“I split my time between working for a small environmental foundation and taking scientists on expeditions on the ice. One pays for the other and neither pays very well.”
“The ice?”
“Arctic and subarctic environments, the Himalayas, Antarctica—”
Just then the copilot stuck his head into the cabin. “Lex, you and your friend buckle up. We’re close to the ship now, but we’re going to hit some major turbulence.”
Lex buckled her seat belt. Miller sat down across from her and did the same.
“Friend of yours?” he asked.
“Of my dad’s. He trained most of the pilots down here. During the summer my sister and I tagged along.”
“Does your sister work with you?”
Lex nearly laughed at the notion. “No way. She hates the cold, moved to Florida. If you see her skiing, she’s being pulled by a boat.”
The copilot, back in his seat, turned and yelled from the cockpit.
“Just passed the PSR!”
“Damn,” said Miller, clutching his camera. “I wanted a picture.”
“Of what?”
“The PSR. They should really call it out
Lex shook her head.
Miller visibly paled.
“We could ditch,” Lex added to the engineer’s relief, '… but the temperature of the water would kill us in three minutes.”
Miller grew a bit paler as the helicopter continued to shake and rattle.
“Antarctica,” Miller said softly as he gazed out of the window.
Captain Leighton stood, legs braced, on the ship’s heaving bridge and squinted through rain-soaked windows. Gray, foam-flecked waves crashed over the bow of the pitching vessel while stinging wind lashed the superstructure. At this time of year, there were long nights and short days this close to Antarctica, with a continuously twilight sky that seemed forever dominated by roiling purple clouds. The storm that battered the ship showed no sign of abating, and powerful gusts sent salt washes across the deck.
Leighton, who’d spent close to forty years at sea, had navigated the Cape of Good Hope many times before, and he didn’t need to check the barometer to know that weather conditions were only going to get worse. The first European to circumnavigate this region in 1488, Bartholomeu Dias had christened these waters
Captain Leighton slipped on a hands-free communicator and spoke into the microphone. “This is
He broke communications with the aircraft and faced his executive officer. “Gordon, I want you to send out a crash team, just in case. Put them on deck, but out of sight. We don’t want to spook the fly boys.”
The bridge crew chuckled.
A few moments later, they watched from the relative comfort of the command deck as the huge helicopter touched down on the storm-tossed icebreaker. Sailors hurried into the rain to lash down the aircraft with hooks and cables.
After the engines powered down, the side hatch slid open, and the passengers disembarked, crossing the steel deck in the pelting rain.
From his command position, Captain Leighton counted the bodies through water-streaked windows. “Two new arrivals. I hope we have enough room.”
Silently Max Stafford appeared at the captain’s shoulder. “This should be the last of them.”
Down on the tossing deck, the final passenger to disembark was Lex Woods. Itchy, stiff, and tired, she’d paused at the chopper’s hatch before finally stepping onto the slick metal deck. After being plucked from her mountain perch, she’d shuffled from helicopter to private jet to helicopter again, crossing entire continents and vast oceans without benefit of clean clothes, a long bath, or adequate REM sleep. Now that she’d reached what she hoped was her final destination, Lex had little patience left. Whatever billionaire industrialist Charles Weyland had in mind for her, she certainly expected to find out sooner rather than later.
After disembarking, Lex quickly caught up with her fellow traveler. Miller, the photo-happy Chem. E., was having trouble finding his sea legs.
“Careful!” Lex cried as she deftly caught the lanky, bespectacled man before he fell. Scrambling to retrieve his suitcase, Miller accidentally kicked it. The case hydroplaned like a hockey puck across the deck’s slick surface, and Lex snatched it up before it tumbled over the side.
“My savior! Thank you,” Miller gushed in unembarrassed gratitude. He gazed at Lex through dewy glasses thicker than the windows on a bathysphere. When Lex handed the young man his suitcase, she noticed his sneakers were already sopping wet.
“You need to find some better shoes.”
Miller shrugged. “I came straight from the office.”
Fighting wind and rain, they made their way across the ship, Lex striding and Miller stumbling. Ahead, a sailor waved them forward with a red flashlight, toward metal stairs that led below deck, down into the ship’s hold.
From his position on the bridge, Max Stafford watched, amused, as the stunning Lex walked side by side with the awkward Miller.
“Alexa Woods… unusual first name,” he remarked to Captain Leighton.
It was another man who responded. “She’s named after her father, Colonel Alexander Woods, United States Air Force.”
Captain Leighton turned toward the deep voice to find a muscular man swaggering onto the bridge. Max continued to stare out the window.
The newcomer grinned, an unlit Cuban cigar clenched between his white teeth. Quinn radiated a raw, animal power and usually spoke with testosterone-fueled vulgarity, though his brutishness was blunted by quick wit and an innate intelligence. His sinewy frame and leathery skin reflected his life lived at war with the elements. Prickly stubble lined his square chin, and unruly, sandy-blond hair protruded from the sweat-stained rim of a battered cowboy hat.
Quinn touched the brim in a casual salute to the captain, then sauntered over to join Max Stafford at the window.
The two men stood side by side watching the lovely, athletic African-American woman stride across the pitching deck with perfect balance, oblivious to the storm swirling around her.
“Her old man was a tough bastard with a big reputation on the ice. Probably wanted a son,” said Quinn. After a pause, his jaw muscles clenched. “He got one.”
“Nice toys,” murmured Lex in a stunned breath as she moved farther into the cavernous main hold of the
Tracked vehicles, heavy lifting and earth-moving machinery, prefabricated shelters, electric generators, hydraulic apparatus, harsh-weather gear, oxygen tanks, saws and handheld digging tools crammed the vast area.
