Arctic Fire

by Stephen W. Frey

“Enjoy it, Shane. You deserve it.”

  Maddux knew he should have left it at that, but he couldn’t. He’d trained himself to keep his eye on the ultimate objective, but there were still times when he needed to make his peace too. “Be careful of President Dorn. I know you think there’s no problem with him, but my information’s coming from three sources, Roger. When it triangulates like that, there’s an excellent chance it’s accurate. In fact, I’d say the odds are almost a hundred percent at this point.”

  “Don’t worry, Shane, everything’s fine.”

  “Roger, I—”

  “It’s fine, Shane. Trust me.”

  Maddux slipped the envelope into his coat pocket and stood up. “I do trust you, Roger. You don’t even have to say that.” He started for the basement stairs and then hesitated. “I’ve never begged you for anything, but I’m begging you for this, Roger. Please look into it one more time.” If Carlson did as Maddux asked, there would still be time to stop the train even though it had already left the station. If not, Maddux would move forward unilaterally. He loved the old man, but he loved the country more. “I’m telling you. President Dorn wants to destroy us.”

  CHAPTER 6

  AS QUICKLY as the storm had erupted, it had died. The sleet and snow were gone; seas had settled back to long, gentle swells of eight feet; gusts had calmed to less than thirty knots; and the Arctic Fire was cruising steadily toward a big payday in Akutan with only forty nautical miles left to go.

  Troy stood at midship on the starboard side of the vessel, near the crane that pulled the traps back aboard. He shook his head. He still couldn’t believe what had happened. He’d dodged another bullet.

  The bridge was only thirty feet behind him, and he could see Sage and Duke up there through the reinforced glass yelling at each other, furious at losing so much expensive equipment to the sea. He couldn’t hear them, but they were doing a lot of finger-pointing and waving, like they always did when things went wrong. Evidently they’d already put the fact that their nephew and son had cheated death by a yellow thread well into the rearview mirror.

  Troy stared into the darkness shrouding the ocean, thinking again about how Speed Trap had come so close to death—but he hadn’t. How they’d been standing right beside each other when the huge wave had smashed into the ship, but he’d come out of it so much better.

  The same thing had happened before. He’d survived situations like that unscathed or barely bruised while others around him had been badly hurt, even killed. He hated to admit it because it was unnerving, but maybe Red Fox One was right. Maybe he was untouchable; maybe he was the ultimate survivor.

  He leaned on the deck wall next to the crane and glanced toward the stern. Even though the sun had set, he could make out the shadowy shapes of the ever-present seagulls. And hear their sharp cries as they hung a few feet off the surface behind the ship, moving gracefully up and down with the waves. The same flock had been with them since they’d left Dutch Harbor, patiently waiting for any scrap of bait or piece of crab that might come their way.

  It looked so peaceful to be a seagull, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t peaceful or easy to be any wild creature, Troy knew. Every day was a brutal struggle to survive, and there was no help for the sick or wounded. Only the strong made it, and that was nature’s law. It was a cold reality, and it didn’t necessarily work well for the individual. But ultimately it worked for the species, and that was the only thing that mattered to nature.

  It was the same way for the United States. All that mattered was that she got stronger every day, even if brave men and women had to die. But the pain and agony those men and women endured was worth it if their sacrifices ensured the survival of the country and its place as the world’s only superpower.

  Troy touched his forehead. The gash he’d suffered in the chaos of the storm was only an inch long, but it was deep and he’d needed seven stitches to pull it together. He’d done the job himself with a sewing needle and black thread he’d found in an emergency kit on the Fire’s galley wall. He grinned as he thought about watching in the mirror as the needle plunged in and out of his skin. He was just glad his mother had no idea what had happened. She might have rented a boat in Dutch Harbor herself to come out here and get him if she had.

  He knew his decision to sail on the Bering Sea had come as no surprise to his family, but that it was a bitter disappointment for her. She had hoped that after making it to the peak of Vinson Massif on a frigid Antarctic afternoon two months ago and completing the Seven Summits, he was finished tempting fate and had finally chased the daredevil demons from his soul.

