Ice Hunt

“What do we do?” Bratt asked.

“We need to get our mouths above water,” Perry answered, raising his voice. “Commander, order the boat back to the Russian ice station. We’ll broadcast the situation from there while we evacuate the civilians. That will surely be the Russians’ next target.”

“Aye, sir.”

Bratt began issuing hushed orders to the diving crew. The helmsman and planesman trimmed the boat and brought it about. They glided the sub silently away.

Explosions still echoed, ringing down through the ice. The noise helped cover their retreat. Though, in truth, they could’ve escaped even if it had been dead quiet. Designed with the newest silent propulsion system and a thicker sonar-absorbing anechoic coating, the Sentinel was all but invisible to most means of detection. She slid away without any outward sign that the Drakon even knew she was there.

As they left, Perry watched the video screen. The column of light faded behind them until there was just darkness.

Bratt called over to him from the boat’s diving station. “ETA to the Russian base is thirty-two minutes.”

Perry nodded and stared around the bridge. Every face was grim, angry. They were running away from a fight, but it was a battle they couldn’t win. The Polar Sentinel was the only means to evacuate the station.

Still, as he stood in the center of the sub’s control bridge, an overriding fear turned his insides to ice. Amanda…She had left yesterday for the ice station, to settle some dispute between the geologists and biologists, but she had been scheduled to return to Omega this morning. Had she already returned? Or was she still at the ice station?

Bratt stepped over to him. “The Russians aren’t going to need much time to lock Omega down, especially considering the lack of defenses there. After that, they’ll be hauling ass over to their station.”

His XO was right. It wouldn’t leave them much of a window in which to evacuate the civilians. He cleared his throat. “Commander, assemble a quick-response team. Under your lead. Have them suited up and ready to offload as soon as we surface. We need everyone out of there ASAP.”

“Will do, Captain. Do you have a timetable for the evac?”

Perry considered the question, judging the speed of the other sub and the meager defenses of Omega. He needed as much time as possible, but he couldn’t risk having his boat caught on the surface.

“Fifteen minutes,” he said. “I want us diving again in exactly fifteen minutes.”

“That’s not much time.”

“I don’t care if you have to yank folks naked from the showers. Get their asses into the Sentinel. Don’t worry about equipment, supplies, nothing. Just get everyone on board.”

“It’ll be done.” Bratt turned sharply, already shouting orders.

Perry stared after him. Around the bridge, everyone busied themselves at their stations. Alone with his own thoughts, his worries for Amanda grew. Where was she?

10:44 A.M.

ICE STATION GRENDEL

Deep in the Crawl Space of the station, Amanda followed Connor MacFerran’s broad back. After arranging for the transfer of the reporter and his group to the station, Amanda had found herself full of nervous energy. By bringing these newcomers out here, she knew she was violating the intent of the Navy’s gag order, if not the letter. Word of the discovery on Level Four was not to be broadcast to the outside world—but that didn’t mean she couldn’t reveal it to folks already here. The sheriff, the reporter, and the others…as long as they were at the station, they were under the umbrella of the gag order, not outside it.

Still, Amanda knew she was skating on thin ice. Greg…Captain Perry…would not be pleased. He was Navy, like her father. Bending rules was not something they tolerated easily. But Amanda had to be true to her own heart. The facts had to get out. They needed an impartial party to document it all, like the reporter.

With her decision made, she was too edgy to sit for the two or so hours it would take to make the transfer. So after getting confirmation from Washburn, she had headed down to the Crawl Space to see if there was any news on Lacy Devlin.

It was lucky she had decided to check.

She had found Connor MacFerran stamping a set of ice crampons onto the bottom of his boots. They were spiked like golf shoes, meant to keep one’s footing stable on the slick surface. Clearly he had been about to head out on his own, ignoring her order to take others with him. “Everyone is busy,” he had complained, then patted his down vest. “Besides I have a walkie-talkie.”

Of course, Amanda refused to let him go alone, and since she was still wearing her thermal racing suit, she had only to don a pair of crampons herself.

Ahead of her now, Connor halted at a crisscrossing of ice tunnels. He wore a mining helmet and shone its light down the various chutes. He cupped his mouth. His chest heaved. His lips were hidden, but Amanda knew he was yelling out Lacy’s name.

Amanda waited, deaf to any response. She carried a flashlight in one hand and a coil of poly-line over one shoulder. They were in an un-mapped section of the Crawl Space. It was a maze of tunnels, cracks, and caves.

Connor touched an orange spray-painted arrow on the wall. Amanda had been told it marked the skating course Lacy followed. But Amanda didn’t need the markers to track the woman. The floor was scored with old runner marks, a cryptic script of steel across ice.

Connor continued down the marked tunnel, raising his hand to his lips, calling out. But from his steady pace, there seemed no response.

They continued for another twenty minutes, winding down and around a long looping ice chute, then back into the tangle of cracks and tunnels. Connor continued to call out and follow the orange markers.

He was so intent on listening, searching for the next marker, that he missed the scoring of ice that led off the main track and headed down a long crack.

“Connor!” Amanda called to him.

He jumped at her yell. Maybe it had been too loud.

He turned to her. “What?”

She pointed to the one set of tracks leading away. “She went this way.” She bent and rubbed the scored ice. It was hard to say how old the marks were. But it was something worth investigating. She glanced up to the geologist.

He nodded and moved into the crack.

She followed with her flashlight.

They moved down the chute, digging in their crampons to keep traction. The tunnel narrowed, but the track kept going.

Connor stopped ahead of her, glancing back—not at her, but back down the tunnel. His brow was crinkled.