They were seated in first class. The attendant took their coats and offered them beverages while Jack stowed their carry-ons in the bin above. Sophie took the window; Jack, the aisle. The seats were wider in first class, but his legs were still too long to stretch out without tripping the people filing past.
Neither had mentioned what had happened last night. Their passion had reached a crescendo numerous times, so they didn’t get much sleep. Sophie was exhausted. She clipped her seat belt into place, closed her eyes, and was sound asleep minutes later.
She didn’t wake up until they were about to land in Fairbanks. When she opened her eyes, she saw Jack flipping through a magazine. He didn’t notice she was watching him. The images of his hot, naked body rubbing against hers made her face warm, and she tried to block the memories. Only one way to get through this trip with Jack, she decided. She would take the stance that nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Like some of the corrupt men her father went after, she would deny, deny, deny.
Once on the ground and inside the airport, she went to the ladies’ room to freshen up. After brushing her teeth and splashing water on her face, she felt good as new. She had assumed there would be a layover in Fairbanks, but she was wrong. The mysterious Jennifer without a last name had booked them on Chip’s Charter Service, and the flight was scheduled to leave in less than an hour.
Jack leaned against a pillar, reading the sports section of a newspaper, waiting for her. Sophie’s heart skipped a beat when she saw him through the crowd, and she was once again a little breathless. Was it any wonder? Jack was one fine-looking man. “Very fine,” she whispered. Denying wasn’t going to be easy.
“You ready?” he asked, folding the paper under his arm.
They stopped at a snack bar in the terminal, but Sophie was sorry she had eaten the muffin and juice when she reached the gate that would lead them outside to Chip’s Charter Service. There were small jets and small planes, and then there was Chip’s six-seater. Her stomach dropped to her feet when she saw it on the tarmac. She was certain jets flew to Prudhoe Bay. Why weren’t they taking one of those?
She stepped closer to Jack. “You know what? I think we should drive.”
He could see the worry in her eyes. “You do?”
“Yes. We definitely should drive. It’s only five hundred miles, give or take, and we can’t get lost.” She hastily added when he shook his head, “Only one highway, the Dalton, goes up to Prudhoe Bay. We could do some sightseeing.”
“Have you noticed it’s snowing? Can’t do much sightseeing—”
“Yes, I noticed, and I also noticed how windy it is, which is why we shouldn’t fly in that paperweight plane.”
He smiled. “It has two engines. We’ll be fine.”
“Big trucks go back and forth on the Dalton all the time. We could catch a ride with one of them.”
She glanced out the window and saw a heavyset man, looking a little like Santa Claus with his white beard and mustache, circle the plane and head toward them. She kept her eye on him as she whispered to Jack, “This isn’t a good idea. Have you ever flown in a little plane like that?”
“Yeah, I have. One of my brothers is a pilot. He’s taken me up a couple of times. Relax, Sophie.”
Jack went outside to talk to the pilot, and Sophie stepped close to the window to watch him. She was suddenly overwhelmed. In the last twenty-four hours Jack MacAlister had uprooted her plans and her life. What was she doing here in Alaska with him? She had taken him to her bed and done the most intimate things with him, but she barely knew him. He had told her a little about his background, but there was so much more she didn’t know. One of his brothers? How many siblings did he have? Were his parents still alive? Weren’t these things you should know before sharing the most private part of yourself with someone? The reality of what she had done sank in, and she was mortified. When it came to relationships, she had always played it safe. Cautious to a fault, according to her friends … until Jack. He had made her forget everything she had ever promised herself, and it was time for her to regain control.
From this moment on, she was going to keep things polite and professional, and she would definitely not be sleeping with him again. No more foolishness, she told herself.
The door opened, and a blast of freezing air swept over her. The pilot was actually younger than he had appeared from a distance. He was probably still in his thirties; his dark brown beard was covered with a layer of ice and snow, which is why it had appeared white.
“Hello,” he said as he pulled off his glove and extended his hand. “You must be Sophie Rose. My name’s Chipper, but some like to call me Chip. Either’s fine with me. As soon as your luggage is weighed and loaded, we’ll be on our way.”
“Can you fly in this wind?” she asked worriedly.
