“And what’s your story, Eric?” said Mitchell.
“There’s really not a lot to tell. I was a Navy SEAL with tours in both Iraq and Afghanistan. I’m brand-spanking new to Polaris. I only joined the organization last month. I’ve been assigned to Bill Lancaster’s team, but as they’re out on assignment in Tunisia, I’ve been busy acclimating myself to life outside of the military. It’s a real culture shock coming from a life of twenty-four-seven to regular working hours and getting time off when you ask for it.”
“It can take some getting used to,” said Jackson. “For a full year, I kept wondering if I made the right choice. Don’t worry; you’ll soon adjust, and you’ll find that working in Polaris is a lot like being back in the military, less all the stupid chickenshit. Besides, there’s always the ex-officer or two that needs looking after.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” said Mitchell with a mock look of pain on his face.
“Just calling it as I see it.” Jackson winked at Mitchell and then reached for the carafe of coffee to fill his cup.
Mitchell shook his head. “Bill Lancaster is a top-notch leader. He’s ex-airborne with a ton of practical experience. You’re lucky to be assigned to his team right out of the military.”
“Yeah, that’s what I was told,” replied McMasters.
Maria looked over at McMasters and smiled. “I understand why I’m here, but aside from being easy on the eyes, what do you bring to the team to help find the missing probe?”
“That’s simple,” replied McMasters. “I grew up in northern Alaska. For fun in the winter, I used to climb frozen waterfalls; the higher, the better! Crawling about on a glacier in the middle of nowhere will be like going home to me.”
“A Navy SEAL who likes climbing on ice,” said Jackson, shaking his head. “Do they come any dumber?”
Before McMasters could retort, Mitchell raised his hand and asked Jen to hand out the information packages that she had brought with her before the waiter returned with their food.
Jen reached into the brown leather briefcase by her side, dug out four manila folders, and handed them around.
“There really isn’t a lot of information on the Web about Bouvet Island,” said Jen. “It has an area of forty-nine square kilometers, ninety percent of which is covered by a glacier. There’s a very small research station on the island which is currently manned by a team of four Norwegian scientists studying climate change.”
“Where is the station?” asked Jackson.
“On the north-west corner of the island,” replied Jen. “There’s a picture of it in your folders. Also, you will find a map of the island and several satellite images of what could be wreckage under the ice from the space probe when it landed on the island back in 1969.”
“Awfully lonely-looking place,” said Maria as she examined the pictures in her folder.
“There are over one hundred thousand penguins and at least seventy thousand fur seals that call the island home,” said Jen.
“Since it’s December, what’s the weather going to be like on the island?” asked Jackson.
“Well, south of the equator, as I’m sure you all know, it’s summer down here,” said Jen. “The island is currently covered with clouds, and that’s not likely to change for some time. The temperature is quite balmy for the region. It’s hovering between a daytime high of thirty degrees Fahrenheit to a nighttime low of twenty-five.”
“We could sleep under the stars in that kind of weather,” said McMasters.
“Speak for yourself,” said Maria with a look of disgust on her face. “I’m not in the military anymore, so any creature comforts I can take with me, such as a tent, I intend to.”
Mitchell continued. “Since I expect us to be on the glacier for several days, I can assure you, Maria, that tents and all the usual trappings will be coming along with us.”
“How long do you think it will take for us to get there?” asked Maria.
“I spoke with the ship’s captain yesterday and barring any bad weather, we should arrive ten days after we set sail,” replied Mitchell.
“As long as there’s plenty of food on board for me to eat, I’ll be okay,” said Jackson as their breakfast arrived. When Jackson added that it could be their last good meal for quite some time, everyone at the table heartily dug in.
With a smile, Jen looked over at Mitchell. For the first time since they met, he was heading off on a long mission, which didn’t entail much risk at all. It was a welcome relief. She was planning to take the next flight back home to the States. From Polaris, she would work with Fahimah to provide Mitchell’s team with whatever information they had via satellite. She thought that it would all be over in a month, and then they could go on a late-Christmas holiday somewhere nice, warm, and relaxing.
10
The Southern Star dropped her anchor in the dark waters off Bouvet Island. The journey to the island had gone smoothly, arriving just after dark on the ninth day of their voyage. As expected, the island was hidden behind an impenetrable wall of fog.
Built as an Antarctic cruise ship, the Southern Star measured ninety meters in length with a beam of seventeen meters. Her hull was reinforced to protect it from the pack ice. It had a crew of forty and could comfortably host eighty passengers. Its clientele these days was mostly retirees that longed to see the pristine shores and myriad animals that lived on the world’s southernmost continent. On this trip, however, there were only four passengers.
Mitchell stood on the bridge and studied the image on the ship’s radar screen. The island appeared truly inhospitable. Tall cliffs climbed out of the ocean and reached up into the night sky. If the fog didn’t lift in the morning, they would have to land at the Norwegian weather station and then hike in from there. It was a prospect that Mitchell was dreading. He knew Jackson and McMasters could easily climb up onto the glacier; however, Maria had no experience in climbing and was not in great shape. He crossed his fingers and silently prayed for the fog to lift.
Mitchell looked over at the ship’s captain. Juan Carlos Serrano was a heavyset man in his early fifties with a thick, black beard. His tanned face was wrinkled from years at sea. His dark-brown, almost black, eyes shone brightly. He was in his element on the bridge. His crew knew that nothing escaped his sharp eyes. He was a perfectionist and expected the same from his crew.
“Any word from the Norwegian station yet, Captain?” Mitchell asked Serrano in Spanish.
“No, none,” replied Serrano in perfect English. “It’s damned peculiar, if you ask me.”
“Perhaps their radio is broken or their generator has stopped working.”
“Maybe,” said Serrano, absentmindedly running his hand over his thick, coarse goatee. “Once I put you ashore tomorrow I’ll send a party under one of my officers to check on the Norwegians. It could be nothing, but I’ll sleep better knowing that they’re all right.”
“Yes, of course,” replied Mitchell. His respect for the man grew with each passing day. It was evident that Serrano was a professional mariner who would never leave anyone in the lurch.
“You had best get some rest, Mister Mitchell. I suspect that the next few days will be a challenge for you and your people,” said Serrano.
“A wise suggestion,” replied Mitchell, taking that as his cue to leave the bridge. He made his way belowdecks, where he found the rest of his team sitting in the near empty lounge, watching an old western on a big-screen TV.
He grabbed an ice-cold can of Coke from the fridge and sat down beside Jackson.
“What’s the word?” asked Jackson as he filled his mouth with a handful of popcorn.