Beneath the Dark Ice (6 page)

On the other end of the line, Viktor Petrov did not bother with a greeting. Borshov listened as the Russian politician briefly outlined his new assignment, his rules of engagement, and gave him one final piece of information. “You may be interested to know, comrade Borshov, that Captain Alex Hunter, the ghost you said you killed, is not only walking around, but leading the American team on this mission.” Borshov tightened his grip on the small communication device and a low rumbling could be heard from deep within his chest.

Petrov continued the needling. “Doesn’t he have something
of yours? Something in his head, I believe. What are you shooting these days, Borshov, peas?”

Alex Hunter still alive was an insult to Borshov’s skills and reputation as an efficient killer and assassin. It had been nearly three years since they had faced off not far from where he was now. Borshov had beaten Hunter senseless and when he wouldn’t give away any information, had shot him in the head and walked away. He saw the bullet hole; how could he have survived?

Borshov hung up on Petrov and stood motionless in the cold Chechen air for several seconds, before pressing more buttons on his phone and holding it to his ear. There was another who needed to be kept informed. One who paid even better than Petrov.

Borshov hurried back to the camp and drove straight to the airfield where he would be kitted out and flown directly down to the Antarctic. He selected two of his best team members to accompany him.

His rules of engagement were simple as usual—leave no one alive, leave nothing in one piece. To his men there was one extra rule—Alex Hunter was to be his.

Aimee stretched her back after the uncomfortable flight in the bulky transport plane and slowly paced around the huge hangar while waiting for the entire team to assemble. The sun was just peeking over the horizon as they arrived somewhere in the Southern Hemisphere. Hammerson had said it was Australia, but it could have been southern New Zealand, or perhaps even Tasmania—it was certainly much cooler here, but not uncomfortably so. The base they were at was obviously military, old and largely deserted on the outside, but inside someone was evidently paying the bills. The floor space was immaculate and lights flared across the hangar floor and even in the small empty offices. The only identification markings were of a large circular shield high up on the rear wall; it was of a fisted steel gauntlet holding red lightning bolts. Aimee had never seen the insignia before, but the imagery was powerful—defensive strength and lethal attack.

Aimee couldn’t help feeling impatient; it was all taking too long and they still had to get down to the Antarctic ice. Thinking about Tom in the cold gave her a knot in her stomach and it turned another twist when she thought how they were only sending a small team—and only half of that science and medical. She had agreed with Alfred when he had said there was a need to balance speed and
secrecy, and Major Hammerson had convinced her that they needed to stay below the radar on this one or else the UN could demand to monitor their expedition. With the pace of their decision-making and organisational skills it would take months just to decide which nations would even participate. Still, she had expected several hovering helicopters and multiple teams on bobsleds whizzing over the snow and ice, never resting until they had found their missing countrymen.

She put her hands on her slim hips and turned back to the floor of the hangar. In the corner, Adrian Silex was checking his equipment and towards the back Matt Kerns was making light conversation with Monica Jennings. The sound of Monica’s laughter could be heard tumbling across the hangar floor like light music. Aimee smiled to herself; looked like Matt was making some headway there. She turned away, in time to catch Dr. Silex checking her body out again. He quickly licked his lips and gave a small wave. She nodded back, but couldn’t help groaning in distaste. Silex was already shaping up to be a pompous windbag; now it seemed she might have to deal with some very unwelcome advances. She wished Tom was with her; the knot in her stomach gave another twist.

Jack Hammerson had said he would send his best “hawks” to assist them and as Aimee started to pace nervously, the small steel double doors at the rear of the hangar slid open silently. In filed six of the most lethal-looking men she had ever seen. All conversation stopped and everyone stared; Aimee even found herself taking a step backwards. The soldiers walked to the middle of the hangar floor and slowly examined the assembled group. The man in their centre was just over six feet tall, attractive and gave off an aura of authority and danger that was almost tangible. His eyes scanned the room and took in
everything about the people he was to take care of; they stopped on Aimee.