  She’d told him all of that very directly. She’d also told him that she wanted him to follow his father’s footsteps into New York City’s world of high finance. Bill Jensen was a Wall Street superstar, and she assumed her husband could get Troy any job he wanted at the huge bank he ran.

  But Troy had made it clear to her then that a move to Manhattan still wasn’t in the cards. That he still wasn’t ready to trade in the razor’s edge for a suit and tie, a cramped Upper East Side apartment, and a ride on a crowded six train down to Wall Street every morning. There were too many challenges left on his daredevil list, he’d told her over the phone from a distant corner of the world he wouldn’t identify.

  Maybe his mother was right, Troy thought to himself as he gazed into the darkness shrouding the Bering Sea. Maybe the razor’s edge was finally getting too sharp.

  “Troy?”

  He whipped around, startled by the voice. He’d been a world away. “What?”

  Sage and Duke stood beside each other in front of him. They were big-boned, broad-shouldered men who were each over six feet tall. Looming behind them was Speed Trap’s older brother, Grant. Grant was a man-mountain who stood six-seven, weighed 270 pounds, and had even longer, starker blond hair than his kid brother. Speed Trap was nowhere in sight.

  “We gotta talk, Troy,” Captain Sage said.

  It was strange to see the captain out here on deck. Since they’d left Dutch Harbor, Troy couldn’t remember seeing Sage anywhere but on the bridge. “What about?”

  Sage kicked at a crab leg lying on the deck, and Duke looked away.

  Something in the back of Troy’s mind clicked. He didn’t like those looks in their eyes. “Hey, what the hell’s—”

  “You’re going over,” Sage interrupted in a steely voice. “You can jump, or we can throw you over. It’s up to you.”

  Troy straightened up. His senses were instantly on full alert, and his pulse was racing. Sage and Duke were passing a death sentence. Their expressions were grim, but he could see that they were committed to carrying it out.

  “So you don’t have to pay me? Just so you can save eighty grand?”

  “That was a lot of traps we lost,” Duke mumbled in a hollow voice. “And eighty grand’s a lot of money.”

  Troy’s eyes flashed back and forth between the two men, searching for compassion from one of them. But he didn’t find it. “This is how you thank me for saving Speed Trap’s life?”

  “It’s a raw deal,” Sage agreed.

  “A raw deal?”

  “Yup.”

  “That’s all you can say?”

  “Yup.”

  “Over eighty grand. That’s what this comes down to?”

  Captain Sage stared steadily into Troy’s eyes for several moments. Then he shook his head slowly. “This ain’t over eighty grand,” he whispered. “You and I both know that.”

  How could Sage possibly know that? The question raced through Troy’s mind as he brought his fists up.

  Then it hit him. There’d been a sly wolf hiding inside that suit of sheep’s clothing after all. The man hanging on the fence in Nuevo Laredo had rolled over on him. The man had said all the right things when they’d met, but he’d been lying the whole time.

  Red Fox One was behind this execution.

  CHAPTER 7

  JACK SAT at the table in Bill and Cheryl’s kitchen, thinking about what
had happened in the plane as he gazed at his laptop and then at a tall glass of red wine standing beside it. He was going to spend the night here. His cramped apartment was another half hour away, and he didn’t feel like driving after what had happened.

  The fact that Bill had turned around and picked him up had been surprising. Shocking, really. They hadn’t said a word to each other all the way home. But getting the ride had been a lot better than hiking all the way back to the mansion to get his car.

  As he glanced out the wide bay window and into the darkness, he heard someone coming down the long hallway toward the kitchen.

  “Hello, Jack.”

  “Hi, Cheryl.” He stood up and gave her a kiss on the cheek as she passed him to get a glass of wine for herself. “What are you doing still up?” He eased back into his chair, relieved that it was Cheryl and not Bill.

  She was tall, slim, blonde, and elegant. She was fifty-eight but looked ten years younger.

