Rising Storm

'Pleeease!' she begged him, crossing her eyes and shaking her folded hands in the classic pleading posture. 'Take advantage of me! I've just done the impossible and I want to celebrate, and I want you! Moments like this only come along once in a while, John,' she said as she began untying the ribbons on his life jacket. 'You have to grab them while you can.'

Beer commercial, he thought irreverently. Then, somehow, the life jacket was on the floor and she was reaching for something else. John grabbed her hands.

'We've only known one another for a little while,' he protested. 'I don't want you to feel that you have to rush into anything you may regret.'

She stared at him as though he'd been speaking Swahili, then she blinked and looked determined. 'I've known you long enough to know that I won't regret this, John. But here's the deal. Once we land, we're not going to be alone for however long it takes us to do this thing. And we'll be in a place so cold your

breath sticks to your lips. And we could all be killed. Okay? Do you get what I'm telling you?'

'Now or never?' A smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

'That's one of the things I love about you, sweetie,' Wendy said, attacking the half-frozen zipper on his jacket. 'You're quick on the uptake.'

By the time they were finished undressing him, they were both on the floor, panting and laughing. He flung the last sock onto the formidable pile of garments and fell onto his back. Wendy leaned over him, smiling. Then she straddled him. putting her hands on either side of his head and her knees on either side of his hips; she held herself above him grinning at the way he lay blinking up at her. She leaned forward and planted tiny, nibbling kisses on his lips.

'You're not going to tell me that you're too tired to move, are you?' she asked.

Putting his arms around her waist, he gently tried to pull her closer. 'C'mon down here,' he growled, 'and I'll show you how tired I am.'

Wendy grinned, but resisted. 'Ah, but you're so far ahead of me,' she complained.

He sat up and Wendy retreated until she was sitting on his thighs. John reached out and undid the top button of her shirt and Wendy drew in a shuddering breath, causing him to look up at her. 'Don't you dare stop now,' she warned.

Grasping his head, she pulled him to her for a passionate kiss. He matched her

ardor, running his fingers through her hair, then down the curve of her neck and back, drawing her closer, deepening their kiss.

Wendy pulled back, panting. 'I love you,' she said. Then she gave him a gentle push. 'But we still have this clothes problem.' She got to her feet and began to unbutton her cuffs.

'No,' John said, standing. 'Allow me.'

Grinning, she held her arms out. 'I am entirely at your disposal.'

'Not like loading stuff at a dock,' John said.

'No,' Dieter said. 'More creative.'

More of a pain in the ass, John thought, looking shoreward.

The yacht was anchored in the lee of a headland. The shore was shale and rock, rising to high rocky hills whose black expanse was split by fingers of white—the outliers of the great interior ice sheets of Antarctica. Nobody had bothered giving the bay a name; Desolation would be about right. The rocky upthrust to the east sheltered the Love's Thrust from the westerlies, but there was still a definite chop, with white-caps on the short steep waves. That made the big pleasure craft pitch at its anchor, a sharp rocking motion more unpleasant than the long surges of the huge deep-ocean waves. Several of the crew were looking green as a result, which wasn't helping with unloading.

Getting the big inflatable raft over the side had been a nightmare. Getting heavy parcels into it was worse. Right now the boxed snowmobile was swinging up on

the pivoting boom.

'Slowly… slowly…' Dieter said, leaning over the side and making hand signals to the man operating the power winch. 'Slowly… I said slowly, dummkopf!'

John hopped nimbly over the side and slid down the rope ladder, landing easily on his feet and helping the two crewmen guide the big Sno-Cat down. The raft was a military model, with aluminum stringers to stiffen the bottom; it had been designed to take a dozen troops and their gear into a beachhead or on a commando raid. With three men gripping the front and two corners of the crate, and Dieter blasphemously directing the winch operator, they managed to get it down despite the continual seesaw of differential movement between the two crafts. Which was fortunate, because if the crate had come down really hard, it would have gone straight through the bottom.

The crewmen threw John looks of surprised respect as he helped guide the crate down and lash it firmly in place. He gave them a grin and a thumbs-up— Hey, I'm a lad of many skills, thanks to Mom—and swarmed back up the ladder to the deck.

'That's the last of it,' he panted.

Dieter and Wendy were there, their hiking clothes covered with a final layer of orange water-resistant coat and pants, to find Vera waiting for them, a vision in pink. Her fine skin looked greasy from the sunblock she wore, and the big pink sunglasses that shielded her eyes from Antarctica's fierce ultraviolet rays made her look like an owl with bloodshot eyes.

God knows where she found a pink anorak, John thought. But he wasn't really

surprised. By now he knew that whatever Vera wanted, Vera got. Well, with the exception of Dieter. So far.

'Sweetie,' she said, rushing forward to give John a farewell embrace. 'You take care of that nice girl, now. Y'hear? And take care of yourself, too.'

She planted a kiss on his cheek, then pushed him away and gave him a swat on his bottom. Then she turned to Wendy, leaving John to wonder if that was a grandmotherly slap on the tush or a lecherous one.

Too fast to be lecherous, he decided. Besides, there's Dieter right in front of her.

Vera kissed Wendy on both cheeks, then tugged her sunglasses down to give the girl a conspiratorial look. Wendy giggled and blushed, then enfolded the older woman in a fond hug. 'We'll see you soon,' she promised.

Vera tapped Wendy's nose with a pink-gloved finger. 'You'd better,' she warned. Then she pushed her sunglasses back up and turned to Dieter, one hand on her hip. 'Well, big boy,' she said, somehow managing to slink toward him in her parka and heavy boots, 'looks like this is it.'

'I sincerely hope not.' Dieter smiled. 'Or you might not come back for us.'

Then he took her in his arms and gave her a kiss that made her moan for more.

When he finally let her go she staggered slightly and he gently held her shoulders until she seemed steady on her feet.

'Wow!' she said, grinning. 'I'll come back for sure if you'll promise me another just like that one next time I see you.'

He chucked her under the chin. 'I'll look forward to it,' he promised.

Vera waggled her brows. 'So will I, honey. So will I.'

With that, John handed down the last duffel and swung out onto the ladder that led down to the Zodiac. Wendy followed, and when she was far enough down he took her by the waist to steady her as she stepped down from the ladder. Dieter handed down Wendy's equipment and then his own duffel, following it down with economic efficiency.

The crewman fended the huge inflatable boat off the side of the yacht and started the motor. The three travelers looked up from their seats to wave at Vera and her merry crew, who continued to wave at them all the way to the shore.

Giovanni, Vera's handsome crewman, efficiently beached the Zodiac onto a smooth spot on the shale so that they didn't have to wet their feet to step ashore; it was less than a dozen paces to the beginning of the snow. All four of the men joined in pushing the crate containing the Sno-Cat up a collapsible metal ramp, over the side of the Zodiac, and then down to the beach. Then the Italian tossed them their bags. Returning to the motor, he pulled the