Clive Cussler - Fast Ice

“In that case, we’re going to need a way to get aboard,” Joe said. He pointed downslope and to the left. “How about the mooring lines?”

Kurt raised the binoculars again and aimed them in the direction Joe had pointed. The lines were hard to see through the blowing snow, but once Kurt spotted them they couldn’t be missed. A half-dozen heavy lines, stretching from the ice ship to a forest of large bollards that had been drilled into the glacier in various places.

Even though the lines were frozen over with ice and snow and pulled taut, they held against the wind, which was blowing out to sea.

Scanning back in the other direction, Kurt found a second collection of four lines. Farther on, he spied a third that looked like another six-pack.

“They’ve docked her Mediterranean-style,” Kurt said, referring to the method of mooring a ship with its stern against the dock and its bow outward.

“They must want to make a quick getaway,” Joe said.

Kurt slid the binoculars back into an outside pocket of his jacket. “Let’s make sure that doesn’t happen.”

They backtracked to the snow racer and traded their expedition jackets for the cold-weather gear they’d taken from the Base Zero locker.

“Glad you brought these,” Kurt said.

“Might as well look like we belong,” Joe said.

Dressed this way, they made their way downslope and took cover behind an outcropping of ice near the first mooring lines.

The lines, three inches in diameter, were thick and heavy. They were attached to the sturdy bollards that had been drilled into the ice. The bollards were as thick as telephone poles, but much shorter, and topped with mushroom-shaped caps that would keep lines from slipping off.

As Kurt and Joe watched, several crewmen from the ice ship came across a gangplank and approached the closest bollard. These men checked the lines and, after a brief discussion, made a radio call to someone before moving off toward the second bollard farther on.

Kurt watched until they vanished in the snowstorm. “Now’s our chance. Follow me.”

Kurt picked his way down to the very edge of the glacier. An eighty-foot drop into freezing water awaited if he took one wrong step.

By now, they were below what Kurt would have called the ship’s main deck. It loomed above them, jutting out across the water with a large overhang from what was the lower hull of the ship.

“Impressive freeboard,” Joe said. “You’d need a monster wave to splash that deck.”

Kurt was looking up. The overhang was at least thirty feet above their heads. The flight deck of an American aircraft carrier cleared the water by about sixty feet. The main deck of the ice ship rose nearly twice that height. “It’ll be a lot lower once they’ve filled their tanks to the stops.”

“True,” Joe said. “Now, about your plan to get on board. I assume we’re sneaking aboard like rats.”

Kurt nodded.

The mooring lines stretched from the bollards on the glacier across the water and down to the ice ship. They vanished through a wide gap, secured inside to hidden cleats and anchors.

Studying the opening, Kurt saw nothing to suggest anyone was standing inside. “No one home.”

He ducked under the first two lines and then climbed up toward a third line that had been attached at a higher point on the ice. Pulling the MP5 from under his coat, he disconnected its strap and then stuffed the weapon back into his jacket. He took the strap, looped it over the mooring line and then twisted the two ends around his wrists. Gripping the strap tightly, Kurt pushed forward, leaping off the end of the glacier and sliding down the angled line to the vessel.

He picked up speed as he went, the icy synthetic cable proving almost frictionless. It took only seconds to cross the gap, with Kurt raising his legs as he approached the ship, using them as shock absorbers to cushion the impact when he reached the hull.

Hanging suspended just below the opening where the mooring line went in, Kurt dug the spiked tread of his boots into the hull, pulled himself up, and clawed his way into the gap. To get to the compartment beyond required him to crawl across ten feet of ice, which acted as the outer hull of the ship. It was impressive and strange all at the same time.

Reaching the inner hull, Kurt dropped to the deck and glanced around. He was alone in the compartment, which was the size of a five-car garage. Heavy gearing connected to a powerful winch system gripped the outgoing lines.

Turning back to the outside, he saw Joe come down the mooring line and climb inside.

“That was easy enough,” Joe said. “Do you think anyone saw us?”

“I don’t see any windows for people to watch from,” Kurt said. “Even if there were, someone would have had to have been looking at exactly the right place at exactly the right time. Add in the blowing snow and the monotony of staring at a blank white canvas and I like our odds. Now all we have to do is find our way to the pump room.”

“Lead on,” Joe said.

Kurt got up out of his crouch and made his way to the inner wall, which was made of steel. A hatchway in the wall awaited. Kurt leaned on the handle and was able to pull it open. Inside stretched a gloomy hallway lit only every thirty feet by a few LEDs.

“Someone forgot to pay the electric bill,” Joe said.

Kurt stepped into the corridor, happy to be in semidarkness. “They must be conserving power, trying to keep the ship cold or save all the juice for the pumps. Either way, this plays to our advantage.”

“Which way do we go?” Joe asked.

“Inward and down,” Kurt said. “Pumps are heavy machinery. They’ll be on the bottom deck.”

“In that case,” Joe said, “let’s find a ladder to take us there.”

61

BASE ZERO

Gamay leaned into the wind, dragging a sled through the snow like a plow horse. She stopped only as she neared the ruined entryway to the pumping station.

The bodies of the men who’d been killed there were now buried under mounds of snow. But the four exhaust ports continued blasting heated vapor into the air.

Throwing off the strap, Gamay found herself sweating from the effort. She backtracked to the sled and lifted the first section of pipe she and Paul had cut and melted together. She dragged it to the nearest vent and then laid it down. Three more sections were given similar treatment.

As the last one landed, Gamay rested, breathing hard and waiting for Paul, who was limping toward her on the snowy surface.

As he came within earshot, Gamay announced a unilateral decision. “When we get back to civilization, you’re in charge of throwing the garbage out,” she said. “For the rest of our lives.”

“Gladly,” Paul said, moving up awkwardly next to her. “Let’s link this up and get back inside. I’m freezing.”

With the blood he’d lost, Paul shouldn’t have been out in the elements, but he’d refused to remain in the shelter. He had insisted it would take both of them working together to fit the network of pipes together and lower them into place. Even if she did most of the heavy lifting, a second pair of hands and arms would be crucial.

Girding herself for the effort, Gamay took several deep breaths and dragged the largest section of pipe over into position. It was made up of a curved section that would fit over the exhaust port and a long length of PVC pipe that would channel the superheated steam to a new destination. Each of the exhaust pipes would get a similar section fitted over the top and they would then all meet in the middle, where a makeshift connector in the shape of an X would link all four exhaust streams together and direct the boiling vapor downward.