Ice Station ss-1

by Matthew Reilly

  "That's it!" Renshaw exclaimed suddenly.

  "What? What's it?" Schofield said.

  "Yaeger. Carmine Yaeger. That was his name."

  "Play the video, would you," Schofield said, exasperated.

  "Oh, yeah, right." Renshaw hurriedly hit the PLAY button on the VCR.

  An image came up on the second monitor. It was almost identical to the one that was on the first monitor, from the same high-mounted camera looking down on the pool and its surrounding deck.

  There was only one difference.

  On the second monitor's screen, someone was standing on the deck.

  Schofield stared at the screen intently.

  The person on the screen was a man, one of the Marines. He was alone.

  Schofield couldn't tell who it was because the camera was positioned directly above him. All he could see was the top of the man's helmet and his armored shoulder plates.

  And then suddenly the man looked up, slowly scanning the shaft of the station, and Schofield saw his face.

  He frowned.

  He was looking at his own face.

  Schofield turned immediately to Renshaw. "When did you record this?"

  "Just keep watching."

  Schofield turned back to the screen.

  He saw himself stop next to the pool and speak into his helmet mike. There was no sound; he could just see his own mouth moving. He stopped talking and took a step across the deck.

  And then he stopped.

  He had stepped on something.

  Schofield saw himself bend down and examine some broken glass on the deck. He seemed to look about him. And then suddenly his head cocked to the side. He was listening to something. Listening to someone speaking over his helmet intercom.

  The Shane Schofield on the screen then stood up and was starting to turn when suddenly his whole body jolted violently and a small spray of blood exploded out from his neck. He stopped instantly and swayed slightly, and then he raised his hand to his neck and held it out in front of his face. It had blood all over it.

  And then his knees buckled and he fell in a heap to the deck. He just lay there on the deck, motionless.

  Schofield stared at his own image on the screen.

  He had just seen himself get shot....

  He turned to Renshaw.

  Renshaw just nodded back at the screen. "There's more," he said quietly. "A lot more."

  Schofield swung back to face the screen.

  He saw his own body lying on the pool deck, unmoving. It lay there for a while.

  Nothing happened.

  And then suddenly someone stepped into the frame.

  Schofield felt his adrenaline rush as he watched the screen. He was about to see the person who had shot him.

  The first thing he saw was the helmet.

  It was another Marine.

  A man. Schofield could tell by the way he walked. But he couldn't see his face.

  The Marine walked slowly over to Schofield's unmoving body. He was in no hurry. He pulled his automatic pistol from his holster as he approached Schofield's body, pulled back the slide, cocking the gun.

  Schofield stared at the screen intently.

  The Marine, his face still obscured by his helmet, bent down over Schofield's body and placed two fingers on Schofield's blood-covered throat.

  "He's checking your pulse," Renshaw whispered.

  That was exactly what he was doing, Schofield saw. The Marine on the screen waited several seconds with his fingers on Schofield's neck.

  Schofield didn't take his eyes off the screen.

  The Marine on the screen stood up, satisfied that Schofield had no pulse. He uncocked his pistol, put it back in its holster.

  "And... look at that," Renshaw said. "There's nothing there." Renshaw turned to face Schofield. "Lieutenant, I do believe your heart just stopped beating."

  Schofield didn't even look at Renshaw as he spoke. His eyes were glued to the screen.

  "Now look at what he does here," Renshaw said. 'This is his fatal mistake...."

  Schofield watched as on the screen the Marine?his face still masked by his helmet?shoved Schofield's dead body across the deck with his foot.

  He was shoving the body toward the pool.

  After two strong kicks, Schofield's body was lying on the edge of the deck, right next to the water. The Marine then pushed Schofield's body one last time with his foot and the body fell limply into the water.

  "He doesn't know it," Renshaw said, "but that guy just kick-started your heart."

  "How?"

