Arctic Drift

their Arctic whites, however, they blended perfectly. Moving methodically, Roman approached the vessel from the sea side, then circled wide around its bow, having to avoid the watery lead that tailed the stern. Spotting a side stairwell that dropped down the ship’s port hull, he moved the team within twenty yards, then ducked behind a small ridge. A few anxious seconds ticked by when a pair of men in black parkas descended the steps, but they turned toward shore without even a glance in the direction of Roman and his team.

With their position secure, Roman sat and waited as a chill wind rifled over their prone bodies.

84

A deckhand posting watch duty on the Otok’s bridge was the first to detect it.

“Sir,” he called to the captain, “there’s something breaking up the ice off our port beam.”

Seated at the chart table drinking a cup of coffee, the visibly annoyed captain rose and walked slowly to the port bridge window. He arrived in time to witness a house-sized mass of ice rise up and crumble as a pair of gray- speckled tubes poked through the surface. A second later, the black teardrop-shaped sail of the Santa Fe burst through, scattering shards of ice in all directions.

A 688-I Los Angeles class attack submarine, the Santa Fe had been modified for under-the-ice operations. With strengthened hull, fairwater, and mast components, she was easily capable of penetrating ice three feet thick. Rising fifty yards off the Otok’s beam, the Santa Fe’s full hull cracked through the ice field, exposing a narrow black strip of steel three hundred feet long.

The Otok’s captain stared in disbelief at the sudden appearance of the nuclear warship. But his mind began to race when he saw a steady flow of white-clad men burst out of the sub’s forward hatch armed with machine guns. He felt only minimal solace when he noticed that the armed men all raced toward the island rather than his ship.

“Quick, pull up the drop steps,” he shouted at the deckhand. Turning to a crewman seated at the radio set, he barked, “Alert whatever security force is still aboard.”

But it was too late. A second later, the bridge wing door burst open and three figures dressed in white charged in. Before the captain could react, he found the muzzle of an assault rifle jammed into his side. With a shocked sense of submission, he raised his arms, then stared into the brown eyes of the tall man wielding the weapon.

“Where… where did you come from? ” he stammered.

Rick Roman looked the captain in the eye, then gave him a frosty grin.

“I came from that icebox of a caboose you decided to sink last night.”

85

Zak sat comfortably at the head of the thick wooden table positioned in the center of the Great Cabin. A flickering candle lantern on the table illuminated a large leather-bound book pushed to one side. In front of Zak was stacked a pile of glass plates, each the size of a large post-card. Lying a few inches from his right hand was his Glock pistol.

“A rather remarkable old ship,” Zak said, “with an interesting record of documentation.”

“The Erebus came very close to being the first to navigate the Northwest Passage, Clay,” Pitt replied.

Zak’s brow rose a fraction at the mention of his name.

“I see you’ve done your homework. Not surprising, I suppose. You are quite an accomplished man, I have learned. And rather dogged in the chase.”

Pitt stared at Zak, angry with himself for not bringing the percussion-cap pistol. With an injured arm and no weapon, he was nearly helpless against the assassin. Perhaps if he could stall for time, Giordino would come looking armed with his shotgun.

“I’m afraid that all I know about Clay Zak is that he is a lousy janitor and enjoys murdering innocent people,” Pitt said coldly.

“Joy doesn’t enter into it. A necessity of business, you might say.”

“And exactly what business of yours requires ruthenium at any cost?” Pitt asked.

Zak flashed a humorless grin. “It is little more than a shiny metal to me. But it is worth much more to my employer. And it is obviously of strategic value to your country. If one were to prevent the mineral from feeding your artificial-photosynthesis factories, then my employer continues to be a very rich man. If he can control the supply of ruthenium outright, then he becomes an even richer man.”

“Mitchell Goyette has more money than he could ever hope to spend. Yet his pathological greed outweighs the potential benefit to millions of people around the world.”

“A sentimentalist, eh? ” Zak said with a laugh. “A sure sign of weakness.”

Pitt ignored the comment, still stalling for time. Zak didn’t seem to notice or care that the gunfire above deck had ceased. Perhaps he assumed that Giordino had been killed.

“A pity that the ruthenium is but a myth,” Pitt said. “It would appear that both of our efforts have been in vain.”

“You searched the ship?”

Pitt nodded. “There’s nothing here.”

“A clever deduction that the Inuit ore had come off a ship. How did you rationalize that? I was searching for a mine on the island.”

“The records that you neglected to steal from the Miners Co-op referred to the ore as Black Kobluna. The name and dates matched up to Franklin’s ship Erebus, but it was a wrong assumption on my part,” Pitt lied.

“Ah, yes, that decrepit Miners Co-op. Apparently, they obtained all the ruthenium that was aboard. And it was aboard,” he added with a penetrating gaze.

Zak picked up one of the glass plates and slid it across the table. Pitt picked it up and studied it under the candlelight. It was a daguerreotype, the output of an early photographic process whereby an image was captured on a polished silver surface, then encased in glass for protection. Pitt recalled Perlmutter’s having mentioned that Franklin had carried a daguerreotype camera on the expedition. The exposed plate showed a group of Erebus crewmen hauling a number of heavy sacks aboard that bulged as if loaded with rocks. A glimpse of the horizon behind the ship showed an ice-covered terrain, indicating that the ore had been taken on somewhere in the Arctic.

“You were quite right in your assumption,” Zak said. “The ore was aboard the ship. Which leaves the question as to where it was mined.”

He reached over and patted the leather book near the center of the table.

“The captain was kind enough to leave the ship’s logbook aboard,” he said smugly. “The source of the ruthenium would be recorded inside. What do you think this book is worth, Mr. Pitt? A billion dollars?”

Pitt shook his head. “Not the lives that it has already cost.”

“Or the lives that it is about to cost?” Zak added with a twisted grin.

Beyond the thick timbers of the ship’s hull, the sound of automatic gunfire suddenly erupted. But the noise was oddly distant. It was clearly too far away to be directed at the ship, and there was no return fire from Giordino above deck. There were also two distinct tones of fire, representing different types of weaponry. Somewhere out on the ice, a pitched battle was going on between unknown parties.

Under the dim light of the cabin, Pitt could detect a subtle look of concern cross Zak’s face. There was no sign of Giordino, but the wheels of determination in Pitt’s head had finally devised an alternative game plan. Though he felt faint from loss of blood, he knew the time to act was now. He might not get another chance.