by L. A. Larkin
‘Isn’t there a danger you’ll create a spark?’ Maddie asked.
‘Nyet,’ said Vitaly. ‘The detonator is very stable.’
‘One of us can use the climbing harness in the recovery kit,’ Luke said. ‘The other can use the ropes. Only two of us can do this. Maddie …’ He paused, knowing she would resist the idea. ‘Vitaly and I know explosives and you don’t, so we’ll go into the crevasse. You should save yourself and leave.’
‘I’m not running away,’ she replied.
They heard a low rumble, like a far-off road train on a bumpy desert road. The tip of the ice tongue was some kilometres away but the sound of the blast travelled up the length of the glacier like a shudder moving up a spine. It grew louder.
It was 10:00 am. Robert had blasted away his iceberg.
All three peered down the length of the enormous fissure, knowing it would be impossible to immobilise all the signal relay antennae in time. Some explosives, in fact most, would still detonate. The other thing they knew was that they would probably be too close to survive the blasts.
T MINUS 1 HOUR, 55 MINUTES
10 March, 10:05 am (UTC-07)
Luke had the recovery kit strapped to his back, the binoculars round his neck and an ice axe in his hand. Vitaly carried the fifty-metre rope, the second axe and the rifle.
‘If we can disable two signal relay boxes, we’ll stop an eight-kilometre section from detonating,’ said Luke. ‘We might even manage another, which means twelve kilometres won’t blow.’
‘It is enough?’ asked Vitaly.
‘It should be.’
Maddie was standing with her arms crossed as she stared off into the distance towards Robert’s camp.
‘Mads, can you radio for help?’ Luke continued. ‘Tell them about Alrek. And you have to get the police to Jessica’s house. I don’t trust that bastard. I need to know Jason is safe. Will you do this for me?’
‘What’s the address?’
Luke told her as he tuned the confiscated hand-held radio to 2182 kilohertz. ‘I hope the Basov is still in range. I know they’ll be listening.’
She took the radio. ‘You know there’s a danger Robert will be monitoring this frequency?’ Maddie said. ‘He could bring the countdown forward.’
Luke glanced at Vitaly. ‘I have to know Jason is unharmed.’
‘It is the right thing,’ the Russian said. ‘But we must hurry. There is little time.’
‘With my gammy leg, I’m no help here,’ Maddie said. ‘So I’m going back to Robert’s camp. I’m going to get my hands on that master controller. Second time lucky, I hope.’
‘No!’ Luke stepped forward and took her gloved hands in his bare ones. He was shocked by the urgency in his own voice. ‘Mads, please! Get out of here. There’s no point in all of us …’ He looked down. He didn’t want to say the word. ‘Head for the Hudsons. There’s a snowmobile not far from our tent. Here, take this. It’s activated.’ He handed her the snowmobile’s locator beacon, which was the size of a car’s keyless entry device.
‘No way, Luke. I’m not running when you’re risking your lives. I know where Robert keeps the laptop. The last thing he’d expect us to do is walk back into his camp.’
‘But—’
‘He’s two men down. He’ll be distracted.’
‘No, they’ll see you coming.’
‘I’m taking a leaf out of your book, Luke. Breaking the rules.’ Her fiery eyes challenged him. ‘And nothing will change my mind.’
Luke took her in his arms. He leaned his cold cheek against the top of her head and felt its warmth. What he would give to be on the Basov with her now, secure and warm. ‘Please, just go back to Bettingtons,’ he whispered.
‘No.’ She kissed him.
Her warm mouth sent a charge through his cold lips. He wanted to say how much she meant to him, but he couldn’t find the right words. ‘Tell Jase how much I love him.’
Luke pulled Jason’s crumpled photograph from his inside pocket. He looked at it for a moment and smiled, then held it out to Maddie. ‘Take this,’ he said. He had never parted from Jason’s photo.
Maddie took a small step back, shaking her head. ‘You always carry it,’ she said. ‘Keep it and give it to Jason yourself.’ She refused to admit he wouldn’t make it off the glacier.
Luke placed it back inside his coat. ‘Be careful,’ he said as she began to walk away. He and Vitaly jumped on the snowmobile and set off for the Fitzgerald Fissure.