Aimee felt blood rush into her cheeks but returned the steady examination. Brutally handsome and confident, OK, I like that. His hands were gloved so she couldn’t see if there was a ring on his finger, but she bet he had a little army wife at home somewhere. Aimee folded her arms and stared at the tall soldier.

Alex Hunter slowly looked over his charges. For the most part they seemed physically fit and moderately capable. His eyes were drawn to the tall woman in front of him—it had to be Dr. Aimee Weir. Her eyes bored into his with an unwavering stare; perhaps a little hostility. Good, he thought—I’ll take spirit over nice any day. As far as he was concerned, the mission started now.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Captain Alex Hunter. The time is O-seven forty-five; at O-eight hundred hours we will begin briefings and final preparations—that will be for one hour only. We will then board our choppers at O-nine hundred hours for immediate dust off. It is imperative we move quickly.”

He looked around the room and asked loudly, “Is Ms. Monica Jennings present?” Monica raised her hand and shouted a hearty “Yo,” which caused Matt to snigger.

“Have the caving suits arrived?” Alex asked.

“Have they ever,” replied Monica, unzipping the front of her bulky snow overalls and displaying what appeared to be a type of wetsuit. “Where did you get these, they’re unbel—”

Alex cut her off, and spoke again in a loud and clear voice. “Everyone, please see Ms. Jennings who will distribute the caving suits. Each one has your name tag on the front and is tailored to your exact measurements. Ms. Jennings will be able to answer any questions about them
in her briefing, occurring in twelve minutes. For now, carry on.”

Alex wasn’t going to tell them too much until they were in the air or at the insertion point. The thing about civilians was that they had a tendency to want to pull out if things sounded like they were going to get a bit hot or complex, and at this point in the mission every one of their special skills was going to be needed.

Alex had read all of their bios and the detailed mission notes from the Hammer; he already knew a lot about the team members before he had met them. Some were going take more watching than others, but for the most part they seemed physically and psychologically ready for a day under the ice.

When Alex was a boy he remembered his father telling him that you started to feel old when policemen and teachers began to look young. Alex was still in his mid-thirties, but looking at the youthful archaeology professor, he suddenly knew what his dad had meant. Alex saw that Matt Kerns had managed to be first into his high-tech caving suit and was doing a little clowning for Monica Jenning’s benefit. Matt stood with his hands on his hips, turned and did an exaggerated walk across the hangar in a mincing, catwalk style. He looked back over his shoulder at Monica and Alex used his hypersensitive hearing to draw out the young archaeologist’s words. “Does it make my bum look big?”

“Your bum, no. Your head, very,” Monica retorted, laughing. She walked over to him and helped tighten some loose strapping on his suit.

Alex envied them—free to do what they wanted when they wanted. No demons of the id to hold them back. Before turning back to rejoin his men, he looked once more at Aimee Weir. He caught her looking at him before she quickly turned away.

At O-eight hundred on the dot, Alex Hunter strode once again to the centre of the hangar. “Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your full attention please. In less than sixty minutes we will be boarding the chopper out on the airfield. Our objectives are speed and invisibility; therefore we have to trade some of the comforts of flying you may be used to. The trip will be in two hops, the first to Macquarie Island, nine hundred and sixty miles to our south-south-east. It will take us approximately six hours. The island is little more than a cold dry rock, so we get to stretch our legs while refuelling and then we immediately dust off for the final hop. This last one will take us directly to our insertion point on the ice, some eighteen hundred miles further south. Provided we get favourable weather, it should take us just under twelve hours.” He smiled inwardly as he heard the audible groans from most of the group. All except Dr. Aimee Weir, she just nodded and kept the look of determination on her face.

“You will now be briefed on our primary objectives, security operations, and some basic safety and caving techniques by Ms. Jennings. We will have a final equipment check at O-eight fifty and be in the air by O-nine hundred hours. There will be an opportunity for further questions on the chopper, and briefly again on arrival.”

