Arkangel, page 33
Gray squinted and spotted the gap, less than a foot wide, along the bottom edge of the cliff face. He slowed his Polaris and braked to a stop. He hopped off to investigate, while the Snowcats closed in on his position.
His boots crunched across the ice as he crossed to that frozen lip. He stared down into the gap and spotted dark-blue waters far below. To investigate closer, he leaned out, bracing an arm against the rock. His gloves disturbed a slippery layer of moss over the rock. It was millimeters thick, little more than furrier lichen. His disturbance stirred up a cloud of gnats, no larger than grains of pepper. Up higher, the dark stone was scribed with more of the same, thinning to regular lichenous fungi in hues of yellows, reds, and oranges, forming some cryptic petroglyph across the rock.
Returning his attention below, he identified a misty haze that had nothing to do with the fog. It matched his own exhalations, the misty condensate of his warm breath in the cold.
He pulled off his glove and placed his palm against the stone. The surface was cold, but far from icy. The moss under his fingers was damp, moistened by the rising condensation.
“It’s warmer than it should be,” he mumbled.
He stared up the length of the peak, at the surrounding ring of cliffs. He wondered if these outcroppings created their own microclimate, holding back the ice fog that covered this region.
“What are you doing?” Seichan called from her snowmobile, not bothering with the radio.
He turned and headed back to his own vehicle. He hooked a leg over his seat. “You were right. The rock is warm enough to hold the ice at bay. Something must be heating it down deep.”
As he got moving again, he remembered how Sister Anna had told them that much of northern Russia was geothermally active. He stared up at the peak as he rode alongside its flank.
Is the same true here?
Their group continued around the spire, which was roughly a mile in circumference. He slowed a few times to inspect deeper shadows, hoping they might mark the mouths of a tunnel, but he found only more rock.
Finally, they reached the shoulder of ice on the eastern side. He felt defeated. If there was any opening here, it would be covered under meters of ice. He searched the expanse. The frozen surface had been polished to a bluish hue by winds and periodic melts. The midday sun blazed off it, turning the ice a fiery cobalt.
Gray squinted against the glare. He shaded his eyes with a hand as he edged along it, going even slower. Sections of the ice wall had calved away over the centuries and had left shattered cliffs littered over the ice.
He searched through them, peering into the bluer gaps of the exposed ice.
Still nothing . . .
Then he reached a region that was misted over, just a haze. It reminded him of what he had noted rising from the gap between the ice and rock. He drew his snowmobile closer. It rose from one of the broken sections. He flicked on the snowmobile’s single headlamp, a customized add-on for a vehicle that had to operate during the sunless months of winter. A toggle let him swivel the beam around.
The haze seeped from a crack near the bottom, maybe a foot tall and four times as wide. He stopped his machine and cut the engine. He slid off the seat and continued on foot. The mist-dampened ice grew slippery near the opening, but his Arctic boots had studded grips.
Seichan followed as the Snowcats drove into view behind them.
He freed a flashlight and dropped to his belly. He shined a bright beam down the crack. Blue ice glowed in the brightness. He followed a trickling flow of meltwater. It ran steeply away, toward a wall of black rock three meters away—then vanished through an arched opening in the stone.
Gray pushed farther in, tilting his head to the side to do so. He stretched his arm and light. Past the archway, he spotted a chute of ice that continued downward. The meltwater flowed along it, vanishing into the darkness.
Frustrated, he pushed back and rolled to his side. As he did, he noted the nearby broken tips of masts sticking out of the ice. “I think there’s an opening,” he said. “Maybe an old port entrance to this place before it froze over.”
By now, the others had exited their Snowcats and gathered closer.
Jason dropped to a knee to peer through the crack. “No way we’re fitting through there.”
Kelly offered his own insight. “Luckily, you have an icebreaking crew with you.”
Gray stood. “What do you mean? Do you think we can use axes and chop a way inside?”
“Too risky.” Kelly straightened and headed toward one of the Snowcats, drawing Gray and Jason with him. “There’s an easier method.”