***
Between the Walgreen and the Fitzgerald crevasses was a long, slim strip of solid glacier. The explosives and the signal relay boxes had been placed down the side of the Fitzgerald Fissure that was furthest away from Robert’s camp, but closest to the Walgreen Crevasse. This meant that ten precious minutes were lost as Luke and Vitaly reached the other side. Robert’s team had marked the location of the explosives with red flagpoles at the glacier surface. Through binoculars Luke spotted a yellow flag, marking the posit-ion of a signal relay box, and they headed over to it.
Once there, they began to set up and secure Vitaly’s harness.
‘I get it now,’ said Luke. ‘They’re going to destroy the strip of ice between the two crevasses. That’s why the explosives are all on one side of the Fitzy. The shattered ice has to fall somewhere. It’ll collapse on either side, into the two crevasses. Clever. Like a river overflowing into parallel ditches.’
‘I understand,’ said Vitaly. ‘The seawater, it flows in. It washes away the broken ice. Then Robert has the shipping channel.’
‘Not if we stop him. If we separate, we’ll get through them twice as quickly. I’ll double back for you when I’m finished, and we’ll move on to the third one – if we have time. You agree?’
‘Agree.’
‘When we’ve immobilised the antenna, we pull the yellow flag out as a sign.’
‘Da. We must get away before detonation. Not leave too late.’
‘Let’s aim to be on the snowmobile and ready to leave at eleven-thirty.’
‘Okay.’ Vitaly’s piercing blue eyes studied Luke’s face.
‘I won’t forget, my friend,’ Luke said. ‘I will come back for you.’
Luke hammered some ice screws into the surface and set up the pulley system as Vitaly got into his harness. As Luke drove away to find the next yellow flag, he glanced back to see the burly Russian disappear into the crevasse.
By 10:38 am, Luke was also abseiling into the fissure. In his part of the crevasse the two walls were fairly close, so the deeper he went, the darker and narrower it became. Still, the signal relay box was easy to find because the two-metre long antenna stuck out and pointed to the sky. Luke raised his ice axe and hacked at the base of the antenna. If he could disable it, then none of the explosives in this four-kilometre section would blow. At the second attempt, he sliced it in two and it fell into the abyss.
T MINUS 1 HOUR, 20 MINUTES
10 March, 10:40 am (UTC-07)
Robert had been waiting for the right moment to play one of his favourite pieces. It was Prokofiev’s ‘Montagues and Capulets’. The Russians did occasionally get some things right. Music filled the tent as he tapped his boot to its emphatic and atmospheric beat. He took a deep drag on his cigarette, enjoying his success.
The iceberg had broken away exactly as planned, and was almost secured to the heavy-lift vessel. A cameraman on board was filming everything and feeding the live images to Robert, General Guo Quiliang and the project team at Dragon Resources. Nobody had dared question General Zhao’s disappearance.
A second cameraman was positioned high up the Hudson Mountains to capture the moment of detonation along the Fitzgerald Fissure. Robert had also charged him with the important job of editing his personal video footage. He hoped the detonations would be visually stunning, like fireworks on New Year’s Eve, as the chain of explosives went off, one after the other, down the length of the crevasse.
Robert checked the countdown clock on the laptop screen.
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In one hour and twenty minutes he would make history.
In one hour and twenty minutes he would be relishing the greatest victory of his career.
Suddenly Robert shot forward, staring at the warning on his screen. ‘What the fuck is going on?’ he shouted.
***
He raced from his tent and straddled his snowmobile. ‘If you want something done right, do it yourself,’ he muttered, furious.
After Tang’s death and Li’s desertion, only Captain Wei and Robert knew how to handle explosives. Robert had tried to get another explosives expert flown in. But it was too late. Too likely to draw attention. Because Searle had been blabbing to AARO, the Australians and the Americans were asking their Chinese counterparts awkward questions. It now looked as if all Robert’s hours of training, as well as observing his men set up the explosives, were about to pay off. Out of curiosity, he had watched his men working on the ice tongue, and had handled the pentolite and detonators himself. Most importantly, Tang had explained to him how the signal relay system worked.
