The Ice Limit

Britton looked at Glinn's man. 'Employ all countermeasures. If he fires a missile, deploy chaff, CIWS, as necessary. '

There was a delay, then a shudder, as the ship began to slow and turn.

'This isn't going to work,' Howell muttered.

Glinn did not bother to answer. He knew that, in fact, the tactic would work. Even if the electronic countermeasures failed, Vallenar would be aiming high at the bow, where it would cause the most excitement with the least damage. He wouldn't try to sink the Rolvaag — not yet, at any rate.

A long two minutes passed in the darkness. Then there was an eruption of light along the side of the destroyer as its four-inch guns fired. Some tense seconds later, there was an explosion off the Rolvaag's port bow, and another, and a third, faint geysers of water rising in the darkness and twisting away in the wind. Glinn noted that, as he expected, the shells were going wide.

The officers on the bridge exchanged pale, shocked glances. Glinn watched them with sympathy. He knew that, even in the best of circumstances, coming under fire for the first time was traumatic.

'I'm getting movement on the destroyer,' Howell said, staring at the radar.

'May I suggest all ahead flank, steady course one eight zero,' Glinn said gently.

The helmsman did not repeat the order, instead glancing over at the captain. 'That'll take us out of the main channel, inside the reefs,' he said, voice wavering ever so slightly. 'They're uncharted...'

Glinn motioned to Puppup.

'Yes, guv?'

'We're taking the reef side of the channel.'

'Sure thing.' Puppup skipped over to stand beside the helmsman.

Britton sighed. 'Execute the order.'

Surf crashed into the bow, sending foam across the deck. Puppup peered out into the dark.

'Take it a little to the left, there.'

'Make it so, Mr. Howell,' Britton said tersely.

'Left five degrees rudder,' said Howell, 'steady on course one seven five.'

There was a moment of strained silence. Then the helmsman spoke. 'Aye, sir, steady at one seven five.'

Howell leaned over the radar. 'They're picking up speed, up to twelve knots now to our eight.' He stared hard at Glinn. 'What the hell's your plan now?' he asked. 'You think we can outrun that bastard? You crazy? In a few minutes he'll be close enough to sink us with his four-inchers, despite our jamming.'

'Mr. Howell!' Britton said sharply. The chief mate fell silent.

Glinn glanced at his man at the computer. 'Armed?' he asked.

The man nodded.

'Wait for my signal.'

Glinn looked out through the window at the destroyer. He, too, could see it was now moving faster through the water. Even an old warship like that could do thirty-four knots. It was a beautiful sight, in the dark at least: the brilliant cluster of lights, the 'bone in the throat,' the watery reflections off the underside of the gun turrets. He waited another moment, letting the destroyer build up plenty of headway.

'Fire in the hole.'

It was gratifying to see the two sudden geysers of water rip along the destroyer's stern; to see the high wind carry the water right across the flying bridge; and, more gratifying still, to hear the twin reports, barely seven seconds later. He watched as the destroyer began to swing broadside to the swell.

With both screws stripped, Comandante Vallenar would swiftly end up on the rocks. Glinn wondered, with faint amusement, how Vallenar would now explain the loss of his ship. Assuming he survived, of course.

There was a report from the destroyer, and then another: it was firing its four-inch guns again. Then the reports were punctuated with the higher sound of 40-millimeter cannon. In a moment, all the ship's guns were firing in a furious gesture of impotent rage, the cluster of flashes like manic strobes against the velvety darkness of the sea. But with the Almirante Ramirez's radar useless, their steerage gone, their ship wallowing broadside to a heavy sea, and the Rolvaag in blackout, slipping away into the dark night on a new course, their shots were, naturally, going wild.

'A touch more to the left there, guv,' said Puppup, stroking one mustache, squinting into the darkness.

'Left five degrees rudder,' said Britton to the helmsman, without waiting for Howell.

The ship changed course almost imperceptibly.

Puppup peered out intently. The minutes ticked on. Then he bent his head toward Glinn. 'We're out of it.'

Britton watched him retreat again to the far shadows of the bridge. 'Steady as she goes,' she said. 'All ahead flank.'

The massive reports continued to echo crazily among the mountain peaks and silent glaciers, rolling and booming, gradually growing fainter. Soon they were heading into the open ocean.

Thirty minutes later, on the west side of Horn Island, they slowed just long enough to make a running recovery of the tender.

Then Britton spoke: 'Take her round the Horn, Mr. Howell.'

Cabo de Hornos came dimly into view and the sound of firing finally disappeared, swallowed by the howl of the wind and the thunder of the sea along the hull. It was over. Glinn had never once looked back at Desolation Island — at the bright lights of its works, at the machines that still raced furiously on their imaginary errands. Now, with the op completed, he felt his breathing pick up, his heart rate begin to increase again.

'Mr. Glinn?'

It was Britton. She was looking at him, her eyes luminous and intense.

'Yes?'

'How are you going to explain the sinking of a warship of a foreign nation?'

'They fired first. We acted in self-defense. Besides, our charges only knocked out their steerage. The panteonero will sink them.'

'That isn't going to cut it. We'll be lucky not to spend the rest of our lives in prison.'

'I respectfully disagree, Captain. Everything we've done has been legal. Everything. We were a legal mining operation. We recovered an ore body, a meteorite, it so happens, which fell well within the legal language of our mining contract with Chile. From the very beginning, we were harassed, forced to pay bribes, and threatened. One of our men was murdered. Finally, as we departed, we were fired upon by a freelancing warship. And yet, during this entire period, there was no warning to us from the Chilean government, no official communication whatsoever. I assure you, we're going to lodge the strongest possible protest with the State Department on our return. We've been treated outrageously.' He paused, then added with the faintest of smiles, 'You don't really think our government will see it any other way, do you?'

Britton continued regarding him, her eyes quite beautifully green, for what seemed a long time. Now she came close and spoke in his ear.

'You know what?' she whispered. 'I think you're certifiable.'

There was, Glinn thought, a note of admiration in her voice.

Rolvaag,

4:00 A.M.

PALMER LLOYD sat in his study, slouched deep in the lone upright wing chair, his broad back to the door. His custommade English shoes, now dry, had nudged the useless phone and laptop to one comer of the small table. Outside the bank of windows, a faint phosphorescence lay across the violent surface of the ocean, throwing rippling patterns of green light around the darkened study, giving the impression that the room lay on the bottom of the sea.

Lloyd gazed out motionlessly at that faint light. He had sat motionless through it all: the firing of the guns, the brief chase with the Chilean destroyer, the explosions, the tempestuous trip around the Cape.

With a soft click, the lights in the study came on, instantly turning the stormscape beyond the windows to an indistinct black. In the private office beyond, the wall of television sets lit up, suddenly crowded with dozens of