Seagram grinned and laid the microphone in Koplin’s lap. “Why don’t you begin with your departure from Norway?”

“Very uneventful,” Koplin said. “The Norwegian fishing trawler Godhawn towed my sloop to within two hundred miles of Novaya Zemlya as planned. Then the captain fed the condemned man a hearty meal of roast reindeer with goat-cheese sauce, generously provided six quarts of aquavit, cast off the tow-hawser, and sent yours truly merrily on his way across the Barents Sea.”

“Any weather problems?”

“None-your meteorological forecast held perfect. It was colder than a polar bear’s left testicle, but I had fine sailing weather all the way.” Koplin paused to scratch his nose. “That was a sweet little sloop your Norwegian friends fixed me up with. Was she saved?”

Seagram shook his head. “I’d have to check, but I’m certain it had to be destroyed. There was no way to take it on board the NUMA research vessel, and it couldn’t be left to drift into the path of a Soviet ship. You understand.”

Koplin nodded sadly. “Too bad. I became rather attached to her.”

“Please continue,” Seagram said.

“I raised the north island of Novaya Zemlya late in the afternoon of the second day. I had been at the helm for over forty hours, dozing off and on, and I began to find it impossible to keep my eyes open. Thank God for the aquavit. After a few swigs, my stomach was burning like an out-of-control forest fire and suddenly I was wide awake.”

“You sighted no other boats?”

“None ever showed on the horizon,” Koplin answered. Then he went on, “The coast proved to be a seemingly unending stretch of rocky cliffs. I saw no point in attempting a landing-it was beginning to get dark. So I turned out to sea, hove to, and sneaked a few hours sleep. In the morning I skirted the cliffs until I picked out a small sheltered cover and then went in on the auxiliary diesel.”

“Did you use your boat for a base camp?”

“For the next twelve days. I made two, sometimes three field trips a day on cross-country skis, prospecting before returning for a hot meal and a good night’s rest in a warm

“Up to now, you had seen no one?”

“I kept well clear of the Kelva missile station and the Kama security post. I saw no sign of the Russians until the final day of the mission.”

“How were you discovered?”

“A Russian soldier on patrol his dog must have crossed my trail and picked up my scent. Small wonder. I hadn’t bathed in almost three weeks.”

Seagram dropped a smile. Donner picked up the questioning more coldly, aggressively “Let’s get back to your field trips. What did you find?”

“I couldn’t cover the whole island on cross-country skis, so I concentrated on the promising areas that had been pinpointed by the satellite computer printouts.” He stared at the ceiling. “The north island; the outer continuation of the Ural and Yugorski mountain chains, a few rolling plains, plateaus, and mountains-most of which are under a permanent ice sheet. Violent winds much of the time. The chill factor is murderous. I found no vegetation other than some rock lichen. If there were any warm-blooded animals, they kept to themselves.”