Sam stood up straight, hands on his hips, and stared down the street.
The car was gone.
Tuesday morning arrived in the blink of an eye, and when Selma dropped Sam and Remi off at the airport for their trip to Baffin Island, they both embraced her for a long time, Zoltán by her side, standing attentively, flinching as jets took off overhead. Remi knelt and gave the German shepherd a kiss and scratched his chin.
“I hate to leave you alone again, big boy,” she crooned in his ear. A tail wag assured her that he understood, and when Remi stood, his gaze followed her with boundless affection.
“Let us know how the surgery turns out,” Sam asked Selma, who nodded in response, clearly embarrassed to be the center of attention.
“I’m just a little nervous, but the doctor said that they do dozens of this kind of procedure every day. It’s really nothing,” she assured them.
“I’m sure it’ll be over in no time,” Remi said. “But please, Selma, humor us. Let us know how it goes and how you’re doing afterward. We’re both very concerned.”
“I promise I will.” Selma cleared her throat. “Now on to more pressing things . . . The equipment I arranged for arrived in Baffin Island yesterday. I’ve got a charter flight waiting in Iqaluit to take you to Clyde River Airport, assuming there are no delays. The runway at Clyde River’s way too short to accommodate the jet, so it’ll be a prop ride for you on that leg.”
“Sounds like you’ve got everything covered, as usual,” Sam said.
Selma blushed. “If there’s anything you need I haven’t anticipated, Pete and Wendy can handle it. You’ve got your satellite phone, so you’re never more than a call away. Besides, by the time you’re finished doing the glacier survey I’ll be back on deck, ready for anything, as always.”
Selma looked down at Zoltán and moved to the car. When she opened the rear door, Zoltán shot by her, a black-and-brown furry streak of lightning. “Looks like somebody’s ready to get going. He does so love to be on the road, though he’s probably wondering where breakfast is.”
A flight crewman retrieved their bags from the trunk of the car and carried them into the small charter building, where Sandra was awaiting them, perky as ever. She led them onto the tarmac and up the stairs and stowed their things in the cabin while Sam and Remi took their seats. They were airborne in minutes, and, once they hit their cruising altitude, Sandra served a light breakfast of pastries and fruit.
Six hours went by quickly while they both worked on their computers, and when they touched down at Iqaluit International Airport on the southern side of Baffin Island, they were rested and ready for the next stage of their journey. The Gulfstream taxied to the terminal area, where a number of small prop planes sat off to one side. A single-prop Cessna Caravan was parked near the edge of the tarmac, with two men fueling it and preparing it for flight.
“Want to bet that’s our ride?” Sam asked.
Remi reached over and squeezed his hand. “It’ll be slow going the rest of the way.”
The G650 rolled to a stop and Sandra opened the door. A blast of Arctic wind blew in, instantly chilling them, and Remi thanked Providence for the winter coats they’d brought. Going from seventy-degree San Diego weather to below freezing was going to be a shock, they knew, but there was no getting around it, and it would be even colder off the eastern coast of Baffin, the fifth-largest island in the world and the biggest in the Arctic Archipelago, much of its shores covered in ice year-round.
“Don’t look at me like that. We both signed off on this, remember?” Sam said in response to the glare Remi threw him.
“I didn’t really take into account the cold. Or all the snow.”
“It won’t be that long. Only a week. And the ship should have heat. At least, I hope it will.”
“I can’t feel my feet.”
“Oh come on, we’re still on the plane.”
“We’re getting out?”
“That’s the spirit,” Sam said, and then stepped out onto the stairs. A frigid gust cut across the runway and hit him like a cold slap and he silently wondered if Remi didn’t have a point. “See? It’s like being on Maui,” he declared.
Remi gave him one of her looks and reluctantly trudged after him. The taller of the two men near the Cessna waved and approached. “Mr. and Mrs. Fargo?”
“That depends on whether there’s heat on the boat,” Remi said.
The man looked at them, puzzled, and Sam tried a grin, hoping his face wouldn’t crack.
“That’s us. You must be the welcome committee.”
The taller man nodded and extended a hand. “I suppose so. Let’s get your things stowed. We don’t want to lose the light. Landing at Clyde River can be challenging even under the best of circumstances. You don’t want to do it in the dark. By the way, I’m Rick.”
“Rick, nice to meet you. You sound like you know the area pretty well,” Sam said.
“You could say that. Been flying these parts for over twenty years.”
Rick wasn’t talkative once in the air, which suited Sam and Remi just fine. The Caravan droned along on the four-hundred-fifty-mile trek, and there was less than a half hour of light remaining when the gravel landing strip of Clyde River Airport came into view through the scattered clouds. The plane touched down without in- cident, and in moments they stopped in front of a small Quonset hut that passed for a terminal.
