Текст книги "Ice Hunt"

Автор книги: James Rollins

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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 30 страниц)

Another full year passed. Nagasaki and Hiroshima were bombed. Nuclear weaponry became the grand technology, hunted and sought by all. Ice Station Grendel and its research project were now antiquated, not worth the cost or manpower to discover its fate. The currents could have taken the station anywhere. The ice island that berthed it might even have broken apart and sunk, something not uncommon with such floating giants.

So more years passed.

The last report of his father, with its wild claims of breaching the barrier between life and death, was dismissed as exaggerated rants and shelved. The only bit of proof was supposedly locked in his journals, lost with the base and its head researcher.

The secret of life and death.

Viktor stared down at the slack face of the boy, so peaceful in slumber. Lips a faint blue, face gray and wet. Viktor wiped the face dry with one hand.

Then small fingers clamped onto his other palm, harder and stronger than Viktor could have imagined.

He gasped in surprise as the boy’s body suddenly convulsed inside the tank, legs kicking, head thrown back, spine arched up, contorted.

Water poured from his open mouth, draining down the tank’s grating.

“Help me get him out!” Viktor yelled, drawing the boy to him.

Ensign Lausevic squeezed in and grabbed the thrashing legs, getting a good kick to his temple in the process.

Between the two of them, they hauled the boy out to the hall. His body jerked and thrashed. Viktor cradled his head, keeping him from cracking his skull on the hard floor. The boy’s eyes twitched behind their lids.

“He’s alive!” one of the other soldiers said, backing a step away.

Not alive,Viktor silently corrected, but not dead either. Somewhere in between.

As the convulsions continued, the boy’s skin grew hot to the touch; perspiration pebbled his skin. Viktor knew that one of the main dangers of epileptic patients during violent or prolonged seizures was hyperthermia, a raising of body temperature from muscle contractions that led to brain damage. Was the boy dying, or was his body fighting to warm life back into it, heating away the last dregs of its frozen state?

Slowly the convulsions faded to vigorous shivering. Viktor continued to hold the boy. Then the boy’s chest heaved up, expanding as if something were going to burst out the rib cage. It held that swelled state, back arched from the floor. Blue lips had warmed to pink, skin flushed from the violence of the seizures.

Then the boy’s form collapsed in on itself, seeming to cave in, accompanied by a strangled choke. Then he lay still again, back to tired slumber, dead on the floor.

A pang of regret, mixed inexplicably with grief, ran through Viktor.

Perhaps this is the best his father had ever achieved, significant but ultimately not successful.

He studied the boy’s face, peaceful in true death.

Then the boy’s eyes opened, staring up at him, dazed. His small chest rose and fell. A hand lifted from the floor, then settled back weakly.

Alive…

Lips moved. A word was mouthed, groggy, breathless still. “Otyets.”

It was Russian.

Viktor stared up at the others, but when he gazed back down at the boy, the child’s eyes were still on him.

Lips moved again, repeating his earlier word. “Otyets…Papa.”

Before Viktor could respond, the pounding of many boots suddenly echoed to them. A group of soldiers appeared, armed. “Admiral!” the lieutenant in the lead called out as he approached.

Viktor remained kneeling. “What is it?”

The man’s eyes flicked to the naked child on the floor, then back to the admiral. “Sir, the Americans…power’s out on the top level. We think they’re trying to escape the station.”

Viktor’s eyes narrowed. He stayed at the boy’s side. “Nonsense.”

“Sir?” Confusion crinkled the officer’s eyes.

“The Americans are not going anywhere. They’re still here.”

“What…what do you want us to do?”

“Your orders have not changed.” Viktor stared into the eyes of the boy, knowing he held the answers to everything. Nothing else mattered. “Hunt them. Kill them.”

3:42 P.M.

A level below, Craig crawled down the service tunnel, map crumpled in his hand. The chamber had to be close. The others trailed behind him.