Two relay boxes had malfunctioned. One could be bad luck but two was surely sabotage. Clearly, one of the captives had survived the fall into the slot. Robert’s gut told him it was Luke Searle. It had to be. Robert didn’t believe in fate or destiny, only in his power to make his own fortune. But there was something peculiar about Searle’s connection to Antarctica. It was almost as if this wretched heaving mass of ice was keeping its protector alive. Ridiculous, of course.
Wei, who carried enough rifles and ammunition to kill a platoon, revved his engine, eager to depart.
‘Shit,’ yelled Robert. ‘I forgot my helmet. Go and get it, Wei. In my tent, by my bed.’ Robert didn’t give a damn about safety. He wanted the camera and head torch attached to the helmet. If he was going to save the day, he wanted every moment of it on film.
Wei glared at Robert but obeyed. When he came out he was holding more than the helmet. He had Maddie, her arm locked in his strong grip. She kicked and punched but Wei seemed impervious to her blows. ‘Sir, she was trying to steal the master controller. Again.’
Robert rolled his eyes in frustration. ‘Kill her,’ he said, yanking his helmet from under Wei’s free arm.
Wei drew his pistol and forced her to kneel. ‘Your family, Wei,’ she pleaded. ‘Their farm will flood. Please don’t …’ Maddie shook her head, her voice choked into a whisper. She looked into his eyes. They didn’t show fear but sorrow. Sorrow at what he was party to.
It was as if Wei were moving in slow motion. His gun shifted from pointing at Maddie’s head to Robert’s chest. Straight-backed, his arm out at a right angle, he looked directly at his commander. He said something and a shot rang out, but it was not Robert who fell dead. It was Wei.
‘Loser,’ growled Robert.
He aimed at Maddie, fired and then sped off. He peered around briefly to see her motionless body lying on the ice.
T MINUS 59 MINUTES
10 March, 11:01 am (UTC-07)
Robert touched the yellow flag at the most seaward point of the Fitzgerald Fissure. This was the location of the first of two disabled signal relay boxes, or so his wrist-monitor advised him. He had three new boxes and spare antennae in his trailer. He stood over a length of rope that hung down into the dark chasm, his enemy dangling at its end. The Australian or the Russian?
‘Goodbye, whoever you are,’ he said, chopping his ice axe down on the rope.
His aim was slightly off and the sharp blade only cut through part of the rope. It gave slightly as it began to unravel. He raised the axe high above his head, and this time his strike was perfect. With a zing the rope whipped over the crevasse edge and disappeared.
But there was no scream. Robert listened for a few seconds. Then, to his relief, he heard a crash and guessed that the man, whoever he was, had gone quietly to an icy grave. Tentatively, he peered over the edge but couldn’t see a body in the dimness.
Robert tested the ice screws left behind by his adversary. They were firm so he used them. He hurriedly set up his pulleys. His first attempt didn’t work. Damn this freezing hellhole! He tried again and this time got it right. Once in the harness, he walked to the fissure’s edge, a new relay box and tools inside his backpack. Two spare antennae were strapped to the outside of his pack.
He swallowed back the bile in his throat. It wasn’t like him to feel nervous. He must stay calm and in control. He had a gun and an axe, and his enemy must surely be dead. All the greatest Antarctic heroes suffered for their cause. His bravery would ultimately add drama to his memoirs. None of his flabby-bellied, limp-dicked competitors in the finance world would have the guts to do what he was about to do. He switched on the camera, stepped over the lip and started to walk down the fissure wall.
Robert felt the temperature drop instantly. He lowered himself with care, avoiding sharp protrusions. The ice grew inky and slick. He was nearing the five-metre mark when he heard a crash – it sounded like rocks tumbling down a mountainside. He looked around, searching for the source of the sound. He reassured himself that ice calved away from crevasse walls constantly.
‘Chicken,’ he heard a voice call.
Where did the voice come from?
‘Chicken,’ the voice scoffed again. He wasn’t imagining it. It was English but the voice had a strong accent.
Robert grabbed his rifle strapped across his chest and, using his harness, swivelled around and looked down. ‘Show yourself!’ he called out, squinting as he used his head torch to peer into nooks and crannies.