The captain waved to Ryan Marr, the former Coast Guard officer, to accompany them to the rear of the Snowcat. Kelly opened the vehicle’s cargo hold, which doubled as a weapon locker. To one side rested a wide case. He undid the latches and cracked it open.
Jason whistled appreciatively at the cellophane-wrapped blocks of white clay, stenciled with PE4-MC. It was the Australian military’s version of C4 or Semtex. Plastic explosives. Inside the crate were blasting caps and remote detonators.
“I mentioned that icebreakers could get trapped.” Kelly nodded to the explosives. “This is how we get out.”
Ryan reached inside and grabbed an electric drill and screwed a fat bit in place. He then faced the cliff of ice and scratched the scruff of his red beard. He studied the frozen surface, as if trying to read a map.
“You intend to blast a way through?” Gray asked the captain. “And that’s less risky than using ice-axes?”
“With the right expert, yes.” Kelly eyed Ryan. “It takes a real artist.”
Jason grinned up at the shoulder of ice. “Kowalski is going to be sorry he missed this.”
Kelly glanced to Jason.
Gray explained. “He’s our team’s demolition expert. And Jason is right. He will be sorely disappointed.”
Gray searched to the west.
Wherever he might be.
40
May 14, 2:02 P.M. ANAT
Airborne over the East Siberian Sea
“They’ve got to be down there somewhere, right?” Tucker asked.
He crouched in the copilot seat of the Baikal, serving as an extra pair of eyes as Monk glided them over a featureless fogbank. It stretched to the horizon in all directions.
Behind them, Elle and Kowalski searched from the windows back there. The only two who remained unconcerned were Kane and Marco, who slept in tight curls on two chairs.
Monk leaned forward. “Keep an eye out for any sign of them.”
Despite the tension, Monk stifled a jaw-cracking yawn with a fist. The man had had little sleep during the eight hours of flight. Tucker had briefly relieved him after catching Monk’s chin resting on his collarbone, drowsing off. With the plane on autopilot, Tucker had kept vigil during Monk’s nap, nervously watching the instrument panel, while the night skies had swirled with shimmering veils of the borealis.
They had to stop at daybreak to refuel at the northernmost tip of the Novaya Zemlya archipelago. They landed at a small gravel airstrip next to a Russian Arctic park. Elle spoke with the lone keeper of that remote spot. Luckily, the park allowed dogs, so Tucker was able to let Kane and Marco run free over the rocky landscape, stretching their legs and releasing some of the tension from the past days. He kept them close, though, as distant white specks marked the presence of polar bears.
But there was another reason they had stopped, too.
Out of sight of the airstrip’s lone caretaker, he and Kowalski had carried Fadd’s body to a remote barren gully. They built a cairn of rocks over the young man, promising to come back and give him a proper burial.
When the two had returned to the plane, Tucker found Elle sobbing inside. She did her best to hide it, rubbing a fist over her eyes. A bloody rag lay next to her, where she must have tried to clean the floor of the plane.
Tucker had pulled her close and held her as Monk got the Baikal back in the air. At that moment, Tucker had needed her warmth as much as she did his. During his years with the Rangers, he had buried too many, too young. One never grew numb to it.
“Check to the right!” Elle called out, drawing Tucker back to the present. “Is that a break in the fog?”
Tucker leaned over to search in that direction. Off in the distance, thirty or forty miles away, a patch of glaring light shone from the featureless expanse of the gray fogbank. It looked like the sun reflecting off open ice.
“You’re right,” Tucker confirmed.
“I thought I saw a brief flash of fire from that direction a moment ago,” Elle said. “It caught my eye. But it’s gone.”
“There’s smoke, too,” Monk said. “Just a thin trail.”
Tucker squinted and saw he was right. “Could that be coming from Gray and the others?”
“Let’s hope so.” Monk swung the aircraft in that direction. “We’re running low on fuel . . . and they’re running out of time.”
Tucker nodded.
