Murder on Vinson Massif by Charles G. Irion

Author:Charles G. Irion
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Charles G. Irion
Publisher: Irion Books LLC

Because we’d be here for two days—and perhaps for a third on return from the summit—Bryan’s men set up a dining and meeting habitat, which glowed auburn and was slightly larger than the ones we slept in.

The evening meal was served in two shifts. Bryan and his team ate first, followed by the rest of us, except for Ainsworth. It was awkward, to say the least. Either Carlos or Kira had taken a shot at Zapata, Stern, Fowl and myself just a few days ago. The bullet had struck Lucio, who fell where he stood. We’d been forced to scramble for shelter and been unable to help him as he lay in the line of fire. We’d been forced to watch him slowly bleed to death.

Lucio been Maria Sabato’s uncle, and he’d been murdered just a few hours after I’d watched Kira kill his niece. A bit later she had shot at Stern in an offhanded way meant to stop any pursuit but one that could be just as deadly as a carefully aimed round. Finally, Zapata, who’d been part of the team pursuing Kira and Carlos, had turned on us and shot Fowl. As I say, the situation was awkward for everyone, even surreal.

The initial consequences were quiet conversations. Esmeralda made a few polite comments and other attempts at small talk. She had to keep it going on her own, though, as it wasn’t catching on.

Zapata coughed several times. Finally I asked how he felt—out of concern for my own health rather than for his.

“Not good,” he said. “My throat is killing me, and I’m having some difficulty breathing. Does anyone know the symptoms that scientist had?” Ignacio ran them down for him. “And you say he was dead when they put him on that plane?” He directed that last at Carlos.

“Oh yes, he was very dead. His face was covered. It was like a funeral. You shouldn’t be here with us if you are sick.”

“I suppose you’re right. I’m going back to my habitat and lie down.”

“I’ll check on you later,” Esmeralda said. “We’re here for two days. Just rest. It’s probably nothing more than the dry air.”

As I was working on my final cup of coffee and considering what I’d do with the rest of the evening, two men entered. One was Pagan, the other Ainsworth. Once he had removed his jacket Ainsworth went to the head of the table. Pagan stood off to the side. He was a bullish man, stout, obviously strong, with a large, fleshy face, its features small and clustered towards the middle. His dark eyes took each of us in as if we were slabs of meat.

“This stop is unnecessary for those of you who just climbed Aconcagua,” Ainsworth announced, “but for the rest of us it is a safety precaution. The good news is that the weather is holding. I’ll limit our stay to one day if I see a change in the pattern, as I’m told these can happen very quickly.

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