Two men exited the structure, wearing heavy jackets and knit caps. As Rick opened the door, Sam immediately recognized Commander Wes Hall, the head of the research mission and an old friend.
“Sam, Remi, good to see you again. Although it would be nicer if this duty was in Fiji,” Hall said as Rick retrieved their bags from the hold.
“Be pretty tough to map glacier melting rates there, though, wouldn’t it?” Remi asked with a smile.
Sam nodded. “Serves you right for not having the foresight to investigate something more fun. Like maybe coral density on the Great Barrier Reef.”
“That’s why I’m a simple Coast Guard officer and you’re the hotshot adventurers.”
“Right now, I think the word ‘hot’ in any context might be a stretch,” Remi quipped.
“Indeed. This is my first officer, Lieutenant Ralph Willbanks. Lieutenant, may I present Sam and Remi Fargo?”
They shook hands, their breath steaming in the frosty air.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Willbanks said.
“You can’t believe everything the commander tells you,” Sam warned.
“I left out the dragon slaying and the ability to levitate,” Hall said.
The group chuckled.
Rick arrived with their bags. Willbanks shouldered both, and Hall waved at a waiting Hummer. Inside, a Canadian Navy ensign had the diesel engine running and the heat blowing. Remi crawled in the backseat with a sigh of relief, followed by Sam. Hall took the front passenger seat, and Willbanks slid in next to Sam and pulled the door closed.
As the big vehicle bounced down a rutted dirt track, Hall said, “We’re only a few minutes away. The ship’s anchored in Patricia Bay. We’ll overnight there, and be under way by five a.m. The ice waits for no man . . .”
“I don’t suppose you’ve got any Scotch to go with the ice, do you?” Sam asked.
“Actually, once we’re up in the fjords, you can make cocktails with glacier ice. Makes everything taste better, I hear. But I’m afraid I’m dry for the duration. Duty calls and all. Don’t want to set a bad example, carousing with civilians.”
“As long as there are no prohibitions against the hired help having a bracer now and again, I’m in.”
“If you were being paid, you’d be hired. As it is, helping fund this expedition makes you honored guests, and my motto is to treat guests with all possible hospitality.”
“I like the way you think. How cold is it out, anyway?” Remi asked.
“A toasty three degrees Fahrenheit. But don’t worry—it gets up as high as six during the hottest p
art of the day.”
“I don’t suppose you have spa or massage facilities on board?”
“That gets installed after this mission. Sorry, I thought you got the memo,” Hall said.
They rounded a bend and entered the small town of Clyde River, its grim, weather-beaten shacks shabby and uninviting. A few of the houses had lights on, the residents huddled inside against the constant cold, as dusk banished the weak glow of the sun to its nightly refuge behind the surrounding mountains.
“Where’s the casino?” Sam asked.
“Floating in the bay. Every day aboard’s a crapshoot on a shakeout cruise like this.”
“Oh, is she new?”
“Roger that. The Alhambra’s the latest technology, and she was just launched two months ago. A hundred-forty-foot cutter with improved light ice-breaking ability. The older Bay-class cutters can handle up to twenty inches of ice. This beauty ups that to nearly three feet.”
“And that’s considered light?” Sam asked.
“Compared to her four- and five-hundred-foot siblings, it is. But those would be impractical to take into the fjords. The Alhambra’s the perfect fit—agile enough to explore the coast without fear of grounding and hardy enough to break through the ice crust that even in the late spring and early summer coats the surface.”
“Oh, there she is,” Remi said, pointing at the vessel in the bay, the distinctive red racing-stripe logo of the U.S. Coast Guard emblazoned on her white hull near the bow, her lights reflecting off the placid surface of the black water. “She looks bigger than a hundred forty feet.”
“She’s beamy. Almost thirty-eight feet. And brawny. I like the design a lot. Not great in beam seas because of her round underside, but that’s true of almost all icebreakers,” Hall explained.
The truck slowed to a stop, gravel crunching beneath its oversize tires, and everyone got out. The wind sliced through Sam’s and Remi’s winter coats like they were made of linen. Remi hugged herself in an effort to keep her teeth from chattering.
Hall nodded knowingly and said, “I’ve got two Arctic explorer jackets with your names on them.”
“Thanks, Wes. You’re a gentleman. Between you and my husband, you’ve made this a kind of dream second honeymoon.”
“Sam’s always had a soft spot, I know.”
“Truer words were never spoken,” Sam agreed.
