Arctic Drift Part 49

As he pa.s.sed just north of the Royal Geographical Society Islands, Captain Stenseth slowed the Narwhal as they entered the first of Pitt's search grids. A floating transponder was dropped off the stern, then the ship raced to the opposite corner of the grid where a second buoy was released. Keyed to the orbiting GPS satellites, the transponders provided underwater navigation reference points for the roving AUVs to keep on course.

On the stern of the ship, Pitt helped Giordino and Dahlgren download the search plan into the first AUV's processor, then watched as a crane hoisted the large yellow fish over the side. With its small propeller spinning, the AUV was released from its cradle. The device shot forward and quickly dived beneath the dark, rolling waters. Guided by the bobbing transponders, the AUV scooted to its starting point, then began weaving back and forth, scanning the bottom with its electronic eyes.

With the first vehicle safely released, Stenseth piloted the ship north to the second grid area and repeated the process. A biting wind cut through the men on the deck as they released the second AUV, and they hurried to the warmth of the nearby operations center. A seated technician already had both search grids displayed on an overhead screen, with visual representations of both AUVs and the transponders. Pitt slipped out of his parka as he eyed several columns of numbers quickly being updated on the side of the screen.

"Both AUVs are at depth and running true," he said. "Nice work, gentlemen."

"They're out of our hands now," Giordino replied. "Looks like it will take about twelve hours for the fish to run their course before surfacing."

"Once we get them back aboard, it won't take long to download the data and swap batteries, then we can set 'em loose again on the next two grids," Dahlgren noted.

Giordino raised his brows while Pitt shot him a withering look.

"What did I say?" he asked in a bewildered tone.

"On this ship," Pitt replied, a razor-sharp grin crossing his face, "the first time's the charm."

58

SIXTY MILES TO THE WEST, THE OTOK CHURNED through the wind-whipped waters on a direct path to the Royal Geographical Society Islands. In the wheelhouse, Zak studied a satellite image of the islands through a magnifying gla.s.s. Two large islands dominated the chain, West Island separated by a thin channel from the smaller East Island. The Mid-America mining operation was located on the southern coast of the West Island, facing Queen Maud Gulf. Zak could make out two buildings and a long pier in the photograph, as well as evidence of an open-pit mine nearby.

"A message came in for you."

The Otok's unshaven captain approached and handed Zak a slip of paper. Opening it up, Zak read the contents:

Pitt arrived Tuktoyaktuk from D.C. early Sat.u.r.day. Boarded NUMA research vessel Narwhal. Departed 1600, presumed destination Alaska. M.G.

"Alaska," he said aloud. "They can't very well go anywhere else now, can they?" he added with a smile.

"Everything all right?"

"Yes, just a tardy effort by the compet.i.tion."

"What's our approach to the islands?" the captain asked, peering over Zak's shoulder.

"The south coast of West Island. We'll make for the mining operation first. Let's run right up to the pier and see if anyone is home. It's early in the season, so they may not have opened up summer operations yet."

"Might be a good place to dump our captives."

Zak gazed out the aft window, watching the barge that was tailing behind wallow in the turbulent seas.

"No," he replied after contemplation. "They should be quite comfortable where they are."

COMFORTABLE WAS HARDLY THE sentiment that came to Rick Roman's mind. But under the circ.u.mstances, he had to admit they had made the best of things.

The cold steel deck and bulkheads of their floating prison quickly sapped their efforts to keep warm, but a solution lie in the debris left behind. Roman organized the men under penlight and had them attack the mound of tires. First, a layer of the old rubber was laid on the deck, then a series of walls were built up, creating a smaller den where all the men could still fit. The mooring ropes were then unwound and draped over the tire walls and floor, creating an extra layer of insulation, as well as padding for the men to lie on. Huddled into the tight enclave, the men had a combined body heat that gradually forced a rise in the temperature. After several hours, Roman flashed his light on a bottle of water at his feet and noted an inch or two of liquid sloshed atop the frozen contents. The insulated den had warmed above freezing, he noted with some satisfaction.

