Holding his breath, Matt crawled to the grate and bent his head to spy out. The vent opened into a kitchen, the galley for the station. Stoves and ovens lined one wall, while tables and shelves filled most of the free space. A double set of doors opened out to the main room.
A Russian soldier held one of the doors open, flashlight in hand. His back was to them. He was talking to another soldier.
Beyond them, in the darkened main room, flashlights bobbled. Men ran up and down the central staircase, shouting and barking to one another. A soldier covered in blood pounded up the steps. He had a medic’s cross on the upper shoulder of his parka. He yelled and more men followed him down.
Finally, the pair of soldiers moved away, allowing the swinging door to close behind them. A square window in the double doors still shone with the lights bobbling in the adjacent room.
Matt stared over to Bratt.
The commander sidled closer, speaking in his ear. “Can you play Russian again?”
“What do you mean?” But even as Matt asked, he already knew the answer. He still wore the stolen white parka.
“We have a short window of opportunity. It’s still dark. Everyone’s shaken. If you keep your hood up, you should be able to walk among them without them knowing.”
“And do what?”
Bratt pointed toward the closed doors. “Be our eyes.”
Matt listened to the plan as it was hurriedly related. His heart thudded in his chest, but he found himself nodding.
Bratt finished, “With the current commotion from the booby trap, we might not have a better chance.”
“Let’s do it,” Matt agreed.
Washburn was already using one of her multipurpose meat hooks to free the grate.
Once the vent was open, Bratt touched Matt’s arm. “This plan all depends on your acting ability.”
“I know.” Matt took a deep breath. “I’d better find my motivation for this scene.”
“How about survival?” Greer growled behind him.
“Yeah, that’ll do.” Matt crawled out of the vent and stood up, facing the double doors.
The others followed him, taking up positions in the galley. They moved quickly. Timing was everything.
Bratt gave Matt a questioning stare. Are you ready?
4:48 P.M.
Jenny kept Bane beside her as she walked with Craig. Ahead, Kowalski lobbed another fiery charge down the long passage. It burst with a shatter of glass and a splash of flames across floor and walls.
The way was clear.
Not a single grendel had been seen in the last twenty minutes.
Dr. Ogden, the biologist, had offered an explanation. “These creatures live in darkness and ice. And while heat and light might attract them, these bombs are sensory overload. Painful and disorienting to the creatures. So they flee.”
So far his assessment had proved valid. They had succeeded in reaching the original marked trail unmolested and unchallenged and were now winding down into the depths of the ice island, heading toward the ventilation shaft. The only disturbance had been when an echoing blast of some distant explosion sounded far above them. The tunnels had rattled, stopping everyone. But with no other repercussions or explosions, they had continued onward.
Behind Jenny, Amanda remained in whispered discussions with the biology team while Tom watched their backs, armed with a pair of Molotovs.
Craig continued his quiet explanation: “I was the advance man, the surgical op for the mission. I was sent in to find the data and secure it. But the Russians must have caught wind of my cover and mission and tried to ambush me in Alaska. If it hadn’t been for Matt, they would’ve succeeded.”
“You could have told us.”
Craig sighed. “I was under strict orders. A need-to-know basis only. This comes from the highest positions of power. Especially after the attack on Prudhoe Bay. The stakes were too high. I had to get here.”
“All for some possible research into cryogenics.” Jenny tried to picture the tanks with the frozen bodies inside them. It seemed impossible, too monstrous.
Craig shrugged. “I had my orders.”
“But you used us.” She thought back to his discussions and arguments on the Twin Otter after the explosions at Prudhoe Bay. He had manipulated them. “You played us.”
He smiled apologetically. “What can I say? I’m good at what I do.” His smile faded, and he sighed. “I had to use the resources at hand. You were the only means for me to get here under the Russians’ radar. Again I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would get this messy.”
Jenny kept her gaze fixed forward as the group edged past the exploded Molotov. She kept one question to herself. Was this man still playing them?
Craig continued, but now it sounded more like he was speaking to himself. “All we have to do is get clear of the station. Then the Delta team can come in with full forces and secure this place, too. Then it will all be over.”
Jenny nodded. Over…if only it were that easy. She kept one hand on Bane, needing to feel the simple, uncomplicated loyalty at her side. But it was more than that. And she allowed herself to admit it. Bane also was a physical connection back to Matt. Her fingers rubbed into the dog’s ruff, feeling his body heat. Craig had told her about Matt, how he and a group of Navy men had attempted to raid the station’s old weapons locker.
No one knew what happened after that.
Bane leaned against her leg, seeming to sense her fear.
“I see the ventilation shaft!” Kowalski called back.
The group headed after the tall seaman, their pace increasing. Jenny guided Bane past the flames of the exploded Molotov. The heat was stifling, reeking of burned hydrocarbons. The ice melted and ran underfoot, slick and treacherous. Streams of fire traced channels across the floor.
Once they were past, the way grew dark again. Kowalski led, the lantern raised above his head.
Ahead a black chute opened on the left wall. The end of the ventilation shaft.
The group gathered in front of it. Jenny pushed forward. From here, it was up to her. The tunnel was too steep to climb with just boots and hands. Tom handed her an ice ax that they had found in the sea-gate control room. She checked the tool’s balance, weight, and most importantly, its sharp edge.
Dr. Reynolds sat on the floor and unbuckled her ice crampons, taking them off. “I should be the one doing this,” the woman said.
“They fit me, too,” Jenny argued. “And I’ve been ice climbing many times in Alaska.” She left unsaid what had already been discussed. The crampons were too small for any of the men, and Amanda’s deafness was a handicap if she got into any trouble in the shaft.