“This is your personal card. Shouldn’t we book this through the travel office?”
“This is a personal trip, not government authorized travel, and it’s not to be discussed with anyone. As far as you’re concerned, I’ve left Washington to inspect beetle infestation in California or whatever. Email so I know what story I’m supposed to use when I get back.”
“And when you get to Chile?”
“There’s a chance I might cross paths with Leah Andrews there. If so, she might need my help, and this time, unlike last time, I intend to provide it.”
CHAPTER 92
Gus Beckam lay on a cot in the Russian bunkhouse, in pain and angry. Not at the civilians for nearly blowing him and the SEAL he’d assigned to guard them away, but at his inattention to detail, which had caused the entire catastrophe.
He should have handcuffed the civilians to guarantee their safety. Now, three of the civilians had been killed, he’d been badly injured, and Fischer had taken command of his SEAL team.
When Frantino had come to check out his wounds, Beckam had been too dazed to order him to draw weapons on Fischer and his crew and hold them at bay until he contacted the Pentagon, specifically Admiral Reins. The Admiral was a Spec Force vet now driving a desk who would put a stop to this lunacy, even if it cost him his career.
Never underestimate the ability of a motivated guerrilla to overcome superior numbers and firepower.
One of the first rules of unconventional warfare, it was beat into every SEAL candidate from basic BUDS training through advanced counter-terrorism. In this case, ragged groups of what he thought were little more than adventure seekers had rendered one man unconscious through a drug injection and cut up another with a machine-shop blast.
Without Fischer’s maniacs present, it would have been a successful escape. Beckam wouldn’t have allowed his men to fire on the Caribou — regardless of the cost to his career.
He wore the results of the explosion on his face and upper body. Wood fragments sent out like shrapnel had cut his face and penetrated his upper body, shredding his Arctic combat suit like so much confetti; only his goggles had kept him from being blinded.
Beckam reached down next to the cot, where Frantino had placed a walkie-talkie in case he recovered enough to communicate. He felt around for a moment and then rolled over far enough to see the primitive wooden floor.
Fischer had taken the radio. The prick was in command of his team and apparently intended to keep it that way. Beckam struggled to stand, took one shaky step, and fell to the wooden floor.
CHAPTER 93
The door to the Russian equipment shed rattled as the chain and lock were removed. When the door opened, Fischer and three of his armed guards looked in at the prisoners.
“Is it time to leave this lovely locale?” Jack asked.
“We’re moving you for your own safety.” Fischer pointed toward the larger of the two snowcats. It towed the heated trailer used to ferry the equipment and the Native Americans’ pods from the structure to the LC-130.
“Into the trailer, all of you, and make it quick.”
“Exactly where are you taking us?” Leah asked.
“Shut up,” Fischer snapped. “Climb into the trailer, or I’ll have you subdued and thrown in.”
“Think they’re going to shoot us?” Leah said much less boldly, once secured within the trailer.
“It’s a sure bet we’re not going to a health spa,” said Paulson.
The snowcat motored at its top speed of thirty miles per hour over the icy plain separating the Las Tortugas from the mountains, then made a turn toward Thor’s Hammer.
Ten minutes later the engine on the snowcat strained with the increased slope angle, and the driver shifted into a lower gear. They passed the small crevasse Jack originally roped off and three minutes later stopped near the smaller snowcat. Fischer and his men got out of the snowcat and walked to the rear of the trailer, where they physically manhandled Jack and Leah out onto the ice.
“Over to the crevasse,” he ordered.
Jack yanked his arms free from one of the guards. “You’re going to push us into the crevasse?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Hobson,” Fischer replied. “We’re expecting the arrival of Russian commandos in the valley at any moment. Since our aircraft is an obvious target, this will be the safest place for you.” He pointed toward the lift system and the heavy-duty aluminum basket. “If you please — I don’t have much time.”
Fischer’s guards herded Jack, Leah, Paulson, Ridley, Garrett, Lyon, and Perez toward the makeshift elevator.
“I believe we can take you all down in one load.” One of the guards suddenly moved forward, cutting Leah away from the others. “Unfortunately, I must ask Dr. Andrews to accompany us in the LC-130.”
“What?” Jack forced his way out of the basket, only to have one of the guards use the butt of his assault rifle knock him back into the makeshift elevator.
“Why me?” she asked calmly.
“You were the key to breaching the structure, Dr. Andrews. We’re hoping your magic palm might free these people from their cryonic freeze.”
“Fuck you, Fischer. I won’t go without them.”
“Remember our discussion,” Jack cautioned Leah. “You’re the only one who can help these people now.”
“I’m not leaving you behind.”
Fischer signaled toward one of the men. He grabbed Leah by the back of the jacket and dragged her toward the snowcat.
“Back in the basket,” said Fischer. “I’m sure you all understand this isn’t personal — it’s for the national security of the United States.”
“Why don’t you just execute us right here?”
“We don’t execute American citizens.” Fischer nodded toward one of the men who ran back to the smaller snowcat and set the winch system to “lower.” The basket descended quickly into the crevasse, hitting the bottom and spilling its occupants onto the ice.
Fischer gave the winch operator thumbs-up and wound his hand in a cranking motion indicating the operator should lift the basket up to the base of the tripod.
Fischer jumped up on the track of the larger snowcat, opened the glass-and-metal door and climbed into the heated cab. He nodded and the driver put the snowcat in gear and jammed the accelerator to the floor.
“How much time do we have?” asked the snowcat driver anxiously.
Fischer glanced at his watch. “Less than an hour.”
CHAPTER 94
“Can you free-climb out of this hole with a couple of ice axes?” Jack pointed up the steep ice walls of the crevasse.
Marko shook his head. “Not without crampons.”
“I thought you’re some kind of hotshot climber.”
Marko pushed the blond hair out of his face. “That’s about a hundred feet to the top…. I don’t know… without rope, harness and screws?”
“Well, if you don’t think you can do it….” Jack peered up at the sliver of light above them.
“I didn’t say that,” Marko said.
“It sure as hell isn’t going to be me,” Ridley said, staring up at the surface.
“We’re going to need ice axes,” Garrett said. “Maybe we can fashion some crampons as well, if they left enough cut metal inside.”
Jack turned around and looked at the two gaping black holes where Fischer’s people had managed to cut away the doors. He stepped through the entryway chamber and into the room where they’d found the first body. The body had been removed, and cutting torches and gas cylinders littered the floor.