Melting the Ice

by Loreth Anne White

  He wasn’t there beside her when she woke, her eyes thick with dried tears. She lay now, stiff as the floorboards under her, the wind an insistent wail, the storm front closing in.

  They would have to hurry and try to get the gondola back to the village before high winds shut it down.

  She fumbled for her clothes, fingers cold, clumsy.

  She stepped over the sleeping bag, reaching for the cabin door. The wind whipped it from her hand as she opened it, slicing splinters into her skin. It crashed back against the side of the hut.

  He stood there in the bleak dawn, out on the edge of the cliff. His arms were fisted at his sides, feet astride. He faced the storm as it loomed, out on the horizon. He faced clouds broiling black, purple, puce. He stood, unflinching, as lightning cut sharp, jagged streaks through the sky. The thunder rumbled, echoed and reverberated through the peaks around them like the artillery of warring armies. His sleeves billowed against his strong arms in the wind, his hair a dark and disheveled mass.

  The sight stopped Hannah dead.

  He looked as if he were the god that had summoned the storm. Wild. Crazed.

  He turned as she approached. His Arctic eyes cold, framed by dark lashes, as angry as the weather.

  “Come.” He stepped down off the rocks and strode past her, making for the hut. He gathered their gear and stuffed it into his pack. “Hurry. Lifts will shut down any minute now.”

  She pulled her fleece up against her neck as she followed him, trying to keep pace, stumbling over the small rocks in the path. The wind dropped as they rounded the peak and saw the gondola building below. There was some protection there. The lift was still running. For now.

  The gondola doors closed on them, encapsulating their silence as the cab lurched from its moorings and began its descent down Powder Mountain. The storm was closing in fast now. Wind buffeted their glass cocoon. Thick drops of rain started to spit and flick sporadically against the windows.

  “Rex.”

  He looked at her, those Siberian husky eyes detached. He’d already closed her out. Just like that. Like before, in Marumba.

  “I’ll go into the office today. Pack my bags.”

  “You’re not going anywhere.”

  The gondola lurched, and she grasped at the railing for balance. Far-off black clouds glimmered as they were backlit by a burst of sheet lightning. A purple and orange tinge lit the dawn, an ominous hue preceding the storm.

  “I must go.” She had to escape his charged presence.

  “Not until I can be sure there’ll be no more attempts on your life. Then you can go.”

  She had known he’d say that. Still it burned, the fact that he was prepared to let her go once his job was done. “All the staff will be at the office. I’ll be safe there. You can speak to Al if you like. He can call you on your cell if there’s something to worry about.”

  Hannah had no intention of returning to the hotel once she packed her bags. Not ever. Danny would be home tomorrow. If she didn’t feel safe, the two of them could pack their car and head north until everything had blown over.

  She would go back to the hotel now. She’d shower, pack her things and take everything to the office with her. She had to sever her ties. Now.

  He was mulling over her proposal, deep furrows in his tanned brow. It made him, his anger, all the more awesome.

  “Fine. I’ll take you to the office. You’re not to leave there. I’ll call you and let you know when I’m coming to pick you up. I’ll speak to Al.”

  She’d be long gone before he could come and pick her up.

  “Fine.”

  Drops of rain the size of small marbles bombed into the earth and erupted into minute clouds of dust as they pulled into the village gondola station. The scent of rain clashing with soil was earthy, musky. It was still only the front end of what was yet to come. The sky was heavy, laden with its dark burden, waiting to burst and spill its sorrow.

  White noise rushed in Hannah’s head as she pushed through the crowds in the village. There were people everywhere; they scampered for cover from the heavy drops. The weather was crashing in on their parade. Clowns and jugglers were packing up their bright red and yellow and orange sacks. Some acts continued under eves. Bongo drums beat. Her heart echoed the primal sound in her ribs as she hurried toward the hotel.

  The large lobby was crowded with delegates coming in for the international conference. Suits, saris, turbans, a gaggle of tongues. She pushed wildly through them, knowing that Rex was struggling to keep up with her. She jabbed the elevator button, closing the doors before he could reach her.