He paused at a crossroads of ductwork. The intersection was tangled with conduit and piping. He pushed his way through and headed left. “This way,” he mumbled back to the rest of the party.

“How much farther?” Dr. Ogden asked from the rear of their group.

The answer appeared just ahead. A dim glow rose through a grated vent embedded in the floor of the ice shaft.

Craig hurried forward. Once near enough, he lay on his belly and spied through the grate to the room below. Viewed from above and lit by a single bare bulb, the chamber appeared roughly square, plated in steel like the station proper, but this room was empty, long abandoned and untouched.

It was the best hiding place Craig could think of.

Out of the way and isolated.

He wiggled around so he could use his legs to kick the grate loose. The screws held initially, but desperation was stronger than rusted steel and ice. The vent popped open, swinging down.

Craig stuck his head through to make sure it was clear, then swung his feet around and lowered himself into the room.

It was not a long drop. The room had flooded long ago. The water had risen a yard into the room, then froze. A few crates and fuel drums were visible, half buried in the ice. A shelving unit stacked with tools rose from the ice pool, its first three shelves anchored below.

But the most amazing sight was the pair of giant brass wheels on either far wall. They stood ten feet high with thick hexagonal axles attached to massive motors, embedded in the ice floor. The toothed edges of the wheels connected to the grooves of a monstrous brass wall that encompassed one entire side of the room.

The wheel on the right side lay crooked, broken free from some old blast. Scorch marks were still visible on its brass surface. The dislodged wheel had torn through the neighboring steel wall, cracking through to the ice beyond. Perhaps it was even the source of flooding.

Craig peered through the crack. It was too dark to see very far.

“What is this place?” Amanda asked as she landed in a crouch. She stood, staring at the gigantic gearworks.

Craig turned to her so she could read his lips. “According to the schematics, it’s the control room for the station’s sea gate.” He pointed to a grooved brass wall. “From here, they would lower or raise the gate whenever the Russian submarine docked into the sea cave below.”

By now the others – Dr. Ogden and his three students – had dropped into the room. They stared around nervously.

“Will we be safe here?” Magdalene asked.

“Safer,” Craig answered. “We had to get out of the service ducts. The Russians will be swarming and incinerating their way through there. We’re better off holing up here. This room is isolated well off the main complex. There’s a good chance the Russians don’t even know this place exists.”

Craig crossed to the single door, opposite the sea gate. There was a small window in it. Beyond he could see the narrow hall that led back to the station. It had flooded almost to the roof. No Russians would be coming from that direction.

Amanda had to lean in close to read his lips. “What about Matt and the Navy crew?”

Craig bit his lip. He had a hard time meeting her eye. “I don’t know. They’ll have to take care of themselves.”

Earlier, while watching from the electrical room, he had seen Washburn slip and fall, alerting the two Russian guards. The resulting rifle fire had driven him back to the civilian party. Surely Matt and the others were dead or captured. Either way, he couldn’t risk staying around. So he had led their group off – going down rather than up. The gate control room seemed the perfect hiding place.

Dr. Ogden, along with his graduate students, stepped to join them, careful of the icy floor. “So are we just going to hide here, simply wait for the Russians to leave?”

Craig shifted aside a wooden box of empty vodka bottles. The last survivors of Ice Station Grendel must have had a party at the end. The bottles clinked as he moved them. Wishing for a stiff drink himself, he sat on one of the crates. “By now, someone must know what’s going on here. Help has to be on its way. All we have to do is survive until then.”

Amanda continued to stare hard at him, her gaze penetrating. Craig sensed her deep anger. She had not wanted to flee earlier, not without knowing the exact fate of Matt and the Navy crew. But she had been outvoted.

Craig looked away, unable to face that silent accusation. He needed something to distract himself, something to get all their minds off of their current situation. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out one of the three volumes he had looted from the research laboratory. Here was a puzzle to help them bide their time. Perhaps even one of the scientists might have a clue to deciphering this riddle.

