　problem　Glinn　could　solve　with　a　slide　rule。　And　their　only　bargaining　chip　lay　deep　inside　the　Rolvaag　…　not　in　the　brig；　but　in　Dr。　Brambell's　frozen　morgue。
　
　Rolvaag；
　2：50　A。M。
　
　LLOYD　PACED　his　darkened　study　on　the　middle　bridge　deck　with　the　restless　fury　of　a　caged　beast。　The　wind　had　picked　up；　and　every　few　minutes　a　gust　would　strike　the　ship　with　such　force　that　the　stern　windows　bowed　and　rattled　in　their　frames。　Lloyd　barely　noticed。
　He　paused　a　moment；　then　stared　out　through　the　open　door　of　his　private　office　into　the　sitting　room　beyond。　Its　surfaces　were　faintly　illuminated　in　the　dull　red　glow　of　emergency　lights。　The　wall　of　television　screens；　black　and　featureless；　blinked　back　the　silent　mockery　of　a　hundred　dim　reflections　of　himself。
　He　spun　away；　trembling。　His　body　swelled　with　anger　inside　his　suit；　straining　the　expensive　fabric。　It　was　inprehensible。　Glinn　…　a　man　he　was　paying　three　hundred　million　dollars　…　had　ordered　him　from　the　bridge　of　his　own　ship。　He　had　cut　off　the　power　to　his　suite；　leaving　him　deaf；　dumb；　and　blind。　There　were　matters　to　take　care　of　back　in　New　York　…　critical　matters。　The　enforced　silence　was　costing　him　big　money。　And　there　was　something　else；　something　that　hurt　more　than　money。　Glinn　had　humiliated　him　in　front　of　the　bridge　officers　and　his　own　people。
　Lloyd　could　forgive　a　lot　of　things；　but　that　he　could　never　forgive。　Palmer　Lloyd　had　faced　down　presidents；　prime　ministers；　sheikhs；　captains　of　industry；　and　mob　kingpins。　But　this　man　was　different。
　In　a　paroxysm　of　rage　he　kicked　out　at　one　of　the　wing　chairs；　sending　it　crashing　to　the　deck。　And　then　suddenly　he　whirled　around；　listening　intently。
　The　howl　of　the　wind；　the　faint　grinding　of　machinery　from　the　bogus　worksite；　went　on　as　they　had　before。　But　there　had　been　another；　more　regular　sound：　something　that　Lloyd；　in　the　full　flood　of　his　anger；　had　not　immediately　noticed。　There　it　was　again：　the　staccato　pop　of　as　explosion。　It　was　very　near；　on　the　ship；　in　fact；　because　he　could　feel　the　deck　shuddering　faintly　beneath　his　feet。
　He　waited　in　the　faint　light；　muscles　tense；　curiosity　now　mingling　with　his　outrage。　There　it　was　again：　the　sound；　followed　by　the　shudder。
　Something　was　happening　on　the　maindeck。
　Quickly；　he　walked　out　through　the　sitting　room；　down　the　corridor；　and　into　the　central　suite。　Here；　his　secretaries　and　assistants　sat　awkwardly　among　the　dead　phones　and　darkened　puters；　talking　quietly。　The　talk　fell　away　as　he　passed　through　the　long；　low　space。　Noiselessly；　Penfold　slipped　out　of　the　shadows　to　pluck　at　his　sleeve。　Brushing　him　away；　Lloyd　moved　past　the　closed　elevators　and　opened　the　soundproofed　door　that　led　to　his　private　apartment。　He　went　through　the　rooms　to　the　forward　bulkhead　of　the　superstructure。　He　wiped　the　condensation　from　a　porthole　with　the　cuff　of　his　suit　jacket　and　peered　out。
　Below；　the　deck　was　a　hive　of　activity。　Workers　were　battening　down　the　deck　equipment；　checking　fastenings；　tightening　hatches；　making　all　the　last　frenzied　preparations　for　a　sea　voyage。　But　what　caught　his　attention　was　the　bizarre　tower　that　reared　out　of　the　tank。　It　was　shorter　than　it　had　been　before；　much　shorter；　in　fact。　Smoke　and　steam　encircled　it；　blending　with　the　fog　to　create　clouds　that　unfurled　along　the　deck　in　a　slow…motion　ballet。　As　he　watched；　there　was　another　rat…tat…tat　of　explosions。　The　meteorite　dropped　slightly　and　the　ship　shuddered　again。　Groups　of　workers　scurried　forward；　clearing　away　the　fresh　debris　before　the　next　set　of　explosions。
　Now　he　understood　precisely　what　Glinn　had　meant　by　a　controlled　failure　of　the　tower。　They　were　blowing　it　apart；　bit　by　bit。　As　he　watched；　Lloyd　grasped　that　this　was　the　best　…　probably　the　only　…　way　of　getting　something　that　heavy　into　the　tank。　He　caught　his　breath　at　the　brilliance　and　the　audacity　of　it。
　At　this　thought；　a　fresh　spasm　of　rage　ripped　through　his　body。　But　Lloyd　closed　his　eyes　against　it；　turning　away；　taking　a　deep　breath；　trying　to　calm　himself。
　Glinn　had　told　him　not　to　e；　McFarlane　had　told　him　not　to　e。　But　he　had　e　anyway。　Just　as　he　had　leapt　onto　the　meteorite　when　it　was　first　exposed。　He　thought　of　what　had　happened　to　the　man　named　Timmer；　and　he　shuddered。
　Perhaps　ing　down　again；　guns　blazing；　had　not　been　the　right　thing　to　do。　It　was　impulsive；　and　Lloyd　knew　enough　about　himself　to　know　he　was　not　normally　an　impulsive　man。　He　was　too　close　to　this：　it　had　bee　too　personal。　J。P。　Morgan　once　said；　〃If　you　want　something　too　much；　you　will　not　succeed　in　getting　it。〃　He　had　always　lived　by　that　philosophy：　he　had　never　been　afraid　to　walk　away　from　a　deal；　no　matter　how　lucrative。　The　ability　to　fold　a　hand；　even　with　four　aces；　had　been　his　most　valuable　business　asset。　Now；　for　the　first　time　in　his　life；　he　had　drawn　a　hand　that　he　could　not　fold。　He　was　in　the　game　to　the　finish；　win　or　lose。
　Lloyd　found　himself　fighting　an　unfamiliar　battle：　a　struggle　to　steady　his　mind。　He　considered　that　he　had　not　made　34　billion　by　being　unreasonable　and　hot…tempered。　He　had　always　avoided　second…guessing　his　hir