  She wasn’t sure what she was trying to achieve. She was running on blind instinct. From him. But she was held up at the hotel room door as she had to wait for him and his key card.

  She averted her eyes from him as he opened the door and checked out the room before permitting her to enter.

  She marched into her side of the suite, closed the door and made for the bathroom to turn on the shower.

  She could hear his cell phone start to ring just as water spurted into the tub. Then all other sound was drowned out. She closed the door, finding comfort in the fog of steam that reached up and enveloped her.

  “Logan, hey buddy.”

  At the sound of Scott’s voice, Rex punched in the code to activate the scrambler installed in his cell phone. The red LED indicator showed voice encryption had been initiated. It was a sophisticated point-to-point system. Scott had a similar device on his end. Their communication was secure from eavesdroppers.

  “Hey, Scott, any info for me?”

  Scott knew Rex better than most people. When the agent’s wife and daughter were killed, he’d turned to Rex. They’d become close friends.

  The two of them had worked on the Marumba mission. When Ken Mitchell had botched the raid and the lab had burned, the Plague Doctor had slipped back underground. A week later Scott and Rex each got hand-delivered letters from paid messengers with similar wording: “You will pay for crossing me. Your loved ones will die a most horrible, painful death.”

  Rex had been in Ralundi, camping with Hannah when his message came in the dark of night. Their safari guide had accepted the letter from a Marumba local paid to deliver it. The local had slipped back into the night, and Rex had read the letter by the light of the campfire while Hannah slept in the tent. He had no doubt it had come from the Plague Doctor. And he did not underestimate the danger.

  He’d made an immediate decision. Packed and left before dawn broke. No one would use Hannah to threaten him. If they thought she was his reject, she’d be useless to them. She’d be safe.

  Scott had also received his letter in Marumba, the night before he was due to ship out. He had believed his wife and daughter were safe back in Toronto. But he was never to see them again. A few days later they died in an horrific car accident. Their vehicle went up in a ball of flames. No one was sure of the cause.

  Scott had not been able to save his family. Rex had saved Hannah, but at a cost, to both of them.

  He was only beginning to see the extent of that cost now.

  “We’re still working on your requests, Rex. Should have a full report for you later in the day, but I wanted to get word to you immediately on Ken Mitchell.”

  “What you got?”

  “If the CIA is in White River for this conference, it’s not via Mitchell.”

  “What?”

  “He hasn’t worked for the CIA for about a year now.

  My sources say old Kenny Mitchell went whacko after the Marumba lab fire.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, it appears that after the fire, he took it real personal that he’d been responsible for sending the Plague Doctor into the underground to continue with his work. He became obsessed with finding him to the point of irrationality. They had to take Mitchell off that beat, but he still spent his days and nights trying to hunt the Plague Doctor down. Last year he was dismissed from the agency. Mental instability.”


  “You buy this?”

  “You mean do I think it was just the ploy of a double agent to get out from under the CIA? I don’t think so.”

  “So what has Mitchell been up to in this past year, then.”

  “That’s why I don’t think he was scamming. Mitchell was institutionalized late last fall. He was becoming a bit of a public hazard in his zeal. I think CIA brass was worried he might be a loose cannon with serious secrets to spill.”

  Scott cleared his throat and continued. “According to my sources, Mitchell was raving to one of the shrinks at the institution about a young reporter up in Canada. He maintained this reporter and her friend had stumbled onto something at a spa in White River. Her friend worked at the spa and reportedly found a secret lab where a surgeon was working on some superpowerful biological agent.”

  Now Scott had his attention. Rex paused, listened to make sure he could hear the shower in the next room before continuing. “If Mitchell was locked up in a nut house, how come he’s here in White River now?”

  “Got out last month. They haven’t seen him since. Lost track of him.”

  Rex blew air through his teeth. “I’m going to have to have a little talk with Mitchell and see if I can get into the White River Spa and take a look around myself.”

