Arctic Drift (Dirk Pitt 20)

The burst was short, just four or five shots. Giordino could barely hear it through his ringing ears. Yet he saw the results. Not a ripping seam through his own flesh or the deck about him. Instead, it was the gunman himself who was ruptured by the shots. A mouthful of blood spilled from his lips, and then he slowly sunk beneath the rail, dropping to the ice-covered ground below.

Giordino stared blankly, hearing additional bursts of gunfire. Then another body appeared at the rail, armed like the last and pointing a gun in his direction. Only this gunman was dressed in white, with an ivory ski mask and protective goggles covering his entire face. A second armed man in white joined him, and the two scaled the rail and stepped toward Giordino, their guns trained on him.

Giordino was too focused on the approaching men to notice a third man appear at the rail. The newcomer looked across the deck at Giordino, then shouted something at the other two men. It took a second or two for Giordino’s ringing ears to decipher the words.

“Hold your horses, Lieutenant,” the third man yelled in a familiar Texas accent. “That man is one of ours.”

The two Navy SEALs from the Santa Fe stopped in their tracks but held their weapons fixed until Jack Dahlgren rushed to Giordino’s side. Grabbing the sleeve of Giordino’s antique wool jacket and helping him to his feet, Dahlgren couldn’t help but ask, “You go and join the Royal Navy?”

“We got a little chilly when you weren’t around to pick us out of the drink,” Giordino managed to reply, stunned at Dahlgren’s appearance.

“Where’s Dirk?”

“He was below. That’s where the explosion originated,” he replied with a concerned look.

Wincing in pain, Giordino staggered past Dahlgren to the edge of the ladderway and peered down. A few feet below, he saw the singed and smoking body of a dark-haired man sprawled on the steps, and he shut his eyes. It was nearly a minute before he could open them again, by which time Dahlgren and the SEALs had crowded around him. When he looked down, he suddenly saw a light wavering from the deck below. A bloody and battered Pitt slowly staggered into view at the base of the steps and peered up at his friend. In his arms, he clutched a large and slightly singed leather book.

“Somebody got a light?” he asked with a pained grin.

PITT WAS IMMEDIATELY CARRIED back to the Santa Fe and ushered into the submarine’s sick bay with Giordino in tow. Despite a severe loss of blood, Pitt’s injuries were not life-threatening, and his wounds were quickly cleaned and bandaged. Though the ship’s surgeon ordered him to remain in bed, Pitt found a cane and was hobbling around the sub an hour later, reuniting with the crew of the Narwhal. Limping into the officers’ mess with Giordino, they found the three captains, Campbell, Murdock, and Stenseth, seated at a table discussing the icebreaker.

“Shouldn’t you two be bedridden?” Stenseth asked.

“There will be plenty of time to sleep on the voyage home,” Pitt replied. Stenseth helped him to a chair while Campbell grabbed coffees, and the men swapped tales of their ordeals and discoveries.

“You boys flipping a coin to see who drives the icebreaker?” Giordino asked a short while later.

“We boarded her strictly to search for you two,” Campbell replied. “I had no intention of confiscating her, but these gentlemen were just telling me the d

etails of her full role in the Polar Dawn crew’s abduction and the sinking of the Narwhal.”

“There’s something else you need to know about her,” Pitt said. “Al?”

Giordino described the underlying coat of gray paint on the icebreaker’s hull and the partial appearance of the number 54 in white lettering.

“I’d bet the farm she destroyed the Canadian ice camp while masquerading as a Navy frigate,” he said.

Campbell shook his head. “These people are some serious maniacs. They’re on the verge of starting World War Three. I guess we’ve got no choice but to take her to port in U.S. waters as soon as possible.”

“She’s a known Canadian-flagged ship, so there shouldn’t be any trouble clearing the passage,” Pitt said.

“And you’ve got two captains ready and willing to take her back,” Stenseth said, with Murdock nodding in agreement.

“Piracy it is, then,” Campbell said with a smile. “We’ll head for Anchorage, and I’ll be your underwater tail just in case of trouble.” He gazed around the small confines of the mess. “Truth be told, we’re a bit overcrowded as it is.”

“We’ll take both our crews to man the ship,” Murdock said, nodding his head toward Stenseth. “Captain Roman reported plenty of empty berths on the icebreaker.”

“Al and I will be happy to accompany the icebreaker,” Pitt said. “Al’s claustrophobic, and I’ve got some reading to catch upon.”

“Then we have our traveling orders,” Campbell agreed. “I’ll transfer half my SEAL team aboard to help with security, then we can be on our way.”

The three captains excused themselves to organize the crews as Pitt and Giordino finished their coffees. Giordino leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling with a broad smile.

“You seem awful merry,” Pitt remarked.

“You heard what the man said,” Giordino replied. “We’re going to Anchorage. Anchorage, Alaska,” he repeated lovingly. “South of the Arctic Circle. Did ever a place sound so warm and inviting?” he asked with a contented grin.

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