“I sure can. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll do my final check.”
“Chipper … does the plane have heat?”
He turned back. “Yes, it does.”
Jack started to laugh. “Of course it has heat.”
She leaned close to whisper. “Chipper has ice chips in his beard.”
“Bet you can’t say that fast five times.”
“Be serious,” she said. “Chipper has either been walking around his plane for a long while or he’s been flying without heat. Ice in his beard, Jack.”
“We’ll be just fine, Sophie.”
His calm reassurance irritated her. Of course they’d be fine—unless Chipper accidentally tipped the plane into the side of a mountain, or misjudged the icy runway and dumped them into the ocean. Until today, Sophie hadn’t considered herself a nervous flyer, but as she watched the small plane pitch back and forth from the force of the wind, she thought it was a perfectly sensible reaction to be a little freaked out.
A phone rang, and that reminded Sophie of Paul Larson. He was going to be at the airport to meet her plane, and she hadn’t notified him that her flight had changed and she would be arriving in Prudhoe Bay ahead of schedule. She made a mental note to call him when she arrived.
Chipper opened the door and announced it was time to leave.
Sophie put on her gloves, picked up her bag, and took a deep breath.
Jack turned her toward him and pulled the collar up around her face, then took her shoulders in his hands and leaned close to say, “Everything’s going to be okay. You trust me, don’t you, Sophie?”
She looked into his eyes and was surprised to discover … she did.
JOURNAL ENTRY 662
CHICAGO
We have had long discussions about the next step. We must test our serum on human beings. But how to go about it, that’s the question. If we run our trials through a clinic, even if we were to patent our findings, our secret would be out, and we would be in danger of losing our edge.
People would kill for our formula. When the world discovers what we have, every pharmaceutical company in the world will want a piece of it, and we know there are many who would stop at nothing to nab the profits for themselves. We have to be cautious and do the tests ourselves. When we hit the market with our creation, all the money and recognition will be ours.
We ’ve worked too hard not to enjoy the benefits.
DEADHORSE, ALASKA, SITS AT THE TOP OF THE WORLD. Some call it a town; others call it a camp. From her research, Sophie had learned that Prudhoe Bay is a working community. At any given time there are approximately five thousand men on the drilling sites owned by the oil companies, but they don’t mingle with travelers who come to Dead-horse. Each company has its own self-contained facility for its workers. The rigs and the housing for the employees are enclosed to protect the equipment from the climate, and the accommodations are comfortable despite the harsh environment. The men on the rigs work twelve-hour shifts for two weeks straight, then fly home for two weeks. The money is substantial, but the social life is nonexistent.
Tours to the oil fields and the Arctic Ocean are available during the summer months, but a week’s
notice is required so that background checks can be made. Security is tight. One hundred sixty men comprise the security force that protects the rigs. Two policemen are on duty in Deadhorse, and like the workers on the rigs, their shifts are two weeks on and two weeks off.
Planes fly in and out of Deadhorse all day, every day weather conditions permitting, and there’s even a helicopter pad by the airport.
Sophie was fascinated by what she had learned and, despite the bumpy plane ride to get there, couldn’t wait to experience the area for herself. As the plane approached the airstrip, she could see massive rigs off in the distance, and below a white canvas spread out as far as her eye could see. The ice and snow created a solid surface now, but after the spring thaw, the land would look as though it were floating in puddles of water. Deadhorse was little more than a scattering of prefabricated buildings perched aboveground with steps leading up to the doors. They looked more like warehouses than homes or businesses.
Considering the wind and the snow blowing across the runway, the plane’s landing was smooth. Chipper offered to fly Sophie and Jack back to Fairbanks or on to Barrow when their business in Deadhorse was finished, and then he took them to the Prudhoe Bay Hotel.
“Hotel” was not a term the Hiltons or Marriotts would have used to describe the structure, but it served the purpose. The prefabricated units, hooked together as one building, offered simple accommodations.
Sophie and Jack knocked the snow off their boots before they entered the small office. There wasn’t a crush of people waiting for rooms. In fact, Sophie and Jack were the only customers. The manager, who stood behind a linoleum-topped counter sorting through paperwork, welcomed them warmly and told them to call him Zester. It was difficult to judge his age. His face was so weathered, he could have been fifty or thirty, but from his booming voice, Sophie pegged him at forty.
