The two Russians had been collateral. He hadn’t tried to kill them; simply incapacitate them. And he had been given no choice. He knew they were hunting the asset. And in any case, the blood on the sniper’s clothing had not come from a deer or a wolf or an elk. No hunter knelt in their kill. And skinning and gutting a beast did not create the amounts of blood needed to make the marks it had. That sort of blood came from the kill. And they were soldiers; not hunters. King had stripped them to their clothing underneath. He knew they would not last long, but he hadn’t given them a second glance as he left. He wasn’t about to administer a coup de grâce, the elements would have done that soon enough.
The going had become easier with the belt of sunlight that was gleaming on the easterly horizon. Dawn would be breaking soon, and with it the anticipation of seeing daylight and escaping the gloom of near-perpetual night. It lifted their spirits, and with that, the going became easier.
They were on their last legs by the time they completed the spiralling climb to the Eagle’s Nest. There were welcoming lights on within the hotel, but unlike before, there were no people milling around outside. The fires in the hot tubs were unlit and the thick thermal covers had been strapped in place and chains tethered them to one another. King thought the water inside them would weigh a ton, so the expectations of the impending storm must have been grim. Snowmobiles were parked up in lines and the maintenance men had chained them in place to metal railings. There were two spaces left, ominous loose chains waiting for their return.
King placed his hand on the small of Caroline’s back and guided her up the last of the steps. He was cold and exhausted, but he had a few more paces left in him. The arrival at their destination, the completion of their trek was too much for Caroline to bear and she collapsed at the top step, falling into the foyer. King helped her to her feet and pressed the button to the glass door. It whooshed open and the warm air washed over them. Almost at once, the manager hustled over from the desk and crossed the lobby.
“What has happened?”
“We fell through the ice,” King said. He sagged onto the floor, trying to fight the will to succumb now that he was inside. He realised his voice was shaky and his hands were trembling. Now that he had stopped moving, he was suddenly aware just how cold he was.
The manager clicked his fingers at the Russian who had so expertly administered the first aid. The man had been sitting in an alcove near the fire, taking a more casual and familiar break now that the hotel was all but deserted. He trotted over, bent down and swept Caroline up. King realised he had probably misjudged the man. He tried to resist as the manager helped him to his feet, then relinquished and used him as a crutch to bear his weight.
“The saunas, now!” the manager said, leading the way across the lobby. As they passed the desk, a bemused woman looked on. It was the waitress, but she was not dressed in uniform. The manager snapped at her, “Brandy, Michelle, now! And hot coffee! To the saunas!”
They veered away from the shattered glass doors of the ice hotel. The draught was immeasurable, even though maintenance had done their best to board up the opening with timbers. As they neared the saunas, King could feel the heady essence of pine and coals in his sinuses and the back of his throat. The manager opened the door to the nearest one and bundled King inside. The Russian placed Caroline down on the bench, eased her backwards so that she leaned against the hot pine wall. The manager ladled some water onto the coals from a bucket on the floor and stepped back, clearly offended by the heat. He disappeared for a moment, then returned with a bundle of towels.
“Take off your clothes and wrap yourselves in the towels,” he said, pausing as the waitress appeared at his side with a tray of coffee cups and brandy. She had thoughtfully added two glasses and a jug of water to the manager’s request. Regardless of the cold, they would be dehydrated from the dry air and their efforts. The waitress stepped into the heat and placed the tray beside King. The manager added, “We’ll leave you alone for twenty-minutes and then we’ll be back with bathrobes and accompany you to your room.”
The heat intensified once the door was closed, and King ladled on more water. The coals hissed, and the steam filled his nostrils and warmed his throat. He tore off the snowsuit and then turned his attention to Caroline.
“I feel awful,” she said weakly.
“Here, get some water down you first,” he said and poured a glass, handing it to her. She caught hold of the glass and drank thirstily. “That’s it,” he said quietly, passing her the double measure of brandy. He took a glass of water for himself and downed it in one. He followed with the brandy and felt the warmth flood through him.
Caroline sipped at the brandy. “Thanks,” she said. “I… I’m not really sure what happened…” she confided. “I remember going through the ice… the shock of the cold. Christ, it was so cold. I don’t really remember anything else after that…” She finished the brandy and reached for the coffee. It was strong and black, but the waitress had spooned in dark-brown sugar making it syrupy and sweet. The caffeine and sugar were just what was
