Arkangel, page 28
“And I suspect nothing is more unusual than plants that become carnivorous.”
She gave him a tired smile. “It’s actually an old strategy, going back eighty million years. A way of adapting and surviving in regions of nutrient-poor soils. Even my father was interested in their genes. It was part of his research, to see if some of the thirty-six-thousand genes that are unique to carnivorous plants could be incorporated into food crops to make them hardier.”
“So, he wanted to create a field of wheat that would eat locusts, rather than the other way around.”
Her smile widened. “Nothing so dramatic. He simply wanted to increase the rate of nutrient acquisition from poor soils.”
“Was he successful?”
She looked down. “He had some minor success, then he got cancer, pancreatic, nine years ago, when I was still at the university. Took him down in six months. He died before the advent of gene technology that would have accelerated his research.”
“And you’re continuing in his footsteps.”
“Tangentially. I’ve been working with those same genes, creating hybrids, studying how certain traits arise from combinations of different chromosomes. It’s fascinating how similar so many of those genes—those that produce digestive enzymes or allow for movement—have analogs in animals. It’s a stunning example of parallel evolution between flora and fauna. In fact—”
A loud bang made her jump. Even Marco sat up sharply.
Tucker turned toward the door.
A tiny, barred window allowed him to spot the tonsured head of Yerik Raz rush past their cell, heading toward the stairs leading up into the church.
Tucker frowned, sensing the monk’s tension.
Did that mean Sychkin had arrived from Sergiyev Posad? And if so, what does that mean for us?
Elle swallowed hard and looked at him. The question was easy to read on her face.
What are we going to do?
As Tucker listened to Yerik’s heavy footsteps echo away, he knew only one certainty.
We’re running out of time.
5:09 P.M.
Kowalski hopped out of the Siberian bush plane—a single-engine Baikal LMS-901—which sat atop a small lake ten miles south of the town of Severodvinsk. As his boots hit the ice, a loud cracking sounded underfoot. He crouched for a breath, waiting to fall through, but it held—for the moment.
He eyed the parked aircraft with suspicion, expecting it to plummet through the ice.
Off to the side, Yuri crossed with two of his handpicked men, Vinogradov and Sidorov. The trio opened the plane’s rear cargo hatch and began tossing out duffels of equipment. The two brothers were twins, but only fraternal. Blond-haired Vin stood a few inches shorter than Kowalski with a quarterback’s build, while Sid stood a foot shorter with the stocky bulk of a linebacker. The only feature that was identical were their hard expressions, and even harder eyes.
Both had served with Yuri in the Russian Navy.
Another young man, no older than twenty, named Fadd, had been the Baikal’s pilot. The guy spent more time yammering than paying attention to airspeed, altitude, and angles of approach. Still, Fadd landed them squarely on the lake without crashing through the ice.
Not that Kowalski didn’t expect that still to happen.
Monk finished making final arrangements with the pilot, then joined Kowalski out on the lake. The last member of their extraction team hopped out. Kane lifted his snout, testing the air, already searching for his missing partners.
The hope was that the Malinois would perform as well as he had in Sergiyev Posad and pick up the scent of their teammates. Clearly failing at the moment, Kane lowered his nose and shook the long trip from his fur.
They had left in the middle of the night, traveling the seven hundred miles in a pair of trucks. It had taken them fourteen hours to reach Arkhangelsk, a portside city on the White Sea. Once there, they had collected the bush plane from a fishing charter, which required Yuri handing over a satchel weighted down with rolls of rubles.
Afterward, they had made the thirty-mile hop to the lake. To continue their ruse as simple fishermen, Fadd would start drilling holes through the ice and set up rods.
But there would be no one to man them.
Monk waved to the western shore, to a snowy forest covering low hills. “Let’s head out.”
The five men and Kane set off across the ice.
It was a sullen march.