  "The way I figure it, that water's so cold, it acted like a defibrillator?you know, those electric-shock paddles they use on TV to restart peoples' hearts. The shock your body received when it hit that water?and let me tell you, that would have been one hell of a shock to a body that wasn't prepared for it?was enough to jolt your heart back into action."

  Schofield watched the screen.

  The Marine stood at the edge of the deck for a while, watching the circle of ripples that indicated the spot where Schofield's body had entered the inky water. After about thirty seconds, the Marine turned and looked around him.

  And at that moment, as the Marine turned, Schofield saw something that made his blood run cold.

  Oh, no..., he thought.

  The Marine then turned on his heel and quickly walked out of the frame.

  Schofield turned to Renshaw, his mouth agape.

  "It's not over yet," Renshaw said, interrupting him before he spoke. "Keep watching."

  Schofield turned back to face the screen.

  He saw the image of the deck and the pool. Otherwise there was nothing.

  Nothing was happening.

  Nothing at all.

  There was no one on the deck. No movement in the water.

  A full minute passed.

  And then Schofield saw it.

  "What the hell..." he said.

  At that moment, the water in the pool seemed to part of its own accord and suddenly, in a wash of bubbles and froth, Schofield's body?limp and lifeless?emerged from the water.

  Schofield watched, stunned.

  But it was what came after his body that truly laid him cold.

  Whatever it was, it was absolutely huge, at least as big as a killer whale.

  But this was no killer whale.

  It lifted Schofield's lifeless body out of the water and deposited it gently onto the deck. Water washed out onto the deck all around Schofield's limp body as the animal leaped up onto the deck after him. The whole deck shuddered under its immense weight.

  It was huge. It dwarfed Schofield's body. Schofield watched it, entranced.

  It was a seal of some sort.

  An enormous, gigantic seal.

  It had a huge blubbery body, layer upon layer of undulating fat, and it propped itself up on two massive foreflippers. The impression that Schofield got of the animal's strength was overwhelming?to hold up that enormous body required phenomenal musculature. It must have weighed at least eight tons.

  The strangest feature of all, however, was the animal's teeth. This enormous seal had two long inverted fangs?fangs that protruded from its lower jaw and rose up in front of its nose.

  "What the hell is that?" Schofield said softly.

  "I have no idea," Renshaw said. "The nose, the eyes, the shape of the head. It looks like an elephant seal. But I've never seen one so big. Or with teeth like that. Elephant seals have large lower canines, but I've never seen one with lower canines that big before."

  The seal on the screen was on the deck now. It ducked its head over Schofield's body. It seemed to be sniffing him. It slowly made its way up his inanimate body, until finally its long whiskers brushed against his nose. Schofield didn't move at all.

  And then, slowly, very slowly, the big seal began to open its mouth.

  Right in front of Schofield's face!

  Its jaws parted?a hideous, obscene yawn?revealing the animal's enormous lower fangs. The massive seal leaned f
orward and lowered its head. Its mouth began to close around Schofield's head....

  Schofield stared at the screen; his eyes went wide.

  The seal was about to bite his head off.

  It was going to eat him!

  And then suddenly the giant seal spun. At first, Schofield was surprised at how quickly the big animal moved. The deck beneath it shook as it turned its hulking frame around.

  It had seen something offscreen.

  The seal began to bark.

  There was no sound on the monitor, but Schofield could see it barking. It bared its teeth. Barked and barked. It shuffled around, agitated, adopted an aggressive stance. The muscles on its huge foreflippers bulged as it moved.

  And then suddenly the big seal turned and dived back into the pool. The huge splash it created sent waves sloshing up over the deck, all over Schofield's unmoving body.

  "Wait for it," Renshaw said. "Here's my big entrance."

  At that moment, Schofield saw another man step into the frame. This man was not wearing a Marine helmet, and his face was clearly visible. It was Renshaw.

  On the screen, Renshaw hurried forward and grabbed Schofield's body by the armpits and dragged him quickly out of the camera's field of vision?

  Renshaw hit the STOP button on the video recorder.

