Ice Hunt (25 page)

Amanda faced the stern lieutenant. “Have the civilians brought here.”

“Pardon?”

“I’ll interview them here.”

Washburn’s only reaction was to lift one eyebrow. “I don’t believe Lieutenant Commander Sewell will agree with that decision.”

“They can be secured here just as readily as over there. If the commander wants them under guard, I have no objection. He can send as many men with them as he would like. But I want them brought over here before the storm hits.”

Washburn paused a moment, then nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” She turned and headed back across the central common area, aiming for the cabin that housed the station’s shortwave hookup to Omega.

Amanda glanced around the station. Finally someone from the outside world would learn what was hidden here, a small bit of assurance that at least some of the truth
would
come out.

Still a twinge of unease crept through her. Before she could trace the sudden anxiety, a tall shadow fell over her, startling her. It was one of the things she hated most about being deaf. She could never hear anyone approaching from behind.

She turned to find Connor MacFerran looming over her, a bewildered expression on his face. “Have you seen Lacy?”

“Ms. Devlin?”

He nodded.

She scrunched her nose in thought. “I saw her when I entered the Crawl Space. She was carrying her skates.” Amanda and the geology student shared a common interest in ice racing and had chatted for a bit.

Connor checked his watch. “She should’ve been back from her run an hour ago. We were to meet…to…um, to go over some data.”

“I haven’t seen her since we separated in the ice tunnels.”

The Scotsman’s face grew concerned.

“You don’t think she could’ve gotten lost down there?” Amanda asked.

“I’d better go check. I know the course she runs.” He left, stalking away like a giant black bear.

“Take some others with you!” she called to him. “Let me know when you find her.”

He lifted an arm, either acknowledging or dismissing her.

Amanda stared after him. Anxiety grew to worry. She hoped the young woman hadn’t injured herself. She headed back toward her cabin, zipping down her thermal suit. She spotted Dr. Willig at one of the tables.

He waved a hand, motioning her over. “I thought you’d be gone already,” he said as she strode up.

“Change in plans.”

“Well, I was talking to Dr. Gustof.” Oskar motioned to the Canadian meteorologist, also seated at the table. Erik Gustof was recognizable by his Norwegian heritage. He wiped his clipped beard of sandwich crumbs and nodded to her. “He has been analyzing some of the data from his outlying arrays. The storm coming is building into a true blizzard. He’s registering winds in excess of seventy miles an hour.”

Erik nodded. “A true barnbuster, eh? We’ll be locked down but good.”

Amanda sighed. She remembered the warning of the newcomers:
Danger is headed our way
. It seemed these strangers knew what they were talking about, but she sensed it wasn’t the weather that was the real threat.

“Are you all right?” Dr. Willig asked.

“For now,” she answered numbly. “For now.”

10:05 A.M.
OMEGA DRIFT STATION

Jenny pulled on her parka, eyeing their guards. Around her, the others also donned cold-weather gear, some supplied by the base personnel: mittens, scarves, sweaters. Matt tugged on a borrowed wool cap, since his patched green Army jacket had no hood. With his usual stubbornness, he had refused to exchange it for one of the Navy men’s parkas. Jenny knew her ex-husband would never part with this tattered bit of his past.

“You’ll all need sunglasses, too,” Lieutenant Commander Sewell ordered.

“I don’t have any,” Craig said, hiking his pack of cameras and personal gear higher on his shoulder. One of the Navy petty officers had gone earlier to the Twin Otter to fetch it.

Half an hour ago, Sewell had returned with new instructions. He had been able to reach Omega’s civilian head, apparently the daughter of the admiral who commanded the Navy crew stationed here. A nice bit of nepotism, it seemed. Still, Jenny hadn’t complained. Dr. Reynolds had granted them permission to cross to the Russian base.

Sewell passed Craig a pair of sunglasses from his own pocket. The commander would be staying here—as would one member of their own team.

Jenny knelt and gave Bane a big hug. The wolf wagged his tail and nibbled her ear. Sewell had refused to allow the dog to accompany them. “You be a good boy,” she said.

Thump…thump…thump…

Matt stepped to her side and gave Bane a scratch behind an ear. “We’ll be back tomorrow, big guy.”

Jenny looked askance at Matt. Bane was the last tie between them. A bit of love shared. When Matt caught her looking at him, they matched gazes, but it quickly grew awkward. He was the first to turn away.