It was the only satisfaction he had received in some time. When Murdock and Bojorquez returned after a two-hour inspection of the barge's interior, the news was all bleak. Murdock had found no other potential exit points astern of their storage hold, save for the cavernous holds themselves. The mammoth overhead hatch covers might as well have been welded shut for the chance they had at moving them.

"I did find this," Bojorquez said, holding up a small wood-handled claw hammer. "Somebody must have dropped it in the hold and didn't bother to retrieve it."

"Even a sledgehammer wouldn't do us a lot of good on that hatch," Roman replied.

Undeterred, Bojorquez began attacking the locked hatch lever with the small tool. Soon the tap-tap-tap of the pounding hammer became a constant accompaniment to the creaking sounds of the moving barge. Men lined up to have a go at the hammer, mostly out of boredom, or in an attempt to warm themselves from the exertion. Against the incessant rapping, Murdock's voice suddenly raised over the din.

"The tow ship is slowing."

"Cease the hammering," Roman ordered.

Ahead of them, they could hear the engines of the icebreaker slow their deep-throated drone. A few minutes later, the engines dropped to an idle, then the barge b.u.mped against a stationary object. Listening in silence, the men anxiously hoped that their frozen imprisonment was over.

59

THE ROYAL GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY ISLANDS appeared as a ma.s.s of buff-colored hills rising above the choppy slate waters. The islands were christened by the explorer Roald Amundsen in 1905, during his epic voyage on the Gjoa, when he became the first man to successfully navigate the length of the Northwest Pa.s.sage. Remote and forgotten for over a century, the islands remained a footnote until a freelance exploration company found an exposed deposit of zinc on West Island and sold its claims to Mid-America.

The Mid-America mining camp was built on a wide cove along the island's rugged southern coast, which zigzagged with numerous inlets and lagoons. A naturally formed deepwater channel allowed large ships to access the cove, providing that the sea ice had vanished for the season. The company had built a three-hundred-foot semifloating dock that stretched from the cove, sitting empty and alone amid the chunks of ice bobbing in the surrounding waters.

Zak had the captain pull to the dock while he scanned the sh.o.r.eline through a pair of binoculars. He viewed a pair of prefabricated buildings perched beneath a small bluff alongside a gravel road that ran inland a short distance. The windows of the buildings were dark, and piles of drifting snow could be seen acc.u.mulated in the doorways. Satisfied that the facility was still abandoned from the winter shutdown, he had the Otok tie up to the dock.

"Have the team of geologists a.s.sembled and put ash.o.r.e," Zak instructed the captain. "I want to know the mineral content of the ore they are extracting here, as well as the geology of the general area."

"I believe the team is anxious to get ash.o.r.e," the captain quipped, having seen a number of the geologists suffering from seasickness in the galley.

"Captain, I had a large package sent to the ship before I arrived. Did you receive a delivery in Tuktoyaktuk?"

"Yes, a crate was taken aboard there. I had it placed in the forward hold."

"Please have it delivered to my cabin. It contains some materials that I'll need on sh.o.r.e," he said.

"I'll have it taken care of right away. What about our captives on the barge? They're probably near death," he said, eyeing a digital thermometer on the console that indicated the outside temperature was five degrees.

"Ah yes, our frozen Americans. I'm sure their disappearance has a few people excited by now," Zak said with an arrogant tone. "Toss them some food and blankets, I suppose. It may still do for us to keep them alive."

While the geologists made their way ash.o.r.e accompanied by an armed security team, Zak stepped down to his cabin. His package, a metal-skinned trunk toting a heavy padlock, sat waiting for him on the carpeted floor. Inside was a carefully organized array of fuses and detonators, along with enough dynamite to flatten a city block. Zak selected a few of the items and placed them in a small satchel, then relocked the trunk. Slipping into a heavy parka, he made his way to the main deck and was about to step off the ship when a crewman stopped him.

"You have a call on the bridge. The captain asks that you come right away."

Zak took a companionway to the bridge, where he found the captain talking on a secure satellite telephone.