Fast Ice

by Clive Cussler

  They’d come from the warm out into the cold. And now they were standing in the swirling snow.

  A thought arose in Kurt’s mind. A way he might turn certain death into a chance of survival. He decided to keep them talking. The longer, the better.

  “Killing us won’t help you,” Kurt said. “We know about the algae and the pipeline and the tankers you’re using to spread the destruction north. Liang’s ships will be stopped before they cross the equator and the business end of your pipeline will be obliterated by cruise missiles before it can pump anything into the sea.”

  She smiled and tilted her head to one side. “You do try so hard,” she said, mocking him. “I’ll give you that. Trust me, Kurt Austin, we have considered these possibilities. We have saboteurs on board each of the tankers. They’ll blow the hulls apart from the inside at the first sign of a hostile boarding. As for the pipeline . . . Well, broken pipes still leak. We don’t care how the algae gets to the sea just as long as it gets there. So, pin your hopes on these moves, if you must. You’ll only be disappointed. By attacking Liang’s ships and smashing the end of our pipeline, you gain nothing but a bit of time. The algae will still fill the ocean. It will spread on the currents, growing, multiplying, as it makes its way to the polar regions. The ice age and the Earth’s destruction will only be delayed, not stopped. And when it does come, it will hit all the more vengefully.”

  She smiled again, obviously enjoying the cat and mouse game and the position of power from which she could dictate and dominate. “But then,” she added, “I think you know that already. You wouldn’t be here, throwing your lives away, in a desperate effort to stop me. Just like your naïve little friend Cora.”

  Kurt bristled at the mention of Cora’s name, but kept it from showing.

  “Four dead troublemakers,” she finished. “Remembered only as notches on the stock of High Point’s gun.”

  Kurt squinted against the glare, looking straight at Yvonne and then past her to where one of her men was wiping the snow off the barrel of his weapon. It was time.

  With his hands still up, Kurt glanced at Paul and Gamay, then turned back to Yvonne. The snow had begun to coat her hair, an adornment of frost.

  “Cora didn’t throw her life away,” Kurt said. “Your friend over there missed. And what’s more, he’s about to miss again.”

  Kurt dropped onto the snowmobile, ducking behind the handlebars and twisting the throttle to full as he threw all his weight forward. The powerful electric motor provided instant torque, the tracks dug into the snow and the machine leapt forward as if it had been launched from a spring.

  High Point reacted quickly, lowering the barrel of his rifle. As he pulled the trigger, the mechanism jammed. Snow had coated the weapon, melting because it was warm from being inside and then refreezing to solid ice as everything cooled off out in the frigid night air.

  High Point moved to clear the weapon, banging his hand against the stock and pulling back the slide. But Kurt clipped him with the snowmobile as he raced by.

  High Point was thrown backward. He slammed against the bumper of the snowcat and his body whiplashed around it like a wet rag. The back of his head smashed against the glass, leaving a circular indentation in the windshield, and he dropped face-first in the snow.

  Paul and Gamay had known Kurt long enough to learn his patterns and to trust him. His sudden change from surrender to attack was not a surprise and Paul twisted the throttle of their snowmobile no more than a second after Kurt had.

  They raced forward, shooting across the same gap and speeding along the trail. A smattering of gunshots followed, but they were late and inaccurate.

  For her part, Yvonne hadn’t expected the sudden attack, yet her reflexes were quick enough that she was able to dive out of the way. She got up and waved her people on, sending her own snowmobiles after the NUMA instigators.

  As they sped by, she jumped into the snowcat and shouted at the driver. “Go.”

  The man put the big rig in gear and stepped on the accelerator. The machine surged forward, turning and driving over her former sharpshooter before swinging back in the direction of the NUMA team.

  48

  Kurt kept the speed up, much faster than was safe or reasonable.

  “Their camp is a mile ahead,” Joe said from behind him. “But the pumping station is out on the glacier.”

  “Glad you held on this time,” Kurt said.

  “Learned my lesson at the game park,” Joe replied.

  Kurt nodded, glancing in the mirror as Paul and Gamay caught up to them.

  Riding side by side, Paul shouted to Kurt. “How’d you know their guns were going to jam like that?”

  “Snow was sticking to everything they had,” Kurt said. “I figured they’d gone from warm to cold. And that they hadn’t left their guns outside to keep them cold.”

  “Great call,” Paul shouted, “but they won’t make that mistake again.”

  Gamay shouted next. “Hate to break up the chitchat, boys, but they’re coming after us.”

  Kurt looked in the mirror again. He saw the intense white lights from the snowmobiles closing in on them and the warmer-colored lights of the snowcat farther back.

  “Time to split up,” Kurt said. “Go dark and head down into the valley. Joe and I will keep our lights blazing and try to lead them astray. Swing wide and make your way to the pumping station from the back side. That’s your best chance. If we can shake them, we’ll meet you down there. If not, we’ll keep them busy.”

  “All right,” Paul said. “Good luck.”

  Paul and Gamay left the trail and headed downslope while Kurt and Joe continued straight ahead. With nothing left to lose, Kurt switched on the high beams, hoping to make themselves a more obvious target.

