ICE GENESIS

by Kevin Tinto

  Chapter 60

  Leah escorted Hutchinson to a small side door near the corner of the hangar that led out to the tarmac. Before opening it, she said, “I want you to look out there and tell me if there’s an airplane that can fly to Antarctica. I don’t want to shoot you in the back, so keep it friendly and don’t try to set the base record in the hundred-meter dash.”

  “No, ma’am. Wouldn’t even think of it.” Hutchinson hesitated, even after Leah had pulled open the door. “I’m really sorry about Mr. Moon, ma’am. We all thought he was really cool—and he was a pilot too.”

  “Captain, you have no idea the shitstorm we’ve had to survive for what seems like forever. If I seem…harsh, you’ll have to forgive me.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Those of us assigned to the Settlement, we all really believed in what you were doing. We’re not like those guys we had onboard the bird.”

  “I hope that’s true. It seems we’re surrounded by people who want us dead, and for no good reason…. Now take a look and tell me what we’ve got.”

  Leah kept a hand on the back of Captain Hutchinson’s flight suit while they stepped outside the hangar. A line of F-22 Raptor fighters and two C-130 Hercules sat on the apron, also two C-17 Globemaster transports.

  “What’ve we got, Captain?”

  “The F-22s are no good, unless you’re flying them yourself.”

  “Nope,” Leah said. “My flying skills are limited to backseat driving in a Cessna 172. I also need room for all the Ancients, a medical team and gear.”

  “The two C-130s would work. Are you planning to land on the ice?”

  “Yes on the landing, nope on the C-130. I flew back from Antarctica on a C-130. Slow as molasses and had to be refueled like a dozen times, or so it seemed. I need something that doesn’t have to be refueled, is fast, comfortable, and can handle all my gear.”

  She pointed toward the C-17 Globemaster: a massive four-engine jet transport that looked as if you could load half a city block, cars and all, in the cargo hold. “What about those big boys?”

  “It won’t make Antarctica, ma’am. It has a range of around seven-thousand miles. Gotta be eight-thousand, maybe nine-thousand, just to reach the continent from here.” He shook his head. “It’s heavy, like 500,000 pounds loaded. Maybe 300,000 with fuel. It would crash land on a non-prepared runway.”

  “Any runways that might support that monster in Antarctica?”

  “McMurdo. Amundsen-Scott won’t work for the C-17. The only place you can land the C-17 is on the Ross Ice Shelf at MacMurdo. It’s too heavy to land on the snow runway at the South Pole.”

  “Damn.” Roadblocks at every turn.

  “The C-17 could make it with one inflight refueling though,”

  “Something that big can be refueled inflight?”

  “Yes, ma’am. United States Air Force. Global. Airborne. Range,” Hutchinson said, proudly.

  “How much is Holloman worth, Captain? With all the aircraft and facilities?” She could use the Hafnium warhead one more time if she had to.

  “Billions. There’s a couple billion in jets, sitting right in front of us with the F-22s and the C-17s. The Globemasters are 250 million—each. That’s just a fraction of what’s here.” Hutchinson studied the tarmac and their surroundings. “Ah, Dr. Andrews. Probably not a good idea to stand out here, exposed like this. The Delta Platoon will be headed back and I suspect their mission will simply be re-tasked to take the two hangars. A Delta sniper could get you from a thousand meters, easy, standing out in the open.”

  “I appreciate the heads-up, and I know how those guys operate. But they’ll be trying to figure out what happened to their helo for another two hours.”

  “Were you in the military? You seem to know a lot about military logistics—or lack of.”

  “Far from it. Let’s just say I’ve had a career’s worth of military BS in the last few weeks.”

  “We’re you able to engage with the SEAL platoon the RUMINT said was dropped in to take you off the ice?”

  “Rumint?”

  “Oh, sorry. That’s military for a mix of rumor and intel.”

  “Heroes in every sense of the word, Captain. The only military I’ve run into worth a damn…. Present company excluded.”

  Once back inside the hangar, Leah said. “You hungry, Captain?”

  “Yes, ma’am. The last time we ate was last night.”

  “I need you for another fifteen minutes, then I’m going to cut you and rest of the helicopter crews loose.”

