The pilot poked his head out of the cockpit. “There’s a man approaching the front of the plane,” he said, motioning toward the windshield. “My guess is he’s here for you.”
Hughes placed the business card in the pocket of his parka. “All right, then.”
An icy wind was blowing across the runway, scattering the dry powdered snow like confetti on a parade route. As Hughes climbed down the stairway from the Hawker, his eyes immediately began to tear.
“You must be the party I was hired to fly out to Mount Forel,” the man said, extending his hand. “My name is Mike Neilsen.”
Hughes gave Neilsen a fake name, then stared overhead. “Are you ready to leave?”
“We can’t leave until morning,” Neilsen said. “Two rooms were arranged at the hotel for you and the pilots. We can leave at first light—provided the weather breaks.”
The men started walking toward the terminal. “Do you have enough range to fly directly to Mount Forel from here?” Hughes asked.
“I have a range of six hundred miles in still air,” Neilsen told him. “However, for safety I think we should refuel in Tasiilaq before we attempt the mountain.”
They reached the terminal building, and Neilsen opened the door then motioned for Hughes to enter. Neilsen steered Hughes toward a desk where a lone Inuit sat at an ordinary-looking metal desk. His mukluks were atop the desk, and he was sleeping.
“Isnik,” Neilsen said to the dozing man, “time to work.”
The man opened his eyes and stared at the two men in front of him. “Hey, Mike,” he said easily. “Passport, please,” he said to Hughes.
Hughes handed the official a U.S. passport bearing a false name but his actual picture. Isnik barely glanced at the document then stamped the entry.
“Purpose of visit?” he asked.
“Scientific research,” Hughes answered.
“I guess no one comes here for the weather, right?” Isnik said as he made a notation on a slip of paper on a clipboard on his desk.
“Can you ask the pilots to walk over to the hotel after they are cleared?” Neilsen asked Isnik.
“You got it,” Isnik said, sliding his boots back atop the desk.
Neilsen started leading Hughes to the door out of the terminal. “This is an old U.S. Air Force base,” he said. “The hotel was base housing. It’s actually quite nice. It has the only indoor pool in Greenland and even a six-lane bowling alley. For this country, it’s the closest thing to four-star lodging.”
The men covered the short distance across the parking lot to the hotel and Hughes received his key. Two hours later, after a meal of musk ox steaks and French fries, he settled in for the night. It was still only early afternoon, but tomorrow he had a lot of work to do and he wanted to be thoroughly rested.
9
JUAN CABRILLO BREEZED through customs at the tiny terminal at Kulusuk then stared at a map on the wall near the door leading out. In the brief months of summer, Kulusuk Island was ringed by water. As soon as fall arrived and the temperatures dropped, the seawater froze into thick sheets of ice. And while the ice never reached a thickness that could support the weight of a locomotive, for example, cars, trucks or snow vehicles had no trouble venturing across to the mainland.
In winter, Kulusuk was an island no more. It was attached to Greenland by ice.
From where Cabrillo stood, it was slightly over sixty miles north to the latitude that marked the actual Arctic Circle, and from there it was a dozen or so more to Mount Forel. Winter solstice, December 22, was only a few days past. That day, at the exact location of the Arctic Circle, was the only single day of total darkness each year.
North of the circle, depending on how far one went, the blackness was constant. The farther north, the longer that condition remained. At the exact spot of the Arctic Circle and to the south of it, December 22 marked a turning point. As winter progressed toward spring, the daylight grew longer by minutes each day. By the time summer came, the midnight sun would rise and in the area north of the Circle, the sun would not set for some time.
It was a cycle that had repeated itself for countless eons.
Outside, a howling wind raked hard pellets of frozen snow against the windows in the terminal. The weather looked as appealing as the interior of a meat locker. Cabrillo stared and felt a shiver. Though still indoors, he tugged at the zipper to his parka.
Since Kulusuk was just south of the Arctic Circle, there would be a few minutes of light today. By contrast, Mount Forel was still in total darkness. The next few days and weeks would see the top of the mountain begin to catch the first rays of light. Then, as the months passed, the sunlight would begin to drip down the sides of the mountain like yellow paint poured atop a pyramid.
But looking outside one would never guess the sun had been, or was, anywhere near.
Right now, however, Cabrillo was less concerned with the darkness than he was with transportation. Walking off to the side of the terminal, he removed a satellite telephone and hit the speed dial.
“WHAT HAVE YOU found out?” he asked when Hanley answered.
Because of Overholt’s urgency, Cabrillo had left the
“There are some dogsled teams available for charter,” Hanley noted, “but you’d need a guide as a musher—and I didn’t figure you wanted a witness, so I ruled that out. The helicopters that service Kulusuk have regularly scheduled routes, from Tasiilaq and back, but they don’t hire out and the current weather has them grounded.”
“Not walking weather,” Cabrillo said, staring outside.