Amanda’s eyes widened, recognizing the book. “Did you steal that?”

Craig shrugged. “I took the first volume and the last two.” He slipped the other books from his jacket and passed one to Amanda and one to Ogden. “I figured these were the best. The beginning and the end. Who needs to read the middle?”

Amanda and Dr. Ogden opened their copies. The biologist’s students peered over their professor’s shoulder.

“It’s written in gibberish,” Zane, the youngest of the trio of grad students, commented, his face screwed up.

“No, it’s a code,” Amanda corrected, fanning through the pages.

Craig cracked the third volume that still rested in his lap. He stared at the opening line.

“But what’s this script?” Craig asked. “It’s clearly not Russian Cyrillic.”

Amanda closed her book. “All the journals are like this. It’ll take a team of cryptologists to decipher them.”

“But why code it at all?” Craig asked. “What were they hiding?”

Amanda shrugged. “You may be reading too much into the code. For centuries, scientists have been paranoid about their discoveries, hiding their notes in arcane manners. Even Leonardo da Vinci wrote all his journals so that they could only be read when reflected in a mirror.”

Craig continued to stare at the odd writing, trying to find meaning in the squiggles and marks. But no answer came. He sensed something was missing.

As he sat, a new sound intruded. At first he thought it was his imagination, but the noise grew in volume.

“What is that?” Magdalene asked.

Craig stood up.

Amanda stared around at the others, confused.

Craig followed the noise to its source. It echoed out of the crack, where the broken wheel had shattered through the wall. He crouched, ears cocked.

“I…I think…it’s barking,” Zane said as the others crowded around.

“It’s definitely a dog,” Dr. Ogden said.

Craig corrected the biologist. “No, not dog… wolf!” Craig recognized the characteristic bark. He had heard it often enough over the past few days. But it made no sense. He could not keep the amazement out of his voice. “It’s Bane.”

14. Three Blind Mice

APRIL 9, 4:04 P.M.

ICE STATION GRENDEL

Crouched at an intersection of tunnels, Jenny signaled Bane to be quiet by raising a clenched fist. At her side, the wolf cross growled deep in his throat, pushing tight to her, protective. Matt had trained the dog to respond to hand commands, an especially useful tool while hunting out in the woods.

But in this case, theywere the prey.

Tom Pomautuk stood behind her, flanked by Kowalski. He pointed to the green spray-painted diamond that marked the tunnel to the left. “That way,” he whispered, breathless with terror.

Jenny pointed for Bane to take the lead. The dog trotted ahead, hackles raised, alert. They followed.

For the past half hour, they had caught glimpses of the beasts: massive, sleek, and muscular creatures. But similar to their experience with the first creature, they had found a way to keep them at bay.

Jenny gripped her flare gun. The explosion of light and heat from a flare blast was enough to disorient the creatures and send them scurrying back – but they continued to dog their trail. And now they were down to two charges, loaded already in the double-barreled gun. After that, they were out of ammunition.

The light around them suddenly flickered, going pitch-dark for a long moment. Tom swore, knocking the flashlight against the wall. The light returned.

Kowalski groaned. “Don’t even think about it.”

The flashlight, retrieved from the emergency kit in the Twin Otter, was old, original gear that came with the plane. Jenny had never changed its batteries. She cursed her lax maintenance schedule as the flashlight flickered again.

“C’mon, baby,” Kowalski moaned.

Tom shook the light, throttling it with both hands now. But no amount of rattling could fan the flashlight back to life. It died.

Darkness fell around them, weighing them all down, pressing them together.

“Bane,” Jenny whispered.

She felt the familiar rub on her leg. Her fingers touched fur. She patted the dog’s side. A growl rumbled deep in him, silent but felt through his ribs.

“What now?” Tom asked.

