Arctic Wargame (Justin Hall # 1) (19 page)

The commander grunted at Carrie’s sarcasm.

“Seriously, Commander, I’ll make sure both Emily and the chopper are safe, if you lay off our back and don’t try to force us to return to your base.”

He still did not utter a single word.

“I’ll take your silence as approval, Commander. Thank you.”

She flicked a switch to end their communication and another one to return the audio to the crew’s earphones. “That was the commander,” Carrie informed them officially, even though their eyes indicated they had paid close attention to her every word. “He demanded our return to his base, but as you heard me, I refused.”

“Do you think he’ll take your advice?” Justin asked.

“I’m not sure. He didn’t strike me as a daredevil, but that was before we stole one of his people.” Carrie glanced at Emily “And his chopper.” She returned her gaze to the Seahawk’s control panel.

The helicopter sunk a few feet, tipping to the right. Carrie pressed a few knobs and buttons, leveling the aircraft.

“Do you really think we’ll make it in one piece?” Anna asked.

“Of course, we will,” Carrie replied. “I’m flying us at a safe altitude, and the navigation system points to the right way at all times. On top of that, the search radar will alert us about any incoming human aircraft from all directions. The blizzard should have also grounded any stubborn or confused birds.”

“Where and when do you plan to land?” Anna asked.

Justin said, “We need to figure that out—our landing destination I mean—keeping in mind Alisha and the threat of . . .” He stopped. His gaze rested on Emily.

“You can say it,” Carrie said. “Emily’s going to be with us until this is over.”

“Who’s Alisha?” Emily asked. “What threat are you talking about?”

“Alisha’s the reason we ended up half-dead, washed ashore Cape Combermere, where the rescue team found us.”

“The b . . .” Carrie suppressed her swearing.

“Well, she used to be on our side,” Justin continued, “I mean the Canadian side, but she betrayed our country. She’s working for the enemy now.”

“What enemy?” Emily shrugged.

“We found a Danish weapons cache on our shores,” Carrie said. “We suspect the Danes are planning an attack on our coastline. I’m not sure about their exact intentions, but I know they’re not coming to ski.”

Emily blinked. “Really? So what were the reasons the commander didn’t help you?”

“He didn’t believe our story,” Justin replied. “I mean, your base is on Danish soil.”

“Maybe it was plausible deniability,” Carrie added. “If the commander distances himself from our story, dismissing our claims as ludicrous, in a sense he’s washing his hands of all responsibility. If there’s ever an internal investigation or an embarrassing media scandal, he’s untouchable, using his ignorance as his ‘stay out of jail’ card. With the base being in Greenland, under Denmark’s sovereignty, any rumors about suspicious activities of Danish troops would be considered a stab in the back.”

Carrie checked a few controls. According to the horizontal indicator, the helicopter was titled at a fifteen degree angle to the horizon, so she steadied the Seahawk.

“This is one of those situations when the wrong move ends a career,” Justin said. “And I couldn’t give the commander everything we have, so I don’t really blame him. Now back to Alisha. She forced Kiawak to fly her away. Where would she ask him to take her?”

“I don’t think they went back to Grise Fiord,” Anna replied, while Carrie battled a new air pocket. “Too many witnesses, and someone would have noticed our absence.”

“Those reasons eliminate Pont Inlet also,” Justin said. “Kiawak knew many people there, who would invite him for a few beers once they saw him . . . If they saw him.”

“Hey,” Carrie said, “Kiawak’s still alive. He knows how to survive and, as long as Alisha thinks he’s useful, she’ll let him live.”

“Yes, but once they’re on the ground—”

“No, Justin. After landing, she’ll still need intel from him.”

“We’ve got to find him soon,” Justin said.

“We will,” Carrie replied. “Nanisivik is also out of the question, because that’s Kiawak’s hometown. That only leaves two other places, Resolute and Arctic Bay.”

“Resolute has a lot of military traffic since the Army began building their training center. A civilian chopper landing there would definitely make the military ask questions,” Justin said.

“So you all think this woman, Alisha, has gone to Arctic Bay?” Emily asked.

“Positive,” Justin replied.

“Justin, what exactly do you think she’s up to?” Carrie asked.

