James Rollins - Ice Hunt

But who would ultimately possess it?

Viktor knew only one thing for certain: it was his father’s legacy. The Americans would never have it. This he swore.

And after that…other matters could be settled.

He glanced again to the Polaris monitor. With the go-code in hand, it was now time to start his own gambit. He pressed the silver button on the side of the wrist monitor, holding it for a full thirty seconds. He was careful not to touch the neighboring red button — at least not yet.

Viktor stared at the monitor. He had these thirty seconds to reconsider his decision. Once Polaros was activated, there was no turning back, no retreat. He continued to hold the button, unwavering in his determination.

During the course of his sixty-four years, he had seen Russia change: from a czarist country of kings and palaces, to a Communist state of Stalin and Khrushchev, then into a broken landscape of independent states, warring, poor, and on the brink of ruin. Each transition weakened his country, his people.

And the world at large was no better. Century-old hatreds locked the world into strife and terror: Northern Ireland, the Balkans, Israel and the Arab states. It was a pattern that was repeated over and over without end, without resolution, without hope.

Viktor kept the button pressed.

It was time a new world arose, where old patterns would be shattered forever, where nations would be forced to work together in order to survive and rebuild. A new world would be born out of ice and chaos.

It would be his legacy, in the memory of his father, his mother.

The center trigger remained dark, but the smaller lights at the points of the star began to blink in sequence, winding around and around.

Viktor released the button.

It was done.

Polaris was now activated. It only awaited the master trigger engine to be deployed at the station. Project Shockwave was about to go from theory to reality. Viktor stared at the flashing lights marking the five-pointed star, winding around and around, awaiting his final command.

After that, there would be no abort code.

No fail-safe.

Mikovsky stepped over to him. “Admiral?”

Viktor barely heard him. The captain seemed exceptionally young at the moment. So naive. His world had already ended, and he didn’t even know it. Viktor sighed. He had never felt so free.

Unfettered of the future, Viktor had only one goal now: to retrieve his father’s body, to collect the heritage that belonged to his family.

At the end of the world, nothing else mattered.

“Admiral?” Mikovsky repeated. “Sir?”

Viktor faced the captain and cleared his throat. “The Drakon has new orders.”

Perry stood in the control station, his eyes fixed to the number one periscope. They had risen to periscope depth in an open lead ten minutes ago, slowly rising between pressure ridges. Through the scope, he stared out at the expanse of ice fields. The winds had picked up, scouring the frozen plains. Overhead, the skies had gone white. A big storm was coming in. But Perry didn’t need to check the weather outside to know this.

All night long, they had been patrolling the waters around the drift station and the Russian base, watching for any sign of the Drakon, as ordered. But the midnight waters had remained empty. There was no sonar contact, except for a pod of beluga whales passing at the edge of their range. The Polar Sentinel seemed to be alone out here.

Still, tension remained high among his men. They were warriors in a boat without teeth, hunting for an Akula II class fast-attack submarine. Perry had read the intel on the armaments aboard the Drakon . Russian for “dragon.” A fitting name. It was equipped not only with the usual array of torpedoes, but also rocket-propelled weapons: the lightning-fast Shkval torpedoes and SS-N-16 antisubmarine missiles. It was a formidable opponent even against the best of the American fleet…and if pitted against the tiny Polar Sentinel, it would be like a match between a tadpole and a sea dragon.

The radioman of the watch stepped into the control station. “Sir, I’ve raised the commander at Deadhorse. But I don’t know how long I’ll be able to maintain contact.”

“Very good.” Perry folded the periscope grips and sent the pole diving back down on its hydraulics. He followed the ensign to the radio room.

“I was able to bounce the UHF off the ionosphere,” he said as he led the way into the room. “But I can’t promise that it’ll last.”

Perry nodded and crossed to the radio receiver. They had gone to periscope depth to raise their antennas and send out their report for the past night, but Perry had asked the radioman to attempt to reach Prudhoe Bay. The men were anxious for an update.

Perry unhooked and lifted the receiver. “Captain Perry here.”

“Commander Tracy,” a ghostly voice whispered in his ear. It sounded like it was coming from the moon, faint, fading in and out. “I’m glad you were able to contact us.”

“How is the search-and-rescue going?”

“Still a circus out here, but the fires are finally contained. And we may have our first real lead on the saboteurs.”

“Really? Any idea who they are?”

A long pause. “I was hoping you could answer that.”

Perry crinkled his brow. “Me?”

“I was trying to raise Omega just as you called. An hour ago, someone anonymous sent in footage of a small aircraft flying over Gathering Station Number One just before it blew. It’s grainy, black-and-white…as if taken with a night-shot camera.”

“What does this have to do with Omega?”

“Your base security contacted the Fairbanks Sheriff’s Department and inquired about one of their planes and the identity of one of their sheriffs. We learned of this when we traced the call signs seen from the video footage and contacted Fairbanks ourselves. They’re the same plane.”

“And where’s this airplane now?” Perry suspected the answer. The confirmation came a moment later.

“It landed this morning at your base.”

Perry closed his eyes. So much for trying to catch an hour or two of sleep in his cabin after an interminable night.

“I’ve sent a request to your superiors for those in the plane to be transported back to Deadhorse for questioning.”

“Do you think they blew up the pump station?”

“That’s what we intend to find out. Either way, whoever they are, they must be kept under guard.”

Perry sighed. He could not argue against the wisdom of that. But if they were the saboteurs, what were they doing at the base? And if they weren’t, the chain of coincidences was far too spectacular to be blamed on chance alone. First, the explosions at Prudhoe Bay, then the suspicious behavior of the Russians, and now the sudden arrival of these mysterious guests. Without a doubt, they were somehow involved in all of this. But how?

“I’ll have to confer with COMSUBPAC,” Perry finished, “before I transport the detainees. Until then, I’ll keep them safe and sound.”

“Very good, Captain. Good hunting.” Commander Tracy signed off.

Perry replaced the receiver and turned to the radioman. “I need to reach Admiral Reynolds as soon as we return to Omega.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll do my best.”

Perry stepped out into the hall and ducked back into the conn.

Commander Bratt eyed him from the diving station. “What’s the word from Prudhoe?”

“It seems the key to the whole mess has landed in our laps.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“I mean we’re heading back to the drift station. We have some new guests to entertain.”