“I’ll take good care of your dog,” a Navy ensign said as Jenny stood. He held Bane’s leash.

“You’d better,” Matt countered.

The twenty-year-old lad nodded. “My dad has a husky team back home.”

Surprised, Jenny studied the young ensign more closely. He was olive-complexioned, eyes bright with a blend of innocence, youth, and exuberance. He appeared to be native Indian, Aleut perhaps. She read his embroidered name patch. “Tom Pomautuk.” Her eyes widened with recognition. “You’re not Snow Eagle’s son, by any chance? Jimmy Pomautuk’s son?”

His gaze flicked up to her with surprise. “You know my da’.”

“He ran the Iditarod back in ninety-nine. Placed third.”

A proud smile broke over his face. “That’s right.”

“I ran that race. He helped me when I snagged up my team and turned my sled.” Jenny felt more confident leaving Bane in the hands of Snow Eagle’s son. “How’s Nanook?”

His smile broadened more fully, if not a trace sadly. “He’s getting old now. He only helps dad on his tour runs. His days of leading the team are over. But we do have one of his pups in training back on Fox Island.”

Sewell interrupted them. “You all need to set out if you’re going to miss this storm.”

Jenny gave Bane another pat. “You mind Tom.” She stepped away.

“I don’t like leaving Bane with a stranger,” Matt grumbled beside her.

“You’re welcome to stay here with him,” Jenny said, skirting past Matt and heading with the others toward the door.

Matt followed, a sullen shadow at her back.

The group pushed out into the deep freeze, leaving behind the fluorescent interior lighting for the gloom of the overcast day. The sun was a dull glow, an eternal gloaming, trapped between day and night. Since this morning, the horizons had closed in around the station, socked by the ice fog. This is how Jenny always pictured Purgatory: an endless white gloom.

With her first breath, the cold reached inside Jenny’s chest. It was ice water filling her lungs. She coughed reflexively. The temperature had already dropped. In such cold, any exposed bit of skin was in immediate risk of frostbite. Each nostril hair became an icy bristle. Even tears froze in their ducts. It was an impossible place to survive.

Once she cleared the lee of the Jamesway hut, winds gusted and tore at her clothing, seeking warm skin. Upon the sharp breezes, Jenny could smell the storm in the air.

As a group, they hunched off toward the two parked Sno-Cats.

A distant
boom
echoed and rolled over the ice.

Craig glanced around him. “What was that?”

“Fracturing ice floes,” Jenny answered. “The storm is stirring up the ice.” Other crackling booms erupted, like thunder from over the horizon. She could feel it through her boots. It was going to be a hell of a storm.

Once they reached the vehicles, two Navy seamen led Jenny and her father toward one vehicle. Craig and Matt headed to the other with their own armed escort. Despite the cooperation evidenced by allowing them to visit the Russian ice base, Sewell was hedging his bet, splitting them up, assigning guards to them at all times.

One of the guards stepped to the first Sno-Cat and pulled open the door. “Ma’am, you and your father will take this one.”

Ducking her head, Jenny climbed into the cabin of the second idling Sno-Cat, grateful to get out of the wind.

The driver, uniformed in a blue parka, was already in his seat. He nodded as she slid beside him on the bench seat. “Ma’am.”

She frowned back at him. If one more person called her ma’am today…

Her father took the spot on the other side of her. The two guards hauled themselves into the backseat.

“Sorry we can’t run the heater,” the driver said to them all. “To cover the thirty miles, we’re gonna have to conserve.”

Once everyone was settled, the driver started the tread-wheeled vehicle across the ice. He followed the trundled track of the other Cat as they headed out from the base. Once under way, the driver tapped a button, and a rockabilly tune twanged from the tiny speakers.

A groan rose from the seaman in the backseat. “Trash this hayseed shit. Don’t you have any hip-hop?”

“Who’s driving this rig? I could put in the Backstreet Boys.” The threat was clear in the driver’s voice.

“No, no…that’s all right,” the other conceded, and slumped back in his seat.

They continued away from the base, all lost to their own thoughts. Snow crunched under the treads.

As the driver hummed to the music, Jenny glanced behind. After a quarter mile, the red buildings of the base had grown ghostly in the morning fog, swirling into and out of focus with the winds. Snow was beginning to squall up, too.