  “I couldn’t sleep.” She ran her fingers through his dark hair lovingly as she sat down beside him with her wine. “So what happened? Why did I have to make Bill turn around and get you?”

  Of course, Jack realized. They must have spoken after Bill roared away from the small airport, and she’d shamed him into going back. She was the only one in the world who could.

  “I chickened out,” he admitted. He wasn’t proud of it, but he wasn’t going to lie. “But damn it, I hate heights and I’m not qualified to solo, especially at night.”

  “Bill had you jumping out of that plane by yourself?” she asked incredulously. “At night?”

  He didn’t want to be that whining kid. He’d never accepted pity, and he never would. “It’s done,” he said quietly. “Let’s just leave it at that.”

  She gazed at him for a few moments as she sipped her wine, and then she gestured at the laptop’s screen. “Anything interesting?”

  Jack pointed at the article he’d been reading on the New York Times website. “We blew away some mountain town in Afghanistan yesterday that was supposed to be a terrorist base.” He’d seen a quick story about it yesterday afternoon on Yahoo!, but the Times article had more details. “We blasted the place to hell with cruise missiles, but it turns out all we did was kill a bunch of innocent civilians. No terrorists.”

  “You got a problem with that, Jack?”

  Jack and Cheryl glanced up in surprise as Bill walked into the kitchen in his precise military stride. Neither of them had heard him coming down the long hallway.

  “Yeah, I do,” Jack answered, impressed as always by how quietly Bill could move despite his size. “A few of them, actually.”

  “Now, boys,” Cheryl murmured uneasily.

  “Like what?” Bill demanded as he sat down in the chair opposite Jack’s.

  “To start with, we killed a bunch of innocent civilians. And, according to the article, that included some kids.”

  “How do you know those people were all innocent?”

  “The article said they were just townspeople. They probably didn’t even know the United States existed.”

  “And you believe the article?”

  “Sure.”

  “You’ll never learn,” Bill muttered.

  “Want something to eat, dear?” Cheryl asked as she rose from the table and headed for the refrigerator. “A sandwich maybe?”

  “That would be great, honey. Thanks.” Bill reached across the table, pulled the laptop in front of him, and quickly scanned the story. “Consider the source, Jack,” he said when he was finished. “It’s the damn New York Times. It’s the most liberal rag in the country. It’s even worse than the Washington Post.”

  “Are you saying the Times manipulated this story? That they aren’t telling the truth?”

  “I’m saying they have an agenda. Senior people at that newspaper want us out of Afghanistan. Everyone knows that. If you want the straight dope, read the Journal.”

  “You’re being ridiculous, Bill.”

  “And you’re being naïve, Jack. But what else is new?”

  “Wait a minute,” Jack snapped. “Are you saying it’s OK to kill a bunch of innocent kids as long as we kill a few terrorists at the same time?”

  “Those animals don’t care when they do it to us,” Bill retorted, “as they’ve demonstrated time and time again.”

  “Aren’t we supposed to be better than them?”

  “It’s a lowest common denominator situation, Jack. You have to fight these people on their level. Force is the only thing they understand. They’re like dogs. You can’t show compassion for them. The minute you do, they take it as a sign of weakness and they attack.”

  “Well, I was never very good at math, so I don’t know much about all that lowest common denominator stuff. But I don’t think you can justify killing kids for any reason.”

  “Why not? They grow up to be terrorists. Kill ’em while they’re young, I say. Before they kill us.”

  Jack stared at Bill like he was crazy. “Are you serious?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Jesus Christ. I can’t even begin to understand that way of thinking, especially when kids are involved.”

  “Let’s talk about something else,” Cheryl pleaded as she pulled cold cuts and a jar of mayonnaise from the fridge and headed for the counter beside the sink. “We’re not going to solve the world’s problems at our kitchen table tonight.”

  “I agree, Cheryl,” Jack called over his shoulder. “There’s no reason to—”

  “Got any other problems with this?” Bill interrupted as he tapped the screen.