  “Rex, Mitchell…he’s unstable. Could be dangerous.”

  “Got it. But somehow I don’t think he was that loopy when he was talking about a reporter and her friend. Turns out a young reporter here, Amy Barnes, died early last fall. So did her friend, who worked at the local spa. He died only a day later. Somehow they’re connected. I’m really going to need that background information on the top two doctors at the spa, Gunter Schmidt and Gregor Vasilev. Looks like we’re in deep crap here.”

  “I’m on it.”

  The shower was still going. “Oh, and, Scott, I’ll be expecting some lab results from Vancouver sometime today. I’m going to courier a sample down there as soon as I hang up with you. The lab will phone the results in to Toronto.”

  “Good enough.”

  “Okay, thanks, buddy.” The shower was being turned off. “Speak to you later in the day.”

  “Right. Say, have you seen the McGuire woman since you been there?”

  Rex had told Scott Hannah was in White River. Scott knew how much it had cost Rex to walk out on her in Marumba.

  “Been kinda tough to avoid her. She’s gotten herself right into the thick of this.”

  “How so?”

  “She was suspicious of the reporter’s death. She works at the same newspaper. She’s been digging around too much and it seems to have landed her in hot water…or should I say some very cold water.”

  “So?”

  “So what?”

  “You know what I mean. I’ve seen nothing in this world that can mess with your brain like that hotshot foreign correspondent.”

  Rex looked over at the closed door of Hannah’s room. “She’s not a foreign correspondent anymore. She quit.”

  “Why?”

  “Damned if I know. Nothing you need to worry your head over. I’m going to wrap this up and then I’m outta here.”

  “You know, Rex, if I had to choose, if I had to do it over again, I’d choose my wife and child over anything. Hell, I’d work as a clerk in a gas station just to have them back.”

  Rex was silent, taken aback by his colleague’s sudden candor.

  “You there?”

  “Yeah, still here. Sorry, Scott. I know what you’re saying. It’s just not for me.”

  “You know, Killian is thinking of stepping down as Bellona board chair. There’s going to be an extra seat there. If you got on the board, you could call the shots instead of dodging bullets out in the field.”

  Rex appreciated what Scott was trying to do. “I’m better in the field, buddy.” His head was starting to hurt. He rubbed the pain in his temple. “Never been one for a family, anyway.”

  “Word is they’re naming you as candidate for the board, Rex. It’s an ace opportunity. You get to keep your Bio Can job and you get a shot at a normal life.”

  “Normal life. It’s a farce.”

  “That’s the cynic in you speaking. Hey, it worked for me. Until…”

  “I’m sorry, buddy.”

  Silence.

  “Yeah, well, you take care of that McGuire woman. I’ll check in later today.”

  Rex flipped his phone shut and slipped it into his pocket. His head felt thick. He walked over to the connecting door, turned the knob, pushed it open.

  Hannah was gone.

  Chapter 13

  “Y es, she’s here but she’s on another call.”

  Never mind tenacious, that woman was stubborn, infuriating. Rex felt the small muscle in his jaw begin to pulse. “Georgette, put me through to Al Brashear then, please.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Al’s voice was as rough as Georgette’s was pleasant. “Yes, Hannah’s here.”

  “I’m Rex, a friend of Hannah’s and I—”

  “I know who you are. She’ll be fine.”

  “Look, Al, I’m not sure what Hannah has told you, but she needs to stay inside the office until I come and collect her this afternoon. No going out for lunch, nothing. And I need your help.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Call me at this number if anything strange happens. Anything.”

  Rex gave Al his cell number. Hannah should be okay as long as she stayed with her colleagues inside the newspaper office. It would give him time to pay Mitchell a visit and to see if he could wangle his way into the spa.

  Hannah, receiver cradled between ear and shoulder, listened to her mother’s voice.

  “So, we thought we’d come up a day early, dear. Danny said he didn’t want to miss the circus in the village.”

