Deep Ice (4 page)

“Can’t you guys get the heat turned off in here? I’m roasting alive,” said Henry.

“Feels okay to me,” said Hayes, looking at Grimes to see if he agreed.

The SEAL nodded.

“If you can’t turn down the heat, could you at least tell me what’s going on?”

The general asked Grimes to check into the “heat situation” and, as Grimes departed, sat down.

“We have a serious situation here, Mr Gibbs,” he began. “You have to understand that I’m in the business of getting, not giving, information. It’s better for the moment that you simply tell us everything you know. We’ll fill you in later.”

Henry groaned and lay back on the bed.

Hayes took the remote and turned off the television.

“Tell me your story again.”

This time Henry made sure not to miss a single detail. When he mentioned seeing the drilling rig on the back of a tractor, he noticed Hayes paid close attention.

When the Navy SEAL reentered the room, the general had Henry repeat the part about the drilling rig for Grimes’s benefit.

The two men questioned him about his story for almost an hour, asking him to go over certain parts several times.

Finally the general’s assistant, Hazelton, knocked at the door and opened it. “General Hayes, it’s the President on the line,” he said in a sombre voice.

The general immediately left, but the SEAL stayed in his chair.

Henry could feel the room getting cooler and thanked Grimes for it. The man nodded and smiled. He seemed unwilling to engage in conversation without Hayes present, so Henry took the initiative.

“The nurse mentioned the news about the terrorists.”

“What news is that?”

“Bombs in the ice?”

The SEAL sighed and said, “Yeah?”

Henry rolled his eyes. “Look, I’m starting to feel like a bad guy here, and I don’t appreciate it.”

“Let’s wait for the general, Gibbs. It’s his ball game.”

The general didn’t return for what seemed like a long time but was, according to the clock on the wall, only twenty minutes. While they waited, Henry and Grimes made small talk about their respective jobs.

Grimes claimed to be a polar specialist. Not the most popular SEAL duty. He said he’d done a lot of undersea work until a decompression problem that had put him in hospital for a month. Since then he’d been assigned to administrative duties. From the way Grimes told his story, Henry could tell he wanted to get back into action.

Grimes seemed to have no compunction about relating his personal history. He told Henry he was married to a woman he’d met in San Francisco’s Chinatown district, and that they’d had family troubles, him being a Roman Catholic from Cincinnati. He said they were close to divorce and had no kids. He told Henry about his dog, Bozley, and his wife’s two cats, Fritz and Felix II. . . But he wouldn’t mention the situation at hand.

Finally Hayes reappeared.

“President Kerry sends you his regards.”

“Too bad I didn’t vote for him,” said Henry with a smile.

“You haven’t voted for anyone in the last ten years, as far as I know,” said the general. “Let me see. What else? Oh, yes. I was sorry to hear about your family. Truly sorry. And, while I’m on the subject, I wanted to tell you we’re well aware of how you feel about your dogs. We’re sympathetic about the five you lost.”

“You seem to have all the info, General Hayes, including every scrap of data I can give you about those fake Norwegians. Can’t you please tell me what’s going on?”

“The scoop is, Gibbs, that a telegram came in yesterday morning to United Nations Headquarters and to ABC News, CNN, the
New York Times
, the White House. . . all at the same time. The message said” – Hayes cast his eyes to the ceiling, obviously concentrating on getting the words exact – “ ‘
TWO NUKES IN DEEP ICE. DETONATION ONE OCTOBER UNLESS FOUR BILLION DOLLARS US IS PAID
’.”

There was a moment’s silence. “I know it by heart by now,” Hayes added.

“That’s it?” said Henry, looking into the eyes of the two men.

The SEAL shifted in his seat. “That’s it so far.”

“Then how do you know it’s
here
?”

“ ’Cause this is where all the ‘deep ice’
is
,” said Grimes.

“Shit,” muttered Henry. “It must have been them. The ones that shot me.”

Hayes nodded. “You get the picture.”

Henry Scott Gibbs of the Antarctic stared blankly at the general. “Guess so.”

“You are – for the moment, at least – our only corroboration that the threat is real,” said the general.

