“And you don’t think it was ice? That stuff screams like a banshee all night long.”
“Like you said, it’s weird that they’re sending a helicopter,” Moon said. “Maybe I heard a secret lab under the ice and they’re taking me somewhere to keep me quiet.”
Symonds laughed at that. “Maybe,” she said. “You ever think about how in the movies, when some spy or military dude messes up, really screws the pooch I mean, and the uppity-ups banish him to a science station in Alaska? We must be a couple of first-rate brainiacs, coming, what, five hundred miles off the Arctic Circle of our own free will…”
Moon lowered her voice. “Sometimes I think those uppity-ups only say they’re banishing the guy to the North Pole for punishment when what they really mean is they’re dumping his body down a mine shaft somewhere.”
“Like my dad when he told me my dog was in a better place?”
Moon brandished the oatmeal spoon to make her point. “Exactly like that.”
Another crewman stuck his head in the wardroom and twirled his finger in the air. “Captain says you should get out on the ice,” he said. “Your chariot is fifteen out and they don’t want to put down where the ice is chewed up next to the boat.”
“They were half an hour out five minutes ago,” Symonds said.
Moon got up with a groan, gathering her anorak and duffel. “I get it,” she said. “Choppers burn a shitload of fuel every minute. Can’t blame them if they would rather have me waiting on the ice for them rather the other way around.”
“Maybe,” Symonds said. It was her favorite word. She set her mug on the table and stood with Moon. “You’ll need a polar-bear guard. I’ll get the twelve-gauge and come with. Skipper saw two yesterday morning before the weather got bad, chowing down on an adolescent walrus they’d managed to nab off a haul out.”
“I saw the photos,” Moon said.
“Brutal to the bone, right?” Symonds said. “The snow was slathered in blood and gore. One look at that shit is enough to make me never venture onto the ice without the shotgun.”
“You really think any self-respecting polar bear is going to stick around between us and an approaching helicopter?”
Symonds shrugged and gave Moon a wink.
“Maybe.”
The gray twin-engine UH-1Y Venom “Super Huey” helicopter kicked a cloud of white into the air as it settled on thick ice fifty yards from the ship. The pilots kept the rotor spinning while a callow Marine bundled up like the Michelin Man beckoned Moon toward the open side hatch.
She ducked instinctively as she approached, though the rotors were well above her head.
“Dr. Moon?” the Marine shouted above the whumping blades and whining engine. She exaggerated her nod in the big parka ruff. Satisfied that she was the person he’d come for, he waved her aboard. She tried to thank him, but he shook his head, tapping the earmuffs on the side of his helmet and then pointing to another helmet and earphones hanging by one of the vis-à-vis seats inside the otherwise empty cabin.
Moon frowned at the thought of being the only passenger. She’d been only half kidding about the possibility of getting dumped down a mine shaft — or, in this case, into the Arctic Ocean.
In addition to the heavy flight suit, cranial protection, and goggles, the crew chief wore a load-bearing vest that included a sidearm — presumably polar-bear defense if they went down. Moon stifled a smile at the thought. A nine-millimeter pistol was better than your teeth and fingernails against a nine-foot bear who considered you food, but not by much. A cable attached to a line inside the cabin was clipped to the young Marine’s safety harness, allowing him to move around the cabin with relative freedom. He helped her put on the four-point harness in one of the forward-facing seats, then had her don the helmet. He pushed the tiny boom mic closer to her mouth.
His voice came over the intercom. “Copy?”
She gave him a thumbs-up. “Five by five.”
“Outstanding,” the Marine said, sounding much more mature than he looked. “I’m Corporal Goen, the crew chief, Lieutenant Eggiman is up front on the left, Captain Pelkey is on the right. He’s the one in charge of this bird.”
“You guys are based in Alaska?”
“Oh, hell, no,” Corporal Goen said. “HMLA-269 out of New River. We’re doing cold weather out of Utgi… Utga… Barrow… for training with Marines from 2nd Division.”
HMLA stood for Helicopter Marine Light Attack.
“I was stationed at Norfolk for a while,” Moon said. “Been to New River a couple of times.”
She’d dated a Marine from Air Station New River for a while. The three-hour drive had been worth it, but then he’d shipped off with a one-way ticket to Fallujah. She mentioned none of this to Corporal Goen, who, she suspected, was at least fifteen years her junior.
“Navy, huh?” The crew chief gave a wide grin. “That’s some different shit, huh, pardon my French. Marines giving you a lift somewhere instead of the other way around.”
“No kidding,” Moon said. “Hard to believe your commander let you fly all the way out here to get one person.”
Captain Pelkey turned to look over his shoulder from the cockpit. He was hooked up to the intercom as well. “That’s correct, Doc. Someone further up the chain said make it so, so we’re makin’ it so. Colonel Cruz wanted to come with us, but frankly we needed the weight for fuel.” Pelkey returned his attention to the cockpit instruments again, but kept talking. “Your ship is right at the edge of how far we can go and get back before bingo. Wind’s been kind of snarky, and with these cold temps, we’re seeing as much as a five percent loss in range.”
Moon nodded. “I’ll bet. The speed of sound decreases with the temperature, increasing Mach drag on your rotors.”
Captain Pelkey turned to look at her again. “You fly choppers in the Navy?”
“Nope,” Moon said. “Sonar. Sound. It’s sort of my thing.”
“Still…” Pelkey shook his head. “Anyhoo, weather between here and Utqiagvik is marginal, but we’re equipped for it. We should have you back in a little under an hour and a half. I understand there’ll be a C-21 Learjet out of Eielson Air Force Base waiting to take you to Washington.”
“Unbelievable,” Moon said, mostly to herself, but it went across the intercom. “At least I can visit friends on Whidbey Island, I guess…”
“The other Washington,” Pelkey said. “The one on the Potomac.”
Suddenly chilled, Moon looked out the window at the passing ice as the Super Huey banked to the south. If they were going to fire her, they would have waited for Sikuliaq to make her next port call. No, Barker had come through and submitted her findings up his chain of command. Someone believed her theory enough to spend a considerable amount of money snatching her off the middle of the ice pack. She could not believe it. They actually wanted her expertise. Unless… what if she truly had stumbled on some ultra-secret operation and they were calling her in to silence her?
She’d grown up in the Arctic, a place with no snakes, but she’d seen enough of the world after leaving home to know that in Washington, D.C., there were vipers behind every rock and tree.
24
The American smelled like soap and oiled leather — like the saddle of a horse Hala’s father had once set her on at the market. He spoke softly, obviously trying not to frighten her. That would be impossible, she thought. Her aunt had died saving her and now lay on the floor mere paces from the lifeless blood-drenched lumps that had once been horrible men.
He said his name was John, and that he was a friend — but nothing more. He’d saved her from Ren, but that only made him slightly less terrifying. John found some pomegranate juice in the kitchen and made her drink it, telling her the sugar would make her feel a little better. He moved quickly, looking out front a lot, like he thought someone else might be coming.