  The bright lights cut a hole through the darkness. The sensation the white ground and blowing snow created was like driving through a tunnel.

  A soft pop-pop-pop of suppressed gunshots sounded, barely audible over the wind. Kurt heard a metallic clink as a shell hit the frame of the machine somewhere and watched as one of the mirrors shattered from the impact of another bullet.

  “This trail is too straight,” he said. “Going to go off road.” He cut to the right and sped up the slope, climbing at an easy angle. “How many are following us?”

  Joe turned around and looked back over his shoulder. “All of them.”

  “That’s good,” Kurt said.

  “They’re gaining.”

  “Not so good. Aren’t these sleds supposed to be fast?”

  “They’re carrying less weight and using gas-powered machines,” Joe said. “The longer we run, the nearer they’re going to get.”

  Needing more speed, Kurt turned parallel to the ridge once again and ran straight for a moment. Coming upon a slope with an easier grade, he cut all the way back, reversing direction and heading higher like he was taking a switchback road up into the mountains.

  Yvonne’s men skidded around the turn, three sleds trying to navigate a hairpin at the same time. Two of them crashed together, the third swung wide and raced forward like a rock hurled from a slingshot. The others quickly regained their composure and rejoined the chase.

  “They’re still gaining,” Joe said. “And it looks like the snowcat has taken the more direct approach.”

  The heavy machine, with its low center of gravity and giant caterpillar tracks, had turned straight up the hill, climbing it with ease.

  “I forgot they could do that. Any thoughts?”

  “Only the one,” Joe said.

  Kurt could guess what he had in mind. “This ridge is wind-loaded with tons of snow.”

  “And the higher we go, the deeper it gets,” Joe added.

  Kurt straightened up once again, picking up some speed. “I’ll try to get above them, you get the charges ready.”

  As
Kurt turned up the slope again, Joe gripped the frame of his seat with his knees and twisted around to reach one of the backpacks filled with explosive charges. He pulled the first charge out. It was the size and shape of a coffee can and contained twelve pounds of a dense explosive more powerful than C-4. Arming the device, Joe tossed it as far as he could in the snow above them. Grabbing a second charge, he did the same.

  The third charge slipped out of his hand, bounced off the back side of the snowmobile and flew off into the darkness on the low side of the machine. “Don’t worry, it’s armed,” he said, gripping the fourth charge more firmly. “Take us up, if you can.”

  Kurt turned slightly downhill, to pick up some speed, and then swung wide and turned uphill. He went up as steeply as he could, climbing and leaning forward, until the snowmobile’s treads began to slip.

  Releasing and adding power in an on/off fashion, he kept going for another twenty feet. But the snow was too soft and too deep. The snowmobile lost speed and sank in, burrowing forward until its tracks began spinning uselessly.

  “It’s no good,” Kurt said. “This is as far as we go.”

  Joe tumbled off the back of the machine and into the snow. Kurt turned to see what awaited them.

  The snowmobiles were cautiously following Kurt and Joe’s tracks, coming higher and getting closer. The snowcat was grinding up toward them from below.

  Joe emerged from the snow, stood tall and hurled the last charge. It landed no more than fifty feet away.

  “We need to work on your arm strength,” Kurt said.

  Joe had another device in his hand and it wasn’t for throwing. “As long as my button pushing skills are satisfactory, we should be fine.”

  The lights were on them now, converging from all directions. Kurt stared into the cab of the snowcat and saw Yvonne looking right at him.

  He smiled. “Now.”

  * * *

  —

  Joe pressed the switch and a signal went out to the explosive charges. They detonated simultaneously, causing an instant and powerful shock wave.

  The wind-loaded ridge shook with the blast and a thousand-foot-wide sheet of snow broke loose. It was only loosely attached to the ridge, having built up over recent weeks and during the last twenty-four hours of the storm. The ice beneath it was thick and firm yet brittle. It all gave way at once.

  The initial break seemed to occur in slow motion. And then, suddenly, everything was moving and the avalanche began.

  49

  From inside the snowcat, Yvonne saw Kurt and his friend stuck in the deep snow. They’d gone for the top of the ridge and gotten caught trying desperately to climb over it.

  “Run them down,” she urged her driver. “Before they get free.”

  The snowcat climbed straight up the slope like cars clinking toward the top of a roller coaster track. The lights of the machine brightened the view, spreading across the snow and painting the trapped Americans in a warm glow. She saw Austin staring down at her, his frozen face looking concerned.

  And then . . . he smiled.

  The look chilled her to the core. What did I miss?

  The charges went off a second later, four powerful flashes erupting simultaneously. Three to the left, one almost directly in front of her.

  The explosion threw a wave of snow into the windshield and the snowcat rocked backward and stopped. A deep and ominous resonance came next. It echoed around them, like a heavy wave crashing onto a beach. But instead of first increasing in volume and then fading, it grew louder and more intense with every passing second.

  The snowcat began to slide backward as if it were on ice. It was sinking and turning even as a wall of snow surged toward them.

  “Move,” Yvonne shouted.

