The Arctic Event

Chapter Forty-five

The North Face, Wednesday Island

Randi Russell wasn’t sure about the existence of a place called “heaven.” But if such an environment did exist, she was now certain of two things: it would be warm, and you wouldn’t be alone.

“Okay, try that,” Jon Smith said, rocking back on his heels.

Experimentally she flexed the fingers of her right hand. Jon had lightly bandaged them after applying a thin layer of antibiotic ointment. At her insistence he had done each digit separately so she could still have full use of the hand.

“It’s not bad,” she replied. “They sort of itch and tingle a little but not too bad.”

Smith nodded, looking pleased. “That’s good. I think you picked up a good touch of chilblain climbing that cliff, but I don’t think you’ve taken any permanent damage.”

“Apparently you’ll still be able count to ten without taking your shoes off.” Valentina sat up in the doubled sleeping bag, working on the handcuff around Randi’s left wrist. Even clad in thermal underwear and with an unzipped parka draped over her shoulders, the professor still exuded a certain air of raffish elegance.

Randi found she couldn’t be a

Valentina gave a final delicate twist of the lock probe, and the handcuff loop snicked open. “There you go, darling. You have your wrist back.”

“Thank you,” Randi smiled. “It’s appreciated.”

“Beyond your hands, how do you feel?” Smith went on, touching her cheek with the back of a bared hand, hunting for signs of a fever.

“I’m fine,” Randi replied in a knee-jerk response.

He continued to regard her with a disconcertingly level gaze, the very faintest of knowing smiles on his face.

Randi sighed. “All right,” she replied. “I feel like an old dishrag that’s been wrung out too many times. It’s like I’m never going to be warm inside again and I’m never going to feel not tired again and all I want to do is sleep for another thousand years. Satisfied?”

Smith’s taciturn features broke into one of the rare boyish grins that involved his full face, the smile Sophie had talked about. “That sounds about right,” he replied. “I’m not hearing any pulmonary congestion, and your body temperature seems to be back where it’s supposed to be, so I think you were knocked out more by simple exhaustion than deep-core exposure. Still, stay warm.”

“I won’t argue.” Randi burrowed gratefully deeper into her sleeping bag. She was back in her own thermal long johns, and the pellet stove and their combined body heat had brought the interior of the cave up to close to freezing, but it wasn’t exactly cozy. “But still, feeling this awful now is a vast improvement over how I felt last night.”

The smile on Smith’s face snapped away, replaced by a faint disapproving frown. Randi sensed it was aimed inward. “I’m sorry about what happened at the station, Randi. I shouldn’t have left you hanging like that. My fault.”

“I didn’t exactly shine, either, Jon. I never should have let that little shit Kropodkin take me like he did.” She smiled wryly and then sadly. “I’m supposed to be good. Maybe if I’d been a little better, I might have gotten Trowbridge out.”

“I’m finding you can’t live on might-haves, Randi. We all have to make do on best-we-cans.”

Smyslov hunched his way back from the cave entrance and hunkered down on his heels, joining the group at the sleeping bags. “We have no wind outside and no snow. The sea smoke has come in heavily, but I believe it will burn off soon. It looks like it will be a lovely day, at least for the eightieth parallel.”

“As soon as he has a clear sky, Kretek will go for the anthrax,” Randi said.

Over their sketchy tea-and-energy-bar breakfast, she and the others had exchanged briefings over events at the Misha crash site and the science station. At last, they had the full picture of all they were facing. Only it wasn’t an attractive one.

Valentina opened the gun cleaning kit and took the model 70 across her knees. “What are we going to do about it, Jon?” she said, opening the bolt and dumping the shells out of the magazine trap.

“Frankly, that’s an excellent question. We’ve got two bands of hostiles out there, both of whom outgun us and both of whom have a vested interest in killing us on sight.”

Smith closed the heavy-duty zip on his medical kit and slouched back against the ice wall. “One valid strategy is to do nothing. We’ve got good concealment and shelter here, and last night’s storm would have erased our trails. We’ve also been out of communication for too long. There was a Mike force standing by in Alaska, and it’s probably inbound right now. If we sit tight and stay quiet for the next few hours, the odds are we won’t be found until after the cavalry arrives.”

Randi came up on one elbow. “But that concedes the anthrax to Kretek. He’s expecting the arrival of outside forces. He’s wired that into his pla

Smith nodded. “I’ll agree with that assessment. If Kretek is going to be stopped, we have to be the ones to do it.”

Smith shifted his position and idly fished something silver out of his pocket, Smyslov’s cigarette lighter/radio transponder. “Major, here’s a question for you. Could you bring your Spetsnaz over to our side? In the face of the threat of the anthrax falling into terrorist hands, could you get them to help us against Kretek and his people?”

An expression akin to despair crossed the Russian’s face. “I have been thinking of this as well, Colonel. But in the eyes of my government the bioweapons aboard the Misha are entirely secondary to the security of the March Fifth Event. That was made most clear to me in my own mission briefing. The Spetsnaz platoon commander will no doubt have been given specific orders to this effect from a higher command. I have no authorization to change those orders, and he will be aware of it. He will view you and your knowledge as the primary threat, not the anthrax.”

“What about getting those orders changed?” Smith insisted.

The Russian shook his head. “Impossible within our time frame and probably impossible altogether. I would have to contact the Spetsnaz force, then I would have to arrange a rendezvous with the submarine that transported them here to get access to long-range communications. Then I would have to convince my superiors to overturn a fifty-year-old standing security policy.” Smyslov grimaced a bitter smile and shrugged. “Even if I somehow succeeded in this miracle, the anthrax would be gone long before I could get the orders changed. In all probability you and the ladies would be long dead as well.”

“How about working on the tactical level, leaving your government out of it? What are the odds of us convincing your platoon leader that it’s in the best interest of all involved to focus on the anthrax threat?”

Again Smyslov shook his head. “You might find that degree of flexibility among the Special Forces commanders of your army, Colonel, but not of mine. In the Russian military, good junior officers do not think, they obey, and this Spetsnaz leader will be a very good junior officer.”

“What about you, Major?” Valentina interjected, ru

Smyslov smiled wearily and shrugged. “Dear lady, I’m thinking maybe I am not such a good Russian military officer. Beyond that, you shot the hell out of that Spetsnaz platoon yesterday and you humiliated its commander. He is not going to view you with favor.”