Matt Kerns started to ask a question, but Captain Hunter held up his hand and shook his head. “Be patient, time is critically short. Dr. Silex, if you please.”

“Thank you, Captain. You and your men may stand at ease.”

Alex didn’t budge; he had worked with civilians before, and it was rarely a pleasant experience unless their roles were purely advisory. Giving them anything like authority always ended poorly for the civilians. Alex thought he could play along for just a few days, especially if they were both headed in the same general direction.

Alex Hunter’s men never moved or acknowledged Silex in any way; as far as they were concerned Captain Hunter gave the orders, end of transmission.

Dr. Silex cleared his throat, “Our objective is twofold. Firstly, to verify the existence of surficial sub-shale deposits of liquid petroleum, their size, depth and viability for extraction. Dr. Weir and I will be deploying ground-based electromagnetic imaging devices to allow us to ‘see’ exactly what is below the surface. At this stage it could be a vast petroleum bed or nothing more than a contaminated water cave. We’ll be taking some core samples for initial onsite analysis so we can make some preliminary recommendations on next steps back to home base. Dr. Weir will also be investigating some petrobiological anomalies that were picked up in the samples by our predecessor, Dr. Tom Hendsen.”

Aimee narrowed her eyes at the tall scientist and Alex guessed she wasn’t at all happy with the scientific aspect of the mission having been given priority.

Silex cleared his throat once again before continuing. “The second objective is to find out what happened to Dr. Hendsen, the twenty-eight members of his team, and for that matter, the eleven personnel onboard the initial plane that crashed through the ice. We don’t know whether they’re dead or just incapacitated due to exposure to one of the dozens of gases that can pool near natural oil deposits. In summary, this expedition has two simple objectives—scientific and possible rescue. However, we know that the ice floes are not policed and can be home to a lot of unsavoury characters like pirates and poachers; hence Captain Hunter and his security detail will be keeping us company.”

Following the reference to the security aspect of the mission, Alex noticed Aimee scrutinising his team, and he could read the skepticism in her expression. That’s
right, Dr. Weir, a lot of muscle and iron just for some poachers. When her eyes made it to him he gave her an almost imperceptible nod. This time she didn’t look away as quickly.

Silex continued, “The important thing to be aware of is that we will be doing our work underground. The plane punched through the roof of a large cavern and we will need to enter that opening to complete our work successfully. For those of you like me who have never been rock-climbing or caving before, we are about to get a crash course. Ms. Jennings, can you please talk us through some basics and describe these new clothes we’re all wearing?”

Monica walked forward, feeling like a mini superhero in her tight black outfit. In her hands she carried other items they would need in the caves. “Good morning, everyone—this is going to be fun.” For a caver or spelunker, the opportunity to explore a new cave system, to find or see something that no one had ever seen before, was a dream come true. For her beloved sport, she would wriggle through the most claustrophobic crevices or scale slippery rock faces in absolute darkness; to her, this was what made life worth living.

“I want to start by explaining what we’ll be doing, and then describe some of the materials you’ll need, including these state-of-the-art caving suits—thank you once again, Uncle Sam. Caves are like people, really. Some are easy, some secretive and rewarding, and some are real bitches and will kill you if they can. Some caves give you plenty of room, enough to drive a bus through, while others require belly crawls, challenging climbs or dangerous descents. They can be hot or cold, and nearly always dark; they can be dusty-dry, muddy or completely filled with water. We may even encounter ice tunnels where the ice
can be soft as a slushy, or dark and blue and as hard as steel.” Monica drew in a long breath.

“Professional cavers usually devote plenty of time to training, planning and practising how to use any new gear. We don’t have that time, and I’ve been told that this is just a three-day job, and most of that is travelling. We drop in, locate any survivors, Dr. Weir and Dr. Silex drill a few holes, and then we climb back out—easy.” Monica paused for a few minutes to allow what she had said to sink in and check for any questions. There were none—she hoped that was a good sign.