  Hutch eased visibly, grinning.

  “That happy to be freed, Captain?”

  “No, ma’am. I’ve got to take a leak so bad my back teeth are floating. I think I can hold it for fifteen more minutes.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake. Go to the hanger restroom and meet me back at the rear of the Chinook.” She raised her eyebrows, but not the barrel of the HK. “Remember. I still have your crew tied up. Don’t make me shoot each one between the eyes because you disappeared.”

  She barely heard the "Yes, ma’am,” as he sprinted toward the hangar restrooms.

  Chapter 61

  Less than eight hours after his brief conversation with Teresa Simpson, Paulson sat in the command seat of the Cessna Citation X. He was in the process of setting up the computerized navigation systems that would fly the aircraft first to Lisbon, Portugal, for fuel, then on to Istanbul, Turkey, to refuel again, then out over the waters of the Black Sea. He’d tried to avoid Istanbul but given the Citation X’s range of 3,700 miles, it couldn’t be helped.

  If all went as planned, Paulson would inform Air Traffic Control he was descending down to five-hundred feet AGL so his ‘onboard photographers’ could shoot video of the Black Sea for an up-coming documentary. From there, he’d put the spurs to it, go feet-dry on the Turkish border and fly the five-hundred or so miles at sand level, cross the Iranian border, land at the airfield, pick Hobson up, exit the same way, and roll into Athens, Greece, on fumes.

  The most important piece of information had come less than three hours ago. Jack had called Karen back and given her a rundown on the airfield. A single runway, about 8,000 feet long, with a bomb crater rendering some 2,000 feet on the north end unusable. That left 6,000 feet for the X. For landing, that was no problem. The jet required less than 4,000 feet of runway. For take-off, it was a whole lot dicier. They’d be fine, assuming Jack’s measurements were correct and the runway was solid for 6,000. The X needed 5,000 plus for takeoff. It’d be running light, which would help; a breeze down the center line would be nice as well.

  Which reminded him of something he’d forgotten. Paulson wanted to make sure they had a wind reference. If the airfield was missing a windsock, he’d need another way to determine wind direction and wind speed.

  Although not a pilot, Jack Hobson was a seasoned airman. He was experienced at guiding aircraft into and out of tight places. Many of them not even airports—just a long stretch of grass, gravel, lake, river, you name it. Paulson had to count on the fact that Jack would know they’d need a reference for landing—and make that happen. The most important item he had: GPS coordinates for the center of the runway: 39.631803, 44.600669.

  Paulson pushed the reading glasses up on his forehead and leaned back onto the command pilot seat, talking to himself.

  “This isn’t going to work. This is about a dumb-ass plan as I’ve ever attempted.”

  Paulson had sent Ridley on a visual inspection of the aircraft’s exterior, looking for signs of hydraulic leaks, loose fittings, anything that could jeopardize the flight.

  “Bird looks good, Al.” Ridley said, poking his head into the small cockpit. “I can guarantee it will get you into Iran—from there it’s up to you to keep us from augering-in on some Persian mountaintop.”

  Paulson glanced up, the reading glasses now back down on his nose.

  “Christ,” Ridley growled. “If you can’t set up the aircraft without those soda-bottle reading glasses, how the hell are you gonna f
ly this thing, in the dark, low on the deck?”

  “I won’t need these glasses for flying the mountains.” Paulson reached down into his bag and pulled out another pair, with lens equally thick. “These are ones I need to see distance.”

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Ridley said. “You honestly think this is a workable plan, Al?”

  Paulson pushed the glasses back up on his head, his expression grim. “We’ve done a lot of flying and lying together, Mac. Truthfully, this is a cluster. If we don’t get shot down after crossing the border into eastern Turkey, or shot down over northern Iran, or auger-in at any of the above, we’ll probably run out of gas before reaching the first safe refuel location in Athens. And even that’s dodgy close.”

  Chapter 62

  After his visit to the hangar bathroom, Captain Hutchinson stood at the rear of the Chinook. Leah had already told the balance of the helo crews they’d be freed in a matter of minutes. The amount of squirming indicated they had to ‘go’ as well.

  “Captain, come on up here.”