Two hours ago, from the air, they had spotted a shattered dark trail through the white ice, heading north. The route had led straight into the fogbank and vanished. They had turned and followed it, recognizing the path of an icebreaker. They prayed it was the ship that Gray and the others had boarded.
But Tucker’s group wasn’t the only one following that well-marked trail.
Just before reaching the fogbank, they spotted another ship. They swept low, then quickly angled away once they saw it was a Russian vessel, an icebreaking patrol boat. Tucker had used binoculars to study the gray-blue ship. He made out the massive AK-176MA naval gun mounted at its bow. A Kamov Ka-27 anti-submarine helicopter sat on the boat’s stern pad.
They all knew what that Russian vessel, alone in these waters, must have been dispatched to do.
The same as us—to find the others.
Like Tucker’s group, the patrol boat must have come across the broken path through the ice and now steamed hard along it, making good time with the route already shattered for them.
It was what made Tucker’s current search so desperate.
Gray and the others needed to be warned, to know what was coming.
Still, Tucker knew such foreknowledge would do little good, especially out here, locked in ice. He scanned across the unbroken landscape.
Where could any of us go? Where could we hide?
41
May 14, 2:08 P.M. ANAT
East Siberian Sea
Seichan sheltered with the others behind one of the Snowcats as shards of ice rained around them. Larger boulders crashed in front. Even with her face turned and her eyes closed, the flash of fire still dazzled her vision. Smoke had briefly blasted over their position, then the easterly winds had battered it back, blowing it past the tall black peak.
“All clear!” Kelly shouted.
The team rose from behind their parked vehicles. They staggered out, rubbing at ears and shaking heads. The group had retreated three hundred yards from the detonation site. They all stared toward the ice wall—or what was left of it.
A stubborn haze of smoke persisted.
Gray crossed and mounted his snowmobile. “Let’s check it out.”
Seichan rushed and hopped onto her Polaris.
The others prepared to follow in the Snowcats.
Gray didn’t wait, clearly anxious to discover if Ryan’s mastery of reading ice was as accomplished as Kelly had claimed. Earlier, they had all watched the former Coast Guard officer drill holes into the frozen wall, shape a set of charges, and place blasting caps. After making some final adjustments, Ryan had given a thumbs-up, and they had retreated.
But did it do any good?
Seichan followed Gray, racing across the ice, skirting larger blue sledges that had slammed to the ground. It took them less than a minute to reach the site. A quarter of the shoulder of ice had been blasted off the peak’s side. They were forced to slow, to pick their way through the debris field.
Once close enough, Gray edged his Polaris to where the misty crack had been. He flicked on his headlamp and pointed its beam toward the center of the blast zone. Seichan drew alongside him, adding her light.
“Kelly was not lying,” Gray concluded. “Ryan is a true master of icebreaking.”
“Ice-blasting,” Seichan corrected him.
Gray cut his engine and hopped off. Seichan did the same. They stepped together through the last of the debris field toward the ice-free wall of rock. The archway that Gray had spotted earlier now lay exposed. Past it, a rubble-strewn slope of ice descended into the peak. A blue boulder broke loose and rolled and bounced along the ice chute, vanishing beyond the reach of their light.
Gray crossed to the arched opening, running his hand over its edge. “This must be the top of a larger cavernous opening into the mountain’s heart.” He pointed to the end of a mast sticking out of the ice. “Not far from where those ships must have once docked when the waters were still open.”
Seichan crouched and peered past the archway. “Hopefully that ice ramp leads all the way to the bottom. It looks wide enough for our snowmobiles to traverse. Maybe even a Snowcat.” She stared up. “Still, we’ll have to be careful.”
Hanging high above them, a stubborn mass of ice clung to rock. It looked like a frozen ax waiting to fall.
“Even the vibrations from our engines could bring that crashing down,” she warned.
“We can consult with Ryan. Get his assessment.”
The growl of the two Snowcats drew their attention around, announcing the arrival of the others. Gray and Seichan crossed from under that hanging lip of ice and hiked out to meet them.
