Ice Hunt Page 35

  Tom caught her eye. “It’s still down there. I keep seeing shadows moving.”

  “Bastard’s not about to give up on its meal,” Kowalski concurred.

  “It should stay away as long as the fire keeps going,” Jenny said, adding a silent I hope.

  “In that case,” Kowalski grumped, “I want a goddamn flamethrower for my next birthday.”

  She studied the dark tunnel and tried to understand what lurked out there. She remembered Craig’s name for the beast: grendel. But what was it really? There were myths among her people about whale spirits that left the ocean and dragged off young men and women. She had thought such stories just superstitious tales. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  The fury of the blaze had died down again, drawing back her attention. What are they doing over there?

  Jenny waited. The fires died to flickers. She stepped forward again, ready to call out. But a dark shape appeared instead, pushing out the narrow crack. It was a figure cloaked in a soggy blanket.

  The blanket was tossed back, throwing out light and revealing a tall, slender woman, dressed in a blue thermal unitard. The light came from a mining lantern held in one hand. She lifted it now.

  “Amanda…Dr. Reynolds!” Tom exclaimed.

  Jenny recognized the name, the head of the Omega Drift Station.

  “What are you doing?” Kowalski asked. He waved an arm at the crack. Another figure pushed out of the melted passage. “I thought we were joining you.”

  “Change in plans,” she said, staring around at them. “Looks like it’s safer out here than in there.”

  To punctuate her statement, a blast of rifle fire echoed from the other side, ringing off metal.

  The second figure shook free of the blanket. It was Craig. He helped the next person out of the crack. “Not to sound trite, but the Russians are coming.”

  Another four people pushed into the cavern: three men and a woman. They wore matching terrified expressions. Bane sniffed at them, weaving among their legs.

  The eldest of the new group spoke to Craig. “The Russians are shooting at the door.”

  “Must be trying to keep us pinned there,” Craig said. “More soldiers are probably already on their way through the ducts.”

  Kowalski pointed back to the crack. “Considering what’s out here, I’d say let’s go back in there and wave the white flag at the Russians.”

  “It’s death either way,” Craig answered with a shake of his head. “And here at least we have the firepower to challenge the grendels.” He pulledan object out of his pocket. It was a glass vodka bottle, full of a dark yellow liquid and stoppered with a scrap of cloth. “We have ten of them. If your flares kept the grendels back, then these homemade Molotovs should, too.”

  “What then?” Jenny asked.

  “We’re going to get out of here,” Craig said. “Up that ventilation shaft.”

  “And I was just getting comfy here,” Kowalski said.

  Jenny shook her head at such a foolhardy plan. “But we’ll just freeze to death hiding up there. The blizzard is still blowing fiercely.”

  “We’re not going to hide,” Craig said. “We’re going to make for the parked vehicles, then strike out for Omega.”

  “But the Russians—”

  Amanda interrupted. “Omega has been liberated by a Delta Force team. We’re going to try to reach an evacuation point.”

  Jenny was stunned into silence.

  Kowalski rolled his eyes. “Fuckin’ great. We escape from that goddamn place just before it’s liberated by Special Forces. We’ve got to work on our damn timing.”

  Jenny found her tongue. “How do you know all this?”

  Amanda pointed a thumb at Craig. “Your friend here is CIA. The controller for the Delta Force team.”

  “What?” Jenny swung toward Craig.

  He met her eyes as more gunfire rang out from beyond the crack. “We need to move out,” he said. “Find this ventilation shaft.”

  Jenny remained frozen in place, her mind too busy trying to assimilate this new information. “What the hell is going on here?”

  “I’ll explain it all later. Now’s not the time.” He touched her arm, then added more softly, “I’m truly sorry. I didn’t mean to get you pulled into all of this.”

  He slipped past her, lighting the first Molotov cocktail with a Bic lighter, and headed to the tunnel. Once there, he lobbed the bottle far down the passage.

  The explosion of fire was fierce, splattering along the hall. Jenny caught a glimpse of the bull beast fleeing around a bend in the tunnel and away.