“No idea, but she’s not a small-time player in this game. She didn’t think twice about dumping us like garbage. Alisha seemed to know a lot about the Danish plans.”

“She may know a lot about their plans,” Carrie said, “but she has no clue we’re still alive. And she doesn’t know we’re coming for her.”

Chapter Eighteen

Six miles east of Arctic Bay, Canada

April 14, 00:07 a.m.

The Seahawk’s navigational lights streamed two powerful beams, which were supposed to assist with the helicopter’s night flight. But the thick waves of the unrelenting blizzard absorbed almost every ray of light. Carrie was forced to squint and blink continuously, trying to follow the two small faint dots bouncing over mountain tops, hill slopes, and highlands. She was surprised at her own abilities in handling the rough ride with only a couple of close calls. At the heart of the storm, the wind currents reached a speed of fifty knots, and the visibility was almost nonexistent. At times, Carrie prayed that God would just take over the helicopter’s flight.

Emily had not said much during the trip. Justin and Anna had tried, time after time, to reach the Coast Guard, the Canadian Forces, or anyone else over the radio. The vast distance and the relentless storm ensured that only constant static was all they received.

The helicopter approached their destination, Arctic Bay. Carrie focused her entire attention on landing the Seahawk safely. It was going to be a tricky maneuver. She would have to complete a smooth descent from their current altitude of three thousand feet to almost ground level. She could not afford to make any mistakes when assessing the strength of sudden wind gusts and performing the actual landing.

“We’re coming up to the Bay,” Carrie announced, glancing at the controls. The night was pitch-black, and she doubted her crew could see anything on the ground. “I’m going to drop gradually, then hover in search of a decent landing.”

“Are we going to descend over water or land?” Justin asked.

“Over land. The Seahawk’s control system has a great topographical map, detailed and updated, which takes into account typical snowfalls and other winter conditions. Approaching the Bay from over the water would be extremely dangerous, almost a suicide.”

“I thought our entire trip was an attempted suicide.” Emily snorted.

Carrie let her sarcasm slide. “I’m getting some good readings from the airspeed and the angle sensors. Hopefully, the visibility will improve once we’re closer to the ground.”

She veered the Seahawk, and her crew felt the fuselage take a sharp nosedive. The fall continued for about thirty seconds. Carrie steadied the Seahawk, hovering at the same altitude for a few moments. She repeated the same diving maneuver, this time followed by spiral downward movements.

“What are our chances of actually landing in one piece?” asked Emily.

“Greater than hovering forever without trying,” Carrie replied. “We have sufficient fuel for two, three attempts, maybe. But I’m worried about damaging the rotor blades, so I hope to make it the first time.”

She continued to drop the helicopter into the frightening descent, following the direction of the wind gusts and taking advantage of any breaks, no matter how small, in the blowing snow. Her eyes kept leaping between the control panel and the windshield, since clear isolated patches began to appear in the fog. She could see some details of the mountainous landscape.

“There, do you see the King, at ten o’clock?” Justin asked Anna.

They were falling through a quasi-transparent veil of mist. Carrie tried to take in as much as she could of the rugged terrain. She recognized the flat shape of the King George V Mountain top. A little further, she noticed the vast opening of Adams Sound. A large iceberg was wedged between the ice floes. As she titled the Seahawk to the left, dropping a few dozen feet, she was able to see the first houses of Arctic Bay, clustered along the coastline of the inlet.

“I see the school,” Justin said.

“Yes, I do too,” Carrie replied. “It’s great some places still have their lights on.”

The Seahawk continued to draw nearer to the town.

“I’ll try to take the chopper there.” Carrie pointed to her left, toward a small clearing far away from the mountain. “It’s a good distance from the closest houses. Just in case someone may be listening for strange noises.” She remembered the last time they landed in Grise Fiord.

“I wouldn’t worry about the noise,” Emily said. “Just get us down there safely.”

“Yes,” Carrie replied, “but then we’ll have to chase Alisha if she hears us coming.”

They dropped another hundred feet. Suddenly a dense layer of fog concealed the ground.

“What happened?” Emily said, her voice filled with panic. “I can’t see anything.”

“We’ve got to crash-land,” Carrie replied. “Just when I though we got a break, as if it weren’t enough to fly blind . . .”

