Ice Hunt (24 page)

But who would ultimately possess it?

Viktor knew only one thing for certain: it was
his
father’s legacy. The Americans would never have it. This he swore.

And after that…other matters could be settled.

He glanced again to the Polaris monitor. With the go-code in hand, it was now time to start his own gambit. He pressed the silver button on the side of the wrist monitor, holding it for a full thirty seconds. He was careful not to touch the neighboring
red
button—at least not yet.

Viktor stared at the monitor. He had these thirty seconds to reconsider his decision. Once Polaros was activated, there was no turning back, no retreat. He continued to hold the button, unwavering in his determination.

During the course of his sixty-four years, he had seen Russia change: from a czarist country of kings and palaces, to a Communist state of Stalin and Khrushchev, then into a broken landscape of independent states, warring, poor, and on the brink of ruin. Each transition weakened his country, his people.

And the world at large was no better. Century-old hatreds locked the world into strife and terror: Northern Ireland, the Balkans, Israel and the Arab states. It was a pattern that was repeated over and over without end, without resolution, without hope.

Viktor kept the button pressed.

It was time a new world arose, where old patterns would be shattered forever, where nations would be forced to work together in order to survive and rebuild. A new world would be born out of ice and chaos.

It would be his legacy, in the memory of his father, his mother.

The center trigger remained dark, but the smaller lights at the points of the star began to blink in sequence, winding around and around.

Viktor released the button.

It was done.

Polaris was now activated. It only awaited the master trigger engine to be deployed at the station. Project Shockwave was about to go from theory to reality. Viktor stared at the flashing lights marking the five-pointed star, winding around and around, awaiting his final command.

After that, there would be no abort code.

No fail-safe.

Mikovsky stepped over to him. “Admiral?”

Viktor barely heard him. The captain seemed exceptionally young at the moment. So naive. His world had already ended, and he didn’t even know it. Viktor sighed. He had never felt so free.

Unfettered of the future, Viktor had only one goal now: to retrieve his father’s body, to collect the heritage that belonged to his family.

At the end of the world, nothing else mattered.

“Admiral?” Mikovsky repeated. “Sir?”

Viktor faced the captain and cleared his throat. “The
Drakon
has new orders.”

9:02 A.M.
USS
POLAR SENTINEL

Perry stood in the control station, his eyes fixed to the number one periscope. They had risen to periscope depth in an open lead ten minutes ago, slowly rising between pressure ridges. Through the scope, he stared out at the expanse of ice fields. The winds had picked up, scouring the frozen plains. Overhead, the skies had gone white. A big storm was coming in. But Perry didn’t need to check the weather outside to know this.

All night long, they had been patrolling the waters around the drift station and the Russian base, watching for any sign of the
Drakon,
as ordered. But the midnight waters had remained empty. There was no sonar contact, except for a pod of beluga whales passing at the edge of their range. The
Polar Sentinel
seemed to be alone out here.

Still, tension remained high among his men. They were warriors in a boat without teeth, hunting for an Akula II class fast-attack submarine. Perry had read the intel on the armaments aboard the
Drakon
. Russian for “dragon.” A fitting name. It was equipped not only with the usual array of torpedoes, but also rocket-propelled weapons: the lightning-fast Shkval torpedoes and SS-N-16 antisubmarine missiles. It was a formidable opponent even against the best of the American fleet…and if pitted against the tiny
Polar Sentinel,
it would be like a match between a tadpole and a sea dragon.

The radioman of the watch stepped into the control station. “Sir, I’ve raised the commander at Deadhorse. But I don’t know how long I’ll be able to maintain contact.”

“Very good.” Perry folded the periscope grips and sent the pole diving back down on its hydraulics. He followed the ensign to the radio room.

“I was able to bounce the UHF off the ionosphere,” he said as he led the way into the room. “But I can’t promise that it’ll last.”

Perry nodded and crossed to the radio receiver. They had gone to periscope depth to raise their antennas and send out their report for the past night, but Perry had asked the radioman to attempt to reach Prudhoe Bay. The men were anxious for an update.

Perry unhooked and lifted the receiver. “Captain Perry here.”

