Lemk prepared to strike the ground. His crew had chosen the terrain

well. The balls of his feet made contact with soft tundra, and he made

a perfect stand-up landing in the center of the circle.

Without a word, he unsnapped the harness and walked outside the glare of

the lights. He looked up at the sky.

The aircraft with its unsuspecting crew and passengers flew straight

toward the glacier that gradually rose, closing the gap between ice and

metal.

He stood there watching as the faint sound of the jet engines died and

the blinking navigation lights melted into the black 4 night.

Back in the galley, one of the flight attendants tilted her head,

listening.

"What's that tinny noise coming from the cockpit?" she asked.

Gary Rubin, the chief steward, stepped into the aisle and faced toward

the bow of the plane. He could hear what sounded like a continuous,

muffled roar, almost like rushing water in the distance.

Ten seconds after the imposter's exodus, the timer on the actuator set

the hydraulic arm in motion, closing the hatch in the hell hole and

cutting off the strange sound.

"It stopped," he said. "I don't hear it any more."

"What do you suppose it was?"

"Can't say. I've never heard anything quite like it. for a moment I

thought we might have suffered a pressure leak."

A passenger call light came on and the flight attendant brushed back her

blond hair and stepped into the main cabin.

"Maybe you better check it out with the captain," she said over her

shoulder.

Rubin hesitated, remembering Lemk's order not to bother the flight crew

except for a matter of importance. Better safe than sorry. The welfare

of the passengers came first. He lifted the intercom phone to his ear

and pressed the cockpit call button.

"Captain, Chief Steward here. We've just experienced a weird noise

forward of the main cabin. Is there a problem?"

He received no reply.

He tried three times, but the receiver remained dead. He stood there at

a loss for several moments, wondering why the flight cabin did not

respond. In twelve years of flying, this was a new experience for him.

He was still trying to fathom the mystery when the flight attendant

rushed up and said something. At first he ignored her, but the urgency

in her voice got through to him.

"What . . . what did you say?"

"We're over land!"

"Land?"

"Directly beneath us," she said, eyes blank with confusion. "A passenger

pointed it out to me."

Rubin shook his head doubtfully. "Impossible. We have to be over the

middle of the ocean. He probably saw lights from fishing boats. The

captain said we might spot them during our descent for the meteorology

study."

"See for yourself," she pleaded. "The ground is coming up fast. I

think we're landing."

He stepped over to the galley window and looked down. Instead of the

dark waters of the Atlantic there was a glimmer of white. A vast sheet