She slowed their fall by decreasing their speed and spinning the Seahawk around in a small circle. The altimeter showed there was still one hundred and fifty feet between the helicopter and the frozen land. A fierce crosswind could still push the helicopter away from the intended landing area. Carrie tried hovering in one spot, while coming down slowly. The ice blanket covering the permafrost glistened under the Seahawk’s powerful light beams, revealing for a few seconds the shape of the clearing. Carrie estimated the height of the snow banks and the ice mounds, the angle of the hill slope, and the distance the heavy Seahawk might slide when sinking into the snow.

“Get ready,” she shouted. “We’re touching down in ten.”

Emily clung to her armrests.

Justin and Anna locked hands.

Carrie held the throttle, manipulating the controls with utmost care, as if they were made of crystal. She knew any wrong move could cost their lives. After slowing their descent even further, she battled the last wind gusts blasting white powder at the windshield. A moment later, she realized the helicopter was the source of the snowstorm swirling around them. Air currents caused by the helicopter’s rotors were lifting snow and ice chunks from the foothill. As they touched down, the helicopter shook, bouncing twice off the ground before sliding to the left.

“Crap,” Carrie shouted, tapping the control panel.

Her efforts paid off. The Seahawk reluctantly obeyed her commands. It gyrated on its axis, slower and slower, while Carrie kept it stable on the ground, avoiding a deadly rollover. A sharp crash came from the tail rotor. The blades cut through hard-packed ice. The blades survived the impact, but the Seahawk slid another couple of feet. Finally it rested next to a snow bank as high as its windshield.

“Welcome to Arctic Bay,” Carrie announced, then turned off the Seahawk’s main controls.

“Thanks, God,” Anna finished aloud her silent prayer.

“Let’s find Kiawak,” Justin said. He took a deep breath and slid open the cabin’s door.

Arctic Bay, Canada

April 14, 00:32 a.m.

A young man in his early twenties, dark-skinned, but sporting a blond goatee, opened the door at Justin’s first knock.

“Yeah, what’s with the chopper?” he asked, dragging his words like heavy boots through thick snow. The young man was fully awake and held a PlayStation controller in his hand. His eyes flashed a sincere excitement about their sudden appearance. “You guys Army or something?”

“Eh, no, no. We’re . . . we’re friends of Kiawak,” Justin replied.

“What Kiawak?”

“Kiawak Kusugak. The guy who owns the bar in Nanisivik. Parting Waters.”

“Oh, Julian’s bro. The Ranger.”

“Yes, that one. You’ve seen him today, I mean yesterday, or the day before?”

The young man passed his left hand over his long black hair tied in a ponytail. “No, I don’t know, man,” he said with a slow shrug.

“Where does Kiawak stay when he comes to town? Who are his buddies?”

“Oh, buddies. Well, Mike, the Mountie. Abe, the honey trucker and Paul, the guy at the Safelife Co-op.”

“Great, can you show us to these guys’ places?”

“Now?” the young man asked, shaking his head. The ponytail whipped the air behind his head from side to side.

“Right away. It’s urgent.”

The young man glanced beyond Justin, at Anna. She was waiting at the end of the driveway. Then his eyes rested on the helicopter. “Is this some kind of a secret mission?” He returned his gaze to Justin. “You guys are cops? National security? Like in Global Ops?”

“Something like that,” Justin replied. He had no idea what Global Ops was, a movie or a game, maybe, but they needed the young man’s help.

“All right, let’s do this,” the young man said. He turned around and disappeared inside his house, leaving the door ajar.

Anna stepped closer to Justin. “Is he coming out?” she whispered, trying to control her shivering.

“I hope so,” Justin replied, fighting the cold wind by moving his arms up and down.

They waited at the doorsteps. Carrie and Emily had stayed behind with the Seahawk, in case Alisha had noticed their arrival and launched an attack or made a runaway attempt. At the same time, Carrie could keep an eye on the aircraft and on Emily.

“Let’s go, buddy. This way.” The young man showed up at the door. He was wrapped in a heavy-duty trucker’s jacket. He led them to his garage at the back of the house. “Ned, that’s my name.”

“I’m Justin, and this is Anna,” Justin said. He rode shotgun in Ned’s souped-up Land Rover. Anna hopped in the backseat, after pushing away a pile of hockey sticks, skates, and helmets.