“Commander Tracy,” a ghostly voice whispered in his ear. It sounded like it was coming from the moon, faint, fading in and out. “I’m glad you were able to contact us.”

“How is the search-and-rescue going?”

“Still a circus out here, but the fires are finally contained. And we may have our first real lead on the saboteurs.”

“Really? Any idea who they are?”

A long pause. “I was hoping you could answer that.”

Perry crinkled his brow. “Me?”

“I was trying to raise Omega just as you called. An hour ago, someone anonymous sent in footage of a small aircraft flying over Gathering Station Number One just before it blew. It’s grainy, black-and-white…as if taken with a night-shot camera.”

“What does this have to do with Omega?”

“Your base security contacted the Fairbanks Sheriff’s Department and inquired about one of their planes and the identity of one of their sheriffs. We learned of this when we traced the call signs seen from the video footage and contacted Fairbanks ourselves. They’re the same plane.”

“And where’s this airplane now?” Perry suspected the answer. The confirmation came a moment later.

“It landed this morning at your base.”

Perry closed his eyes. So much for trying to catch an hour or two of sleep in his cabin after an interminable night.

“I’ve sent a request to your superiors for those in the plane to be transported back to Deadhorse for questioning.”

“Do you think they blew up the pump station?”

“That’s what we intend to find out. Either way, whoever they are, they must be kept under guard.”

Perry sighed. He could not argue against the wisdom of that. But if they were the saboteurs, what were they doing at the base? And if they weren’t, the chain of coincidences was far too spectacular to be blamed on chance alone. First, the explosions at Prudhoe Bay, then the suspicious behavior of the Russians, and now the sudden arrival of these mysterious guests. Without a doubt, they were somehow involved in all of this. But how?

“I’ll have to confer with COMSUBPAC,” Perry finished, “before I transport the detainees. Until then, I’ll keep them safe and sound.”

“Very good, Captain. Good hunting.” Commander Tracy signed off.

Perry replaced the receiver and turned to the radioman. “I need to reach Admiral Reynolds as soon as we return to Omega.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll do my best.”

Perry stepped out into the hall and ducked back into the conn.

Commander Bratt eyed him from the diving station. “What’s the word from Prudhoe?”

“It seems the key to the whole mess has landed in our laps.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“I mean we’re heading back to the drift station. We have some new guests to entertain.”

“The Russians?”

Perry shook his head slowly. “Just get us back to the station.”

“Aye, Captain.” Bratt readied the boat to dive.

Perry tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together in his head. But too many pieces were still missing. He finally gave up. Perhaps he could catch a nap before they reached the drift station. He sensed he’d soon need to be at his most alert.

He opened his mouth, ready to pass command over to Bratt, when the sonar watch supervisor announced, “Officer of the Deck, we have a Sierra One contact!”

Instantly, everyone went alert.
Sonar contact
.

Commander Bratt moved over to the BSY-1 sonar suite, joining the supervisor and electronic technicians. Perry joined him and eyed the monitors with their green waterfalls of sonar data flowing over them.

The supervisor turned to Perry. “It’s another sub, sir. A big one.”

Perry stared at the screens. “The
Drakon
.”

“A good bet, Captain,” Bratt said from the nearby fire control station, reading target course and speed. “It’s heading directly for Omega.”

9:15 A.M.
ICE STATION GRENDEL

Amanda shed her parka as she left the ice tunnels of the Crawl Space and reentered the main station. The heated interior was welcome after the freeze of the ice island’s heart, but it was still a damp warmth, bordering on the sweltering. She hung the parka on a hook by the door to the Crawl Space.

Dr. Willig kept his coat on, but as a concession to the heat, he unzipped it and threw back the parka’s hood. He also pulled off his mittens, pocketed them, and rubbed his palms. The seventy-year-old oceanographer sighed, appreciating the warmth. “What are you going to do now?” he asked.

Amanda headed down the hall. “A big storm’s coming. If I want to return to Omega, I’ll have to set off now. Otherwise I’ll be stuck here for another day or two until the storm breaks.”

“And I know you don’t want that.”

She noted the smile hovering at the edge of his lips.