Silence, except for the creaking of his rope. His head shot from side to side, up and down, but there was no movement.
Robert began lowering himself again, his weapon pointed into the gloom. The silence was beginning to unnerve him. ‘Show yourself, you Russian pig!’ he called out. ‘Your once great country has crumbled, your empire gone. Your people are desperate for water, like mine, but what do you do? Nothing! You are impotent!’
He flicked the gun from side to side but still there was not a sound. He dropped further. As the natural light faded, he was aware that his head torch made him a target.
Time to change tack. ‘Luke, why are you doing this? Leave here, and see your family again. Your boy is safe.’
No response.
‘Luke!’ he yelled, angry that his goading had failed. ‘Show yourself or Jason dies!’
Robert’s feet were now dangling only a metre above the broken antenna. He heard panting. His head torch searched the shadows until he realised it was his own rapid breathing. He was being ridiculous; the man was dead. The video was recording everything and Robert was supposed to be in the starring role. Fortunately, the camera was facing away from him but it would pick up the fear in his voice. He straightened his back. He’d delete that bit later. Robert dropped down to the signal relay box.
He heard a roar and, looking down, saw a giant of a man, his teeth bared, about to grab Robert’s legs. Instinctively, he fired and the Russian was jolted by a bullet graze. Vitaly had been clinging to a narrow ledge just below and to the left of Robert.
Vitaly attacked again. His toes still on the ledge, he stretched up to grab Robert’s ankle with both hands. Robert felt the bulky man’s weight and, in panic, aimed the rifle at his attacker. But Vitaly was now directly beneath him and he couldn’t get a clear shot. The Russian’s weight would break his ankle – or, worse, his harness.
Robert clawed at the man’s hands but they clung to his ankle. He pulled out his ice axe and aimed the blunt end – designed as a hammer – at Vitaly’s hands. He missed, whacking his ankle, which fortunately was protected by calf-high boots. Regardless, Robert gasped. Furious, he raised the hammer again, and this time he didn’t miss.
Vitaly bellowed, and his damaged hands released their hold. The Russian slipped and fell back and off the ledge. Robert heard a loud crunch, and then another. Broken pieces of ice tumbled downwards, crashing deeper and deeper. Then quiet.
For a long moment he
scanned the darkness. When Robert was finally convinced that Vitaly wouldn’t return, he focused his attention on the severed antenna. He attached a new one and, to his relief, his wrist-monitor told him the controller’s signal was now reaching this critically important detonator – the last in the sequence.
‘Nice try,’ he scoffed aloud.
He checked his watch: 11:21 am. There was not enough time to get to the second signal relay box, reactivate it and make it back to his camp safely. But given the glacier’s fragility, he hoped the next section along would collapse at detonation, regardless. He heard a buzzing sound and, too late, recognised it as somebody descending. A boot kicked his face and the points of two crampon spikes sliced into his chin. Then a fist cracked his jaw with a snap, like the wishbone of a cooked bird.
Robert’s head jolted sideways, and the force of the blow propelled him into the ice wall. How had Vitaly got up there? Completely mystified and crying out in agony, he blindly fired upwards.
T MINUS 38 MINUTES
10 March, 11:22 am (UTC-07)
Robert tugged at his harness, desperate to get away.
‘No you don’t, you murdering son of a bitch,’ said Luke, his face an angry shadow.
Before Luke could force the rifle from his enemy’s hand, a bullet nicked his shoulder, creating a fireball of pain. He flinched and almost lost his grip. Before Robert could fire again, Luke zipped down to the ledge below, but Robert dropped a fraction too, and kicked at him with all his might.
As if in slow motion, Luke registered the twelve claw-like points protruding from the underside of Robert’s crampon – four at the heel, six on the sole and two at the toe. The front two were raised like the fangs of an attacking funnel-web spider. He wanted to lift his arms for protection but, having no harness, he had to cling on to the ropes.
Instinctively, Luke turned his head to one side and clenched his eyes shut. His mind told him that was dumb, as it exposed his vulnerable left temple, but in the millisecond he had to consider his options, his instinct to protect his eyes took over.