  The Chinook was empty with the exception of the restrained helo crews and the Hafnium warhead. Leah pointed to the warhead sitting in the cradle.

  “You know what that is, Captain?”

  “No, ma’am. Custom beer keg?”

  “Good one. I’ll introduce you to my husband if we live through this. You two will get along just fine.” She took four steps to reach the warhead and knelt next to it.

  “Come on over—get a closer look.”

  Hutchinson walked over and knelt beside Leah.

  “This is a classified, top secret nuclear warhead.”

  Hutch stood and stumbled back two steps.

  “It’s called an Iso-Hafnium warhead, and the monster explosion that took place in Antarctica? That was just one of these bad boys…. The only reason I’m alive, talking to you now—is that we had this one hidden near the Gila National Forest. How we obtained the warhead is a long story, and should we survive, my husband Jack will tell it to you for hours on end.”

  Leah stood. “President Wheeler and his flunky named Stan Fischer tried to kill us on multiple occasions. While it might sound crazy, we used this warhead as blackmail to keep us alive.” She shrugged. “And it did, in fact, do that job.”

  Hutchinson nodded, his face grim. “Yes, ma’am. Guessing the KIA—Marko, I think you said his name was—was part of your crew.”

  Leah nodded. “Marko Kinney was about your age. We don’t know what happened to Luke Derringer, a pilot who lived at a nearby airfield.” She paused, then glanced up at Hutchinson. “You did overhear the conversation I had with the goons….”

  “Yes, ma’am. Couldn’t help but listen in on that Gucci-level spook intelligence.”

  “I’m going to need you up to speed here in a moment. Anything you overheard bother you, Captain?”

  Hutchinson opened his eyes wide, and for the first since she’d been working with the Army pilot, he looking genuinely pissed off. “Yes, ma’am. Sounds like our president has gone off his rocker, hiring some ex black ops thugs to clean up his mess.” Hutchinson was just getting warmed up. “Turns out the lead dog, Krause, is a slimy double-agent. He knocks off some Wheeler advisor, killing two birds with one stone.”

  “Fischer. Stan Fischer, Captain.”

  Hutchinson nodded. "Right. Fischer. So, Krause kills Fischer to get rid of one of Mr. Wheeler’s liabilities, but before he does that, Krause water-boards Fischer with a knife blade, until he is satisfied he knows every detail about the Antarctica operation. He might have sold that ‘secret squirrel’ to the Russians for a stack of ‘cheddar’ that reaches right into the stratosphere.” Hutchinson shrugged. “President Wheeler should have known. You live with pigs, you’re gonna get dirty. Krause then murdered two of your crew in cold blood and won the big prize: flying lessons, out the back of the Hook.” Hutchinson grinned wicked. “Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.”

  “Secret squirrel?” Leah asked, unable to prevent herself from shaking her head in disbelief. “Cheddar, Captain?”

  “Ah, yes, ma’am. ‘Secret squirrel’. That’s helicopter pilot talk for ultra-top secret. You won’t hear it around here much…it’s more of an Afghanistan thing. Cheddar—big wad of cash.”

  “Excellent,” Leah said. “I’ll remember not to recite my ATM pin if you’re ever in line behind me.” Leah picked up Krause’s bag and fished around for the satellite phone that had been tucked in under the HK magazines and energy bars. “I cannot talk to this asshole without going ballistic. I’m trying to be a little more…user-friendly—with people that is…. Therefore, to avoid going off the rails, and embarrassing myself, probably even saying stuff that would be better off held close to my vest, you’ll have the pleasure.”

  “This asshole?”

  “President Wheeler,” Leah said, powering up the satellite communicator, hoping that the number she needed would be keyed into the phone on speed-dial or re-dial, and easily identifiable. Sure enough, the only number listed was labeled ‘POTUS.’

  Hutchinson’s eyes opened wide. “You want me to talk to the president of the United States?”

  “He won’t be for long, if that makes it any easier.”

  Hutchinson stood at attention. “I’m good, ma’am—just a little shocked.”

  “Get used to it, Captain. The shocks come at such a rate, pretty soon you’ll go numb.”

  Leah dialed Krause’s sat phone and the president answered almost immediately. “Hello? Hello? Hello?” in rapid succession. The man sounded on the edge. She handed the phone to Captain Hutchinson.

