Ice Hunt

The door to the prison wing opened. Admiral Petkov strode inside, accompanied by the same two guards. The trio approached Matt’s cell.

Here we go again, Matt thought, standing to face them.

Petkov spoke with his usual bluntness. “Your Delta Force team blew up the drift station.”

Matt took a breath to assimilate what had just been said.

Washburn swore off to the side. “Bullshit.”

“We recorded the explosion minutes after their helicopter took off.”

Washburn scowled, but Matt knew Petkov was not lying. It was not his way. Omega had been destroyed. But why?

Petkov answered his silent question with two words. “Plausible deniability.”

Matt weighed this answer. He sensed the truth to it. Delta Force teams were covert, operating with minimal supervision, surgical-strike teams. They entered a combat zone, completed their mission, and left no witnesses behind.

No witnesses…

Inhaling sharply, Matt realized what this news meant. He stumbled, hitting the back of his legs on the bed, jarring it. The child woke with a start.

Petkov pointed for a guard to open the cell. “It seems your government seeks the same objective as my own. To seize the research for themselves, and leave no one to claim otherwise. At any and all cost.”

The cell was opened. Pistols were again pointed at him.

“What do you want with me?” Matt asked.

“I want you to stop them both. My father sacrificed all to bury his research. I will not let either government win.”

Matt narrowed one eye. If what the admiral had related was true—if this truly was a black ops mission—then perhaps he had just found an ally. They shared a common enemy. He faced the admiral. Anger churned in him. If the Delta team had murdered everyone at Omega…it seemed unfathomable, but also horribly possible…he would do what he could to avenge them all.

He pictured dark eyes, staring at him with love.

Jenny…

Fury built in him. He saw a matching determination in Petkov’s eyes. But how far could he trust this cold fellow?

“What do you propose?” Matt finally choked out.

Petkov answered icily, “That you bear the white flag. I would talk with this Delta Force team leader, the one who stole my father’s journals. Then we will see where we stand.”

Matt frowned. “I don’t think Craig will be in the talking mood when he gets here. I imagine he and his team will do all their talking with M-sixteens.”

“You will have to convince him otherwise.”

“What makes you think he’ll listen?”

“You’ll be taking someone with you whose presence he can’t dispute.”

“Who’s that?”

Petkov’s eyes settled upon the small boy on the bed.

7:59 P.M.

EN ROUTE OVER ICE…

Through tears, Jenny read the text on her lap. She had no idea what she was saying. She simply translated the Inuktitut symbols in phonetic Russian. It was all she could do to keep from screaming. She knew Craig was listening, recording, seeking some clue.

Across from her, Delta One continued his vigil by the window. The flames of the incinerated drift station had long faded into the twilight. Before leaving, the helicopter had circled the blast zone. But there had been no survivors.

Words cut off her recitation, coming over the general radio. “Ice station dead ahead!” the pilot reported.

“Ready for missile attack,” Craig said. “On my word.”

Missile attack? Jenny sat straighter.

“Coordinates locked.”

“Fire.”

Before she could react, a hissing explosion sounded from outside the door. A flash of flame accompanied it.

She leaned forward as the Seahawk banked into the wind.

Out the window, a spiraling trail marked the passage of a rocket. It struck the peaks to the left of the station entry. Ice and fire blasted upward and rolled out into the open ice fields. A flutter of orange, a tent, flapped up in the gale.

Jenny knew the target. It was the site from which the Russians had fired rockets at them. It seemed Craig was clearing the field to land the helicopter—and perhaps getting payback.

Under the roil of steam and smoke, the Seahawk rotored down toward the ice.

“Ready Team One!” Delta One yelled, startling Jenny.

The doors on the opposite side swung open. Winds howled into the cabin. The cold bit at her exposed flesh. Then soldiers began bailing out, rappelling down, one after the other. They zipped out of view, vanishing below in seconds.

“Team Two!”

The door on Jenny’s side swung open, and the crosswinds tore at her. Nearly losing her grip on the journal in her hand, she clutched it to her chest.

Men pushed past her, grabbing lines and leaping free as fast as the ropes themselves were unfurled. The cabin emptied out of all but three men, including Delta One.

“Man the side guns!” the leader barked.

Already in place, two soldiers swung up huge cannons by the doors.

“Strafe on my command!” Delta One ordered. “Full perimeter fire!”

Jenny risked leaning forward to stare below. The smoke from the rocket attack had begun to disperse. Below, she spotted the off-loaded men. White-camouflaged figures scurried and dropped to bellies.

“Fire!” Delta One ordered.

The guns roared, chattering, spitting fire. Spent cartridges dropped like brass rain. Below, the ice was torn apart in a wide swath around the men, protecting them.

A lone soldier, Russian, fled from a hidden bunker in the ice. He was cut in half by the gunfire, staining the ice red like a squashed bug on a windshield. There seemed to be no other survivors out on the ice.

“Take us lower,” Craig ordered the pilot, still on the general line.

The Seahawk descended, retreating slightly to put the ground forces between them and the mouth of the station.

Delta One held one of his earphones firmly to his head. “Reports coming in!” he relayed. “Surface is ours! Station’s entrance under heavy guard!”

“Is it safe to land?” Craig asked.

“I’d rather keep the bird in the air until the station is taken,” Delta One answered. “But fuel’s a concern. We’ve a long haul back to Alaska. Hold on!” He leaned into his earphone, listening. He pressed his throat mike, conversing with someone below. Finally he pulled up his radio microphone. “Sir, ground teams report movement by the station entry. Someone’s coming out. Unarmed. He’s waving a truce flag.”

“What? Already? Who is it?”