The lead Snowcat braked hard. A door popped opened, and Kelly exited. He strode quickly toward them. He carried a handheld radio in his hand, his expression darkly worried.
Seichan’s heart pounded harder, sensing something was wrong.
“What is it?” Gray asked.
Kelly lifted his radio. “Byron just called in. There’s a plane on approach, casting out a nonstop SOS.”
Seichan craned her neck and searched the skies. A slight haze persisted as fine ice crystals hung in the air, reflecting the sunlight. But she spotted no aircraft.
Gray joined her, shading his eyes. “Who is it?”
“Pilot says his name is Monk Kokkalis. Claims he knows you.”
Seichan’s breath clamped in her throat. Gray reached out and grasped her arm, squeezing all his hope into that grip.
To the west, a small prop plane flew into view, entering the well of blue skies framed by the fogbank. It began a slow circle.
“He’s requesting permission to land,” Kelly said.
“Tell him to do so.” Gray’s voice was raw with relief. “To touch down out here.”
But Kelly was not done. “Your friend says we’ve got trouble coming our way. Big trouble.”
2:55 P.M.
Kowalski gathered with everyone out on the ice. There was much hugging and claps on backs. Even Marco had recognized his sometime-partner and had come bounding over, leaping at him in a canine greeting, one paw landing squarely in his crotch.
Stories were quickly exchanged in thumbnails of victories and losses. The latter dampened the initial joy.
“We still don’t know if Bailey survived,” Monk said. “We can only hope.”
Kelly shoved forward, concentrating on the immediate threat. “Describe the patrol boat that’s following the King’s trail.”
“Definitely Russian,” Tucker said. “Looks new. Especially the weaponry it’s carrying. My guess is that it holds a crew of at least a hundred.”
Monk nodded at this assessment. “By my estimate, clocking their speed, they’ll be here in two hours, maybe less.”
Gray faced Kelly. “Any further word from your navigator and radio crew? We need the world reopened. To get eyes looking this way.”
Kowalski scowled. “Why? So everyone can get first row seats at our slaughter?”
“These are still international waters,” Gray reminded everyone. “An unprovoked attack here, one witnessed by the world, would risk triggering a global war. Such a threat might make the Russians pause.”
“Might does not instill a lot of confidence,” Tucker said.
Kelly had a worse response. “Doesn’t matter. Byron says the solar storm will keep us blacked out for at least another three hours. Until then, we’re on our own. Which means we have only one option.”
“Does it involve surrendering?” Kowalski asked.
Kelly ignored him. “We need to delay that patrol boat.”
“How?” Gray asked.
The captain surveyed the newcomers. “Which one of you is Kowalski?”
Eyes turned his way.
Oh, crap.
Kowalski stepped back with a groan, suspecting why he had been called out, what it probably meant. He didn’t want to raise his hand, but those stares forced his arm up.
As he did, he made a firm promise to himself.
This is the last time I travel to the Arctic.
But first he had to survive this outing.
“You’re coming with me,” Kelly told Kowalski in a voice that brooked no argument. He pointed to one of his crew. “Ryan, you’re with us, too. Grab the demo kit.”
The man nodded and strode toward one of the Snowcats.
Kelly turned to Monk. “Can you taxi us back to the Polar King? We’ll need your plane after that, too, if you’re willing to fly again?”
Monk nodded. “Whatever is needed.”
Kelly passed him with a pat on the shoulder. “Good man.”
Kowalski sighed heavily and prepared to follow, but first he called over to Gray. “What’re you all going to be doing while we’re gone?”
Gray turned to the blasted wall of ice and a steep tunnel descending into darkness. “We’re going to see if this patch of rock is worth dying over.”
42
May 14, 3:07 P.M. ANAT
Airborne over the East Siberian Sea
Captain Turov strode through the stark cabin of the An-74 transport plane. He nodded to his strike team, patting shoulders along the way. Several of the spetsnaz soldiers lounged or slept, conserving their energy for the threat ahead.