  “The President is on the phone. Introduce yourself, Captain. Tell him whose ‘wonderful’ company you’re in—where you’re at, and why.” She whispered, “Leave Krause out for the moment. We’ll get to that.”

  Hutchinson did as he was instructed. He had to stop numerous times while Wheeler interrupted. Leah heard Wheeler’s voice an octave higher than normal, his breathing ragged.

  “If he hasn’t yet had a stroke, Captain, I’d like you to tell him what happened to Mr. Fischer—not that we know, exactly.”

  “Dr. Andrews said to tell you that Mr. Fischer is dead. Killed by Mr. Krause.”

  High-pitched screaming dominated the other end of the line for a few moments.

  Hutchinson looked over at Leah as he spoke to the President. “Ah…no, sir. Mr. Krause is not here. He went off the ramp of the Hook—I mean the Chinook, sir.”

  Hutchinson nodded while decoding the screaming. “No, sir. He didn’t walk off. He was thrown off. Guesstimate, 3,000 AGL…and at cruise speed. Sir.” The line was dead silent. Then came measured, controlled questioning.

  Hutchinson nodded once again. “Ah, no, sir. I’m not at liberty to discuss who exactly threw Mr. Krause out the back of the Hook.” He nodded again. “Three of his men were killed when Dr. Leah’s Ancients cut their throats, capturing my Black Hawk. Two others accepted the Red Bull Challenge as well, sir. That’s right. Off the ramp—approximately the same altitude.”

  “Captain, before he has a stroke, kindly relate our conversation with Krause and company. Hit the highlights, as we discussed.”

  After Hutchinson ran down everything that had happened overnight, there was a longer pause on Wheeler’s end of the connection. Leah wondered if the president had disconnected the call. Wheeler came back and Leah heard the president ask who, including Dr. Andrews, had overheard the conversations with Krause and his crew.

  “There are multiple witnesses, Mr. President. Including military personnel unattached to the operation.” Hutchinson looked over at Leah and winked. “No sir, I’m not at liberty to disclose those identities—for good reason, as I’m sure you’d agree.”

  The kid’s getting into the groove. Leah was thankful to have another ally. There was only one more item that she needed to have confirmed by an independent source.

  “Time for the bombshell,” she whispered to Hutchinson. She nodded in the direction of the Hafnium bomb. �
�Tell him it’s Groundhog Day all over again, Captain. I have the Hafnium warhead in my possession.”

  Hutchinson relayed the information, as told.

  Leah pulled a zipper on her flight suit, and pulled out the plastic bag, covered in Marko’s blood, opened it and pulled out the typed sheets with both the code to the weapon, and the lengthy, and complicated initializing and de-initializing instructions. Leah was anticipating Wheeler’s next question.

  “Yes, sir. She’s holding what appear to be codes of some kind. Little hard to see, sir, the plastic bag is covered Mr. Kinney’s blood. Sir.”

  Leah indicated it was time to hand over the phone. Hutchinson handed it over and stepped away. “I’m really all out of threats, Wheeler. No matter how many times you get hit over the head with a bat, you return to the same self-destructive behavior. Believe it or not, I’m doing you a favor. I’m leaving the country for an active war zone….”

  She paused a moment while he raged, waiting for him to fall silent.

  “You can calculate the odds of me getting off the ice in Antarctica alive as slim—perhaps none. Why I’m heading to Antarctica is on a need-to-know basis—and you have no need to know. The Ancients are with me, along with Dr. Gordon and a select medical team.” She paused to draw a deep breath and refocus. Wheeler hadn’t even bothered to respond, so she took two more breaths. “I honestly have no idea if Jack and Al, are alive. I’ve tried both of them on satellite phones. No success.”

  “They are alive, as far as I know,” Wheeler said, breathless and wheezing. The stress of poor decision-making was having a lethal effect on his health. She could hear it in every labored breath. It was pointless to further humiliate or threaten a man who was soon to be dead. She needed him to do two more things.

  “There are two C-17s here at Holloman. I need one to fly me down to MacMurdo. My pilots tell me that it has a range of 7,000 miles, so we’ll need at least one inflight refueling.”