Sarah Andrews - In Cold Pursuit

GEORGE BELLAMY GRABBED HIS PHONE OFF ITS CRADLE. “George, this is Chad Hill,” said the caller. “What is this about stolen penguin eggs and artifacts on Cape Royds?”

“How fast can you be here, Chad?”

“I am in Crary and I am coming over. What we need to discuss is Valena Walker. She has left me a note, and we must act. Now. But I do not know where to locate this woman. I am in her office—Emmett Vanderzee’s office, George, do you get me?—but she’s not here. Brenda Utzon and her people have scoured Crary. They’ve looked everywhere. She is not in her dorm. She is not in the galley. She is not checked out with the fire department. She is not checked out with Mac Ops. I even called Fleet Ops, damn it! Where is she? She says that Calvin Hart killed Steve Myer and Morris Sweeny! You didn’t tell me that!” The connection ended.

George Bellamy set his phone down slowly and faced Father Jim Skehan. “Chad and I were detaining Mr. Hart for observation because a few days ago, he mailed some very elegant mineral samples out through the APO. They were discovered as the package went through customs in New Zealand. As Mr. Hart does not have a collecting permit this was of course illegal. We bumped him off the flight north last Wednesday to see what else he might be up to.”

Skehan said, “He didn’t know you were watching him?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“Then there’s hope. If he knows he’s cornered, he might do anything.”

Chad Hill burst in through the air lock and stormed into Bellamy’s office. He was still shouting, as if continuing his tirade on the telephone. “And she says that Hart is an alias for Hallowell, and that Sweeny was after him for killing his brother. We have to take action. Now! Do you get this picture, George? She leaves a note saying she has evidence against this man and then is not where she said she is going to be! If Hart—or whatever his name is—is indeed guilty of murdering two men, I will gladly escort him to Honolulu, but I will be damned if I will escort him there for killing a woman, too!”

Bellamy crossed the room to the doorway. Felt himself moving through it, as if in a dream. Crossed to his secretary’s office. Spoke. “Get me the microphone for the public address system, and turn it on, will you? And patch it through to all buildings that are wired. And then I want you to relay this message to the main offices of all buildings that are not.”

Eyes popping with surprise, she handed the instrument to him.

He pressed the key to activate the microphone. Stared at the far wall, as if the words he needed to say might be written there. “All hands, all hands, this is George Bellamy. This is an all-points bulletin. I request an immediate search of McMurdo and environs for either of two people: Valena Walker or Calvin Hart. Repeat: Valena Walker or Calvin Hart. If anyone knows the whereabouts of either person, call my office immediately. Repeat: call my office immediately! Notice: approach Hart with extreme caution! Repeat, extreme caution!”

He set down the microphone and put a hand out to steady himself against the wall, his eyes squeezed shut. The image of the young woman’s face floated across the insides of his eyelids. So young , he thought, and so much promise. I did my best to protect her. If only they’d let me send her home!

DAVE HEARD THE BOSS CALLING OVER THE RADIO ON the Fleet Ops frequency as he drove toward Pegasus, returning from lunch: “All hands, all hands, this is the Boss speaking. Anyone seen our girl Valena?” He sounded angry, very angry. Edith’s voice came next. “Edith here, Boss. Haven’t seen her. Is she supposed to be with us? What’s up?”

The Boss answered, “There is an APB to locate either her or Calvin Hart, pronto. Approach Hart with caution. If you see Valena, offer aid. Over!”

Dave turned the truck toward the sea ice, the place he knew how to search best.

MASTER SERGEANT JOHN LANSING RAN DOWNSTAIRS with the all points bulletin ringing in his brain. “Hugh!” he called. “Waylon! Did you hear this?”

“Got it,” said Hugh. He was already shrugging on his parka. “The damned thing is, I have no idea what else we can do to help, but I can’t stand still and do nothing. I’m on my way to the fire department. If they put together an organized search, I’m on it.”

“Me, too.”

Waylon and Marilyn followed them out the door.

FATHER JAMES SKEHAN RAN OUT OF THE CHALET INTO the yard that lay between it and Science Support, trying to figure out what to do. He had assisted the others in the search of Crary for Valena. He had personally looked into the bottom of each fish tank in the aquarium.

He saw Dustin, the teacher from Happy Camp, hurrying toward the Science Support Center and ran to him. “Is the SAR team forming?”

“Yes. Cal Hart took a truck mid-morning. I was just out checking its parking space and it’s not there. Have you seen him since then?”

“No.”

“Let’s get back inside. Manny and the rest of the SAR team are putting together a plan.”

The two men hurried inside and up the stairs to the warehouse space the Search and Rescue team used as a nerve center. Skehan could hear radio calls coming through people’s hand units as they rigged—units checking in, questions asked, messages relayed. Team members were arriving from other tasks, pulling on clothing and equipment on the run.

Manuel Roig stood next to a wooden crate with a notebook open in front of him, talking on a radio. “Right. Okay, good. You got liftoff.” He turned to Dustin and Skehan. “The first helo is up looking for that truck.”

Moments later, the radio squawked again. Manuel picked it up, said his name, and listened. “What? We’ll be right there.” He slammed down the phone and keyed the microphone on his radio. “All SAR, we have located a vehicle checked out to Cal Hart. It is parked at the dive hut on the sea ice off Hut Point. Repeat, Dive Hut 4 off Hut Point. Approach with caution, but hurry. Over.”

DAVE HEARD THE CALLS AND SWUNG THE TRUCK TO-ward Hut Point and the dive shack and pressed the accelerator as hard as he could without breaking traction on the ice. A helicopter hovered overhead like a beacon shining the way. As he neared the hut, he saw Chad Hill skid his truck to a stop, clamber out, and slide to one side of the door to the hut. He pushed it open. Looked inside. Suddenly, all caution drained from his body and he rushed inside.

Dave was out of the truck and across the ice to the building at a run. Adrenaline crashing through his brain and muscles, he crossed the threshold into the tiny hut, taking in the scene at a glance.

The cover over the dive hole open, filled to the brim with freezing slush, traced in blood.

Cal Hart, soaking wet, sprawled across the floor.

Chad kneeling, his hand to the man’s throat, feeling for a pulse.

Valena, alive. Pounding on Cal’s chest, her lovely face covered with blood and running with tears. “Breathe, damn you!” she roared. “Breathe!”

Search and Rescue personnel began crowding into the hut. Manuel Roig shoved Valena out of his way as he and the others prepared to administer cardiopulmonary resuscitation. Valena tried to get back at Cal, but they firmly pushed her aside.

Dave knelt beside Valena and gathered her up in his arms, squeezing her until she quit struggling. “Are you okay?” he said.

She nodded. Then she began to collapse and leaned against him.

“What happened?” Dave asked.

Beginning to tremble with unspent adrenaline, she put her lips near his ear. “D-dragged me to his truck. Hit me. Was… blacked out. Until here. He… w-was going to stuff me down that hole. I—I—”

“There, now. You’re going to be okay, and that’s all that is important.”