Yesterday afternoon, Gray had returned after nearly drowning in the lost library. He had reported the deaths of Bishop Yelagin and Father Bailey. He had also shared what knowledge that sacrifice had gained them: the possible location of a lost continent, one that came with a dire warning, a danger that could threaten the world if unleashed. Gray and the others, including Sister Anna, were already en route by air to the city of Pevek on the coast of the East Siberian Sea, where they would take a helicopter out to a commercial icebreaker and begin their search of those frozen waters.
But despite the urgency of finding the site, of discovering the nature of that threat before the Russians claimed it, they could not abandon Tucker and Dr. Stutt, or even Marco. Not without attempting a rescue.
To that end, they had recruited additional allies—and resources.
Once off the lake and onto the wooded shoreline, Yuri removed a GPS unit from his pack. He took a moment to get his bearings, then set off into the hills, tracking a red dot on his screen. After fifteen minutes of hiking, they topped a rise.
“We’re here,” Yuri stated firmly.
It took Kowalski a few breaths to spot the white camouflage netting bulging at the bottom of the hollow ahead of them. It helped that there were some tread tracks leading to the spot, though the overnight snow had partially filled the path.
“Suit up and let’s get going,” Monk said, searching the skies between the pines. The winds had picked up, blowing snow from branches and dusting over them. “That storm’s coming in fast. We want to be in the teeth of it by the time we reach the base.”
Yuri and his two men rolled back the netting, revealing a pair of vehicles.
One was a Berkut-2 snowmobile. It had a two-man heated cab built over skids. Atop it was mounted a PKP Pecheneg 6P41 machine gun. In the back was an open-air gunner’s seat, positioned over a rear cargo space.
The second vehicle was an A-1 double snowmobile. It looked like a motorcycle with a sidecar, but one sitting on oversize treads.
From the duffels, the team loaded additional rifles and sidearms into the two vehicles, then stripped down and changed into Russian Arctic combat gear, which consisted of camo suits in shades of white and gray. They pulled dark balaclavas over their heads, followed by white helmets with black visors.
As they geared up, Kowalski kept next to Yuri. He asked a question that had bothered him since they left Sergiyev Posad. “Why’s your boss so willing to help us?”
“He is paid very well, da?” Yuri shrugged.
Kowalski knew that Painter and Kat had arranged the equipment drop-offs with Bogdan, who also coordinated their transportation. The industrialist had plenty of underworld connections to facilitate all of this. Plus, it was well known that a slew of Russian military hardware had the unfortunate habit of falling out of trucks.
Kowalski kept staring at Yuri until the man admitted more.
“I tell him what you do, what you plan to do.”
Kowalski remembered catching Yuri on the phone back at the Vatican embassy, speaking to his boss. “You’ve been reporting in, so what?”
“Bogdan is a happy man. Very rich. Very smart. Sanctions are bad already. War would be much worse. He is not alone in wishing for peace. He sees the wisdom in supporting a cause that will keep his funds flowing smoothly and steadily.”
“I thought war was profitable for guys like your boss.”
“For a few, da. For most others, nyet.” Yuri stared toward the horizon. “Bogdan also has five children and seven grandchildren. I have two daughters myself.”
This last surprised Kowalski.
Yuri tugged on his helmet. “Not all costs of war are measured in profits.”
He snapped the visor shut, ending this discourse, and headed toward the Berkut.
Monk crossed to Kowalski, noting him struggling with his coat. “How’s your arm?”
“I’ll manage.” He yanked his limb through the sleeve, a bit too roughly, trying to prove his point. “Barely any seepage through the wrap.”
Monk frowned at him. “You should’ve stayed behind.”
As team medic, Monk had tried to sideline Kowalski, but that wasn’t about to happen. Tucker got nabbed trying to save Kowalski’s ass. So, he wasn’t going to sit this out.
Besides, he was needed here—and for more than just his brawn and ability to blow things up. He whistled and signaled to Kane, who crossed over and followed him toward the Berkut. Tucker had taught Kowalski a basic set of verbal commands and hand signals to help him work with Marco. Kane knew those, too, and many more.
Tucker’s last instruction had been the most pointed.