  The driver was trying. When he mashed the gas pedal to the floor and moved the controls to the right, the ground beneath them was disintegrating and becoming part of the avalanche, the machine powerless to escape it.

  She braced herself with both arms. The wall of snow hit, sending the big machine tumbling down the slope. Yvonne felt herself being thrown into the ceiling and then slammed to the door.

  The windshield exploded inward in a shower of glass. Snow and ice poured through. The roof was crushed. Three of the four exterior lights blew out, though miraculously one remained operational even as its housing was bent downward and in.

  Up and down lost all meaning, as they tumbled for another thirty seconds before slamming into some jutting volcanic rock.

  The impact was like a head-on collision. It stopped the tumbling instantly, but the avalanche wasn’t over. Snow and ice poured into the cab, filling the space in a matter of seconds and trapping them.

  Battered and bruised, Yvonne tried to climb free. She realized the machine was on its side, so she crawled upward, attempting to squirm through her side window.

  She got her head and arms out the opening but found her legs and torso trapped by the packed snow that had forced its way into the cab.

  She twisted and strained and with each passing second the pressure on her lower half increased. It felt as if her body was encased in wet concrete. She managed to get one arm through the window and to pull herself up a few more inches. There, she was stuck.

  The snow continued to pour down the slope. A chunk of ice hit her in the shoulder, cracking something. Another hit her in the head. A final surge moved the snowcat a few feet, twisting it to one side. And then suddenly it was over.

  The avalanche had passed on by, its thundering call still audible downslope.

  Yvonne’s face and one arm were free, but she couldn’t move. The pain in her shoulder was intense yet rapidly numbing. The wind continued to howl, cutting at her face and eyes. Snow was trickling here and there, the air was filled with a diamond dust of pulverized ice and snow.

  She looked around and saw nor heard any sign of anyone else. No headlights. No engines. No cries for help. Nothing but wind and snow and darkness.

  A choice flicked into her mind. Given the option of her own rescue or Austin’s death in the same avalanche, she chose to hope that he’d died in the madness he’d caused.

  * * *

  —

  While Kurt had been ready for the explosion, even he’d been surprised at how quickly the ground fell out from beneath them.

  The snowmobile vanished from sight, as if sucked down into a vortex. Joe jumped to one side and began to run uphill, trying to get above and around the trouble.

  Kurt did the same, turning and struggling up, but it was like running against the powerful undertow of outgoing waves at the beach. His legs just didn’t seem to move. He made it four or five steps before his feet were pulled from beneath him and he was being dragged backward by a force more powerful than any riptide.

  As he slid, the snow churned around him like foam. It washed over him, swept him along and pulled him under.

  He moved his arms as if swimming, because he’d heard that advice given for people caught in an avalanche. Whether it did a bit of good or not, Kurt didn’t know. He did the breaststroke with his arms anyway and kept his legs moving.

  In the middle of the turmoil, his feet hit something firm. He pushed off, launching himself upward. He emerged above the snow and was soon tossed aside.

  Now outside the avalanche, Kurt tumbled and slid, coming to a stop on the hard-packed snow. He ended up sprawled out, watching as the avalanche continued down the hill. It moved with the sound of a freight train, roaring through the night.

  He noticed one of the snowmobiles tumbling like a child’s toy. He saw the lights of the other machines being dragged away. They dimmed as a fog of atomized snow spread across the slope and then vanished as the avalanche swallowed up the machines and buried them deep.

  Eventually the sound and fury began to fade. The moving snow was now slowing, spreading out and settling in the valley below. In its
wake, a kind of quiet returned. To Kurt’s surprise, it seemed almost peaceful.

  He stood up wearily, studying a landscape remade. A huge swath had been gouged out from the mountain. A bed of rock had been exposed and a long tongue of debris revealed. Downslope from him, the land was featureless and white. A single amber light burned at an odd angle, pointed down into the drifts. He recognized it as belonging to the snowcat.

  Looking around, Kurt saw nothing of the snowmobiles, but something else loomed out of the dark.

  At first, it appeared to be an outcropping of volcanic rock, like those they’d passed in the valley, but as Kurt stepped closer, he saw it was actually a large gray fin. It resembled the dorsal fin of a giant shark but was made of metal.

  The fin was canted over at an angle but connected at the base to a wide metal hull. A few feet ahead of it the blades of an old-fashioned propeller broke the surface. They were still attached to the bulky engine that powered them. Thirty feet to one side a wingtip reached through the snow like an outstretched arm.

  Kurt stepped closer to the fin, which he recognized now as the tail and rudder of an aircraft. He brushed the snow from the frozen metal, revealing weathered but still readable letters. The word Thrace was painted in curving script. Next to it was the unmistakable image of a Nazi flag.

  “The German expedition,” Kurt whispered.

  Kurt could barely believe what he was seeing. Only then did it dawn on him that he was seeing it alone. He turned, looking for any sign of his partner.

  “Joe!”

  There was no answer.

  “Joe! Can you hear me?”

  Kurt turned from point to point. There was no answer to his calls. That could mean only one thing: Joe was buried somewhere under the snow.