  "And that's all there is," he said.

  At first, Schofield didn't say anything. It was all just too overwhelming.

  First, the Marine shooting him and checking his pulse? to make sure that he was dead?and then kicking him into the pool so that there would be no trace.

  And then the elephant seal.

  The massive creature that had lifted Schofield's body out of the water and placed it gently on the poolside deck and had then disappeared back into the murky water.

  Renshaw said, "Now do you understand what I was saying about you being clinically dead? That guy we just saw, I think he was pretty sure that you were dead."

  Schofield said, "He was ready to put a bullet in my head if he wasn't sure."

  He shook his head at the thought of what he had just seen. Death, it seemed, had just saved him from death. "Holy shit...," he breathed.

  He stared blankly into space for a few moments, taking it all in. Then he blinked quickly, returning to the present.

  "Can you rewind that tape, please," he said to Renshaw. He had just remembered something about the image of the Marine who had shot him, something that the sight of the elephant seal had temporarily pushed from his mind.

  Renshaw rewound the tape, pressed PLAY.

  Schofield saw himself walk out onto the deck.

  "Fast-forward through this," he said.

  Renshaw fast-forwarded through the tape. Schofield watched as he walked around the deck in fast motion and then suddenly fell to the ground, shot.

  The Marine arrived. Checked Schofield's pulse. He then stood up and starting rolling the body toward the pool with his foot.

  "OK, slow down here," Schofield said.

  The image returned to normal speed just as the Marine shoved Schofield's body a final time and the body dropped into the water.

  "OK, get ready to stop it," Schofield said, watching the screen intently.

  On the screen, the Marine was standing at the water's edge, looking down into the pool at the spot where Scho-field's body had entered the water.

  Then the Marine turned and looked about himself.

  "There!" Schofield said. "Stop it there!"

  Renshaw quickly hit the PAUSE button on the VCR, and the image on the screen froze.

  The screen showed the top portion of the Marine's helmet. The man's shoulders had also rotated upward slightly as he had turned to look about himself.

  "I don't get it," Renshaw said. "You still can't see his face."

  "I'm not looking at his face," Schofield said.

  And he wasn't.

  He was looking at the man's shoulders. At the man's right shoulder plate.

  The image on the screen was grainy, but Schofield could see the shoulder plate clearly.

  A picture had been painted onto it.

  Schofield felt a sliver of ice run down his spine as he stared at the picture that had been tattooed onto the man's shoulder plate.

  It was a picture of a cobra, with its jaws bared wide.

  In the dark storeroom down on E-deck, Mother rested her head gently against the cold, icy wall.

  She shut her eyes. It had been about a half hour since anyone had come to check on her, and she expected Buck Riley to come by soon. Her leg was starting to ache, and she was itching for another hit of methadone.

  She took a deep breath, tried to shut out the pain.

  After a moment, however, she had a strange sensation thai someone else was in the room with her....

  Slowly, Mother opened her eyes.

  Someone was standing in the doorway.

  A man. A Marine.

  He just stood there, like a statue, silhouetted in the doorway. His face was cloaked in shadow. He didn't say a word.

  "Book?" Mother said, sitting upright. She squinted, took a closer look, tried to see who it was.

  She stopped, startled.

  It wasn't Book.

  Book was shorter than whoever this was, more rounded. This Marine was tall and lean.

  The Marine still didn't speak. He just stood there, staring at Mother, his features covered in darkness. Mother realized who it was.

  "Snake," she said. "What's the matter? Don't you talk anymore? Cat got your tongue?"

  Snake didn't move from the doorway. He just kept staring at Mother.

  When he spoke, Mother didn't see his mouth move. Hisface was low, rough. "I'm here instead of Book," he said. "I'm here to take care of you, Mother."

  "Good," Mother said, sitting up straighter, preparing herself for another shot of methadone. "I could use another shot of that kickapoo joy juice."

  Snake still didn't move from the doorway.