  “Let’s go,” Craig said, heading toward the inferno. “We don’t have much time.”

  4:28 P.M.

  Loaded down with the pilfered gear from the armory, Matt mounted the wall ladder and climbed behind Greer. At the top of the ladder, Lieutenant Commander Bratt crouched in the chute above, illuminated by a military penlight hanging around his neck. The commander helped Greer off the ladder and into the tunnel.

  As he climbed, Matt glanced down. Washburn maintained a watch on the two tunnels that entered the service cubby, rifle raised. The tall woman was taking no chances. The group had reached Level Two and was striking out for Level One.

  Matt clambered up the remaining rungs pounded into the ice wall. An arm reached down and grabbed the hood of his white parka, hauling him up.

  “Any sign of the civilian group up here?” Matt asked, huffing from the weight of the weapons, every pocket stuffed with grenades.

  “No. But they could be anywhere. We’ll just have to count on them finding a safe hiding place.”

  Matt crawled into the tunnel, following after Greer and making room for Washburn. Soon they all were snaking down the ice chute, Greer in the lead, Bratt now bringing up the rear.

  None of them spoke. Their plan was simple: keep moving up, find a weak spot in the Russians’ defenses, and try to blast their way free of the station. The Polar Sentinel had deployed a SLOT buoy, a Submarine-Launched One-Way Transmitter. Bratt knew where it was hidden atop the ice. They hoped to reach it and manually enter a Mayday, then seek shelter among the ice peaks and caves on the surface. Under the cloak of the blizzard, they might be able to play cat and mouse with the Russians long enough for help to arrive.

  And in the meantime, they’d be a decoy for the Russians, keeping the enemy’s attention away from the civilians still hiding in the station.

  The party reached another cubbyhole, somewhere between Level One and Level Two. They entered the space more cautiously now. The Russians would be searching these upper levels, expecting them to make a break for the surface.

  Greer entered first and swept his flashlight over the floor, seeking any evidence of fresh footprints. He gave the thumbs-up.

  Matt crawled out and stretched his back.

  Then the ground shook. A blast echoed to them, muffled but still loud. Matt hunched down. A spatter of rattling gunshots followed, erratic, like firecrackers.

  “What the hell—?” he muttered under his breath.

  Ice crystals danced in the air, shaken loose by the concussion. He glanced to the others as they climbed into the cubbyhole. They were wearing smiles. So was Greer.

  “So let me in on the joke,” Matt said, straightening.

  Greer thumbed over his shoulder. “It would seem the Russians finally discovered their dead comrades on Level Three.”

  “We booby-trapped the armory before leaving,” Washburn added, her smile cold and satisfied. “Figured once they found the bodies they’d check there first.”

  “Payback for Pearlson and all the others,” Bratt finished, growing sober again. “And the distraction down there should slow the Russians, make them more wary. They now know we’re armed.”

  Matt nodded, still shaken. So much bloodshed. He took a deep, shuddering breath. For the hundredth time since returning from the armory, he wondered about the fate of Jenny and her father. Fear for them dulled any sympathy for the deaths here. He had to keep goin
g. He would not let anyone stand between him and Jenny. This resolve both frightened him and warmed him. For the past three years, he had allowed grief and old pain to build a wall between them. Now such feelings seemed as thin as the cold air here.

  They continued on, working their way upward, aiming for the top level.

  After another two ladders and more chute crawling, muffled voices and shouting reached them. They followed toward the source, cautious, silent, communicating with hand signals. Flashlights were turned off.

  Ahead, faint light seeped down the tunnel. They headed toward the source: a grate along one wall of the tunnel. With extreme care, they moved forward.

  In the lead, Bratt reached the vent first and peered out. After a long moment, he moved past the grate, turned, and pointed to Matt, waving him forward.

  Holding his breath, Matt crawled to the grate and bent his head to spy out. The vent opened into a kitchen, the galley for the station. Stoves and ovens lined one wall, while tables and shelves filled most of the free space. A double set of doors opened out to the main room.