“The flares,” Kowalski answered. “We can strike one of ’em, carry it. It might last till we find somewhere safe to hole up away from these monsters.”

Jenny clutched her flare gun. “I only have two charges left. What’ll we use to chase the creatures off?”

“Right now, we need to seethe creatures if we have any hope of surviving down here.”

Jenny couldn’t argue with that logic. She cracked open the weapon and fingered one of the charges.

“Wait,” Tom whisped. “Look over to the right. Is that light?”

Jenny stared, straining to see anything in the darkness. Then she noted a vague spot of brightness. Something glowing through the ice. “Is it the station?”

“Can’t be,” Tom answered. “We should still be a ways off from the base entrance.”

“Well, it’s still a source of light.” Kowalski stirred beside Jenny. “Let’s check it out. Light one of the flares.”

“No,” Jenny said, staring toward the ghostly light. She reseated the flare and closed her gun. “The brightness will blind us to the source.”

“What are you saying?” Kowalski grumped.

“We’ll have to seek our way in the dark.” Jenny pocketed the gun and groped out for Kowalski. “Join hands.”

Kowalski took her palm in his. She fumbled and found Tom’s hand.

“Heel, Bane,” she whispered as they set off, Kowalski in the lead.

Like three blind mice, they crept down the tunnel, making the next turn that headed toward the light source. It was slow going. Jenny felt an odd tension in her jaw, as if she were clenching it, a minute vibration deep behind her molars. It had been with them ever since they entered the tunnels. Perhaps it was a vibration from whatever generators or motors powered the station above them.

But she wasn’t convinced. If they were far from the station, why did it seem to be growing stronger?

They made a few more turns, zeroing toward the light.

“It feels like we’re heading deeper again,” Kowalski said.

In the pitch dark, it was hard to tell if the seaman was correct.

“We have to be well off that marked trail we were following,” Tom said. “We could just be getting ourselves lost.”

“The light’s stronger,” Jenny said, though she wasn’t sure. Maybe it was just her eyes growing accustomed to the darkness. The inside of her head itched. What was that?

“This reminds me of my grandfather’s stories of Sedna,” Tom whispered.

“Sedna?” Kowalski asked.

“One of our gods,” Jenny answered. She knew they probably shouldn’t be talking so much, but in the darkness, it was a comfort to hear another’s voice. “An Inuit spirit. Like a siren. She is said to lure fisherman into the sea, chasing after her glowing figure until they drowned.”

“First monsters, now ghosts…I really hate the Arctic.” Kowalski squeezed her fingers tighter.

They continued on, sinking into their own thoughts and fears.

Jenny heard Bane padding and panting at her side.

After a full minute, they rounded a curve in the tunnel and the source of the light appeared. It came from an ice cave ahead – or rather from a crumbled section of the back wall. The ice glowed with a sapphire brilliance, piercing after so much darkness.

They let go of one another and edged forward.

Kowalski entered the cave first, searching around. “A dead end.”

Tom and Jenny joined him, studying the shattered section of wall. “Where’s the light coming from?” Jenny asked.

She was heard.

A voice called out from ahead. “Hello!”It was a female voice.

Bane barked in response.

“Tell me that’s not Sedna?” Kowalski hissed.

“Not unless she’s learned English,” Tom replied.

Jenny shushed Bane and returned the shout. “Hello!”

“Who’s out there?”another voice called, a man this time.

Jenny reacted with shock as she recognized the voice. “Craig?”

A pause. “Jenny?”

She hurried forward. The shattered section of wall revealed a vertical crack in the surface. The light streamed out toward them. Through a crack, only two inches wide, faces peered back at her. They were only a yard away. Tears rose in her eyes.

If Craig was here, then surely Matt…

“How…What are you doing here?” Craig asked.

Before she could answer, Bane began to bark again. Jenny turned to quiet him, but the wolf faced back toward the passage from which they’d come.

At the tunnel mouth, red eyes stared out at them, reflecting the feeble light.