  Mother frowned. "Well?" she said. "What are you waiting for?a gilt-edged invitation?"

  "No," Snake said, his voice cold.

  He stepped forward into the storeroom and Mother's eyes widened in horror as she saw the light from the corridor outside glint off the knife in his hand.

  Mother pushed herself back against the icy wall of the storeroom as Snake stepped through the doorway, brandishing his long Bowie knife. "Snake, what the fuck are you doing?"

  "I'm sorry, Mother," he said coldly. "You're a good solder. But you're too close to this."

  "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

  Snake stepped slowly closer.

  Mother's eyes were glued to the glistening knife in his hand.

  "National security," Snake said.

  "National security?" Mother scoffed. "What the fuck are you, Snake?"

  Snake smiled a thin, evil smile. "Come on, Mother; you've been around. You've heard the stories. What do you think I am?"

  "A fucking wacko, that's what I think," Mother said as her eyes fell upon her helmet, lying on the floor of the storeroom halfway between her and Snake. It was lying upside down, with the microphone pointed up in the air.

  Slowly, Mother began to slide her left hand down toward her belt.

  "I do what's necessary to be done," Snake said.

  "Necessary for what?" Mother said as she flicked a button on her belt. The button that switched on her helmet mike.

  In Renshaw's room on B-deck, Schofield now had his body armor back on.

  He reached for his various weapons. His pistol went into its holster; his knife went back into its sheath on his ankle guard. He slung his MP-5 over his shoulder and bolstered his Maghook behind his back. Last, Schofield reached for his helmet and slid it over his head.

  He heard voices immediately.

  "?the national interest."

  "Snake, put that fucking?"

  And then suddenly static cut across the signal and there was nothing.

  But Schofield had heard enough.

 
; Mother.

  Snake was down with Mother.

  "Jesus," he said.

  He spun to face Renshaw. "OK, Harry Houdini, you've got exactly five seconds to show me how you got out of this room."

  Renshaw immediately ran toward the door. "Why? What's going on?" he said.

  Schofield hurried alongside him. "Somebody's about to get killed."

  Down in the storeroom, Snake lifted his foot off what was left of Mother's helmet.

  The small microphone at the jawline of her helmet lay crumpled and bent, broken beyond repair.

  "Come on, Mother," Snake said in an admonishing tone. "I expected more from you. Or did you just forget that I receive your transmissions, too?"

  Mother scowled at him. "Did you kill Samurai?"

  "Yes."

  "You fuck."

  Snake was almost on top of her now. Mother shifted against the wall.

  "Time to die, Mother," Snake said.

  Mother snorted at him. "Snake. I've just got to know. What sort of sick, twisted, two-faced son of a bitch are you?"

  Snake smiled. "The only kind, Mother. I'm ICG."

  Schofield watched tensely as Renshaw stepped up to the thick wooden door of his room.

  Up until that time, Schofield hadn't noticed that the door was made up of about ten vertical wooden planks. Renshaw immediately placed his fingers up against one of these vertical planks.

  "The horizontal beams are on the outside," Renshaw said. "Which meant that no one outside this room saw the cuts I made on the inside of these vertical planks."

  Schofield's eyes widened when he saw them.

  Two thin horizontal lines stretched across the width of the heavy wooden door?like two scars in the wood?cutting across the wide vertical planks. The two horizontal lines ran in parallel, approximately three feet away from each other?at precisely those points where the horizontal beams on the other side of the door would have been.

  Schofield marveled at Renshaw's ingenuity.

  Anyone standing on the other side of the door would never have known that Renshaw had managed to saw right through the vertical wooden planks.

  "I used a steak knife to saw through the planks," Renshaw said. "Three, actually. The wood wears them down pretty fast." He reached off to his right and grabbed a worn-down steak knife and Renshaw inserted the blade of the knife into the narrow gap between two of the vertical planks. Then he worked the knife like a crowbar until suddenly one of the planks popped clear of the rest of the door.