Whiteout

by Adriana Anders

  Leo pushed them higher, slowly gaining altitude and distance.

  He exchanged a long look with her as she circled the base, giving them a bird’s-eye view of a second impact—a missile hit, shifting the air around them and obliterating the station. When he finally turned back to her, he could see the questions, even through her mirrored sunglasses.

  “We safe?”

  She swiveled left and right, her movements quick and efficient. “Hell if I know.”

  There was no sound but the drone of engines as they rose.

  “What the fuck is going on here, Eric?” He’d never heard Leo sound quite so shaken.

  “No fucking idea.” He shook his head. “Who the hell has that kind of firepower?”

  Whoever it was had just wiped out an entire research station. If his brother’s guess was right and Chronos Corporation—a pharmaceutical company—was behind it, then the face of the world had seriously changed. Or not, depending on what kind of conspiracy theories a person believed.

  “Think it was government?”

  “Doesn’t make sense, but it has to be.” He nodded slowly, then faster. “We’re dealing with more than just a business decision.”

  “Whoever it is, they just created one hell of a diplomatic incident.”

  “Yeah.” His jaw tensed up as he realized the importance of what they carried on board. “We’ve got the tubes, on ice, and possibly the only survivor who knows what the hell they were up to down there.”

  “Hell of a shit sandwich your brother made here, Cooper.” Now that they’d gained altitude, Eric could hear the sparkle in Leo’s voice. It might sound like a complaint, but now that the initial shock had passed, she was happy. Because although they’d all left the armed forces for one reason or another, his friends ached for a mission as much as he did. And this adrenaline-filled ride was exactly what they’d been missing.

  He grinned back at her. “You’re telling me.”

  * * *

  It had been one hell of a day. Katherine was enjoying a much-needed scotch in front of the fire when the phone rang, interrupting a long, dreamy thread of memories.

  She fumbled with the handset. “Yes?”

  “Tenny’s alive.” It was Senator Mitchum, his voice without its usual rich, self-satisfied timbre.

  “Excuse me?”

  “He’s on a plane, headed to U.S. soil as we speak.”

  Speechless for a few seconds, Katherine’s hand trembled so hard she had to set her glass down. “That is a…surprise.” She swallowed. “I was told no aircraft could land in Antarctica in this weather. Much less take off.”

  “No idea how, but some paramilitary organization took the risk. Went in and evacuated the lot of ’em, apparently, in the nick of time. Including the inhabitants of an entire Antarctic research station.” She could hear the wry smile in his voice. “There’s already talk of a miracle.”

  She squinted. “What paramilitary organization precisely?” If this was Sampson’s work, she’d take him out personally. Right in this room, with poison or her letter opener or her daddy’s pistol. The man had gone off the reservation entirely, using resources that weren’t his to—

  “It’s unclear. Appears to involve a team of ex-SEALS and a combat pilot. Possibly linked to one of the Antarctic researchers.” All right then. So not Sampson. She had been correct in her assumption that he’d never returned to the facility.

  Cooper. She felt it, could almost hear his name with absolute certainty. The one Sampson had left behind, along with the station’s cook. He’d wanted to wait for the man, but she’d made the call to leave them to die. My fault then. Self-flagellation, rather than punishment.

  Not nearly as satisfying.

  “What can we do?”

  “We’ll take care of them.”

  She nodded, tired. So tired. Her vision blurred as she stared at the dancing flames.

  And then something occurred to her.

  “What about the virus?” Her breathing picked up speed. “Do they have the virus on board?”

  “Is that a possibility?” The senator sounded as worked up as she felt.

  “There’s only one way to find out.” She slugged back her scotch and stood, a little bleary. “We need access to that plane.”

  Chapter 50

  An hour into the flight, Eric went into the back, motioned to Ans and Von to grab Tenny, and marched him toward the unoccupied section of the plane behind the cockpit.

