He handed the cup back to her. “Phew, that was lucky.”
Alex could see Aimee staring at him in amazement and doubted she believed snatching the cup from the air was just good fortune. He needed to be more careful. She opened her mouth to say something just as his men appeared at his side to deliver their field reports.
“Don’t worry, Aimee, if he can be found, we’ll find him.” Alex held her gaze for a few seconds more then released her. He excused himself and led his HAWCs a short distance away.
Johnson was the first to speak. “No bodies, no remains. The plane shows signs of significant collision scarring as you would expect from a crash at velocity. There is some evidence of cranial blood spray in the cockpit from impact trauma, but once again no bodies or even flesh debris.”
Tank then added his details from the cave perimeter search. “There are signs of movement down into the southern cavern. Looks like the entire team headed down that way.” He nodded in the cave’s direction for the benefit of the HAWCs. “Some of the steps are far apart, indicating some of the people were moving at speed. Also, there is evidence of dragging — couldn’t make out what, maybe supplies, maybe bodies.”
“Captain!” Alex was about to ask Tank a question when the nasal voice of Dr. Silex punctured the ring of soldiers and terminated their debrief. The lead scientist strode into the circle of soldiers and faced Alex.
“Captain Hunter, it’s no good, this area is a honeycomb of varying geologies and hollow spaces, and with the significant magnetic disturbance of the pole I won’t be able to get any meaningful readings. We need to move; you need to get us deeper.”
“Do you smell that, Dr. Silex? Doesn’t smell like oil to me.”
“Of course I smell it. Are you a petrobiologist? Or even a geologist? Captain, raw petroleum can contain a hundred different chemical contaminants; too many for me to explain to you here and now. If it offends you, put on your gas mask, but we need to get further into the cave. That’s an order, Captain.”
Alex ignored Silex’s officiousness and looked down into the coal black mouth of the southern cave. He did not relish the thought of taking the civilian party in there. There was something else besides a chemical contaminant — something biological about the smell. He could also hear faint liquid noises emanating from the cave depths that had all his special senses on guard. He would have liked to take the HAWCs in first and leave the scientists right here. However, without more information, all he had was a gut feeling and no concrete reason to stall them any longer.
“OK, we can follow the tracks deeper into the cave. This will also give you and Dr. Weir some more depth and shelter from the interference. Benson, you’re on communications relay and base camp coverage in the event whatever made those people run down into the cave makes us run back out. Johnson, take point; Tank and Mike, left and right flank; Takeda, rear point, no stragglers. Stay alert, stay in visual with each other.” The men nodded once.
“Everyone go to night scope and comms and give me a check.” All the HAWCs withdrew from their backpack another item of equipment. It was a small, elasticised piece of head gear with two hardened arms no thicker than wire, ending in a bulb at each end. One end extended down beside the mouth, the other just beside the ear. This allowed normal hearing to be unimpaired. Plug-in earpieces tended to reduce stereoaudic hearing and therefore lowered rapid determination of source of sound — fatal in combat situations. On the other side of the head, now folded down, was a miniaturised version of the ATN Patriot night scope — this clipped neatly onto the helmet. With a built-in infrared illuminator, it allowed vision in even total darkness.
The helmet lights were really for the benefit of the scientific team, and the HAWCs would only use them to make the civilians feel more comfortable. However, the soldiers knew that if things started to get “red” they would switch off the lights and become silent, lethal ghosts in the dark.
“Time to get them moving, get everyone packed and ready, let’s go.” As the men hurried off, Johnson lingered behind and moved in closer to Alex.
“What do you think, boss?” Though the First Lieutenant was older and more experienced than Alex, he greatly respected his captain’s capabilities and extraordinary senses.
Alex narrowed his eyes. “That smell, and I can hear something — dragging or sliding… fluid movement. We need to stay alert. We’re not in Kansas anymore.”
John Johnson laughed quietly. “Hey, witches I can handle, I’ve been married, remember.” He trotted off into the dark to take point.
On the Antarctic surface, one hundred feet from the hole, the snow moved. Three white-clad bodies burst from their concealment and sprinted to the rim of the crater. They landed flat at the edge of the pit and the largest man thrust forward a tube covered in white cloth that he held up to his eye. Borshov used the hand-held surveillance scope to see over the edge without casting a head-shaped shadow. He adjusted the magnification and peered down.
Borshov and his men had also been travelling for two days without stop. First in supersonic jumps across the Middle East, Libya and Nigeria, crossing the Atlantic and then on to scream down the coast of Argentina. The Russian Sukhoi S21 was carbonyl ferrite coated and had achieved speeds of mach-one without showing once on any watching radar. The Krofskoya agents transferred at Ushuaia on the Argentinean horn to a waiting Kamkov helicopter. Its 1,300-horsepower Rybinsk powerplant pushed it through the freezing air at 220 miles per hour. The young pilot, just skimming the waves, had turned to Borshov and complained that he was pushing the limits of the sleek helicopter’s range when the giant Russian had walked to the cockpit and lifted the young man’s communication headpiece. He whispered something into his ear before retaking his seat — the young pilot didn’t complain anymore; he didn’t even turn to look when he unloaded them onto the snow.
From his scope, Borshov saw that the Americans had set up camp at the base of the south wall and were just setting off down into the southern tunnel. He also detected one man was being left behind to anchor the base camp; by his size and the way he moved it seemed he was no scientist. If they were with Alex Hunter then they must be at least SEALs, or worse, HAWCs. This man had to be neutralised before they could proceed.
Borshov knew that the helicopter would wait for them at the abandoned Russian research base at Leningradskaya. He didn’t care; all that mattered now was Alex Hunter and the mission. Nothing would be recognisable when he left. He’d give the Americans a few minutes to get farther into the tunnels and then commence his operation.
The creature could sense more of the little warm bloods slowly approaching and had tasted them again recently. They were small but once again there were enough of them to nourish it. It was the largest of its kind and had seen many millennia in its warm, deep sea below the ice. The little animals could be mimicked easily but their sounds were still too complex to copy. It reached forward to taste them once more.
Nine
Benson’s orders were uncomplicated — to ensure the team had a fast and clear path of extraction if needed. He quickly checked the SINCGARS radio unit was operational. The small but powerful communication system used LPI, Low Probability of Intercept technology, to obstruct unauthorised transmission intrusion. By using automatic signal hopping, it changed its frequency hundreds of times per second during transmission, making it virtually impossible to intercept a signal. The HAWCs’ headpiece units were not powerful enough to communicate directly with command so they were relayed to Benson’s unit which pushed them up and out of the cave to another relay point in southern Australia. Satisfied, Benson pulled the flap down over the small box to blanket its winking lights.
He switched off all the camp lighting, unfolded his blackout cloth and covered himself. The cloth absorbed light and broke up the telltale human shape. He did not move, he became part of the cave’s natural debris. He had selected a position with his back to the west wall where he had all compass quadrants covered. Just his eyes and gun muzzle peered out from the cloth. In all his years of elite soldiering he had never made a mistake, even when he was captured in Afghanistan and tortured for three days. They had chopped off his fingers, slice by slice, and he never talked, never wavered. In this business, one mistake was all that was needed to make the difference between life and death.
The Russian moved around the gaping hole to the eastern edge. He unfolded his Dragunov SVDS sniper rifle. This version, with its shortened barrel, flash suppressor and polymer structure was his weapon of choice for
