“Zoya,” Lena said, “get us back before I shoot this idiot.”
The dimples came into play again. “I can do that.”
Out of the seven remaining members, six agreed to be in possession and control of a weapon for defensive purposes. All had either training or experience in handling firearms. They put together a protocol for how the weapons were to be carried, stored, and operated. Parameters for actual discharge were also established.
“Let us hope most sincerely that we never have to use these to defend ourselves. But at least now there can be no doubt. Anyone coming in here won’t take us without a hell of a fight.” Lena was addressing the group after the weapons had been distributed or stored.
The working portion of the day had expired and a simple meal was prepared with everyone pitching in. The problem came afterwards. For some reason, everyone seemed unusually bored and melancholy. None of the usual distractions seemed to generate any enthusiasm. Realising that this could be the straw that breaks the camel’s back, Lena decided to fetch some of the cigars and booze from Sokolov’s room. It was a start.
Hamlin had some video of several comedians performing and wondered if that might be a nice change of entertainment venue for the crew. Whether Russians would get all the jokes or not, he wasn’t sure. After consulting Lena, they decided it was worth a try.
After that, a rather pleasant evening unfolded, involving smoking, drinking, and lots of laughter. It turned out to be the medicine they needed. It was like every guffaw and chuckle poked a hole through the cover of gloom that had been lying over them. By the time they all turned in, the mood was appreciably lighter. Hamlin considered it yet another accomplishment to a fairly productive day.
The next morning brought the news Hamlin had been hoping for. The storm had passed and the winds had died off completely. It was still ferociously cold, but without any hint of a breeze, it was manageable. Now he could collect all the samples he had identified. Beautiful.
He gobbled a breakfast that would have put him at risk for a heart attack back home—here his body burned off all sorts of calories and other junk to maintain his temperature in the always cold environment. He figured he’d be putting on some weight when he returned home until his dietary habits could be reformed back to a normal routine. But that was an issue for then, not now. Now he just wanted to get out and drive.
Since conditions for the job were as good as they were ever going to get down here, he refuelled the Cat before leaving, The incessant dark didn’t seem to bother him like it had at first, he thought as the fuel gravity fed from the overhead tank into the idling machine. He wondered what kind of a reaction he was going to have when the sun finally peeked over the horizon for the first time.
“I’ll probably fall on my knees and cry,” he said to no one, hoping that the fact that he liked to hear his own voice wasn’t a sign that he was losing his marbles.
He finished without spilling any or dripping the smelly stuff on his gloves. Diesel was the gift that kept on giving when it was in a position to emit its unique odor. Safe and thankfully stench-free, Hamlin hopped in and started his morning quest.
The search area was large, but the GPS technology made it child’s play to re-find his previous discoveries. He started with the closest ones, and then gradually moved away from the barracks into the open Antarctic plain. Francis had brought a small box along and the samples started to pile up as he went. He felt he was doing quite well. That all came to a sudden and unfortunate end at the furthest identified piece.
He was out of the Cat, having trouble finding it. He knew where it was within a few feet, but somehow just could get it to appear under the piercing beam of the flashlight he gripped awkwardly in his bulky glove.
“Where are you, you little bastard? Cooperate a little and I’ll get both of us out of the cold.”
He actually felt the hardness of it through his boot. He had stepped right on it.
“Splendid. Not exactly traditional, but who cares? There you are.”
It took a little effort to pry it loose from the snow.
“Aha. Perfect. Into the box with you, and then I can start fresh.”
He turned to see two men standing beside the Cat. He almost fainted.
“Don’t run,” one of them said unnecessarily. “There’s nowhere to go.”
Hardly the first words you would want to hear under the circumstances. “No shit. You’d think I’d have figured that one out for myself.” The greeting set an immediate ominous tone. Why would their first thought be that he was going to run away? “Who the hell are you guys?”
“Come on over here,” the same one said. “Let’s climb inside and talk. There’s no need for anybody to freeze.”
Francis, rather than being overjoyed with having fresh faces to see, felt immediately defensive and hostile. “Well, it’s my Cat, but help yourself.”
The men didn’t budge, and to Francis’ disconcertion, their current position blocked access to the door. Suddenly running away didn’t seem like such an outrageous option.
“If you assholes move, I’ll gladly climb in.” He felt decidedly uncomfortable about getting any closer to them. A realization formed in his mind. They must be part of the hit squad that the weapons had been meant for. They came too soon and openly during the day. Also, they had caught him standing unarmed and unaware, out in the middle of nowhere all by himself. Shit. So much for the plans that had him feeling so secure just the night before.
“You get in the back; we’ll sit in the front. Then we can be comfortable while we talk.”
Every word this guy said fell like ice on his ears. There was something very wrong here and he felt it with every fibre of his being. What could he do? They might as well have caught him with his pants down around his ankles for how defenseless and vulnerable he felt.
“Sorry, I’m the driver. Company rules.”
The man smiled. “Sorry. Change of plans. My company rules. Now get in.”
Options seemed non-existent. There was no way he could run off and then walk his way back to the barracks. It was way too far from here and he’d simply get lost. These guys seemed so quietly confident in the superiority of their position. Francis had no doubt that in the end he would be defenseless against them in any kind of physical confrontation.
“Well, move out of my way, for God’s sake. How else I am going to get in?” He really didn’t want to approach them anyway.
The man moved ever so slightly, giving him just enough space to get past. Somehow forcing Hamlin into close proximity seemed to be one of the goals. What else was there to do?
He took a deep breath and then stepped as confidently as possible up to the Cat. His suit literally brushing against the guy as he reached for the door. All sorts of internal alarms were going off, and he expected that he was about to get pushed, punched, stabbed, or shot at any second. It took every bit of effort he could muster not to flinch perceptively. It was a relief to get inside. He immediately slammed the door shut, creating a small buffer.
The other two climbed into the front and shut their doors as well. The idling of the motor provided some background noise.
“You must be Hamlin.” So far the second man hadn’t said a word.
He was still being torn apart between fear and rage. “Lucky guess. Who are you?”
“No luck involved. You have no accent.”
“Okay. So there’s one thing I haven’t picked up yet.”
“This is very fortunate. For all of us, really.”
“Look, this is considered sovereign Russian territory. I’m here doing research sanctioned by both Russian and American governments. I still don’t know who you arrogant fuckers are, but you’re about to be in a position where you’re doing something for which there could be serious negative consequences for you.”