Ice Hunt

Small cries echoed, but Perry ignored them. He watched, powerless. A collision here would be disastrous. There was nowhere to surface for miles around. Though the Polar Sentinel had been built to handle the rigors of the Arctic, there were limits.

The toppling wall of ice filled the world ahead of them. The sub continued to dive. Seams popped and groaned from the sudden increase in pressure as the sub plunged into the frigid depths.

Then open water appeared ahead, just under the slowly falling slab of ice. The submarine dove toward it.

The section of cliff face slid past overhead—no more than inches. Perry craned his neck, following it past the arch of Lexan above his head. He could read the pictographic lines of algae across the ice’s surface. He held his breath, ready for the screech of metal, ready to hear the emergency klaxons blare. But the continual low hiss of the oxygen generators persisted.

After a long half minute, Perry let out a deep breath and turned to the intercom. “Captain to the bridge,” he said. “Good job up there, men.”

Commander Bratt answered, relief and pride in his voice, “Shutting the flood. Venting negative.” The sub began to level. After a moment, Bratt added, “Let’s not do that again.”

“Aye to that,” Perry agreed. “But let’s do a slow circle back around and inspect the area—from a safe distance. I wager that breakaway may have been triggered by the DeepEye sonar.” He glanced to Amanda, remembering her concern about the new sonar’s vibration signature and heating effect. “We should get some pictures since we’re testing the darned thing.”

Commander Bratt acknowledged and ordered his bridge crew, “Helmsman, left full rudder. Ahead slow. Take us around.”

The submarine eased away from the ice mountain in a slow circle. Perry crossed to the bank of video monitors. “Can we get a close-up of the fracture zone?”

One of the technicians nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Amanda spoke, her words slightly slurred, her enunciation slipping with her anxiety. “We should’ve anticipated such a fracturing.”

He patted her hand. “That’s why we call this a shakedown cruise. If you’re not shook up a time or two, then you’re not doing your job.”

Despite his poor attempt at humor, her face remained tight.

Then again, his own heart still pounded from the close call. He bent closer to the screen as the technician manipulated a toggle to bring the exterior cameras into focus on the fractured area. The shattered chunk of cliff shimmered into clarity.

“What’s that?” Amanda asked. She pointed to a dark blemish on the screen. It was in the center of the fracture zone. “Can you zoom in?”

The technician nodded and twisted a dial. The section of cliff swelled. The blemish grew in detail and depth. It was not ice or rock, but something unusual. As the sub turned, the Polar Sentinel’s spotlights illuminated it. It was black, angular. Man-made.

As they swung closer, Perry knew what he was seeing: the stern end of another sub, frozen like a stick in a Popsicle. He crossed over to the canopy of Lexan glass and stared out. He could just make out the sub poking from the ice. It was old, ancient.

The Polar Sentinel glided past at a safe distance.

“Is that what I think it is?” Dr. Willig asked, his voice weak.

“A sub,” Perry answered with a nod. He could recognize any submarine from just a casual glance. “I’d say a World War Two–era sub. Russian I series.”

Amanda, her face less pale now, spoke from where she now stood with two researchers. “This supports our earlier discovery. The reason I called you down here.”

Perry turned to her. “What are you talking about?”

She pointed to a different monitor. “We mapped and taped this earlier from the DeepEye.” The screen displayed a three-dimensional image of the ice island. The resolution was amazing, but Perry didn’t see anything significant.

“Show him,” Amanda continued, placing a hand on one of the technician’s shoulders.

He tapped a few keys, and the image of the ice island dissolved from solid to ghostly. Within the interior of the island, passages and distinct tiers sectioned the iceberg, rising up layer by layer toward the top.

“What is it?” Perry asked.

The technician answered, “We think it’s an abandoned ice base built inside the berg.” He tapped a few keys and the image swelled to concentrate on one tier. There appeared to be rooms and corridors. It was definitely not a natural formation.

“A Russian ice base if you’re right about that sub,” Amanda added, lifting an eyebrow toward Perry. “The vessel is docked at the lowest level.”

He pointed to several darker objects scattered here and there on the display. “Are those what I think they are?”

The technician overlaid a cursor atop one of them and tapped a key, zooming in on it. The shape of the form was unquestionable.

“Bodies, Captain,” he answered. “Dead bodies.”

A flicker of movement drew Perry’s attention to the edge of the screen—then it vanished. He frowned and glanced to the others. “Did anyone else see that?”

Amanda’s eyes widened. “Rewind the tape.”

The technician shuttled the recording backward and zoomed slightly outward. He forwarded to the blurred movement on the screen. He slowed it down. On the lowest tier of the station something stirred, then disappeared into the deeper depths of the ice mountain, retreating beyond the reach of the sonar. Though visible only for a moment, there was no doubt.

Amanda whispered, “Something’s alive in there…”

Act One

Snow Flight

1

Blood Lure

APRIL 6, 2:56 P.M.

BROOKS RANGE, ALASKA

Always respect Mother Nature…especially when she weighs four hundred pounds and is guarding her baby.

Matthew Pike faced the grizzly from fifty yards away. The massive she-bear eyed him back, chuffing into the breeze. Her yearling cub nosed a blackberry briar, but it was too early in the season for berries. The cub was just playing in the brambles, oblivious to the six-foot-two Fish and Game officer standing, sweating, in the afternoon sun. But the youngster had little to fear when watched over by his mother. Her muscled bulk, yellowed teeth, and four-inch claws were protection enough.

Matt’s moist palm rested on his holstered canister of pepper spray. His other hand slowly shifted to the rifle slung on his shoulder. Don’t charge, sweetheart…don’t make this day any worse than it already is. He’d had enough trouble with his own dogs earlier and had left them tethered back at his campsite.