“I’ve… brrrr… I found it,” he could hardly mumble, as he lifted his head over the slushy water. “Now… I should… pull… pull them out.”
“Justin,” Anna called. “Come out. You’re gonna freeze.”
“One… more… try.” Justin quivered as he took another deep breath, his muscles tensing. He braced himself for the return dive to the frozen hell.
This time he kept his eyes open. He blinked rapidly to fight the sharp needles of water puncturing his eyeballs and intensifying his jackhammer headache. Justin clenched his teeth and carried on, reaching the bottom of the pit. He found the truck tipped to its left side. Hypothermia was slowing his limbs movements and was shutting down his brain. What do I do now? Oh, yeah. Open the door. The passenger’s door!
As he reached for the door handle, a sudden movement inside the truck’s cabin startled him. He heard a weak thud and a horror-stricken face pressed against the window. Justin did not recognize the terrified eyes buried deep in their dark sockets, but he knew she was not Alisha. He read the terror in her lips. She was crying for help, shoving the door with her hands and her shoulders.
Justin tried prying the door open, but his vicious yanking was in vain. He gestured for the woman to lean back and stepped on the glass. He stomped his feet. The water was softening the impact of his boots. The glass was resisting his repeated attacks.
The woman’s motions were dwindling away. Justin wondered whether she was resigning to her fate. Maybe he was experiencing the early symptoms of hallucination. Suddenly, he felt a sharp object jab him on his hip. He lifted the bottom of his shirt, fearing an ice fragment had stabbed him. It was his M-9 pistol, its metallic barrel stuck to his skin.
The gun! I can use the gun to break the glass!
In a single, swift move, he pulled the gun from his right side, ripping a chunk of his skin. He slammed the gun muzzle against the glass as hard as he could, but there was no crack. After the fourth failed attempt, he gestured to the woman to hide behind the door frame. He placed the gun muzzle at the center of the glass and pulled the trigger.
Twice.
The first shot would have been enough for the job. The glass shattered, fragments raining over the woman’s head. Justin finished clearing the leftover glass pieces on the truck’s window frame and stretched his arms toward the woman. She grabbed his hands, and he pulled her out of the cabin. Once her body was outside the deathtrap, he lifted the woman by her waist. They swam together toward the blurry headlights gleaming over the water surface.
“Quick, let’s get them both somewhere warm,” Ned instructed the two men standing next to him.
Awakened by the noise, a large group of curious onlookers were observing the rescue mission.
“Our home,” said one of them, lifting Justin’s left arm.
The other man moved to the right side, dragging Justin’s almost unconscious body to their truck.
“OK,” Ned replied. “We’ll bring Tania.” He helped Anna carry the gasping woman to his Land Rover.
“What about Alisha?” Anna asked, as they laid Tania in the backseat.
“She’s… she’s dead,” Tania mumbled. “The crash…” She broke into a violent cough.
“Don’t talk.” Ned started the car and followed the truck. “Save your energy. You can tell us everything later. Once you’re better.”
Chapter Nineteen
The commander fumbled with his wristwatch. He was awaiting the arrival of a captain who was visiting five of his men in the hospital. They were wounded during the shoot-out with the Canadians. He looked around the table, trying to read the thoughts of his colleagues. The superintendent of the air base was writing on a yellow notepad in front of him. The commander was unsure of his reaction. Before the commander could fix his eyes on the other two men sitting to his left, he heard quick footsteps coming from the hall.
“I apologize for my delay,” the captain said as he entered the conference room.
The commander gestured for the captain to take a seat. “How are the men doing?”
“They’ll all make it. No one is in danger of their lives.”
“Good, I’m glad to hear that. So, what do we have?”
“The Seahawk handled the storm without a scratch. The pilot, Ms. O’Connor, did a damn good job riding the blizzard,” replied one of the men at the table.
“Where did they land?”
“We lost our tracking signal when the Seahawk was about six miles east of Nanisivik, Canada.”
“They did four hundred miles in the blizzard?” the superintendent asked. “Who are these people?”
“The blizzard, like most Arctic storms, was localized mainly around our air base. The tail end of the storm stretched over Ellesmere Island,” explained the same man who had earlier expressed admiration of the Canadian pilot. “Still, it’s quite an amazing feat.”
“Which confirms my initial suspicions these Canadians are anything but geologists,” the commander said. “Special Forces? Rangers? Canadian Air Force?”
“Whoever they are, sir, we should dispatch immediately two rescue teams,” said the deputy commander in a terse voice. “Then, when we find them—”
“Wait a second,” the commander said, trying to calm him, “we need a plan for the rescue.”
“We’re here for this purpose, sir, to draft a plan,” the deputy commander replied. “If they made it through the snowstorm, so can our pilots. We know their coordinates, and we’ll find them. Then, we’ll engage these people and force them to release the hostage and return our helo.”
“There are so many issues with your suggestion,” one of the other men said. “First, the difficulties of a night flight in the blizzard. I’m not saying our troops are incompetent, but it’s just too great of a risk to order them into a doomed mission before they even take off from the tarmac.”
The deputy commander opened his mouth to begin his objections. The commander stopped him with a stern gaze.
“Second, it’s clear from the data that we know only the possible destination of the helo, not the exact coordinates of its landing. And that’s their position as of what, thirty minutes ago?”
“Fifty minutes ago,” said another man.
“Yes, thanks. They could be anywhere, and our teams will have trouble locating them. Third, the Canadians took a Seahawk, a helicopter this air base is not even supposed to have. And we’re planning to go after them with what, other Seahawks that shouldn’t be in Greenland’s airspace? Fourth, we’ll be sending our troops into Canada, our ally. Can you imagine the repercussions of such an action?”
The deputy commander shrugged. “Since when do we worry about ‘repercussions’ of our acts? We carry out missions like this on almost a daily basis all over the world. Somalia. Pakistan. Colombia. These renegades kidnapped one of our soldiers. That act should not go unpunished.”
“It will not go unpunished,” the commander spoke softly, setting an example of the tone he expected from his men. “As it was pointed out accurately, we will not jeopardize our relationship with a strong ally by wreaking havoc in the Arctic. We revert to the use of force as a last resort, by targeting a precise location. Canada is not like the countries you mentioned. Our first step will be to inform the Canadian government about this crisis and to seek to resolve it through diplomatic means.”
The deputy commander raised his metal-framed glasses to the bridge of his nose and scratched his fully shaved head. “Yes, sir,” he mumbled.
“Good. I’ll contact our Chief of Mission to Canada, and he will follow this matter further through diplomatic channels.”