Trust the dog, and he’ll trust you.
Kowalski hoped that was true.
Once ready, the group split up and set off. Monk climbed aboard the A-l snowmobile with Sid. Kowalski joined Yuri inside the Berkut, with Kane perched between them. Outside, Vin climbed into the gunner’s seat behind the cab.
Two engines choked into roars. The vehicles lurched forward, then gained speed. They flew through the snow-covered woods, riding over hills and across open plains. This rural region was one of the many training areas used by the base’s Arctic Brigade. The plan was to pose as late-returning soldiers, hurrying to beat the worst of the evening’s storm. They would aim for the back gate onto the base, where they hoped less attention would be paid to them, where their forged papers had a better chance of passing inspection.
From there, their goal was a simple one.
Get in and get out as quickly as possible.
Kowalski stared ahead.
Kane panted beside him, expressing the anxiety they all shared.
Ahead, dark, snow-heavy clouds stacked high, obliterating the sun, casting the world in shadows. Winds blew at them in gusts that rattled their windshield.
The lights of the military town of Severodvinsk glowed in a widening spread before them. It required a special visa to enter the town, but where they were headed was even more restricted.
The White Sea Naval Base hugged the western edge of Dvina River delta, where it emptied into the sea. Its many docks and shipyards serviced and tested the latest submarines and ships in the Arctic fleet. It would undoubtably be highly protected.
But they had to risk it.
Kane whined next to him, a note barely above hearing.
“Quit complaining,” he warned the dog. “We’ll find them.”
Kowalski stared toward the lights, the stormy skies.
Or die trying.
32
May 14, 2:17 A.M. ANAT
Aboard the Polar King, East Siberian Sea
Gray crossed through the belly of the eighty-thousand-horsepower beast. The steady rumble spoke to that power, while the nail-on-chalkboard grind of ice along the ship’s hardened hull was a near-constant reminder of the harsh seas they traveled through.
He strode alongside Oliver Kelly, the Australian captain of the heavy icebreaker. The Polar King was a commercial ship, part of the ESKY shipping conglomerate, whose CEO William Byrd owed Sigma a big favor after events a few months back. Director Crowe had called in that favor, arranging for the use of the icebreaker to conduct the upcoming search.
The Polar King had already been in the neighboring Chukchi Sea, repositioned there from the oceans around Antarctica. The busiest seasons for icebreakers in the northern Arctic were spring and fall. A few weeks ago, the King had finished a stint with ConocoPhillips, aiding in oil and natural gas exploration near the North Slope of Alaska. The ship had been headed next to the Barents Sea, via the Northern Sea Route, to do the same for a Norwegian firm—until Painter had commandeered the vessel.
From the heavy stride of the former navy officer, Kelly was not pleased with this change of course, especially as it aimed his vessel toward the thicker ice of the polar cap. The current waters were crowded with ice floes, requiring little of the near-bottomless power of the ship’s two nuclear reactors. But before long, they would need to strain the upper limits of those powerhouses.
“I don’t know what you expect to find out there,” Kelly said as he led Gray toward a conference room below deck.
“I’ll do my best to fill you in.”
Gray intended to explain once everyone was gathered. His team—which included Seichan, Jason, and Sister Anna—had landed on the icebreaker’s helipad two hours earlier, just after midnight. They had taken an early morning commercial flight from Moscow to the coastal city of Pevek, which sat at the edge of the East Siberian Sea. There, Painter had arranged for the Polar King’s helicopter to meet them and ferry them to the ship. It had required stopping on Wrangel Island to refuel before crossing the last four hundred miles out to sea.
It was still going to be a long night, but at least his team had time to rest as they crossed the breadth of Russia. He had napped with Seichan during the flight. She kept hold of his hand, as if ensuring he stayed in his seat. Yesterday, she had looked both relieved and furious when he had walked through the hotel room door. As waterlogged as his gear had been, he hadn’t been able to radio the others. The little jubilation of their reunion quickly died away once he told her what had happened to Yelagin and Bailey. It was also a short reunion, just the one night, as afterward their group had split up again.
