It was already cold-impossibly cold. Now it would get even colder.
There was a sudden call from the edge of the camp. “Hey!”
Ryan’s tired form pushed into the encampment, his head slouched. He didn’t say a word. Samantha’s figure was behind him. Her head was bowed as well, as if she could barely muster enough energy to make it inside the encampment. The scientists struggled to their feet at the sight of Ryan and Samantha and stumbled through the encampment toward them.
“We made it,” Sam said, breathless. “All three…”
It was only then that she realized it: Hayden wasn’t with them. Something was wrong.
Samantha looked around immediately. She blinked. Then she turned around and looked back the way she came.
Hayden was nowhere to be seen.
I didn’t notice, she told herself. I was so tired, I didn’t…
Panic ripped through her immediately. She caught a glimpse of Ryan, who was just as stunned as she was, but before he could say a word, she was scrambling to one of the encampments nearby tents and digging frantically through the debris.
There it is, she thought. She seized the small bag of rations and threw a life-support pack over her shoulder. There was a rack of rifles and ammunition in the corner. She took a weapon and stuffed her pockets with shells before she bolted out of the tent, fully loaded.
Thirty seconds later, without a word to anyone, she was back up the trail-going back to find Hayden.
* * *
The first of the eight drones dispatched to annihilate the scientists in the encampment had nearly reached its goal. It was using the most direct route its internal AI had located: an airshaft adjacent to Tunnel 3, exactly twenty-four inches in diameter. That was barely wide enough for a single human, and a small one at that, but it was more than enough for the compact little killing machine, even at an upward angle of thirty degrees.
The airshaft was one of many abandoned tunnels that had been closed after initial excavation. Some of these larger ones actually led directly down to Central Command itself, more than three thousand feet below.
The end-point of the shaft was sealed with a plug of ice thirty inches thick. It actually caused a small shelf and depression where it emerged-a nice little bench cut into the ice wall.
It was exactly the spot where Hayden’s half-conscious, painful body sat and dozed, the last of his heat draining away.
Samantha ran toward him as if her life depended on it. The ration pack on her back was as heavy as lead. The rifle was digging into her shoulder like a steel band.
“Please, Hayden,” she panted, breathless and exhausted. “I hope you’re all right.”
And the droid finally reached the small cap of ice at the end of the tunnel.
* * *
Almost two hundred feet below Hayden and one mile farther down the tunnel; the Spector burned and pulverized the ice around its white-hot hull. Any second now, Lucas reminded himself, but Rolfe was clearly sweating from fear and anticipation. He secretly wondered if he had miscalculated the shaft below. Even the tiniest change in energy output, angle of descent, ice density…as if to convince himself, he decided to share. “We’re almost there,” he said.
“Just tell me when,” Lucas said, his hand hovering over the virtual control panel, gripping the small controller, ready to thrust the Spector forward upon Rolfe’s command. At least he thought he was ready. He had been able to learn almost nothing before the original crew had betrayed him and driven him away. They were set to break through the ceiling of their escape tunnel at exactly 243 feet. And the various instruments told him the depth was right. They had only a few more feet to go. Twenty feet…ten feet…
The AI was the first to notice. “Recalculating route. Destination arrival requires forward thrust of 225hpps at thirty-five degrees below the horizon,” it said calmly.
“What?” Lucas said, his head snapping up. “What?”
“We’re off-target,” Rolfe said simply. “We’re just a few feet from our target depth of 243 feet below the tunnel, but the tunnel’s not there. It’s down and in front of us.” Rolfe’s fingers blurred as he recalculated. If his calculations were correct, Lucas would need to engage the threads and burn through the ice diagonally to hit the escape tunnel…and he had to start burning that direction in less than three vertical feet. This was their one chance-one chance-to rendezvous with an adjacent tunnel that could take them out of Antarctica forever.
“Can you steer this thing?” he asked Lucas. “You need to apply thrust, move us forward as well as down, or we’re going to miss the tunnel!”
Lucas stared at him for a moment, appalled and terrified. Then he nodded his head. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I can. When? Now?”
Rolfe’s body was visibly shaking. In less than three minutes-theoretically-they could be out of the ice and into the tunnel.
“NOW!” he screamed.
Lucas responded immediately, moving his fingers across a small icon that represented forward motion. The entire group heard the screech of the burning treads below them as the Spector inched forward as it fell, cutting a diagonal patch through the ice, swimming in its own melted water and crawling at the same time.
Moving ahead, toward Tunnel 5 and freedom.
* * *
Simon and Max pushed forward in pursuit of the men less than 150 yards ahead of them. They both noticed a glow developing at the far end of the tunnel as the space around them started to widen. A few moments later, they entered a larger chamber than any they had seen at this level-one that was better constructed and better lit. Max paused in the grayness at the edge of the larger room and pointed silently at the ceiling. Simon understood immediately the lights were going to pose a problem. He saw Max pat the air with his gloved hands. Take it easy. Move nice and slow.
The room seemed to be some kind of a makeshift emergency headquarters. Twelve Vector5 operatives in standard cold-weather gear-not the sleek and sinister black uniforms of the Black Ops team-were arranged around the room, working busily at half a dozen projects of their own. They scarcely noticed the arrival of two more soldiers-at least not at first.
Where did our boys go? Simon wondered. His attention was drawn to a large opening in the far wall-one that seemed to lead to an even larger room, farther ahead. What he could glimpse of the room beyond made it look like a military installation of some kind.
Simon followed five steps behind Max, his heart beating in absolute fear. He knew Max was better at situations like this; he’d spent a lifetime putting himself in danger. And it wasn’t that Simon was afraid of dying; he was past that. His only real fear was not rescuing his father, and if he were killed he would fail. He did not want to fail-he couldn’t.
As they moved toward the larger room, a group of five Vector5 soldiers noticed their arrival. Max immediately understood why they were aware of them at alclass="underline" the Black Ops gear that they were wearing made them stand out.
The entire cavernous room seemed to grow tense as they traversed the long span of the opening. Then to Simon’s utter shock, Max suddenly turned a sharp right and stalked directly toward the five soldiers who were standing close together, muttering and staring at them. Max moved with an easy arrogance, as if he absolutely belonged there.
Simon followed closely behind and tried to contain the pure adrenaline that filled his body. Can they feel my anxiety? he wondered. He noticed how they had stiffened a bit as Max grew near.