“Shit,” Kowalski said.

The creature hunkered into the cavern, wary and snorting, coming toward them. This beast was the largest they’d seen yet.

Jenny yanked out her flare gun, aimed, and fired. A trail of fire arced across the ice cavern and burst between the forefeet of the beast. The exploding flare blinded them all with its flash.

Against the glare, the beast reared up, then slammed down. It backpedaled its bulk down the passage, away from the fiery display.

Tom and Kowalski edged closer. “We can’t trust that thing will stay gone for long,” the seaman said.

Jenny clenched her gun. “I only have one more flare.” She turned to the crack in the wall. “Then we have nothing to chase them off with.”

Craig heard her. “They’re grendels. They’ve been hibernating down here for thousands of years.”

Jenny pushed such matters aside for now and asked the other question utmost in her mind. “Where’s Matt?”

Craig sighed. He took a moment too long in answering. “We got separated. He’s somewhere in the station, but I don’t know where.”

Jenny sensed something unspoken behind his words, but now wasn’t the time to question him. “We need to find another way out of here,” she continued. “Our flashlight is out, and we’re down to one flare to defend ourselves.”

“How did you get down here?” he asked.

Jenny waved vaguely behind her. “Through a ventilation shaft back there. It goes to the surface.”

“Well, it’s not safe anywhere out there. We’ve some metal tools in here. Maybe we could hack the crack wider. Get you through to us.” His voice was full of doubt.

The ice was a yard thick. They’d never make it.

Another voice spoke from behind Craig. A woman, the same one who had called out earlier. “What about the fuel drums for the sea-gate motors? Maybe we could create a gigantic Molotov cocktail. Blow a way through.”

Craig’s face moved away from the crack. “Hang on, Jen.”

She heard muffled words, arguing, as the group beyond sought some solution or consensus. She heard something about the noise alerting the Russians. She glanced over to the flare as it began to fade. She would rather take her chances with the Russians.

Craig again appeared at the crack. “We’re going to try something. You’d better stand back.”

Something was shoved into the crack. It looked like a hose nozzle. It smelled of kerosene and oil.

Jenny scooted back from the wall. Tom and Kowalski continued to guard the tunnel with Bane at their side.

A flicker of flame dazzled in the crack, then a whooshof fire blasted toward Jenny. She fell backward as a ball of flame rolled past her face. The heat singed her eyebrows.

“Are you okay?” Kowalski asked, stepping toward her.

She waved him back, pushing up. “I don’t think I need to worry any longer about that bit of frost nip on my nose.”

“You’re lucky you still have a nose.”

In the crack, a blazing inferno glowed. Flames lapped out into the cavern. Steam sizzled and billowed, instantly precipitating and wetting walls, floors, and bodies. Runnels of fiery oil seeped into their cavern.

It was surreal to see flames dancing atop ice.

“They’re trying to melt a path through for us,” Jenny realized.

The fiery channels traced across the floor toward them, driving them back.

Kowalski frowned. “Let’s hope they don’t set us on fire first.”

4:12 P.M.

Amanda held the hose nozzle while one of the biology students, Zane, manned the manual pump. “Keep the pressure up,” she ordered, yanking the release lever and spraying more fuel onto the fire in the crack, careful not to let the flames leap to the hose. She had to be careful. Strong outward pressure had to be maintained. It was like trying to add lighter fuel to an already burning barbecue.

Craig was on the other side of the crack, shielding his face with his hand. Steam roiled out, along with smoky billows. Underfoot, channels of water ran into the room as the ice blockage melted. Floating oil burned in several patches, washed out with the meltwater. The biology team smothered them with fire blankets found among the supplies on the shelves.

Craig turned to her. “We’re about halfway through.”

“How wide?” she asked, reading his lips.

“A foot and a half, narrow but enough to squeeze through, I think.”