  Hannah’s mind reeled. Rex. Danny. Home today. Early. She felt dizzy. Words failed her.

  “Hannah, are you there?”

  “Uh…yes, Mom. That’s great. So, uh, what time do you think you’ll be arriving?”

  “Don’t fuss or anything. We should be in White River around four or five this afternoon. I’ve still got the key to your house. We’ll be there when you get home from work, sweetheart. I’ll fix dinner. We’re bringing up some groceries.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  Hannah placed the receiver back into the cradle, numb. She felt as if she was in another time zone. This afternoon. Danny would be home this afternoon.

  “You okay, Hannah?”

  Al was watching her, blue eyes peering over his thick half-moon reading glasses.

  “Yeah. Thanks, Al. Been a crazy few days.” She rubbed her temples.

  “That Rex guy?”

  “It’s that obvious?”

  Al pulled up a chair. “Hannah, this ‘friend’ of yours, where’d you meet him?”

  She tried to shrug off his question. “Long time ago. Another place. Another life. So, you ready to edit this piece or what?”

  Al didn’t take the bait. He leaned forward. “He’s the one who followed you from the Black Diamond the other day, isn’t he?”

  She looked into his eyes. “Yeah. He’s the one.”

  “Hannah, if you’re in trouble—”

  “Al, I’m fine.”

  He nodded. “So how come he’s helping us with Amy?”

  She swallowed against the tension in her throat. “Al, I really don’t want to have secrets from you. I just can’t talk about it right now. Can you understand?”

  He reached out and patted her arm. “Sure, hon. But tell me, what’s this guy’s last name?”

  She paused. Trapped. “Logan.”

  “I see.” Al pushed his chair back, stood, looked down at her. “Want some tea?”

  “Sorry, sir.” The clerk smiled up at him. “Mr. Bamfield checked out early this morning.”

  Damn. Mitchell had left the Fireside Lodge. What was he up to?

  Rex walked out of the lodge into a sheet of drenching cold rain. The storm had settled
in. He pulled his jacket up over his head and made for the hotel. The wind had died but thunder still reverberated in the peaks.

  He would need to break in to the spa tonight, take a look around. But first he’d need backup, someone to watch over Hannah.

  He had missed lunch. Once in his hotel room he ordered a late-afternoon snack, coffee and a chicken salad sandwich, and punched in Scott’s cell number.

  “Hey, any news?”

  “Good timing.”

  “What’ve you got?”

  “First off, Dr. Gunter Schmidt checks out. So does his partner Dr. Gregor Vasilev. Schmidt’s records show he grew up and trained in Switzerland and worked most recently at an exclusive surgical clinic in Berlin. Vasilev did his training in Russia, where he apparently developed some ground-breaking cosmetic surgery techniques at a spa in Odessa where he worked on top Soviet brass, among others.”

  “Russia, huh? What brought the two of them to White River?”

  “That’s where it gets interesting. The White River Spa has been held for at least a decade by a shell company. The assets of that shell company are in turn controlled by a Russian and East German-based consortium, Die Waffenbruder. Loosely translated that means brothers or comrades-in-arms. It’s never been proven, but Die Waffenbruder is suspected to have links to the Russian mafia and, more ominously, to money laundering and the financial backing of some key terrorist organizations.”

  Rex whistled through his teeth.

  “It appears Die Waffenbruder brought Schmidt and Vasilev out to head up the spa about five years ago.”

  “Sweet Jesus. I’m going to need backup here.”

  “One step ahead of you. I’m heading up from Vancouver as we speak.”

  Rex laughed. He could always trust Scott. “I’m at the White River Presidential, room 641. Looking forward to seeing you. Any luck with the lab reports?”

  “Yeah, they gave it top priority. The stuff in the vial was liquid GHB, gamma hydroxybutyrate. Where’d you find it?”

  “Up in a cabin on Powder Mountain. I suspect it was used in the death of both the reporter, Amy Barnes, and her friend Grady Fisher.”