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suggested that the United States had been populated tens of thousands of years ago by a very advanced people.
    She smiled as she thought of him, but soon cut the thoughts off and returned to the business at hand – a quality that was both a blessing and a curse.
    She picked up the secure radiophone and put through the call to NASA headquarters. A message like this could only go right to the top.
    The operator came on the line, and Lynn wasted no time. ‘Get me the Administrator.’
    Samuel Bartholomew Atkinson was the Administrator of NASA, the ‘high chief of space’ as he was lovingly referred to by his staff.
    His love of the cosmos stretched back to when he was just three years old, so his mother told him, and he had pursued a career in the stars with a passion that bordered on the ferocious. He was now in his dream job, and loved every minute of it. Sure, there were challenges, but what satisfaction was there in life without challenges? His position gave him a level of knowledge about the cosmos that would have scared his three-year-old self, but he valued that knowledge now above all else.
    The message that had just come in from Evelyn Edwards was disturbing in the extreme, and he was going to have to play it up the line. He told Lynn that he would be back in touch within the hour.
    His fingers dialled the number quickly on the secure phone on his desk, and Stephen Jacobs answered on the first ring.
    Atkinson filled him in as fast as he could, but Jacobs stopped him halfway. ‘I know, Samuel. And I’ve already spoken to our friends.’
    Atkinson seemed surprised. But then again, Jacobs was a man who was full of surprises. ‘And what did they say?’
    Jacobs cleared his throat. ‘They say that it is definitely something to be worried about. There could be a connection, although there’s no real way of knowing before examination. But it is cause for concern. We need to contain the situation.’
    ‘Yes, sir. Our next course of action?’
    ‘OK,’ Jacobs declared, ‘listen carefully. This is what I want you to do.’
    The radio phone rang in the metal confines of the small base’s communications room. Lynn picked it up immediately.
    ‘Hey, Lynn,’ Atkinson said in his good-natured, friendly tone. ‘How you doing?’
    ‘Excited,’ Lynn confirmed. ‘Excited but ready to do this thing the right way. What do you recommend?’
    ‘You’re to remain on the base for the time being,’ Atkinson said. ‘We don’t want to compromise the site. We’ve got a specialist team already en route to your location. You are to liaise with that team, and offer them all the assistance you can. Is that clear?’
    ‘Yes, sir,’ Lynn confirmed. ‘ETA?’
    ‘Estimated time of arrival is 0700 tomorrow morning. Connecting to McMurdo, then on to you. Be sure to give them a warm welcome.’
    ‘We will, sir.’
    ‘And Lynn?’
    ‘Yes, sir?’
    ‘This has been classified Ultra. Nobody else knows about this, and we want to keep it that way. Unless it’s through me, you are to cease communication with the outside world as of right now.’
    Ten thousand miles away, in his private office in Washington DC, Atkinson replaced the receiver and rubbed his eyes. It was going to be a long night.

4
    T HE TEAM ARRIVED as promised exactly at seven the next morning, landing in two identical Chinook AH-46 twin-rotored helicopters just fifty metres from the base, snow and ice spinning high up into the air from the powerful downdraught.
    Six men from each helicopter quickly deplaned, heads down as they ran underneath the slowing rotors. Lynn had the door open for them, counting them in one by one. The pilots would come later, after securing the aircraft.
    Nothing was said until the whole crew was assembled in the dining room, the largest of the rooms in the small Matrix base camp.
    One of the men – Lynn noticed that they were
all
men – stepped forward. ‘Dr Edwards?’ he said, extending a large hand. ‘Major Marcus Daley, US Army