“Captain Perry should be returning to Omega,” he said, and nodded to the single guard posted at the door. They had reduced the number of Navy men here, drawing personnel back to the sub for an exercise. “You wouldn’t want to miss that.”

“Oskar,” Amanda warned, but she couldn’t keep a smile from her own lips. Was she so easy to read?

“It’s okay, my dear. I miss my Helena, too. It’s hard to be apart.”

Amanda took her mentor’s hand and squeezed it. His wife had died two years ago, Hodgkin’s disease.

“Go back to Omega,” Dr. Willig told her. “Don’t squander time when you could be together.” By now they had drawn abreast of the Navy seaman guarding Level Four. Oskar glanced to him, then back to Amanda. “Still don’t want to tell me about what’s in there?”

“You truly don’t want to know.”

He shrugged. “A scientist is used to hard truths…especially one as old as this base.”

Amanda continued past the door with Dr. Willig. “The truth will come out eventually.”

“After the Russians arrive…”

She shrugged, but could not keep a bitter edge from her voice. “It’s all politics.” She hated to keep secrets from her own researchers, but even more she knew the world had a right to know what had transpired here sixty years ago. Someone had to be held accountable. The delay in releasing the news was surely just a way to buy time, to blunt the impact, possibly even to cover it up. A deep well of anger burned in her gut.

She reached the inner spiral staircase and climbed the steps. The plates vibrated underfoot. Movement drew her eye to the central shaft around which the stairs wound. A steel cage rose from below and passed their spot, climbing toward the upper levels. She turned to Dr. Willig. “They got the elevator working!”

He nodded. “Lee Bentley and his NASA team are having a field day with all this old machinery and gear. Boys and their toys.”

Amanda shook her head. What was once defunct and frozen in ice was now thawing and returning to life. They wound their way up in silence.

Once they reached the top level, she said good-bye to her friend and crossed to the temporary room she had used the previous night. She gathered her pack and changed into her thermal racing suit. With the dispute between the biologists and geologists settled for the next couple of days, she was free to return to Omega.

As she headed out, a blue-uniformed woman crossed the common area, an arm raised to catch her attention. Lieutenant Serina Washburn was the only female among the Navy crew stationed up here, a part of the base team. She was tall, ebony-skinned, her hair shorn in a crew cut. Looking at her, one couldn’t help but think of the old Amazons of mythology, women warriors of grace and strength. Her demeanor was always serious, her manner quiet. She stepped before Amanda, half at attention, respectful.

“Dr. Reynolds. I have a message relayed from Omega.”

She sighed. What was wrong now? “Yes?”

“A group of civilians landed at Omega this morning and are being held by the security team.”

She startled. “Who are they?”

“There are four of them, including a sheriff, a Fish and Game, and a reporter. Their identities have been checked and confirmed.”

“Then why are they being held?”

Washburn shifted her feet. “With the sabotage at Prudhoe Bay…” She shrugged.

No one was taking any chances. “Do we know why they’re here?”

“They know about this station.”

“How?”

The lieutenant shrugged. “All they’ll claim is that some danger is heading our way. Something perhaps tied to the explosions at the oil fields. They refuse to say more until they can speak to someone in authority. And we’ve been unable to raise Captain Perry.”

Amanda nodded. As the base leader, she would have to look into it. “I was about to head back to Omega anyway. I’ll check into the matter once I’m there.”

She stepped away, but the lieutenant stopped her with a hand. “There’s one other thing.”

“What’s that?”

“The reporter and the others are adamant about coming here. They’re raising a real stink about it.”

Amanda considered refusing such a visit, but then remembered her frustration a moment ago with all the secrecy and politicking surrounding the discovery on Level Four.
If a reporter was here, someone to document everything…and a sheriff, too…

She weighed her options. If she returned to interview these strangers, the coming storm would trap them all at Omega. And once Captain Perry was back, he’d block the reporter from coming here. He’d have no choice, tied as he was by the commands of his superior. But Amanda was under no such constraint. She took a deep breath. It was a narrow window in which perhaps to break this political stalemate and allow a little truth to shine before the awful discovery was clouded in rhetoric and lies.