“And you might know where one of the bombs is buried. You may have seen the faces of the men who planted it.” He studied Henry for a second, then added, “The short of it, Gibbs, is that you’re our only lead.”

#

Unfortunately for Henry, the last good night’s sleep came courtesy of a hypodermic. It seemed he’d no sooner closed his eyes than he was awake again, and the same three men were standing next to him.

“Gibbs,” said General Hayes, looking as though he’d had no sleep at all, “we have to ask you to come with us. Get dressed.”

Henry’s chest still hurt, but he figured he’d have to get used to it. Better to be doing something than lying in bed groaning. After the men had left the previous night, he’d been allowed to get dressed and go to the recreational area. There he saw the effect the news was having on McMurdo. There was no one in the room, for one thing, and he was free to use any phone in the place. It reminded him of some End of the World movie.

“My God!” he’d said. “Everybody’s
dead
!”

“No, just packing,” a familiar voice said from behind the snack bar. “That sounds like you, Henry Gibbs.”

Liz, the girl who ran the snack bar, appeared a moment later, her face flushed from bending over. “Hi, Henry. . . Sorry, I was just putting a few bottles down there. I’d figure you to be still out on the ice.”

“I was,” he said with a big smile. “Until they told me you’d be here all alone, Liz.”

“Uh huh,” she retorted. “Janet flies out and you’re in heat, like one of your dogs.”

“Does that mean I can hump your leg?” Henry started to double over, laughing, then: “Ouuuuch!” he groaned, holding his chest. “I gotta remember not to be so freaking funny.”

Always ready with a pleasant line, Liz attracted everyone in the place. She took to her job so well that everyone, men and women, always wanted to be talking to her. He was genuinely surprised to find her alone.

“What’s wrong with you, Henry?”

“So Janet flew out?” said Henry, still wincing.

All Liz had heard was that Janet had left; she didn’t know where to. She asked him again why he was hurting.

“Don’t you know?”

“No. And where’s your other girl, Sadie?” she quipped.

He told her about his ordeal on the ice.

Liz seemed genuinely distressed when he told her how the
faux
-Norwegians had slaughtered his dogs. She had liked Sadie. “Except for seeing eyes,” she said, “Sadie’s the only hound I’d let in this place.” She stopped talking and gave him a look that fairly oozed sympathy. “Oh Henry, you must feel terrible. Lost your family and now. . .”

“I still have Shep. He saved my ass, Liz. Him and the three huskies. They pulled me off the ice. They did. With more’n half the team gone.”

Liz wasn’t able to give him any more information about the breaking news story than he’d already heard. It made perfect sense to him that McMurdo was on alert. The biggest base on the continent and full of Americans, it was a good target for terrorism. It sported the largest multi-national community. Every country in the world had long ago agreed that the Antarctic was for everyone, especial y the scientists. And, since the ozone hole had been discovered over the South Pole, the population in summer had grown substantial y, to almost two thousand people of all nations and disciplines.

Not all of them came to Liz’s canteen, of course.

Most camped up at the barracks and kept to themselves. With people always coming and going, it was easily possible that a group of fake Norwegians could have slipped in and out of McMurdo with their bombs and tractors and their drill rigs without attracting notice. As long as their papers were in order and they hid their guns well, the authorities would welcome them on arrival and kiss them goodbye when they went off to the big ice.

Anyway, who would suspect someone of misdeeds in Antarctica? The possibilities for criminals to profit here were remote at best. There were no banks or jewelry stores. And you didn’t want to be a bully in the Antarctic because you might need anybody’s help at any time.

Henry shared a coffee with Liz, and they speculated about the situation. The rumour around the base, she told him, was that evacuations would begin within a week, but everyone was acting like they’d be leaving tomorrow.

After leaving her with his usual “I’ll see ya when I see ya”, he had gone to find his dogs. He discovered Shep and the huskies in their usual quarters with the other dogs in the kennels near the generator building. When he saw his master, Shep barked a happy hello, pacing behind the chain link.

Henry talked to his dogs for a few minutes, promising them he’d be with them the next day. “Hold ’er down, Shep,” he said before he went back to his bed. He’d had to ask the nurse for a shot to sleep. When she turned out the lights and left, he could see lights far out on the ice. He suspected that the Navy, guided by his story and his map, were searching the ice by air, but finding nothing. He guessed they would soon be back at his bedside asking him for more help.

