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Be
“Be
“Hear me out. I know how much you lost…both of you.” He took off his oil-stained cap and swiped his thi
“Don’t.” The single word was a bark, a knee-jerk reaction. As soon as she said it, she remembered Matt cutting her off just as abruptly. But she could not hold back her anger. How dare Be
Be
The simple statement stu
“A year ago…miscarriage.” He stared out into the dark snowy plains. In the distance the few lights of the seaside village flickered. A heavy sigh escaped him. “It nearly crushed Belinda.”
Je
He cleared his throat. “Afterward we found out she would never be able to bear a child. Something to do with scarring. Docs said it was secondary to—” His voice cracked. He shook his head. “Let’s just say, it was secondary to complications from her old job.”
“Be
He waved away her sympathy. “We move on. That’s life.”
Through the window, Je
“But you and Matt,” Be
She heard his unspoken words: You two could still have another child.
“You were good together,” he continued, kicking snow off his boots. “It’s high time one of you remembered that.”
She stared through the window. Her words were a whisper, more to her own heart than to her companion. “I do remember.”
She had met Matt during an investigation of poaching in the Brooks Range. A conflict had arisen between native rights and the federal government over hunting for food in parklands. He had been there representing the state, but after learning of the subsistence level of existence of the local tribes, he became one of their most vocal advocates. Je
While working together to settle the matter and make new law, the two had grown closer. At first, they simply sought work-related reasons to get together. Then, after ru
Be
She watched a moment longer, then turned from the window. “Sometimes it is. Some things can’t be forgiven.”
Be
Her anger, never far from the surface, flared again. She clenched her fingers. “He was drinking.”
“But he wasn’t drunk, was he?”
“What the hell does that matter! Even a single drop of alcohol…” She began to shake. “He was supposed to be watching Tyler. Not drinking! If he hadn’t been—”
Be
His words were like a punch to the belly. “You’re crossing the line, Be
“Someone has to. I was there when your father was hauled in, goddamn it! I know! Your mother died in a car accident because your father was drunk.”
She turned away, but she couldn’t escape his words. She had been only sixteen at the time. Epidemic alcoholism was the coined term. It was devastating the Inuit, a curse winding its way down the generations, killing and maiming along the way — through violence, suicides, drownings, spousal abuse, birth defects, and fetal alcohol syndrome. As a native sheriff, she had seen entire villages emptied from no other cause than alcohol. And her own family had not escaped.
First her mother, then her son.
“Your father spent a year in jail,” Be
“It doesn’t matter. I…I can’t forgive him.”
“Who?” His voice sharpened. “Matt or your father?”
Je
Be
The bluntness of his words tore at the thick scarring that had formed in her own body. It wasn’t just around her heart, but strung in tight cords through her belly, in her neck, down her legs. The scarring was all that allowed her to survive. It was what the body did when it couldn’t heal completely. It scarred. Tears arose from the pain.
Be
“It’s not too late,” Be
She mumbled her answer to his chest, repeating her earlier words. “Sometimes it is.” And in her heart, she knew this to be true. Whatever she and Matt had once shared was shattered beyond repair.
The door swung open again, bringing with it the warmth of the diner, the smells of frying oil, and a bit of bright laughter. Matt stood at the threshold. “You two really should get a room.”
Je
“And where again were you all going?” Be
Matt scowled at him. For everyone’s sake, they had decided it best to keep their destination a secret. “Good try, Be
The man shrugged. “Okay, can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“Actually I can,” Matt said, swinging around. “Hey, Belinda, did you know your husband was making out with my ex-wife on the porch?”
“Tell Je
Matt turned back and gave them a thumbs-up. “You two kids are in the clear.” He closed the door on them. “Have fun!”
Standing in the dark, Je
Be
Admiral Viktor Petkov watched through the video monitors in the control station. The solid plane of ice spread in a black blanket overhead, lit from below by the Drakon’s exterior lights. The four thermal-suited divers had spent the last half hour securing a titanium sphere in place. The procedure involved screwing meter-long anchoring bolts into the underside of the ice cap, then positioning the device’s clamps to the bolts so the titanium sphere hung below the ice.
It was the last of five identical devices. Each titanium sphere was positioned a hundred kilometers from the ice island, encircling the lost Russian ice station, marking the points of a star. The sites of insertion were pinpointed to exact coordinates. All that remained was to establish the master trigger. It had to be positioned in the exact center of the star.