Clive Cussler - The Eye of Heaven

“Well … that’s strange,” Sam said, leaning forward and studying the display. “The magnetometer. It’s going nuts.”

“‘Nuts’? Is that the technical term?” Hall asked.

“It’s just weird. The readings are all over the place. Like there’s something in the ice.” He stared at the readout.

“An ore deposit?” Remi asked.

“Not like any I’ve ever seen. I’m getting a signal fifty yards ahead that doesn’t indicate natural mineral readings. No, this looks like … It looks like a structure.”

“Out here?” Hall exclaimed. “Maybe an old fishing boat?”

“That’s unlikely,” Sam replied.

Hall asked, “Can you get a bearing on it?”

“Maybe forty-five yards now, fifteen degrees starboard.”

“Over by that rise in the snow?”

“Correct.”

“Helmsman. Go easy. Get us as close as you can, but don’t sink us.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

The Alhambra inched forward, the crackling of the ice against the hull now becoming a groan, and then it ground to a stop. The helmsman backed off the throttles and took the transmissions out of gear and then looked to Hall expectantly.

“What does all that high-priced junk of yours say?” Hall asked Sam.

“That we’re about fifteen yards out from whatever it’s picking up.”

“Maybe a downed plane?” Remi suggested. “Or some refuse left over from World War Two?”

“Anything’s possible, but this looks fairly deep in the ice. Whatever’s down there didn’t get there recently.” Sam paused. “But it’s really odd. Unless I’m misreading this, it’s not submerged. It’s on the surface.”

“I don’t see anything,” Remi said.

“That’s because the ice increases in depth all along the coast. It’s probably twenty feet thick by the time there’s actual rock beneath it,” Sam said, studying the area in question through the pilothouse windows.

“Well, now what?” Hall asked.

Sam took a final look at the screens and rose. “I’d say it’s time to go for a walk.”

Hall, Sam, Remi, and three crewmen made their cautious way across the slippery, snow-dusted surface. Sam noted the gradual incline as they neared the mysterious target and calculated they’d climbed fifteen feet higher than the surface of the fjord by the time they were on top of whatever it was. The metal detector began screeching like a terrified gull when he swept it over the slight rise. He carefully moved along, dragging his foot, tracing a rough outline where the readings stopped. When he was done, the outline was roughly thirty yards long.

“Can you get some more men here?” Sam asked. “With tools to dig? Hopefully, you have some on board …”

“A few picks and shovels, and a crowbar or two,” Hall said, gazing at the outline.

After two hours of the team’s chipping away at the ice, one of the crewmen gave a cry. Sam and Remi hurried to his position.

Sam knelt down and examined the brown material, then stood and considered the outline again. “It’s wood.”

“I can see that. Question is why it registered on your scope.”

“Because there’s more than wood down there. Has to be iron, and a variety of other metals.”

Remi held his gaze. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she asked.

“I don’t want to get too excited or jump to any conclusions just yet.” Sam turned to the men, who had stopped gouging at the ice. “Be careful. Dig on the outside of the wood. You can see the line where it disappears into the ice. Stay on the far side of it.”

More seamen arrived at Willbanks’s urging, and soon they were hacking at the frost with whatever they could find — shovels, picks, pry bars, hammers. By the end of the afternoon, much of the buried structure was exposed, and there was no question about what it was.

“A Viking ship,” Remi said, her voice laced with awe.

Sam nodded. “Indeed. The first ever discovered on Baffin. There’ve been some finds in Greenland, but never here. This is exciting. It’s in perfect condition. The ice preserved everything.”

“What’s this? Can you make it out?” she called to him from the middle of the long craft.

“What are you talking about?” Sam asked as he joined her. Remi was squinting into the ice at the interior of the vessel.

“I see something.”

Sam cupped a hand over his eyes and peered into the gloom, then shook his head. “The light’s fading. I can’t tell.” He called over his shoulder, “Anyone got a flashlight?”

Two minutes later, Willbanks arrived with a long black-aluminum light and snapped it on before handing it to Sam.

“Thanks,” Sam said, and directed the beam into the ice, which was opaque in places. The light seemed to disappear as it penetrated the milky parts, and then it shined across the object of Remi’s attention. Remi jumped back. Sam continued gazing into the ice.

A man’s sightless blue eyes stared into eternity from within his frozen prison, a puzzled, peaceful expression on his face, as he clutched the remnants of a torn sail, his scraggly blond beard plainly visible even with a heavy animal-skin cloak draped over him in a futile, centuries-old bid to stave off the inevitable.

Sam and Remi sat in the pilothouse with Hall and Willbanks after dinner, watching the night shift continue its work on the Viking craft, struggling to reclaim the thousand-year-old ship from nature’s cold embrace. Powerful portable work lights illuminated the area, and the Alhambra ’s main spotlight was directed at the stern of the ancient vessel as it emerged in fits and starts.

“This is an amazing find. I mean, really. An authentic Viking longship in flawless condition, with its crew perfectly preserved. I’ve never heard of anything remotely like it,” Remi said, voicing what was on everyone’s minds.

“It is indeed. The research value alone is immeasurable,” Sam added.

Hall asked, “What do you count? Ten in the boat so far? A ship like that would carry, what, eighty, ninety men?”

“No way of knowing for sure, but if I had to guess, I’d say the boat took shelter here, maybe from the weather. Perhaps the rest of the men went to find an alternative passage back to the sea or went foraging. We might get some answers as we uncover more of the ship.”

Remi shuddered involuntarily. “Imagine what it must have been like for these last survivors. Starving to death, freezing, knowing they’d never see their homeland or family again, dying in a wasteland …”

“The only good thing is that hypothermia is painless,” Hall said. “You just drift off and at some point your heart stops pumping blood to your brain. So at least it’s unlikely they suffered in the end.”

“Still, it’s creepy, you have to admit. That one … the way he’s just staring into nothingness.”

The table went silent as they considered Remi’s comment, and then Sam stood.

“With any luck, we should be able to have the entire boat excavated enough to do a more thorough inspection by the end of the day tomorrow. I don’t know about you guys but I’m beat. It’s been a while since I spent the day on a chain gang.”

Remi rose with a smile. “I’ll second that. Gentlemen, thanks so much for committing the crew to doing this. I know it’s not part of the expedition objective.”

“Are you kidding?” Hall said. “This is part of history. Although you bring up an important point — one I’ve been thinking about. We’ll need to move on, sooner than later, and complete the mapping of the fjords and the glacier analysis. Unfortunately, we’re on a schedule. While there’s some flexibility in it, the Alhambra ’s earmarked for other duty after this tour and I’ve got to at least try to stay on track.”