“Ideas?” said Mitchell, looking over at his companions.
“As I see it, we can cut out a large square using the chainsaws and then hack our way down from there,” said Jackson.
“It’ll have to be big enough for a couple of men to stand in while they work,” added McMasters. “We can take turns chipping away the ice.”
Mitchell looked over at Maria, who was covered from head to toe in warm clothing in the cold morning air.
She pulled down her scarf so she could be heard. “I’ve never done anything like this before. The key thing to remember is not to damage the outer casing of the recovery vehicle. We’ll have to leave it covered with several inches of ice when we pack it away. Houston’s people will undoubtedly be better suited than we are to complete the retrieval process back home in the States.”
“Makes sense,” said Mitchell. “Once we have it up on the surface, I’ll call Captain Serrano. He can have a container flown over to us. We can put the probe in there and keep it on ice until we reach port in Argentina.”
“Okay then, watch out!” said Jackson, firing up one of the chainsaws. With a loud roar from the powerful cutting tool’s engine, Jackson effortlessly cut into the ice. Chips of ice flew skyward as Jackson began to carve out an area for them to stand on while they dug for the probe.
After several hours of backbreaking work, they had dug down more than a meter; the recovery vehicle could be seen resting in the ice, as could the cracked-open tail section of the doomed flying boat. All three men stood silent and stared down into the back of the plane clearly visible through the ice. A chill ran up Mitchell’s spine as he thought of the doomed pilots probably still trapped in their seats.
Maria walked over and dug out her camera from her parka pocket. “Could you gentlemen please climb out of the hole? I need to take some pictures of the plane’s tail section for the British and Norwegian authorities.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Mitchell, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I could use a drink.”
“Me too,” added Jackson. “Are you buying?”
“Only if you like water.”
“Cheapskate,” replied Jackson as he climbed out of the hole and pulled Mitchell up onto the glacier surface.
Mitchell was pleased to see that there wasn’t a cloud in sight. If the weather had turned on them, it would be doubtful if the Southern Star’s helicopter would be able to fly over to pick them up later in the day.
McMasters handed Mitchell a cup of water.
Mitchell thanked him, quickly gulped down the drink, and asked for a refill. For a brief second, Mitchell thought he heard a noise in the distance. He slowly turned his head and looked out over the glacier. A couple of seconds later, he heard it again; it was the unmistakable sound of a helicopter’s rotor blades cutting through the air.
Mitchell looked over at McMasters and asked, “Did Serrano call and say that he was sending the helicopter over early?”
McMasters shook his head. “The phone hasn’t rung the whole time I’ve been up here.”
“Odd, the sound seems to be coming from the south,” said Jackson. “Our ship is anchored to the north of the island.”
“Perhaps the pilot is taking the scenic route,” said McMasters.
A moment later, an all-gray Huey helicopter popped up on the horizon. Flying barely meters above the glacier, the helicopter, like a massive bird of prey, flew straight towards them.
“That’s not ours,” said Jackson.
“Argentine Navy?” asked McMasters.
“They don’t use Hueys,” said Mitchell. “Only their army does and we’re way too far away from the mainland for one to fly here. This is really odd.”
Within seconds, the helicopter was over the dig site, hovering in the air for a moment while the pilot selected a flat spot to put down.
Mitchell’s gut told him that something was about to happen. He quietly cursed the Norwegians and their no-weapons rule. A second later, he turned his head to block the bitterly cold wind whipped up by the helicopter’s rotor blades as it descended.
The moment the landing struts touched the ice the helicopter switched off its engine and the side doors were flung open. Four armed men wearing chemical warfare suits jumped down onto the glacier and ran straight at Mitchell’s team.
Jackson went for an axe.
A shot rang out.
Ice flew up into the air, mere millimeters from Jackson’s hand.
Slowly standing back up, Jackson raised his hands.
“Don’t move,” warned one of the men as he pointed his weapon at Mitchell’s stomach. The rest of the armed men quickly took up positions covering Jackson and McMasters.
One of the men bent down and dragged Maria out of the hole in the ice. Terrified, she was roughly pushed over beside Jackson, who glared at the intruders as he stepped in front of Maria and protected her with his body.
Mitchell was stunned. The last thing he could have ever imagined were intruders in protective clothing descending up the island. He’d expected one of Houston’s competitors to find out what was going on and come snooping around, but not this. “What do you want?” Mitchell asked the man pointing a gun at him.
“The probe,” replied the man, his voice muffled under his gas mask “Do you have it?”
Mitchell knew there was no point in lying. “Not yet. It’ll take about an hour, maybe two to finish digging it out.”
“Then I suggest that you and Nate get back to work,” said McMasters as he pulled out a 9mm pistol from his jacket and pointed it at Mitchell’s head.
“You lousy son of a bitch,” swore Jackson.
“Maria, move over here by me,” ordered McMasters.
“You’re going to kill me,” said Maria, her voice full of fear.
“Hardly. I need you to positively identify the probe once it is out of the ice,” replied McMasters.
Maria hesitated.
“Maria, now!” yelled McMasters.
Shaking like a leaf, Maria stepped out from behind Jackson. Grabbed by one of the men, she was dragged over to McMasters.
“If you harm one hair on her head, I’ll tear your heart out with my bare hands,” growled Jackson.
“Please, Nate, you are in no position to threaten me or anyone else with your foolish heroics. Now get to work or I’ll shoot Mitchell in the gut. You can watch him writhe in agony until he dies,” said McMasters coldly as he turned the barrel of his pistol in Mitchell’s direction.
“Easy does it, McMasters, or whatever your name is, we’ll do as you say,” said Mitchell as calmly as he could.
The air was electric; all it would take was a spark for things to turn deadly in the blink of an eye. Mitchell slowly bent down and grabbed an ice pick. Looking over at Jackson, he said, “Nate, pick up your axe and get back in the hole.”
With a look that could kill in his eyes, Jackson nodded, picked up his axe and climbed back down into the hole, beginning to chip away at the ice. A couple of moments later, Mitchell joined him. Side by side, they hacked away, both knowing that the instant the probe was out of the ice, they would all be killed.
“Any ideas?” Jackson asked under his breath.
“None yet,” replied Mitchell. “Don’t dig too fast; I need time to work out a plan.” Looking down at his feet, Mitchell could see down into the damaged tail section of the lost plane. “Nate, move a bit away from the probe and see if you can’t make an opening right above the plane.”
“Captain, I like your creativity, but I don’t think it’ll fly.”
“You’re right, but if all else fails, it just became part of my escape plan,” said Mitchell with a rakish grin.
Jackson adjusted his position. With a loud grunt, he brought his axe down onto the ice, sending chips flying everywhere. If Mitchell had a plan, not matter how harebrained it was, Jackson would dig clear through the glacier if he had to.