And now he was discovering that he’d been dead right.

At dawn, only moments after he’d finished dressing, he found himself being hustled, despite his pain and complaints, into a Cobra helicopter. A few minutes after lifting off he was handed a cup of warm coffee and an ice-cold powdered donut by way of breakfast. Soon he was retracing his path back to the site of his encounter with the terrorists.

#

“How am I going to recognize the place from up here?” he protested after they’d been gone only fifteen minutes. “It all looks the same from this high up.”

Kai Grimes sat behind Henry, listening carefully to everything he said. “Would it help if we flew lower?”

“It might,” shouted Henry over the roar of the rotors.

“But we’ll have to double back and start over. I might be able to see my tracks.”

The pilot looked over his shoulder at Grimes and the general and received a nod. The copter banked and headed back towards McMurdo.

This time they flew low and more slowly. After only a few minutes Henry saw the tracks his team had made coming into McMurdo. He gave a thumb’s-up. “This might work, General.”

The Cobra flew less than fifty feet above the ice. From here Henry was able to see the tracks in spite of a light snow covering from the night before. After more than five years on the ice, Henry knew the area around McMurdo well, and he had learned to notice the most subtle of topographic features. Frequent references to the compass, paying close attention to the subtleties of the landscape, and developing the habit of frequently checking to see where one has been – all these are essential to survival and navigation on the ice. Every upheaval and crack in the ice is a major landmark, noticed and stored in the mind for later reference.

As they flew low over the ice he relived every detail of his painful journey. The task of guiding the Navy to the site of his encounter with the terrorists was less daunting than he had anticipated. Soon he saw the fissure he’d had to make a detour to cross.

“There you are, you bastard,” he said softly. The pilot heard, and looked back at him for a cue. “Hang a right and follow that crack for a mile or so,” said Henry.

He studied the deep fissure, hoping it hadn’t changed too much since he’d been here. He looked for the widest opening as a clue to where he’d encountered it. Finally identifying the spot, he tapped the pilot’s arm and pointed. When he’d changed course to follow the crack his sled had made a fairly noticeable scar in the snow.

The pilot spotted it easily enough, and the trail leading out into the ice field beyond. With a sickening tilt the chopper turned to follow the trail.

Henry hated flying, particularly in helicopters. Most of the flying he’d done had been in association with bad news. The big exception was when he’d flown to Paris for his honeymoon with Tess. That had been a wonderful experience. But just about every other time he’d flown. . . The last time had been the worst – the loss of everyone he loved. Helicopters were less familiar to him, but they too were linked in his mind to traumatic situations – rescue operations, evacuations from dangerous ice. He preferred trudging through the snow with his dogs over any other mode of travel. For him it was always an adventure.

As he traced his path across the Ross Ice Shelf, the details of his journey returned: every time he’d fall en, where he’d made camp or stopped to rest; all the moments of pain and effort were written in the snow. As they neared the site of his encounter, his anger at the slaughter of his beloved dogs returned full -force. It made him more resolute than ever that he’d find the place and help the Navy kick some terrorist ass.

Watching the landscape pass, he tried to remember the faces of the
faux
-Norwegians. He’d described them to the Navy as well as he could, but realized that what he’d been able to verbalize was of little help.

The terrorists had worn dark blue parkas with Norwegian flags on one arm. Little else of their attire had seemed remarkable. And, with hoods covering everything but their faces, all Henry had been able to see was the faces themselves. He hadn’t even been able to tell their hair colour, except that one of the men, the apparent leader, the bastard who had shot him, had a greying, well trimmed beard.

The ground continued to speed by below. He noticed the place he’d camped and pointed to it. “I followed a compass line from the time I left here. The trail should run straight to the site,” he said to the general.

Hayes nodded and told the pilot to speed up a little.

Then he turned to the SEAL. “Lieutenant,” he said, “if we find the site you’ll drop Mr Gibbs and me off so we can look around. Then I want you to fly on a ways and trace the path of the terrorists.”