James Cobb - The Arctic Event

Smith, in turn, looked to his pilot. “Randi, could we launch now?”

Randi Russell bit her lower lip, projecting and assessing. “We’re just barely coming into fly-and-return range of Wednesday,” she said after a few seconds. “But we have extremely low air temperatures and potential icing conditions, and the radios are bad. I’ve got to say it’s very marginal out there. I don’t like it, but we’ve got to wait for daylight.”

Smith accepted her judgment without question. “Can I have the mike, Captain?”

Jorganson handed it over.

“Ms. Brown, my name is Colonel Jon Smith. I’m the leader of the team being sent to investigate the downed bomber. We should be able to get to you shortly after first light tomorrow morning. I’m afraid you’re going to have to ride it out until then. Can you give us more on your situation? Over.”

“I’m here in camp and I’m fine,” she replied. “It’s everybody else who must be in trouble-bad trouble, or Dr. Creston would have sent some kind of word back and…and I can’t do anything! Over!”

“At the moment, you’re doing everything that can be done, Ms. Brown. We’ll take care of the rest when we get there. Now, I need for you to answer some questions. Over.”

“Go ahead, Colonel…Uh, over.”

“Have you or the other members of your party seen any indication of anyone else on the island? Lights, smoke, footprints, anything like that?”

The responding voice sounded startled. “Anyone else? No way! Other than you guys there’s nobody around for a thousand miles!”

“Are you certain, Ms. Brown? There’s been no sign of anybody at all?”

“What’s he talking about?” Dr. Trowbridge blurted from his corner of the radio room. “If he’s trying to blame the Inuit-”

“Hush,” Valentina Metrace snapped.

“No,” the staticky voice replied. “Nobody’s mentioned anything. Over.”

“Have you seen anything else out of the ordinary?” Smith probed. “A plane? A ship? Anything?”

“No. We see the contrail of an airliner going over the Pole now and again, but we haven’t seen anything else all summer. Why? Over.”

Trowbridge tried to crowd closer to the radio. “I’d like to know the same thing, Colonel. What is the meaning of…”

Damn it, he didn’t have time for asides! The last rags of his mission cover were shredding away, and it was time to make the transition from totally clandestine to merely covert. Smith aimed a finger at Trowbridge, then jerked his thumb toward the radio room door. “Captain, get him out of here.”

Stunned, Trowbridge gobbled for breath. “What! You have no right to-”

“Yes, he does,” Captain Jorganson said quietly. “Please leave the radio room, Doctor. I hope it won’t be necessary to have you escorted out.”

Trowbridge was a man accustomed to debate. He started to formulate his first wave of verbal protest, but the cold gazes encircling him strangled his self-righteousness. Once more he sensed that he was out of his depth. Contenting himself with a muttered “This is not acceptable,” he sidled his way to the radio shack entry.

Smith returned his attention to the radio. “Ms. Brown, this is Colonel Smith back. I have one more question. You won’t be getting anyone in trouble over the answer, but it’s very important we get a straight answer. Have any of the members of your expedition visited the crash site? Anyone at all, for any reason? Over.”

“No!…At least not that I know of. Dr. Creston wouldn’t allow it. Why? Does that old plane have something to do with my friends disappearing? Over.”

Smith hesitated over his reply. “We’re not sure, Ms. Brown. Please stand by.”

“What about it, Jon?” Randi asked, her voice soft. “Could the containment vessel have failed on the bomber? Could it be the anthrax?”

Smith braced a hand against the console and vehemently shook his head. “No! It doesn’t work like that! Anthrax just doesn’t mow people down without an incubation period and a progressive symptomology.”

Abruptly he straightened and turned to face Smyslov. “Gregori, for the sake of this girl and for the people on that island, now is the time to come to Jesus! Was there anything else aboard that bomber other than the anthrax?”

Smyslov felt those chill steel blue eyes drilling into him. “Jon, I swear to you, as far as I know, the only biowar munition carried aboard the Misha 124 was the anthrax. If there was anything else, I was not briefed about it!”

Smyslov was grateful that he could fall back behind that partial shield of truth, for he suspected that he did know what was happening on Wednesday.

Those damn Spetsnaz! Could it be they had failed to stay out of sight? What if some member of the expedition had the bad luck to stumble over their encampment? If the platoon leader was some kind of bloody-minded cowboy, he might view that as justification to “sterilize” the expedition in the name of security.

Unfortunately, a bloody-minded cowboy would be exactly the kind of commander the Federation High Command would send on a job like this!

They hadn’t even set foot on the island yet, and things were already spinning out of control! If the science expedition had been wiped out, then it would follow that Smith’s team would be eliminated as well. His team! People he liked and respected.

Madness!

“What’s your assessment of the situation, Major?” Smith asked, his voice emotionless.

Smyslov shoved emotion aside as well. “We must assume that some hostile force has succeeded in landing on Wednesday, presumably the same group that attempted to prevent us from reaching the island. We must also assume that they assume the anthrax store is still aboard the Misha 124 and they are intent on capturing it.”

Smith studied the Russian for a further moment before answering. “That’s likely a fair call.” He widened his attention to include the others in the radio shack. “Now, what are we going to do about it?”

“It seems to me that the most immediate problem is, what do we do about her?” Captain Jorganson nodded toward the radio.

It was an excellent point. What do you do about one frightened young woman alone in the dark and as isolated as anyone on the planet could be?

Smith keyed the mike again. “Ms. Brown, a twelve-gauge shotgun is listed as part of your camp equipment. What’s happened to it? Over.”

“The bear gun? The search party took it with them. Why? Over.”

“Are there any other weapons in camp? Over.”

“No. Why?

“We’re…assessing the situation, Ms. Brown. Stand by.”

Smith lifted the mike key and waited for someone, anyone, to say something.

“Get her out of there, Jon!” Randi blurted. “Tell her to grab a sleeping bag and get out! Tell her what’s going on and tell her to hide somewhere until we can get to her!”

“No,” Valentina cut in sharply. “Tell her to stay put beside that radio.”

“Those buildings are meant to keep out weather, not people!” Randi protested. “If we have hostiles on that island and they come for her…”

“If we have hostiles on that island, Miss Russell, then they’ve got her whenever they want her.” The historian’s reply was as bleak and gray as her eyes. “It’s a safe assumption they have the science station covered by now. If they see her trying to run for it, she won’t make it ten yards. But if we keep her by the radio, she might serve as an intelligence source. There’s a chance she can get off a call when they come for her. She might be able to give us some idea of what we’re facing.”

“So you’re considering her expendable,” Randi said bitterly.

Valentina shook her head. “No,” she replied softly. “I consider Ms. Brown already expended.”