Max was counting the steps to the confrontation. Ten. Five. Three. You can do this, Max, he told himself. He had been sent on many missions in the past, some just as bizarre as this. And he knew how to act like Black Ops-the best of the best, the elite who were always treated well. He would take advantage of that now…
He spoke imperiously, impatiently, even before they came to a stop in front of the five men.
“We’re here for Fitzpatrick,” he snapped. “Direct orders from Central.” He said it without a single stutter or hesitation, as if the entire matter bored him.
The ranking soldier-the one with two chevrons on his tunic-responded with a cold and quiet tone of his own. “You must be with Blackburn’s team,” he said.
Max nodded.
The soldier gestured toward the far wall and the large opening they had spotted earlier.
“Got it,” Max said and turned toward the direction of the opening. Simon turned with him, bringing up the rear, but he had barely taken four steps before the soldier in command called out.
“Hold on a second!” he said.
Fuck, Simon thought. This is it.
Max tightened his grip on the rifle as he carefully turned to address the soldier. “Did you say something?” he said coolly, slightly offended at being disturbed.
The man blinked and paled at Max’s tone. “What…ah, what’s your clearance?” he said.
Zero time, Simon thought.
“We are not at liberty to divulge that,” Max responded, dismissing the man with a casual gesture. He started to turn away again, but the man wouldn’t give up.
“That’s fine,” he said. “But…”
Max stopped and turned. He took three long strides until he was almost nose-to-nose with the commanding officer. “But what?” he said, barely above a whisper.
“…but I’ve been given orders for strict clearance down here,” he said. He lifted his hand to engage the audio device embedded in the shoulder of his tunic. “Just-”
Max was on him, moving as swift as a striking snake. His gloved hand shot out and grabbed the soldier’s hand-held it. Stopped it.
“No one knows about this operation,” Max hissed. “No one is supposed to know. And believe me, soldier, you do not want to be the one that breaks radio silence.” His voice was an evil hiss, filtered through the mask’s audio system.
The soldier glared at him for a long moment, then snatched his hand away from Max’s offensive grip. His eyes slid to the side for an instant, and Simon knew what he was thinking. He was angry and humiliated for being challenged in front of his men.
But he didn’t touch his communications patch again.
Without another word, Max turned toward the opening in the far wall and stalked away. Simon followed with a single backward glance, his hand still gripping his rifle as if his life depended on it.
He could feel the men staring as they reached the entrance. He could see inside more clearly now that the next room seemed to be a sophisticated series of bays designed to house large vehicles. As they both moved farther inside, Simon saw that they were all empty-except for one. The largest platform had a vehicle the size of a bus-a strangely beautiful machine that looked like an insect carved out of steel, ready to attack its prey. It sat on two large ski-like protrusions, each one approximately fourteen feet long. The main cockpit was elevated by a complex set of hydraulic legs. In the dim light, the extreme vehicle looked like a downhill racer, squatting and ready to fly.
Simon couldn’t help but stare in utter fascination. He noticed the writing on the back of the vehicle: Ice Raptor.
They looked at the Raptor from every angle as they passed. Beyond it was a series of smaller tunnels; only one of them was fully lit.
Max turned to walk directly toward it, as if he knew where he was going. Simon followed, his heart pounding.
He could feel it: Oliver was close by.
* * *
Hayden started to feel cold. Not the endless, penetrating cold of the ice, but something more-a cold he thought he would never escape, the coldness of life draining from him.
His lack of movement had forced the damaged suit to shift into its emergency back-up mode. It reduced the suit’s temperature grade by ten degrees, and the decreased temperature was already having an effect.
Hayden felt dizzy, but he didn’t know why. Still seated in the alcove, his back still against the glassy ice-wall, he noticed an odd vibration coming from the ice itself.
He had no idea that a drone was pushing its way toward him from Tunnel 3. Only a few feet of ice still separated them.
Farther down the tunnel, Samantha was running. It was harder than she had ever imagined. Her legs burned with exhaustion, the equipment she carried was heavier than cement. Keep going, she told herself. It was a dull, desperate mantra. Keep going, keep going. Her breathing became heavier and heavier under the thermal mask. She couldn’t take it off; it was the only source of light and heat that she had. Without those tiny lights mounted on the right and left side of her mask, without the air that flowed into her lungs being heated to a breathable temperature, she knew she would surely die in the dark.
But this is too much, she told herself. Too much. The rifle she was carrying felt heavier than she had remembered, especially with the ammo-pack that was magnetically attached to its side.
“Hayden!” she screamed through her mask. She pawed at the controls and turned the external volume up as high as it would go. “HAYDEN!”
She saw nothing. She heard nothing. The tunnel felt longer and more unrelenting than ever, a dark and cold path through an endless dungeon, leading to infinite blackness.
Almost a mile ahead, Hayden thought he heard something-faint sounds, distorted by distance and the ice. A voice? he wondered. Samantha’s voice?
He pressed his hands to his knees and pushed his heavy body to its feet. The faint voice was there-he was sure of it-but he couldn’t pinpoint the direction, or how near she was. Time to pull yourself together, he thought. Time to-
The pain from his thumb shot through his arm like a hot stiletto blade. He gasped in a breath and pushed away from the wall, commanding himself to move, move. He would not accept the fact that he had lost orientation. He knew it was important, vital, to get back to the encampment, back to heaters and food and medicine. But which way was it? How had he gotten there?
He couldn’t remember.
Get moving, he ordered himself. He turned to the left and put one foot in front of the other, and then another, and then another. After what seemed a very long time, the tiny alcove where he had waited disappeared into the frigid darkness.
He had no idea that he was headed away from the camp.
Three quarters of a mile behind him, Samantha stopped for a moment, resting her hands against her knees. She was too tired and breathless to continue running. I’ll walk for a little while-I’m destined to get there sooner or later, she told herself.
The camp was almost exactly two miles behind her when she passed the tiny alcove where Hayden had rested for so long. Had he stayed there, they would have found each other, but he was gone now, farther into the maze of ice.
And worse, Hayden had decided it was time to pick up his pace. He was walking farther from Samantha and farther down the tunnel that would take him back to the chamber where the Spector had melted into the ice.
Less than five minutes after Samantha passed the alcove, when she was barely twenty yards past, the first little drone-still under Central Command’s control-cut through the last thin wall of ice that separated it from the open path. It used an industrial laser guided by its small but very clever AI, dropping a twenty-four-inch square two inches thick into Tunnel 3.
The drone climbed over the cut ice effortlessly. It paused for a moment, assessing its orientation, comparing it to the complex of digital maps it kept in it memory…and then turned right toward the encampment where Ryan and the rest of the scientists waited.