Craig studied the empty skies, clearly searching for any signs of pursuers. “Will the base be able to protect us?”
Matt turned to Craig. “You know more about this Omega base than any of us, Mr. Reporter. What sort of Navy contingent is stationed there?”
Craig shook his head. “I wasn’t given any specifics about my destination…just told to pack my bag, then shoved on the first Alaska Airlines flight leaving Seattle.”
Matt frowned. There had to be at least a sub and a crew. Hopefully more personnel were stationed at the research base itself. “Well, whoever’s there,” he decided aloud, “with the storm coming, they’ll have to take us in. After that, we’ll make them listen to us. Whether they believe us or not, that’s a whole other can of worms. After the explosions at Prudhoe, suspicions will be high.”
Jenny nodded. “Okay, we’ll play it that way. At least until we get a better handle on the situation.”
John spoke up from where he was peering out the side window. “I see something off to the north a couple degrees. Red buildings.”
Jenny adjusted course.
“Is it the drift station?” Craig asked.
“I’m not sure,” Jenny said. “Those structures are about six miles from the coordinates you gave me.”
“That’s the data my editor gave me.”
“It’s the currents,” Matt said. “They don’t call it a drift station for nothing. I’m surprised the station is even that close to the coordinates. Craig’s information has to be almost a week old by now.”
Jenny buzzed toward the spread of red buildings.
As they approached, details emerged. There was a wide polynya lake a short distance from the base. Steel bollards had been drilled into the ice surrounding the open water. Submarine docking bollards, Matt realized. Though presently the lake was empty. Beyond the polynya, he counted fifteen red buildings. He recognized them as Jamesway huts from his military days, the cold-weather version of the old Quonset huts. In the middle of the small village, an American flag fluttered atop a tall pole.
“At least it’s a U.S. base,” Craig mumbled as Jenny banked over the site.
“This has to be the place,” Matt muttered.
A few vehicles were lined up on one side. Clear tracks led from the polynya to the cluster of Jamesway huts. But another track led straight out from the base, well trundled and beaten. Where did it lead? Before he could get a good look, Jenny circled around and prepared to land.
Below, a few figures appeared from some of the buildings. All wore parkas and stared skyward. The plane’s engine must have been heard. Visitors were surely rare out here in the remote ZCI zone of the polar ice cap. Matt was relieved to see that the gawkers wore parkas of vibrant colors: greens, blues, yellows, and reds. Such colors were meant to be seen, to help find a mate lost in a storm.
Thankfully there was not a single white parka among them.
Jenny set the plane’s skis and dropped the flaps. She began a smooth descent to the tabletop ice field just north of the base. “Everyone buckle in,” she warned.
The Twin Otter fell toward the ice. Matt gripped his seat arms. The plane swooped down, leveled off sharply, then skidded over the ice. The vibration of the skis over the slightly uneven surface rattled every bolt in the plane and the metal fillings in Matt’s back molars.
But once she had touched down, Jenny quickly cut power and raised the flaps to brake. The plane slowed, and the vibration died down to a gentle bumping.
Craig let out a sigh of relief.
“Welcome to the middle of the Arctic Ocean,” Jenny said, and angled the plane around. She taxied back toward the base, now a short distance away.
“The Arctic Ocean,” Craig echoed, eyeing out the windows suspiciously.
Matt could relate to his misgivings. Since three years ago, he distrusted ice. Though the footing under you might look solid, it wasn’t. It was never a constant. It was an illusion of solidness, a false sense of security that betrayed when one least expected. You just had to turn your back for a second…a moment’s distraction…
Matt continued to grip his chair arms as if he were still falling from the skies. He stared out at the world of ice around him. Here was his personal hell—not fiery flames, but endless ice.
“It looks like we’ve stirred up a welcoming party,” Jenny said as she cut her engines and the twin props slowly rotated down.
Matt swung his attention back to the base. A group of six snowmobiles rumbled out toward them. They were manned by men in matching blue parkas. He spotted the Navy insignia.
Base security.
One of the men stood up in his snowmobile and lifted a bullhorn in his hand. “Vacate the aircraft now! Keep your hands empty and in plain sight! Any attempt to leave or any hostile action will be met with deadly force!”
Matt sighed. “The Welcome Wagon sure has gone to hell these days.”
6:34 A.M.
ICE STATION GRENDEL
Amanda stared at the chaos, amazed at the amount of work that had been done in a single night. Not that day or night really had much meaning in the station, especially in the dark ice tunnels of the Crawl Space. In the detached isolation of her silent world, she watched the drama play out.
“Careful with that!” Dr. Henry Ogden barked across the frozen lake. Even from here, Amanda could read his lips and exaggerated expression.
Under his supervision, a pair of graduate students struggled to raise a light pole. It was the fourth to illuminate the cliff face. Nearby, the generator, which was running the lights and other assorted equipment, trembled in bad humor atop its rubber footpads. Power cords and conduits snaked across the ice lake’s surface.
Small red flags marked off sites on the lake. The rocky cliff face itself was no less assaulted. Steel ladders leaned against it. More flags checkered its surface.
Sites of specimens, Amanda imagined. She stared at the sections of the lake cordoned off with string and flags. She knew what specimens lay frozen under those spots. The grendels…as they had come to be called.
News of the discovery had spread quickly. While Amanda was sure Dr. Ogden had not divulged the information himself, such a secret could not be kept long among a group of isolated scientists. Someone had clearly talked.
All around the huge cavern, research students and senior members of the biology staff labored together. But Amanda also spotted several scientists from other disciplines, including her dear friend Dr. Oskar Willig. The Swedish oceanographer was the elder statesman of the entire Omega group. His accomplishments and credentials were numerous and well-known, including the Nobel Prize in 1972. His unruly gray hair was equally as distinguishable, making him easy to spot.