  “What are you doing? You can’t… Hey!” The man’s protests were almost impossible to hear through the drone of the big plane. “Where are you taking me? This is highly—”

  “Not sure I introduced myself down there. I’m Eric Cooper. We talked on the phone a few days back. Remember me, Dr. Tenny?”

  He shut his mouth, wisely, and nodded.

  “Right now we’re a couple hours out from Punta Arenas, Chile. After that, we plan to head to San Diego. Any idea what’ll be waiting for us there?”

  Tenny eyed the group of big tough men. He must have come to the correct conclusion that they wouldn’t let him leave this aircraft without an explanation.

  “Not exactly.” He paused. “But I know it won’t be good.”

  “All right. Tell me about the virus my brother found.”

  Tenny’s eyes grew shifty, even as he sniffed and wiped his swollen, bandaged nose for the third time. His face, puffy and bruised, sported two black eyes and more than a dozen stitches, all courtesy of Angel Smith. Eric smiled.

  Von and Ans stared silently, emanating violence.

  “We were sent to test a vaccine.”

  Eric exchanged a look with his friends.

  “Wait, wait. Ford just found the virus, so how the hell’d you set up that operation so quickly?”

  “He extracted it over a month before we arrived. And… this wasn’t the first time we’ve seen the Fronsviridae. The Frond virus. We call it that because—”

  “Focus,” Von spat in his Grim Reaper voice.

  “Right. Right.” Tenny spoke, eyes darting furtively, as if anyone could overhear them. He cleared his throat. “I understand someone stole the original sample before disappearing. Took it with him. Or destroyed it. Not sure which.”

  “Who?”

  He shrugged. “Someone close to the…”

  “To what?”

  “A company. I’m not sure…”

  “Spit it out.”

  “Well, my funding’s through a small—”

  “Don’t waste our time. We want the top of the totem pole.”

  Tenny sat looking at his hands for a few long beats, breathing hard, probably considering who scared him most—the entity whose money and influence had created this hell or the motley group currently staring him down.

  “Chronos Corporation.” He paused. “But it goes higher. Way higher.”

  Eric met Von’s eyes. Shit. Whatever Chronos was up to, it was bad.

  “Okay,” Eric said. “So explain those cells where you held the others. And tell me about—”

  “I had nothing to do with that,” Tenny insisted.

  “Don’t lie to us, you murdering fuck.” Without seeming to move, Von was in Tenny’s face. Everything about Von spoke of violence: his voice, his expression, the way he held himself. Clive Tenny could have no doubt of his own mortality when faced with the wrath of Von “The Reaper” Krainik, and he was scared shitless.

  “Who gave you orders? Who, specifically, sent you down there, financed the whole thing? Operation must’ve cost millions.” Eric leaned in. “I want names.”

  “Uh…” Tenny swallowed and swiped at a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. “I’d…rather not say.”

  “Really?” Eric had managed to keep his rage at bay up until this moment. But here, right now, this little fucking worm making up excuses was th
e last straw. He’d hurt him if that was what it took. One hand whipped out and wrapped around the man’s neck. Eric didn’t tighten it yet, but the threat was there. “Because I can’t imagine a single person coming to your rescue if some sort of accident were to occur on this plane, can you?”

  Tenny’s eyes—already round in his bruised and battered face—had bulged out to become almost inhuman orbs, the whites enormous. He looked at Ans, then at Von, who’d pulled out his knife at some point and started cleaning his fingernails. Finally, Tenny faced Eric, his fear stinking up the air between them.

  “Tell me. Now. And you keep your fingers. Your toes, your tongue, your ears.” Eric’s eyes flicked down, the threat implied. “Talk and we return you to American soil. Don’t, and we dump chunks of you into the Pacific.”

  It took about three seconds for Tenny to start spewing names, places, the testing they’d planned to do on the winter-overs—on his brother, goddammit. By the end, Eric had the urge to open the door and throw the monster out anyway, air pressure and promises be damned.

