“Werner and I have already discussed calling the Surveyor’s Society and asking them to cancel your expedition. In light of Dr. Bulgarin’s death, we feel the base may be too dangerous.”
The gentleness she’d just shown Erwin had vanished. There was a challenge in her voice. Mercer responded in kind. “That will be up to Marty Bishop’s father and Charles Bryce. You can’t order us to leave.”
“I can, Dr. Mercer. And if it becomes necessary, I will.” She executed a military-style snap turn and stormed away.
“Talk about Beauty and the Bitch,” Ira mumbled.
“It might be best if we did leave,” Erwin said. “Igor’s death…” His voice trailed off.
“Not even when Brunhild there tells me to,” Ira snarled, nodding as Greta retook her seat at the other end of the mess hall. “I don’t like to leave a job unfinished.”
“Neither do I,” Mercer agreed. “But I’m beginning to wonder what our mission really is.”
He spent the remainder of the day with his Geiger counter, traversing the snow piled on top of Camp Decade to get a more accurate fix of any radiation readings. Mercer didn’t expect to find anything new, but he needed the hours of solitude. He tried to put what had happened in some sort of perspective and found there wasn’t any. Igor was dead and no amount of thought would change that fact. He could only hope that, when he discovered why the Russian had gone to Camp Decade, he would be able to dispel his misguided feelings of responsibility.
Every few hours Mercer returned to the mess hall to inquire about the communications problems. Each time he was told that they had only received broken transmissions from the
It was at dinner that the first clear call came through. Mercer and the rest of his team were trying to keep Erwin’s mind occupied by playing lazy games of poker over stale coffee when the short-wave transceiver in the corner of the room burst to life. Even through the squawking distortion of static, everyone could hear the hysteria in the voice.
“…ayday! Mayday! Geo-Research base camp!.. eo-Re… rch… camp!.. is inbound helo from
The comm officer scrambled to get his headphones on. Around him a dozen people clustered shoulder to shoulder. “Inbound helo, this is base camp. We understand you are sixty kilometers east of our location and are declaring an emergency.”
“…ank God!” the pilot of the helicopter screamed through the ether. “Storm approaching. Tried to beat it. Engine o… heat. I can’t keep us in the…”
Mercer pulled Werner Koenig away from the group of anxious listeners so his voice wouldn’t disturb the radio operator. The Geo-Research supervisor was shaken by what he was hearing. Not wanting to add to Werner’s distress, Mercer spoke calmly, reassuringly. “You still have Sno-Cats out there, right?”
“Yeah.” Koenig couldn’t tear his eyes away from the radio, his concentration on the drama that was unfolding too quickly for him to comprehend. “There are two teams on the ice.”
“Where?” When Werner didn’t answer immediately, Mercer grabbed his arm, allowing his voice to rise slightly. “Where?”
“Ah, team one is coming in from the south.” He looked at his watch. “They should be here in another twenty minutes.”
“And the other team?”
Werner suddenly understood why Mercer was asking about the ’Cats. He sounded miserable because the answer was one he did not want to give. “They’re due west of us, maybe fifty kilometers away.”
“Damn it.” Any chance of a successful rescue depended on each second Mercer could gain. “Where’s your rally driver, Dieter?”
“He’s with team two. What are you going to do?”
Thinking furiously, Mercer’s brain shifted back to the pilot’s strident call. “…titude down to one thousand feet. Dr. Klein says… smoke… air vents.”
That did it. His moment of hesitancy evaporated. There was a passenger on board. The pilot had made the choice to fly through a storm, but Anika Klein was different. She was simply along for the ride. Deep down he knew he would have gone even if the pilot had been alone. “Ira, get on the other radio and keep me updated. I’ll be in the Land Cruiser.”
Mercer was at the door before anyone realized he’d moved. He didn’t bother with the moon boots. His sneakers would have to do. He thrust his arms into a lightweight outer jacket that was the topmost coat on the rack near the exit.
“Dr. Mercer!” Greta Schmidt shouted, running toward him. “I forbid you to go. We will organize a proper search.”
“And when you’re done you can follow me,” he snapped, jerking the zipper to his throat. “Ira, you with me?”
The wiry mechanic had already muscled his way to the short-range set they used to coordinate communications with the Sno-Cats. “Move your ass.”
“No! You will wait.” Greta grabbed Mercer’s sleeve in a fierce grip that felt like it went all the way to the bone. “This is a wasted gesture. Wait until we know where they land. Going alone is suicide.”
Mercer had just a second before two more Geo-Research workers joined her. Though he had never struck a woman, he was sorely tempted to break that rule. Why couldn’t she see that the only chance the pilot and Anika Klein had was if someone left now?
He yanked free and reached the door. The pressure of wind slammed it open when he turned the handle. The wind was a solid force that made him stagger back until he got better traction, hunched his shoulders and bulled his way forward. The blowing snow and gathering dusk swallowed him.
Despite her fury, Greta made no move to follow. She slammed the door closed again, her body shivering with just that brief contact with the frigid gusts. She stepped over to Ira, her expression one of ill-disguised contempt. “That was the most stupid thing I have ever seen.”
“No need to tell me,” Ira said with a smirk. “But at least he’s doing something. Get your damned search party ready and follow him.”
A few minutes later, Mercer came over the radio. “Ira, you there?”
“Nice and snug,” he drawled. “How about you?”
“I’m going to need the Jaws of Life just to get my testicles to drop. According to the thermometer in the cab it’s fifteen degrees below zero out here. Any word from the chopper?”
“They’re still in the air and still heading this way. Pilot said the GPS puts him twenty-one miles due east. How’s your speed?”
“I’m pushing it now. Doing twenty.”
“Take it easy out there. I don’t think Greta’s gonna stop for you if you get stuck.”
“She’ll never see me,” Mercer replied with a grave-yard chuckle. “Visibility’s pure shit. I can’t see more than fifty feet in front of me.”
“How do you expect to find a crashed helicopter?” Ira asked, alarmed.
“Tell the pilot to have Dr. Klein fire a flare just before they crash.” He didn’t need to add that neither would likely be in any condition to do it afterward.
“Roger, good idea,” Ira was shouting into the microphone because Mercer’s transmission kept fading. His radio had much less power than the chopper’s. “I’m telling the comm officer to relay your message now.”
It took two minutes for the pilot to acknowledge the request. But even if they were able to do it, Ira had doubts that Mercer would see the flare. The helicopter was down to three hundred feet and Mercer was still between five and ten miles away.
Ira kept his misgivings to himself. “Mercer, the pilot will comply. He estimates he can hold her aloft for another five minutes.” He heard nothing but static. “Mercer, do you copy? Over.”
There was a small window above the radio sets. It was dark, but with the floodlights on, he could see how the wind raced first in one direction and then another. The captured snow and ice looked like it was caught in a tornado. Ira estimated the gusts at forty miles per hour. He prayed Mercer brought back the pilot so he could kill the stupid son of a bitch for daring to fly in this kind of weather. No resupply mission was worth it.
“Mercer, do you copy? Over.”
