returned he spent a few years in and out of VA hospitals. Then he left the

country with the idea of getting as far away from the U.S. as possible."

Cabrillo stared out the window again. "It looks like he reached his

goal."

SACRED STONE 56

"I'm sorry, Juan," Hanley said. "In two more days, when the summit

wraps up, we could reposition the Oregon and Adams could fly you

up in the helicopter. Right now, however, this is all we've got."

"No sweat," Cabrillo said, staring at his notes. "Sixth house from

the church."

"Red walls," Hanley said, "and yellow-painted trim."

"Well then, let me go meet a madman."

He disconnected and walked through the door leading outside.

CABRILLO LEFT HIS boxes of supplies at the airport and approached

a snowmobile taxi with an Inuit teenager standing alongside. The boy

raised his eyebrows when Cabrillo gave the address but he said nothing.

He seemed more concerned with the fee, which he quoted in Danish

currency.

"How much in U.S. dollars?" Cabrillo asked.

"Twenty," the boy said without hesitation.

"Done," Cabrillo said, handing the boy a bill.

The boy climbed onto the snowmobile and reached for the starter

button. "You know Garth Brooks?" the boy asked, assuming everyone in

the United States must know everyone else, just like in his village.

"No," Cabrillo said, "but I played golf with Willie Nelson once."

"Cool. Is he any good?"

"Wicked slice," Cabrillo said as the boy hit the starter and the engine

roared to life.

"Get on," the boy shouted.

Once Cabrillo was seated, the boy raced away from the airport. The

snowmobile's headlight barely cut through the darkness and blowing

snow. Kulusuk was little more than a cluster of homes a mile or so from

the airport. The sides of the houses were partially covered by snowdrifts.

Trails of smoke and steam came from inside. Teams of dogs were clustered

near houses, along with many snowmobiles; skis were propped up

into the snow, tips aloft; snowshoes hung on nails near the doors.

Life in Kulusuk looked hard and grim.

North of town, the expanse of ice leading across to the mainland

54 CLIVE CUSSLER

was barely visible as a dim outline. The surface of ice was black and

slick as wind blew the snow and piled it into small drifts that ceaselessly

formed and reformed. The hills across the frozen ice were only visible as

an outline, a different color gray against a backdrop of nothingness. The

scene looked about as inviting as a tour of a crematorium. Cabrillo felt

the snowmobile slow then stop.

He climbed from the back and stood on the semipacked snow.

"Later," the teenager said with a quick wave of his hand.

Then the boy turned the yoke hard to the left, spun around on the

snow-packed street and raced away. Cabrillo was left alone in the cold

and darkness. He stared at the half-buried house for a second. Then he