Arctic Drift (Dirk Pitt 20)

They called on the surface, but their radio calls continued to go unanswered. Their faint signals were picked up only by the Otok and blithely ignored at the order of Zak. The Narwhal, they were now convinced, had vanished from the scene.

“Still, not a word,” Giordino said dejectedly. Contemplating the radio silence, he asked, “How friendly would your pal on the icebreaker be if he had a run-in with the Narwhal ?”

“Not very,” Pitt replied. “He has a penchant for blowing things up with little regard for the consequences. He’s after the ruthenium at all costs. If he’s aboard the icebreaker, then he’ll be after us as well.”

“My money says that Stenseth and Dahlgren will be a handful.”

It was little consolation to Pitt. He was the one who had brought the ship here and it was he who had placed the crew in danger. Not knowing what had happened to the ship, he assumed the worst and blamed himself. Giordino sensed the guilt in Pitt’s eyes and tried to change his focus.

“Are we dead on propulsion?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes,” Pitt replied. “We’re at the mercy of the wind and current now.”

Giordino gazed out the view port. “Wonder where the next stop will be?”

“With any luck, we’ll get pushed to one of the Royal Geographical Society Islands. But if the current throws us around them, then we could be adrift for a while.”

“If I had known we were going to take a cruise, I would have brought a good book . . . and my long underwear.”

Both men wore only light sweaters, not anticipating the need for anything warmer. With the submersible’s electronic equipment shut down, the interior quickly turned chilly.

“I’d settle for a roast beef sandwich and a tequila myself,” Pitt said.

“Don’t even start with the food,” Giordino lamented. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, trying to maintain warmth. “You know,” he said, “there are days when that cushy leather chair back in the headquarters office doesn’t sound so bad.”

Pitt looked at him with a raised brow. “Had your fill of days in the field?”

Giordino grunted, then shook his head. “No. I know the reality is, the second I set foot in that office, I want back on the water. What about you?”

Pitt had contemplated the question before. He’d paid a heavy price, both physically and mentally, for his adventurous scrapes over the years. But he knew he’d never have it any other way.

“Life’s a quest, but I’ve always made the quest my life.” He turned to Giordino and grinned. “I guess they’ll have to pry us both off the controls.”

“It’s in our blood, I’m afraid.”

Helpless to control their fate, Pitt sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. Thoughts of the Narwhal and her crew scrolled through his mind, followed by visions of Loren back in Washington. But mostly his mind kept returning to a lone portrait of a broad-shouldered man with a menacing face. It was the image of Clay Zak.

77

THE SUBMERSIBLE PITCHED AND ROLLED THROUGH the choppy seas while driven south at nearly three knots. The Arctic dawn gradually emerged, lightening the thick gray fog hanging low over the water. With little to do but monitor the radio, the two men tried to rest, but the plunging interior temperature soon rendered it too uncomfortable for sleep.

Pitt was adjusting the overhead hatch when a scraping sound filled the interior and the submersible jarred to a halt.

“Land ho,” Giordino mumbled, popping open his sleepy eyes.

“Almost,” Pitt replied, peering out the view port. A light breeze blew a small opening in the fog, revealing a white plateau of ice in front of them. The unbroken expanse disappeared into a billow of mist a hundred feet away.

“A good bet there is land on the opposite side of this ice field,” Pitt speculated.

“And that’s where we’ll find a hot-coffee stand?” Giordino asked, rubbing his hands together to keep warm.

“Yes . . . roughly two thousand miles south of here.” He looked at Giordino. “We have two options. Stay here in the cozy confines of our titanium turret or take a crack at finding relief. The Inuit still hunt in the region, so there could be a settlement nearby. If the weather clears, there’s always a sporting chance of flagging down a passing ship.” He looked down at his clothes. “Unfortunately, we’re not exactly dressed for a cross-country excursion.”

Giordino stretched his arms and yawned. “Personally, I’m tired of sitting in this tin can. Let’s go stretch our legs and see what’s in the neighborhood.”

“Agreed,” Pitt nodded.

Giordino made one last attempt to contact the Narwhal, then shut down the radio equipment. The two men climbed out of the top hatch and were promptly greeted by an eight-degree chill. The bow had wedged tightly into the thick sea ice, and they were easily able to step off the submersible and onto the frozen surface. A stiffening breeze began to scatter the low-hanging mist. Nothing but ice lay in front of them, so they started trudging across the pack, the dry snow crunching under their feet.