  Jack tried to stop himself, but he couldn’t. Sometimes Bill pissed him off too much. It had felt damn good to throw the old man to the floor of the plane up there in the sky, he couldn’t deny that. It was pure macho bullshit, and it was incredibly stupid. But it still felt good.

  “You’re damn right I do.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like it’s not even our country we’re shooting up,” Jack said. “I mean, it’s gotten to the point where we treat the rest of the world like our private gun range. We bomb anybody we feel like bombing whenever we feel like it. We don’t even go to the United Nations anymore to get permission.”

  “Get real, Jack. We are the United Nations. Why do you think the damn building is in Manhattan?”

  “We should still be going through the proper channels. We should be doing it the right way. We’re the good guys.”

  Bill groaned loudly. “So we’re supposed to stand by and play it straight while these maniacs who’ve been told that harems of virgins are waiting for them on the other side if they wipe us off the face of the earth train to do it? Is that what you’re saying? Do you really think we’re gonna get permission to bomb the hell out of someplace from a bunch of neutral pansies? Do you really think other countries that don’t have a dog in the fight are going to vote like that in plain sight so these heathens who’ve taken a blood oath to kill anyone who does can see them do it?” he sneered. “Hell, we’re the most powerful country in the world, the most powerful country to ever exist. And you’re right. We are the good guys, we aren’t the evil ones. We shouldn’t have to ask for anyone’s permission to do anything.”

  Jack saw that vein on Bill’s right temple pumping like mad, the way it always did when he started getting really worked up. “Maybe if we tried a little compassion and understanding first, we wouldn’t have to worry so much about wiping each other out.” Jack knew exactly how that sounded to Bill—like giant fingernails screeching down a giant chalkboard—but the chance to see that vein really go crazy was too tempting. “Know what I mean?”

  “Christ,” Bill hissed. “Let’s get you some sutures for that poor heart of yours that’s gushing liberal blood all over the cowardly left wing.”

  “A path of escalation never works,” Jack fired back. “It can’t. Revenge is our enemy. History shows us that.”

  “Well, isn’t that profound? Why don’t you tell that to all the k
ids who lost their moms and dads on 9-11?”

  Cheryl grimaced as she fixed the sandwich. “Bill, I don’t think Jack’s saying that we should—”

  “And my last problem,” Jack cut in, “is that we’re throwing six hundred billion dollars down the defense black hole every year while we go another trillion bucks in the red. At least, that’s what the government tells us we’re spending annually on guns and ammo. It’s probably twice that when you take into account all of that black ops crap our intel people are up to just for fun. We could probably balance the damn budget if we blew up the Pentagon.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Tomorrow morning I’ll probably read about how some super-secret US unit broke into an apartment somewhere in the Middle East and killed another suspected terrorist leader using some wild new personal cloaking device.” Jack spread his arms wide. “And for what? So another prick with a death wish can take his place? It never ends this way, Bill. The war keeps going on forever. That’s the point.”

  “The only way it ends is if we wipe them out. That’s the point, you idiot.”

  “Bill!” Cheryl spoke up sharply. “Please.”

  “So we murder an entire population to kill a few bad apples,” Jack said. “That’s your solution to world peace?”

  “It’s the only solution we’ve got.”

  “How could we live with ourselves?”

  “Happily. I know I could. And I’m not alone, Jack. You might be surprised how many people in this country agree with me and would be willing to use almost any means necessary to wipe out those people.”

  “OK, Adolph.”

  Bill glared at Jack. “You have no idea what it takes to run the greatest country in the world,” he said in a grave voice, working hard to maintain his composure. “You have no idea how difficult it is to keep the United States safe and how many terrible decisions a few of our leaders have to make every day to do it.” He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe he actually had to say this. “You live in your beautiful little world in Greenwich, Connecticut, Jack. Protected by men and women of honor who do things you don’t want to know about half a world away so you can live in that beautiful little world. People who would laugh at your fear of heights because they do things that make jumping out of a plane at night look like walking a poodle through Central Park on a sunny afternoon.” He inhaled deeply. “You accept their protection freely and completely even as you despise and denigrate them. It’s pathetic, Jack.”