  Instead, he handed Tenny over to the other guys and returned to the cockpit to fill Leo in.

  “Why?” she asked, as freaked out about the whole thing as he was.

  “Money, sounds like.”

  “Right,” she said. “That’s why he and those goons did it, but what’s the virus for?”

  “Bioweapon. His guess. Not mine.”

  “That’s some messed-up shit right there.”

  “Yeah.” Eric shared a long look with Leo. “And I’ve got a funny feeling it’s not over.”

  “This starting to feel like a conspiracy to you, Eric? A big one?”

  “Sure is.” He thought for a few seconds. “They can’t let Tenny live.”

  “Think they’ll take us down? Whole aircraft?”

  He shivered, thinking about Zoe and Ford back there. All the others. Good people, who didn’t deserve to die.

  “Shit.” His mind was working fast, going into overdrive. “How soon till we land in Punta Arenas?”

  “Hour or so.”

  “All right.” He smiled at her. “I’ve got an idea.”

  Chapter 51

  Entering United States Airspace—18 hours later

  “Got company,” Leo muttered when they entered U.S. airspace the next day.

  Eric heard it—an F-16 darted under them, swooped up and to the side. Circling them like a goddamned shepherd.

  “Escort.” He eyed the horizon.

  “Yeah.” Leo didn’t have to look at him.

  A voice crackled in their headsets. “This is a United States Air Force armed F-16. You are in violation of restricted airspace.”

  “Restricted airspace my ass,” Leo muttered. “I filed a damn flight plan.”

  “Yeah, well, we all know they don’t give a shit about the flight plan,” Eric responded.

  “This is a United States Air Force armed F-16. You have been intercepted. Please acknowledge or rock your wings.”

  Eric lifted his phone. “I’m recording.”

  “Here we go.” With an irritated sigh, Leo acknowledged them, asking, “What is the violation?” When she didn’t get an answer, she identified herself and went on. “This aircraft is returning home from the Volkov Antarctic Research Station. We have a prisoner on board. And we’ve got a journalist from the Los Angeles Times on the phone. She is recording and live-broadcasting these communications and knows the identity of every person on this aircraft. Please convey that information to…whoever you are currently reporting to.”

  After a pause, the F-16 pilot replied, “Roger that.”

  There was no more communication, so she remained on-course, following the tower’s instructions as they approached. When they were cleared to land, she did so impeccably. The woman had nerves of steel. Best pilot he’d ever had the pleasure to fly with.

  On the ground, Eric stared out at what looked like millions of flashing lights and let out his pent-up breath before heading to the back. Alone, he opened the airplane door to find quite the welcoming committee, weapons trained on him.

  ATF, FBI, police. From the looks of it, they were all here. Media organizations crowded the grass beyond the fence. Above them, more than one news helicopter circled.

  “We’ve got one wounded United States citizen,” Eric yelled out the door. “In need of immediate medical care.”

  “Step outside, sir!”

  Even from this distance, he could feel the almost palpable weight of this many weapons trained on him. He put his hands on his head and slowly exited the aircraft, right into the biggest goat rodeo he’d encountered on this side of the Pacific.

  Within moments, he, Leo, and Dr. Clive Tenny—the plane’s only occupants—were facedown on the tarmac. After a quick search of the aircraft, they were dragged to their feet and taken to three separate locations for questioning.

  As Eric watched Dr. Clive Tenny being hauled into an ambulance that quickly sped away, he had the distinct feeling that it was the last he’d ever see of the man.

  * * *

  Clínica Sangre de Cristo, Punta Arenas, Chile—the Next Day

  “Knock, knock.”

  Angel’s eyes flew open to see a TV screen floating above her. Not the tent. Not Antarctica.

  Her hand scrabbled at her side. No Ford.

  Where the hell was she?

  A beat later it came back.

  A private clinic in Chile. They’d checked her in yesterday under a false name. For her own safety, she’d been told. Same for the armed guard at her door.