Amanda nodded and continued her deft fueling. It would have to do. They didn’t want the melted tunnel too wide or the grendels could follow the other party in here.

But the grendels weren’t the only danger.

Magdalene waved from her post by the door, drawing Amanda’s attention. “Stop!” she mouthed.

Amanda cut the hose feed.

The biology postgrad had pressed against the wall beside the door. She thumbed toward it. “Soldiers.”

Craig crossed to her. He peeked through the door window, then ducked away. He faced Amanda. “They’ve pried open the far door. The hall out there is flooded and frozen over, but they surely spotted the flickering flames through the window.”

“But they can’t know it’s us,” Ogden said, clutching his fire blanket.

Craig shook his head. “They’ll have to investigate the fire. Until they’re finished here, they won’t want the base blowing up under them.”

Amanda spoke, careful to modulate her voice to a whisper, “What are we going to do?”

Craig eyed the crack. “Come up with a new plan since this one’s screwed.”

“What—?”

Craig shook his head, his face going unusually hard. He pulled the drawstring on his parka’s hood and pressed it to his ear, then lifted the wind collar of his coat and pressed it against his throat.

Amanda watched his lips.

“Delta One, this is Osprey. Can you read me?”

4:16 P.M.

“Delta One, respond,” Craig repeated more urgently.

He listened for any response. The miniature UHF transmitter in the lining of his parka was efficient at bursting out strong signals, capable of penetrating ice. Yet it still required a special receiving dish pointed at his exact coordinates to pick up the signal. The radio dish was established at the Delta team’s rendezvous camp about forty miles from here. The unit had been tracking him since he flew in last night.

And while it took only a whisper to communicate outto the Delta team under his command, the radio’s receptionwas a problem. The anodized thread woven throughout the parka’s stitching was a poor receiving antenna through so much ice. He needed to get out of this frozen hole to clear his communication.

Still, faint words finally reached him, cutting in and out. “Delta…receiving.”

“What is your status?”

“The target…sunk. Omega secured. Awaiting further orders.”

Craig allowed himself a surge of satisfaction. The Drakonhad been wiped off the chessboard. Perfect. He pressed the throat mike tighter. “Delta One, the security of the football is compromised. Extraction complicated by Russian presence. Any direct hostile action on your part could result in a defensive reaction to destroy the data along with the station. I will attempt to get clear of the ice station. I will radio for evacuation when clear. Only move on my order.”

Static answered him, then a scatter of words: “…complication…two helicopters down…men on the ground…only one bird still flying.”

Shit. Craig had to forgo trying to ascertain what had happened. There was too much interference, but clearly the Russian submarine had put up a fight. “Are your forces still mobile?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Hold Omega secure. Mobilize an evac team only on my all-clear order. I will attempt to reach you.”

“…One…roger that.”

“Osprey out.” Craig yanked the drawstring receiver, and it zipped back into its hood. He found the group, wide-eyed, staring at him.

“Who are you?” Amanda asked.

“My real name is not important. Craig will do for now.”

“Then whatare you?”

He tightened his lips. What was the use of subterfuge now? If he was going to secure the data files, he would need the cooperation of everyone here. He answered the question honestly. “I’m CIA, liaison to the Special Forces groups. Currently in temporary command of a Delta Force unit which has retaken Omega.”

“Omega is free?” Amanda asked.

“For the moment.” He waved toward the crack. “But that fact will do us no good here. We need to get out of this station.”

“How?” Dr. Ogden asked, standing nearby.

Craig waved to the crack in the wall. “They somehow got in here. We’ll get out the same way.”

“But the grendels…?” Magdalene asked.

Craig crossed to the crate of empty vodka bottles that he had moved earlier, then eyed the entire party. “To survive, we’re going to have to work together.”

4:17 P.M.

Jenny watched the flames flare up again in the crack, driving her back.

Thank God…

A moment ago, as the fires had temporarily died, she had taken a cautious step closer and peered into the heart of the recent conflagration. A foot away, the ice crack had been melted into a true passage, narrow but passable.

