The Snow Tiger. Desmond Bagley

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ distance before hitting the top of the aluminium tube and thus driving it into the snow. Each time the weight dropped McGill noted the distance of penetration and recorded it in a notebook.

      They thumped with the weight, adding lengths of tubing as necessary, and hit bottom at 158 centimetres – about five feet.

      ‘There’s a bit of a hard layer somewhere in the middle,’ said McGill, taking an electric plug from the pack. He made a connection in the top of the tubing and plugged the other end into a box with a dial on it. ‘Make a note of these temperatures; there’ll be fifteen readings.’

      As Ballard took the last reading he said, ‘How do we get it out?’

      ‘We have a tripod and a miniature block and tackle.’ McGill grinned. ‘I think they pinched this bit from an oil rig.’

      He erected the tripod and started to haul out the tube. As the first section came free he disconnected it carefully and then took a knife and sliced through the ice in the tube. The sections were two feet long and the three of them were soon out. McGill put the tubes back into the pack, complete with the snow cores they contained. ‘We’ll have a look at those back at the house.’

      Ballard squatted on his heels and looked across the valley. ‘What now?’

      ‘Now we do another, and another, and another, and another in a line diagonally down the slope. I’d like to do more but that’s all the core tubing I have.’

      They had just finished the fourth trial boring when McGill looked up the slope. ‘We have company.’

      Ballard turned his head to see three skiers traversing down towards them. The leader was moving fast and came around in a flashy stem christiania which sent the snow spraying before he stopped. When he lifted blue-tinted goggles Ballard recognized Charlie Peterson.

      Peterson looked at Ballard with some astonishment. ‘Oh, it’s you! Eric told me you were back but I haven’t seen you around.’

      ‘Hello, Charlie.’

      The two other skiers came up and stopped more sedately – they were the two Americans, Miller and Newman. Charlie said, ‘How did you get here?’

      Ballard and McGill looked at each other, and Ballard wordlessly pointed to the skis. Charlie snorted. ‘You used to be afraid of falling off anything steeper than a billiard table.’ He looked curiously at the dismantled penetrometer. ‘What are you doing?’

      McGill answered. ‘Looking at snow.’

      Charlie pointed a stick. ‘What’s that thing?’

      ‘A gadget for testing snow strength.’

      Charlie grinned at Ballard. ‘Since when did you become interested in snow? Your Ma wouldn’t let you out in it for fear you’d catch cold.’

      Ballard said evenly, ‘I’ve become interested in a lot of things since then, Charlie.’

      He laughed loudly. ‘Yes? I’ll bet you’re a hot one with the girls.’

      Newman said abruptly, ‘Let’s go.’

      ‘No, wait a minute,’ said Charlie. ‘I’m interested. What are you doing with that watchamacallit?’

      McGill straightened. ‘I’m testing the stresses on this snow slope.’

      ‘This slope’s all right.’

      ‘When did you have this much snow before?’

      ‘There’s always snow in the winter.’

      ‘Not this much.’

      Charlie looked at Miller and Newman and grinned at them. ‘All the better – it makes for good skiing.’ He rubbed the side of his jaw. ‘Why come here to look at snow?’

      McGill bent down to buckle a strap. ‘The usual reason.’

      The grin left Charlie’s face. ‘What reason?’ he asked blankly.

      ‘Because it’s here,’ said McGill patiently.

      ‘Funny!’ said Charlie. ‘Very funny! How long are you going to be here?’

      ‘For as long as it takes.’

      ‘That’s no kind of answer.’

      Ballard stepped forward. ‘That’s all the answer you’re going to get, Charlie.’

      Charlie grinned genially. ‘Staying away for so long has made you bloody prickly. I don’t remember you giving back-chat before.’

      Ballard smiled. ‘Maybe I’ve changed, Charlie.’

      ‘I don’t think so,’ he said deliberately. ‘People like you never change.’

      ‘You’re welcome to find out any time you like.’

      Newman said, ‘Cut it out, Charlie. I don’t know what you have against this guy and I don’t much care. All I know is he helped us yesterday. Anyway, this is no place to pick a fight.’

      ‘I agree,’ said Ballard.

      Charlie turned to Newman. ‘Hear that? He hasn’t changed.’ He swung around and pointed down the slope. ‘All right. We go down in traverses – that way first. This is a good slope for practising stem turns.’

      Miller said, ‘It looks good.’

      ‘Wait a minute,’ said McGill sharply. ‘I wouldn’t do that.’

      Charlie turned his head. ‘And why not, for Christ’s sake?’

      ‘It could be dangerous.’

      ‘Crossing the road can be dangerous,’ he said contemptuously. He jerked his head at Miller. ‘Let’s go.’

      Miller pulled down his goggles. ‘Sure.’

      ‘Hold on,’ said Newman. He looked down at the penetrometer. ‘Maybe the guy’s got something there.’

      ‘The hell with him,’ said Charlie, and pushed off. Miller followed without another word. Newman looked at Ballard for a moment, then shrugged expressively before he followed them.

      McGill and Ballard watched them go down. Charlie, in the lead, skied showily with a lot of unnecessary flair; Miller was sloppy and Newman neat and economical in his movements. They watched them all the way to the bottom.

      Nothing happened.

      ‘Who’s the jerk?’ McGill asked.

      ‘Charlie Peterson. He’s set up as a ski instructor.’

      ‘He seems to know you.’ McGill glanced sideways. ‘And your family.’

      ‘Yes,’ said Ballard expressionlessly.

      ‘I keep forgetting you were brought up here.’ СКАЧАТЬ