Clive Cussler: The Eye of Heaven

They rounded a bend and entered the small town of Clyde River, its grim, weather-beaten shacks shabby and uninviting. A few of the houses had lights on, the residents huddled inside against the constant cold, as dusk banished the weak glow of the sun to its nightly refuge behind the surrounding mountains.

“Where’s the casino?” Sam asked.

“Floating in the bay. Every day aboard’s a crapshoot on a shakeout cruise like this.”

“Oh, is she new?”

“Roger that. The Alhambra ’s the latest technology, and she was just launched two months ago. A hundred-forty-foot cutter with improved light ice-breaking ability. The older Bay-class cutters can handle up to twenty inches of ice. This beauty ups that to nearly three feet.”

“And that’s considered light?” Sam asked.

“Compared to her four- and five-hundred-foot siblings, it is. But those would be impractical to take into the fjords. The Alhambra ’s the perfect fit — agile enough to explore the coast without fear of grounding and hardy enough to break through the ice crust that even in the late spring and early summer coats the surface.”

“Oh, there she is,” Remi said, pointing at the vessel in the bay, the distinctive red racing-stripe logo of the U.S. Coast Guard emblazoned on her white hull near the bow, her lights reflecting off the placid surface of the black water. “She looks bigger than a hundred forty feet.”

“She’s beamy. Almost thirty-eight feet. And brawny. I like the design a lot. Not great in beam seas because of her round underside, but that’s true of almost all icebreakers,” Hall explained.

The truck slowed to a stop, gravel crunching beneath its oversize tires, and everyone got out. The wind sliced through Sam’s and Remi’s winter coats like they were made of linen. Remi hugged herself in an effort to keep her teeth from chattering.

Hall nodded knowingly and said, “I’ve got two Arctic explorer jackets with your names on them.”

“Thanks, Wes. You’re a gentleman. Between you and my husband, you’ve made this a kind of dream second honeymoon.”

“Sam’s always had a soft spot, I know.”

“Truer words were never spoken,” Sam agreed.

Willbanks made a call on his radio, and, after a crackling acknowledgment, a skiff that was tied behind the Alhambra started with a stuttering roar and made its way to their position on the shore. Sam and Remi followed the two Coast Guard officers down the sloping bank, and in no time they were cutting across the water to the waiting ship.

“Selma tells me that all the equipment made it in one piece?” Sam shouted to Hall as they slowed near the research vessel.

“It did. I had my techs wire it into our systems and verify everything.”

As soon as they boarded, Hall took them on a tour of the ship and introduced them to the fifteen-man crew, then showed them to their cabin — a snug stateroom with a small bathroom and shower, built more for efficiency than comfort. Remi looked the quarters over without comment as he pointed out the various levers and knobs that controlled everything from an intercom to the temperature, and then Hall took his leave after inviting them to dinner once the men had chowed down.

When the watertight door closed behind the commander, Remi moved to the bed and tested its firmness with a tentative hand.

“It’s going to be a long trip,” she said.

“Hey, at least it’s got heat. Just pretend we’re camping out.”

“Because I so love camping.”

“You’ve spent enough time in the field with me, roughing it.”

“The key word in all that is ‘enough.’”

“Seven days. Seven short days at sea. It’s like a private cruise—”

“Into a frozen hell. Can I get a refund?”

“I’m afraid once you’re on the ride, you’re on it.”

“I suppose it’s too cold to swim to shore.”

Dinner was surprisingly good, and after an hour of swapping stories and catching up on lost time with Hall Sam and Remi returned to their room, replete but tired after a full day of traveling. They drifted off to sleep, the heavy ship swaying gently in the river’s current.

The thrumming of the twin diesel engines vibrated the entire ship as the Alhambra moved north into the Arctic Circle, plowing through the swells just off the northern coast of Baffin Island. The trip had been fruitful so far, and by the third day the ship had traveled a hundred sixty miles north of Clyde River. The team had surveyed four fjords, mapping the bottom and measuring the amount of shrinkage of the glaciers. The exploration had settled into a routine — up at dawn, under way within an hour, taking advantage of the daylight that seemed to go on forever.

The rpm’s dropped as the vessel approached the day’s target, a sliver of blue that faded into icy white before them. A row of mountains loomed on both sides like guardians over a barren, hidden kingdom at the top of the world. The surface of the sea began crackling as they neared the fjord, a thin skin of ice lingering even as spring grudgingly prepared to transition into summer.

Hall stood at the pilothouse windows while the helmsman beside him manned the wheel, pointing the cutter’s bow inland to follow the fjord wherever it might lead.

“Cuts through the ice like butter, doesn’t it?” Sam commented. He stood in front of a bank of monitors, where the computers recorded a host of measurements from the specialized instrumentation he’d provided.

“The secret’s a low-pressure air hull-lubrication system that drives air between the hull and the ice. It reduces the pressure on the hull and increases the vertical shear, so the ice cracks with far less pressure than on the old-style ships,” Hall explained as he raised his binoculars and studied the area ahead. “It looks like this forks off to the right. Let’s check the satellite footage again.”

Hall moved to a monitor and zoomed in on their location, the technician obligingly focusing on the yellow pulsing icon that represented their position.

“See that? The glacier up ahead used to come down another mile. You can see how it’s receded over time.” He peered at the screen. “What do you say, Connelly? You think we can squeeze through that channel?” he asked, tapping the screen with his finger.

The tech did a quick measurement on-screen and nodded. “Yes, sir. But it’ll be tight. This shows the gap at less than a hundred feet. One wrong move and we’ll be on the rocks.”

Remi mounted the stairs as they neared the gap. The ice thickened as they proceeded, and the base of the mountains loomed on either side of them.

“It’s magnificent, isn’t it?” she said, admiring the incredible landscape and its wild beauty.

“That it is, that it is,” Sam said, keeping his eyes fixed on the screens.

“You aren’t even looking.”

“I saw it before, on approach. Now I’m earning my keep.”

She moved forward, a few feet from Hall, and watched as the ship drew near the gap.

“That looks awfully tight,” she said.

“It’s one of the reasons we’re using this dinghy instead of one of the big boys. Maneuverability,” Hall explained.

The ship eased into the narrow channel, the dark brown rock towering overhead only a stone’s throw from either gunwale, and the helmsman pulled back on the throttles even farther. And then they were through, into a long fjord ringed by sheer cliffs so tall they blocked all but the ambient light of the sun.

“See that? Looks like it stretches for another mile and a half and then ends where the glacier meets the water,” Hall said, gesturing ahead. “According to a study of satellite footage, a thousand years ago the glacier used to extend all the way to where we are now.”