Clive Cussler - Fast Ice

A secondary display showed the status of the turbine in the cavern beneath the surface of the glacier. It was operating with aggravating efficiency and the pipeline was shipping massive volumes of water.

“We’ve done everything but shut this pipeline down,” Kurt said.

“Bad luck that the collapse didn’t extend to the cavern,” Gamay said, still taping up Paul’s leg.

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Kurt said. “From my brief glimpse inside, it was pretty clear they’d shored up the roof and walls.”

“Can you do anything with that computer?” Paul asked.

Both Kurt and Joe had been trying. It wasn’t helping. “The system is locked out. It’s just a mirror of what the guy down in the cave is looking at. In other words, we can see what’s happening but we can’t do anything about it.”

“What if we had the last pack of explosives?” Joe suggested. “The pack we lost in the avalanche.”

“No telling where the pack would be,” Kurt said. “You started off next to the snowmobile and wound up a hundred yards away. Even if we did find it, four small charges won’t get us through that collapsed tunnel.”

“And blowing it from the top isn’t feasible,” Gamay added. “Paul and I already determined that.”

“Ah . . . ah, ouch,” Paul said, pushing Gamay’s hand away from his wound. “Easy with the antiseptic.”

“At least you’re still feeling something,” she replied. “That’s good.”

Kurt looked their way. Paul was no longer bleeding, but he looked pale.

“What if we shut off the power?” Joe asked.

“Believe it or not, they’re using a steam engine to spin that turbine,” Kurt said. “I was admiring it right before the old guy started shooting at me. I’m assuming it’s run off the same geothermal strike that they used to burn a hole through the glacier. Which means there’s no power to turn off, the whole thing is self-contained.”

Kurt leaned closer to the computer screen, tracking the progress of the fluid through the pipes. Studying the numbers, he saw that the flow rate was picking up speed and increasing in volume while the pressure at the far end of the line was falling.

“What do you make of that?” he asked Joe.

“Has to be a vacuum system,” Joe said. “Like the hyper-loop idea. They’re lowering the pressure on the far end to reduce resistance and increase the flow. I’d say they’re using two pumps. One up here applies pressure and pushes the water forward, a second down there sucks it through the tunnel like a giant straw.”

“Makes sense,” Kurt said. “Tunstall was shipping a pair of turbines and I only saw one down below.”

“You seem happy about that,” Joe said. “What are you thinking?”

“It’s simple,” Kurt said. “If we can’t turn off this pump, maybe we can get to the end of the pipeline and turn off the other one. Or switch it into reverse and blow the whole system.”

“Is that possible?” Gamay asked.

“It’s worth a shot,” Kurt said. “Especially if both setups have the same turbines at their heart. That would make them equal in strength. And if the pressure inside the pipeline goes sky-high, we might even be able to collapse it from the inside.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Joe said, standing up and stretching. “Or the beginning of one, anyway. But the end of that pipeline is eighty miles from here. How are we going to get there? Our snowmobile is barely holding a charge and the other one needs a new front end before it goes anywhere.”

“Our sled will get us to the Jayhawk,” Kurt said.

“Which is out of fuel,” Joe said.

“True,” Kurt replied. “While we may not have fuel or batteries, we have wind. And once this storm completes its turn, it’ll be a downwind run from here directly to the coast.”

“We’ll never beat the algae to the coast,” Joe said.

“Nope,” Kurt admitted. “But with a little luck, we’ll get there before too much of it goes into the water.”

56

The ride to the helicopter was uneventful. The snowmobile performed flawlessly and its battery held. It was still showing a twelve percent charge as they pulled up to the snow-covered Jayhawk.

“I’m surprised you remembered where we parked,” Kurt said, the headlights of the snowmobile shining on the helicopter.

After brushing the snow away, they opened the helicopter door and retrieved the plastic case protecting the snow racer. Kurt opened the case and pulled out sections of the carbon fiber frame. Simple twists linked them together while levers that were easy to turn tightened and locked them in place.

They mounted the frame on a tripod made from wide skis. While Kurt tightened everything down, Joe attached the hammock-style seats made of ballistic nylon.

“Not exactly built for lumbar support,” he said.

“I’d be happy if they included seat warmers,” Kurt said.

Joe tossed the extra cold-weather gear they’d taken from Yvonne’s compound on the nylon seats. “Seat warmers,” he said. “As requested.”

While Kurt installed the mast and rigged the sail, Joe placed their weapons, ammunition and every piece of equipment he thought might be useful into a cargo compartment. That done, he climbed into his seat.

When Kurt was satisfied, he took his own seat and unfurled a bit of the sail. The wind caught it immediately and they moved off, heading for the glacier and out toward the coast.

“Are we forgetting anything?” Kurt asked.

“Only our sanity,” Joe said.

With Joe navigating and Kurt following his directions, they moved off toward the glacier and turned toward the coast. They traveled mostly on soft snow laid down overnight or blown in by the storm. The ride was astonishingly smooth, though Kurt was constantly fighting the wind and adjusting the sail.

For the most part, he used only half the available sail. It made for a more stable adventure and easier maneuvering. An hour into the journey, they’d covered thirty miles, their heated jackets, boots and gloves keeping them toasty warm. Hunger was an issue, but Joe had an answer for that. He broke out two bottles of a specialized beverage.

“What is this stuff?” Kurt asked suspiciously.

“A combination of protein powder, electrolytes and a high-calorie mix of lard and easily digestible carbs.” As Joe spoke, he shook up his own bottle, opened the top and took a sip. “Only one problem. We’re going to need a spoon.”

Kurt gave Joe the reins, lowered the scarf and the balaclava and tipped his own bottle back.

The mixture flowed like mud, but he was able to squeeze a portion into his mouth. “First beverage I ever had to chew,” he said. “It tastes like sawdust mixed with toothpaste and castor oil.”

“Castor oil would improve it,” Joe said, then added, “It’s thirty-five hundred calories per bottle.”

Kurt squished the bottle tighter and choked down more of the pasty mush. “A thousand calories’ worth is all I can take.”

With the sky brightening, Kurt unfurled a little more of the sail and the snow racer stretched its legs. They were on the smoothest part of the journey, cruising atop the unbroken heart of the glacier on piles of deep, packed snow. With the wind directly behind them, they were traveling fifty miles an hour.

Without much to do, Joe began studying the road ahead on the screen of the tablet. The route of the pipeline was superimposed over a satellite image of the terrain. Joe studied it, section by section, all the way down to the coast to where the pipeline ended in Fimbul Bay.

Despite the reconnaissance flight by the Navy P-8 and an imaging pass by one of NUMA’s satellites prior to the storm hitting, Joe found nothing near the end of the pipeline that could be construed as another pumping station. Stranger still, he found a problem. Not for NUMA but for Ryland.