  A Russian soldier held one of the doors open, flashlight in hand. His back was to them. He was talking to another soldier.

  Beyond them, in the darkened main room, flashlights bobbled. Men ran up and down the central staircase, shouting and barking to one another. A soldier covered in blood pounded up the steps. He had a medic’s cross on the upper shoulder of his parka. He yelled and more men followed him down.

  Finally, the pair of soldiers moved away, allowing the swinging door to close behind them. A square window in the double doors still shone with the lights bobbling in the adjacent room.

  Matt stared over to Bratt.

  The commander sidled closer, speaking in his ear. “Can you play Russian again?”

  “What do you mean?” But even as Matt asked, he already knew the answer. He still wore the stolen white parka.

  “We have a short window of opportunity. It’s still dark. Everyone’s shaken. If you keep your hood up, you should be able to walk among them without them knowing.”

  “And do what?”

  Bratt pointed toward the closed doors. “Be our eyes.”

  Matt listened to the plan as it was hurriedly related. His heart thudded in his chest, but he found himself nodding.

  Bratt finished, “With the current commotion from the booby trap, we might not have a better chance.”

  “Let’s do it,” Matt agreed.

  Washburn was already using one of her multipurpose meat hooks to free the grate.

  Once the vent was open, Bratt touched Matt’s arm. “This plan all depends on your acting ability.”

  “I know.” Matt took a deep breath. “I’d better find my motivation for this scene.”

  “How about survival?” Greer growled behind him.

  “Yeah, that’ll do.” Matt crawled out of the vent and stood up, facing the double doors.

  The others followed him, taking up positions in the galley. They moved quickly. Timing was everything.

  Bratt gave Matt a questioning stare. Are you ready?

  4:48 P.M.

  Jenny kept Bane beside her as she walked with Craig. Ahead, Kowalski lobbed another fiery charge down the long passage. It burst with a shatter of glass and a splash of flames across floor and walls.

  The way was clear.

  Not a single grendel had been seen in the last twenty minutes.

  Dr. Ogden, the biologist, had offered an explanation. “These creatures live in darkness and ice. And while heat and light might attract them, these bombs are sensory overload. Painful and disorienting to the creatures. So they flee.”

  So far his assessment had proved valid. They had succeeded in reaching the original marked trail unmolested and unchallenged and were now winding down into the depths of the ice island, heading toward the ventilation shaft. The only disturbance had been when an echoing blast of some distant explosion sounded far above them. The tunnels had rattled, stopping everyone. But with no other repercussions or explosions, they had continued onward.

  Behind Jenny, Amanda remained in whispered discussions with the biology team while Tom watched their backs, armed with a pair of Molotovs.

  Craig continued his quiet explanation: “I was the advance man, the surgical op for the mission. I was sent in to find the data and secure it. But the Russians must have caught wind of my cover and mission and tried to ambush me in Alaska. If it hadn’t been for Matt, they would’ve succeeded.”

  “You could have told us.”

  Craig sighed. “I was under strict orders. A need-to-know basis only. This comes from the highest positions of power. Especially after the attack on Prudhoe Bay. The stakes were too high. I had to get here.”

  “All for some possible research into cryogenics.” Jenny tried to picture the tanks with the frozen bodies inside them. It seemed impossible, too monstrous.

  Craig shrugged. “I had my orders.”

  “But you used us.” She thought back to his discussions and arguments on the Twin Otter after the explosions at Prudhoe Bay. He had manipulated them. “You played us.”

  He smiled apologetically. “What can I say? I’m good at what I do.” His smile faded, and he sighed. “I had to use the resources at hand. You were the only means for me to get here under the Russians’ radar. Again I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would get this messy.”

  Jenny kept her gaze fixed forward as the group edged past the exploded Molotov. She kept one question to herself. Was this man still playing them?

  Craig continued, but now it sounded more like he was speaking to himself. “All we have to do is get clear of the station. Then the Delta team can come in with full forces and secure this place, too. Then it will all be over.”