Willbanks made a call on his radio, and, after a crackling acknowledgment, a skiff that was tied behind the Alhambra started with a stuttering roar and made its way to their position on the shore. Sam and Remi followed the two Coast Guard officers down the sloping bank, and in no time they were cutting across the water to the waiting ship.
“Selma tells me that all the equipment made it in one piece?” Sam shouted to Hall as they slowed near the research vessel.
“It did. I had my techs wire it into our systems and verify everything.”
As soon as they boarded, Hall took them on a tour of the ship and introduced them to the fifteen-man crew, then showed them to their cabin—a snug stateroom with a small bathroom and shower, built more for efficiency than comfort. Remi looked the quarters over without comment as he pointed out the various levers and knobs that controlled everything from an intercom to the temperature, and then Hall took his leave after inviting them to dinner once the men had chowed down.
When the watertight door closed behind the commander, Remi moved to the bed and tested its firmness with a tentative hand.
“It’s going to be a long trip,” she said.
“Hey, at least it’s got heat. Just pretend we’re camping out.”
“Because I so love camping.”
“You’ve spent enough time in the field with me, roughing it.”
“The key word in all that is ‘enough.’”
“Seven days. Seven short days at sea. It’s like a private cruise—”
“Into a frozen hell. Can I get a refund?”
“I’m afraid once you’re on the ride, you’re on it.”
“I suppose it’s too cold to swim to shore.”
Dinner was surprisingly good, and after an hour of swapping stories and catching up on lost time with Hall Sam and Remi returned to their room, replete but tired after a full day of traveling. They drifted off to sleep, the heavy ship swaying gently in the river’s current.
The thrumming of the twin diesel engines vibrated the entire ship as the Alhambra moved north into the Arctic Circle, plowing through the swells just off the northern coast of Baffin Island. The trip had been fruitful so far, and by the third day the ship had traveled a hundred sixty miles north of Clyde River. The team had surveyed four fjords, mapping the bottom and measuring the amount of shrinkage of the glaciers. The exploration had settled into a routine—up at dawn, under way within an hour, taking advantage of the daylight that seemed to go on forever.
The rpm’s dropped as the vessel approached the day’s target, a sliver of blue that faded into icy white before them. A row of mountains loomed on both sides like guardians over a barren, hidden kingdom at the top of the world. The surface of the sea began crackling as they neared the fjord, a thin skin of ice lingering even as spring grudgingly prepared to transition into summer.
Hall stood at the pilothouse windows while the helmsman beside him manned the wheel, pointing the cutter’s bow inland to follow the fjord wherever it might lead.
“Cuts through the ice like butter, doesn’t it?” Sam commented. He stood in front of a bank of monitors, where the computers recorded a host of measurements from the specialized instrumentation he’d provided.
“The secret’s a low-pressure air hull-lubrication system that drives air between the hull and the ice. It reduces the pressure on the hull and increases the vertical shear, so the ice cracks with far less pressure than on the old-style ships,” Hall explained as he raised his binoculars and studied the area ahead. “It looks like this forks off to the right. Let’s check the satellite footage again.”
Hall moved to a monitor and zoomed in on their location, the technician obligingly focusing on the yellow pulsing icon that represented their position.
“See that? The glacier up ahead used to come down another mile. You can see how it’s receded over time.” He peered at the screen. “What do you say, Connelly? You think we can squeeze through that channel?” he asked, tapping the screen with his finger.
The tech did a quick measurement on-screen and nodded. “Yes, sir. But it’ll be tight. This shows the gap at less than a hundred feet. One wrong move and we’ll be on the rocks.”
Remi mounted the stairs as they neared the gap. The ice thickened as they proceeded, and the base of the mountains loomed on either side of them.
“It’s magnificent, isn’t it?” she said, admiring the incredible landscape and its wild beauty.
“That it is, that it is,” Sam said, keeping his eyes fixed on the screens.
“You aren’t even looking.”
“I saw it before, on approach. Now I’m earning my keep.”
She moved forward, a few feet from Hall, and watched as the ship drew near the gap.
“That looks awfully tight,” she said.
“It’s one of the reasons we’re using this dinghy instead of one of the big boys. Maneuverability,” Hall explained.
The ship eased into the narrow channel, the dark brown rock towering overhead only a stone’s throw from either gunwale, and the helmsman pulled back on the throttles even farther. And then they were through, into a long fjord ringed by sheer cliffs so tall they blocked all but the ambient light of the sun.
“See that? Looks like it stretches for another mile and a half and then ends where the glacier meets the water,” Hall said, gesturing ahead. “According to a study of satellite footage, a thousand years ago the glacier used to extend all the way to where we are now.”
“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.