She began to twist back around when motion caught her attention—not from the base, but out farther. A dark shadow rose through the whiteness, like some breaching whale. She stared a moment longer, unsure what she was seeing out there on the ice.

Then the winds swept the fog clear for a moment. She watched a black conning tower rise past a jagged line of pressure ridges. Its surface steamed in the subzero air like a living creature. From its sides, small spots shone. Tinier red pinpoints of light dazzled and traced over the ice and through the fog. Vague figures scrambled along the ice ridge.

“Is that your submarine?” Jenny asked.

Both seamen swung around. The music critic, the one with the best view, jolted up from his seat. “Fuck!” He tore open the back door. “It’s the goddamn Russians!”

Winds whipped into the cabin. The driver braked the Sno-Cat. Jenny saw the other Cat continuing into the ice fog. They must not have seen the submarine.

She turned to her father. He was staring back at the base, too. “They’re wearing white parkas,” he said calmly.

Jenny noticed, too.

The guard, assault rifle in hand, hopped out the door as their Sno-Cat growled to a stop.

“Keep going,” Jenny suddenly urged the driver. She was ignored.

The guard outside lifted his weapon. He studied the sub and men racing over the ice ridge.

Laser sights glowed in the fog, casting about. Then a fiery flash burst from the top of the Russian submarine. A missile jetted through the air in a tight arc and smashed into one of the smaller outbuildings.

The explosion shattered the hut, blowing it into a hail of flaming fragments. A ten-foot-wide hole was punched through the ice.

“They took out the satellite array,” the seaman in the backseat moaned. He leaned farther out the open door.

Jenny saw a single red laser pointer squiggle across the ice in their direction. It found the Sno-Cat. She swung around. “Move!” she yelled.

When the driver didn’t respond, she punched her foot on the accelerator. The vehicle was still in gear and jolted forward.

“What are you doing?” the driver shouted, and knocked her leg aside.

“They blasted your communication!” Jenny yelled back. “You think they’re gonna let us leave!”

Punctuating her words, gunfire erupted outside. The guard was down on one knee, firing. “Go!” he hollered at them.

The driver hesitated half a breath, then jammed the accelerator himself. “Hang on!”

“C’mon, Fernandez!” the seaman in the backseat yelled to his buddy.

Out on the ice, the guard rose to his feet and backed up. His rifle barrel steamed. More laser sights zeroed in on the fleeing Sno-Cat. He turned and ran for the cab. But when he was within a couple steps, he tripped. His right leg flew out from under him. He hit the ice and slid, leaving a red trail behind him.

“Fernandez!” The seaman leaped from the cab. He raced over to his partner, grabbed his collar, and hauled him after the Sno-Cat.

The driver slowed enough for the pair to catch up.

Jenny rolled into the backseat and helped grab the injured man.

Once both men were hauled inside, Fernandez yelled at the driver. “Kick this piece of crap in the ass!” He seemed more angry at being shot than scared. He pounded a fist on the seat.

The other man kept pressure with both gloved hands on his buddy’s thigh. Blood welled between his fingers.

The Sno-Cat churned across the ice. Jenny stared ahead. The lead vehicle had disappeared into the ice fog. If only they could do the same…

Rockabilly continued to blare from the speakers. Snow crunched. Then a sharp whistling cut through everything.

“Shit,” the driver swore.

The blast erupted just ahead of them, spattering the Sno-Cat with chunks of ice. The windshield cracked with spiderwebs. They were momentarily blinded.

Instinctively, the driver ripped the wheel around. The top-heavy Sno-Cat tilted up on one tread, skidding. Through the smoke, Jenny saw what the driver had been attempting to avoid.

A hole lay blasted through the ice. Ten feet down, water and ice sloshed. Steam roiled up from the edges of the blasted pit.

The Sno-Cat continued its icy slide toward the deadly pit, still up on one tread, fishtailing. Jenny was sure they’d never avoid the fall. Still the driver fought the wheel.

No one breathed.

But miraculously, impossibly, the stubborn vehicle stopped just at the edge of the hole’s shattered lip.

The driver swore—half in relief, half in restrained panic.

The tilted Sno-Cat slammed back down onto both treads, rattling Jenny’s teeth. A booming
crack
resounded with the impact.