  Jenny nodded. Over…if only it were that easy. She kept one hand on Bane, needing to feel the simple, uncomplicated loyalty at her side. But it was more than that. And she allowed herself to admit it. Bane also was a physical connection back to Matt. Her fingers rubbed into the dog’s ruff, feeling his body heat. Craig had told her about Matt, how he and a group of Navy men had attempted to raid the station’s old weapons locker.

  No one knew what happened after that.

  Bane leaned against her leg, seeming to sense her fear.

  “I see the ventilation shaft!” Kowalski called back.

  The group headed after the tall seaman, their pace increasing. Jenny guided Bane past the flames of the exploded Molotov. The heat was stifling, reeking of burned hydrocarbons. The ice melted and ran underfoot, slick and treacherous. Streams of fire traced channels across the floor.

  Once they were past, the way grew dark again. Kowalski led, the lantern raised above his head.

  Ahead a black chute opened on the left wall. The end of the ventilation shaft.

  The group gathered in front of it. Jenny pushed forward. From here, it was up to her. The tunnel was too steep to climb with just boots and hands. Tom handed her an ice ax that they had found in the sea-gate control room. She checked the tool’s balance, weight, and most importantly, its sharp edge.

  Dr. Reynolds sat on the floor and unbuckled her ice crampons, taking them off. “I should be the one doing this,” the woman said.

  “They fit me, too,” Jenny argued. “And I’ve been ice climbing many times in Alaska.” She left unsaid what had already been discussed. The crampons were too small for any of the men, and Amanda’s deafness was a handicap if she got into any trouble in the shaft.

  Dr. Reynolds passed her the steel crampons.

  Jenny quickly snugged them to her boots. The spiked tips and soles would allow her to scale the shaft. The ice ax was both to aid in this and to protect her.

  Once she was outfitted, Tom passed her two of the remaining Molotovs. “I dropped the rope right near the entrance when we were…were attacked. If you anchor it to the grate above, it should just about reach down here.”

  Jenny nodded, shoving the firebombs in the pocket of her parka. “No problem. Keep a watch
on Bane. The grendels have him wired. Don’t let him run off.”

  “I’ll make sure he stays, and I’ll follow behind him up the shaft.”

  “Thanks, Tom.”

  Kowalski bent a knee and offered a hand to help her up. She climbed him like a ladder, ducking into the shaft and pulling up her feet to kick in with her crampons. They dug deep, the sharp points well maintained.

  “Be careful,” Kowalski said.

  She had no voice to reassure him or herself. She set off up the shaft, practicing what her father had taught her long ago while glacier hiking and climbing: Keep two points of contact at all times.

  With both feet spiked in place, she reached up with the ice ax and jammed it tight. Once it was secure, she moved one leg up, kicked in, then brought the other up.

  It was slow going. Slow is safe, her father’s old words whispered in her ear.

  Working up the shaft, one step at a time, she allowed a small measure of relief to buoy her at the thought of her father. At least he’s safe. Commander Sewell promised to look after him, and now the Delta units have arrived.

  All she had to do was reach them.

  But what about Matt?

  Her left foot slipped out of its plant, gouging ice. She smacked to her belly on the ice. All her weight was carried on the ice ax until she was able to resecure her feet. Once planted, she still took a moment to suck in large gulps of cold air.

  Two points of contact—at all times.

  She shoved aside her fears for Matt. It did her no good. She had to focus, to survive. After that, she could worry. This thought raised an unbidden smile. Matt had once said she could worry a hole through plate steel.

  Wishing for a tenth of Matt’s composure now, she planted her ax farther up the ventilation shaft and continued onward. Ahead the bend in the shaft appeared. Almost to the top. She rounded the corner and spotted the glare of daylight at the end of the shaft. It was open, clear.

  With her goal in sight, she hurried upward—but not so fast as to be careless. The two men in her life whispered in her ears.

  Slow is safe.

  Don’t worry.