They were almost through.

For a moment, she had feared the others were out of fuel. She had heard anxious whispering – then the hose had reappeared, forcing her back.

Now flames again lapped greedily from the tunnel, boring through the remainder of the ice. They were going to make it. Still, Jenny held her breath. She turned to Tom and Kowalski.

The pair, along with Bane, guarded the other tunnel, watching for the approach of any of the creatures.

Tom caught her eye. “It’s still down there. I keep seeing shadows moving.”

“Bastard’s not about to give up on its meal,” Kowalski concurred.

“It should stay away as long as the fire keeps going,” Jenny said, adding a silent I hope.

“In that case,” Kowalski grumped, “I want a goddamn flamethrower for my next birthday.”

She studied the dark tunnel and tried to understand what lurked out there. She remembered Craig’s name for the beast: grendel. But what was it really? There were myths among her people about whale spirits that left the ocean and dragged off young men and women. She had thought such stories just superstitious tales. Now she wasn’t so sure.

The fury of the blaze had died down again, drawing back her attention. What are they doing over there?

Jenny waited. The fires died to flickers. She stepped forward again, ready to call out. But a dark shape appeared instead, pushing out the narrow crack. It was a figure cloaked in a soggy blanket.

The blanket was tossed back, throwing out light and revealing a tall, slender woman, dressed in a blue thermal unitard. The light came from a mining lantern held in one hand. She lifted it now.

“Amanda…Dr. Reynolds!” Tom exclaimed.

Jenny recognized the name, the head of the Omega Drift Station.

“What are you doing?” Kowalski asked. He waved an arm at the crack. Another figure pushed out of the melted passage. “I thought we were joining you.”

“Change in plans,” she said, staring around at them. “Looks like it’s safer out here than in there.”

To punctuate her statement, a blast of rifle fire echoed from the other side, ringing off metal.

The second figure shook free of the blanket. It was Craig. He helped the next person out of the crack. “Not to sound trite, but the Russians are coming.”

Another four people pushed into the cavern: three men and a woman. They wore matching terrified expressions. Bane sniffed at them, weaving among their legs.

The eldest of the new group spoke to Craig. “The Russians are shooting at the door.”

“Must be trying to keep us pinned there,” Craig said. “More soldiers are probably already on their way through the ducts.”

Kowalski pointed back to the crack. “Considering what’s out here,I’d say let’s go back in there and wave the white flag at the Russians.”

“It’s death either way,” Craig answered with a shake of his head. “And here at least we have the firepower to challenge the grendels.” He pulledan object out of his pocket. It was a glass vodka bottle, full of a dark yellow liquid and stoppered with a scrap of cloth. “We have ten of them. If your flares kept the grendels back, then these homemade Molotovs should, too.”

“What then?” Jenny asked.

“We’re going to get out of here,” Craig said. “Up that ventilation shaft.”

“And I was just getting comfy here,” Kowalski said.

Jenny shook her head at such a foolhardy plan. “But we’ll just freeze to death hiding up there. The blizzard is still blowing fiercely.”

“We’re not going to hide,” Craig said. “We’re going to make for the parked vehicles, then strike out for Omega.”

“But the Russians—”

Amanda interrupted. “Omega has been liberated by a Delta Force team. We’re going to try to reach an evacuation point.”

Jenny was stunned into silence.

Kowalski rolled his eyes. “Fuckin’ great. We escape from that goddamn place just before it’s liberated by Special Forces. We’ve got to work on our damn timing.”

Jenny found her tongue. “How do you know all this?”

Amanda pointed a thumb at Craig. “Your friend here is CIA. The controller for the Delta Force team.”

“What?” Jenny swung toward Craig.

He met her eyes as more gunfire rang out from beyond the crack. “We need to move out,” he said. “Find this ventilation shaft.”