  She blinked a few times and finally focused on Pam, who stood at the foot of the white metal bed. “Hey, Pam.”

  “Sorry I woke you.”

  “No. No, it’s fine.” She hit the button to sit up, still woozy after her knee surgery. “Everything okay?”

  With a nod, Pam picked up Angel’s chart. “They taking good care of you?”

  “Sure.” Angel shrugged as nonchalantly as she could manage.

  “At least you speak Spanish.” Pam squinted at the page she was reading. “I only get half this stuff and I’m a doctor.”

  Angel forced a smile to her lips. “Is he still outside my door?” she whispered.

  “The guard? Yeah. You and Ford.”

  “What about everybody else?”

  “We’re heading home today.” Pam threw a narrow-eyed look over her shoulder and leaned closer. “You see the news?”

  “No.” Angel shook her head. “Don’t want to.”

  “Well, we’re the big story. The way they’re spinning it, it was all Sampson and Tenny. Two evil genius kidnappers. No higher powers involved.”

  “What about Chronos and the virus and all that—”

  “Shhhh.” Pam put a hand on Angel’s arm, looking…spooked? “First rule of virus is there is no virus.” She leaned in and whispered, “It’s in a safe place. Eric and his team are already planning next steps.”

  “Next steps? What does that even mean?”

  “They need more information on the damned stuff. Nobody knows what it is, why it’s been buried under the ice, or what the hell those people want with it. First, they figure that out.” She shrugged. “After that, I’m not sure.”

  Angel shut her eyes and pressed her fingers to them until she saw spots.

  The moment she’d hidden in the supply arch and witnessed Alex Stickley getting shot to death, she’d fallen down a rabbit hole of epic proportions. Crossing the world’s coldest continent on foot suddenly seemed absurdly simple, child’s play compared to the high-level international espionage cover-up crap going on now. Ford’s brother, for example. Who the hell was he? A guy with the resources to do what he’d done, who could plan things like next steps? Next steps…who even talked like that? Thought like that?

  “Shit is crazy right now, An
gel.” Pam pointed at the dark screen. “News says the president’s been on the phone with Russia, smoothing things out.”

  “Smoothing what out? The missiles that destroyed the—”

  “The official story is that the explosions were…” Here she used air quotes. “Charges set by Sampson’s team of terrorists. We know that this clusterfuck has government involvement written all over it, but we’ve been instructed to play dumb.”

  “Dumb?”

  “As a doornail. Look, the president’s suggesting a joint effort at Pole. A U.S. and Russian research station. Suddenly—surprise!—Chronos Corp’s come out of the woodwork, offering up cash for the rebuild. Bigger, better. You—Hey! Angel? Where are you going? You just had surgery, for Christ’s sake.”

  Ignoring her friend, Angel looked around. “I need clothes. Where are my clothes?”

  “Whoa, whoa, I’ll get you some when you’re ready, but this is—”

  “We can’t let them get away with it, Pam. If Chronos bankrolls a South Pole rebuild, we might as well hand them those freaking ice cores.” Angel turned in a circle and, finding nothing to put on, decided to hell with it. She’d go out there like this.

  “Wait. Wait, Angel. Listen!” Pam’s hand on her arm finally stopped her. “You are not alone anymore.” She stared her down. “You’re not alone on the ice, honey. I’m with you on this. Jameson is. Eric and his guys. We all are. We all want to stop them. But you going off half-cocked is not gonna help anyone.”

  Angel stopped and sagged back onto the bed, face in her hands.

  Pam drew close. “What? You in pain? Want me to call the—”

  “It’s Ford. Coop, I mean.” Just spit it out already. “Nobody’ll tell me what’s happening with him and I’m…” She sucked in air. Breathe. “Why won’t anyone tell me how the surgery went? Is it that bad? Is he…” She couldn’t finish her sentence.

  “He’s out of surgery. And he’s good. Conscious.”

  Then why can’t I see him? Hasn’t he asked for me?