Voices rose ahead of them, coming from an open door at the end of the passageway.
“Our conference room,” Kelly said with a nod. “My navigator will be down shortly with the map you requested. I’ve also asked another crewman who might be of assistance to join us.”
“Thank you, Captain Kelly.”
The pair of them passed through the doorway into a wide, shallow room. A large table was bolted in place, running down the room’s center. Across the expanse of the back wall, a bank of windows overlooked the bow of the ship.
Gray was momentarily taken aback by the sight. Dark seas spread in an endless stretch to the horizon. Rafts of ice covered the water, reflecting the moonlight. The skies blazed with a sweep of stars, but what truly stole his breath was the shimmering veils of blues, crimsons, and green. They danced and rolled over the starscape, as if a rainbow had been melted across the sky.
Seichan stood limned against that view, looking equally captivated by the lightshow.
“Spectacular, isn’t it?” Kelly said. “You’re getting a rare display due to a solar storm from a coronal mass ejection, coupled with an X-class flare. It has been raging for the past half day. One of the strongest in a while. We almost didn’t get Byrd’s satellite call due to the geomagnetic interference.”
Kelly looked disappointed that the call had come through.
Gray drew his attention from the skies to those seated around the table. Jason stood up from where he had been whispering with Anna. He waved Gray to the side.
Gray excused himself while Kelly poured a cup of coffee from a steel carafe.
“What is it?” he asked Jason.
“I reached Kat in D.C. via the ship’s radio. Communication is spotty due to the solar storm. It’s probably why we haven’t heard from Monk and Kowalski directly. But they were able to phone Sigma Command. Kat relayed their message.”
Gray’s shoulders tensed. “And?”
“The others are en route to the naval base. Should be arriving in another forty minutes or so. Everything is going smoothly so far.”
“But what comes next is the hard part.”
Jason nodded, crossing his arms, looking as worried as Gray felt.
“Keep me informed if you hear any further word.”
“That’s just it. Why I wanted to talk to you. I lost that call with D.C. at the tail end of it. And as we head farther north, the interference will grow worse. The radio tech said to expect a total comms blackout. For several more hours.”
Gray sighed.
So much for trying to keep our two operations coordinated.
“We’ll have to manage as best we can.” Gray waved Jason back to the table. “First, we need to get everyone up to speed aboard the Polar King. Decide if what we’re attempting is even possible.”
As Gray headed to the table, a lanky Black man with a handlebar mustache swept into the room. He wore crisp blue coveralls with the ship’s logo on the pocket.
“Our navigator,” Kelly introduced to everyone else. “Byron Murphy.”
The man lifted a rolled map, a printout from the look of it. He nodded to Gray. “I studied that strange overlay of maps you shared up on the bridge. I was able to chart out a rough approximation of the region that you had blocked off.”
“Can you show us?”
Everyone gathered as he rolled out his work across the tabletop. Seichan joined them, stepping next to Gray.
The map showed a cross-section of the East Siberian Sea, along with the northern coast of Russia and several islands. Far out in the water, deep into the Arctic, was a hatched circle.
Byron tapped that marked spot. “That’s the search zone, as near as I can assess.”
Gray pictured that small mountainous island on Mercator’s map. It must lay somewhere in that region. There was only one problem. “That’s still a big area.”
“Around thirty thousand square kilometers,” the navigator confirmed.
Jason stared across the map at Gray. “Kat was still working on acquisitioning satellites equipped with magnetometers to pick up micro changes in the Earth’s magnetic field. The ideal choice is the European Space Agency’s SWARM satellites. They’re in low polar orbit and outfitted with both vector field and absolute scalar magnetometers. But the solar storm is wreaking havoc there, too. We may have to wait out this flare.”
Gray sensed they did not have that time.
Kelly frowned and tapped a finger on that hatched circle. “What are you looking for here? And what does it have to do with the Earth’s magnetic field?”