“I should have a reservation,” Sophie told him. “Paul told me he’d make arrangements.”
Zester didn’t have to look in the register. “Not here you don’t. Think you might have one at the Caribou Inn? I’ll call for you and cancel. You’ll like staying here much better.” He didn’t wait for permission but turned his back and dialed his competitor.
Jack nudged Sophie. “Who’s Paul?”
Sophie pulled off her scarf and folded it. “Paul Larson. Didn’t I tell you about him?”
He shook his head. “Tell me now.”
Zester interrupted before she could explain. “Nope. You didn’t have a reservation at the Caribou.” He chuckled as he added, “When I told Charlie how darn pretty you are, he said maybe you did have a room reserved after all. I expect he’ll be coming over to say hello.”
Jack unbuttoned his coat, and Zester spotted the gun at his waist.
“Hold on now. We don’t allow guns here. At least we don’t allow our customers to carry them around.” He leaned over the counter. “What kind is that? Doesn’t matter,” he continued before Jack could reply. “A thirty-eight or a forty-five or a Glock … none of those will take down a bear. A fox maybe, but not a bear. You’d end up in jail if you tried to shoot a bear,” he warned.
“I’m with the FBI.”
Zester looked shocked. He took a quick step back, then moved forward again. In a whisper he said, “FBI? Something bad happen? Someone break the law?” He shook his head and added, “No, I’d hear about it if someone broke the law. I can keep a secret, so you can tell me. Why are you here?”
Sophie answered. “He lost a bet.”
Jack smiled at how disgruntled Sophie had sounded. “Yeah, I did.”
Zester didn’t ask for clarification. “How about I set you up with my deluxe two rooms with a bathroom in between? That’s the best I can offer.”
A few minutes later, after dropping their bags in their rooms, Jack and Sophie followed Zester into the small cafeteria. Sophie felt as though she were walking through an elongated mobile home. The lunchroom was small, sparse, and spotless.
“Meals are included in the price of your rooms,” Zester explained. “You missed lunch, but I can offer you some cold sandwiches. There’s always food, twenty-four/seven,” he added. “As far as drink, we’re dry here, so nothing stronger than coffee, tea, or soft drinks.”
Sophie asked for hot tea, and Jack wanted a Coke. While they ate their sandwiches, Zester called the policeman on duty and asked him to come over to the hotel.
He handed the phone to Jack and said, “Tim wants to talk to you.”
While Jack talked to the officer, Sophie used her cell to call Paul Larson. A recorded voice answered.
“Hi, Paul. It’s Sophie. Call me when you get this.”
Zester went back to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee for himself, and as soon as they were alone, Jack said, “Sophie, I’m still waiting to hear who Paul Larson is.”
“He’s with the security force here.”
“Okay. How do you know him?”
In his FBI mode his tone was no-nonsense.
“I told you about the policeman who called me to tell me they had found my business card in William Harrington’s sock.”
“I remember.”
“Not long after that call, Paul Larson contacted me.”
“How did he get your phone number?”
“Obviously he got it from the policeman who found my card.”
“Go on.”
She tilted her head and frowned. “Are you interrogating me?”
“Yeah, I am. Keep going.”
At least he was honest about it. “Paul’s been very helpful.”
“How helpful?”
“He called when they found Harrington’s wallet, and he explained where Harrington’s remains would go.”
“Anchorage.”
She nodded. “He didn’t have any idea why Harrington had decided to camp out in the wilderness, but he said he’d ask around and find out if anyone had talked to him.”
“He went to a lot of trouble for you, didn’t he?”
Was Jack jealous? Sophie immediately discarded the notion. “Why so grumpy?” she asked. “There’s probably not a lot to do up here when you’re not working, and he thought it was a mystery, too.”
“That Harrington would camp out—”
“Yes,” she said.
Jack sighed. “Why didn’t you mention Larson earlier?”
She shrugged. “I should have,” she said, then added, “You’ll like him. He’s very pleasant over the phone.”
“Yeah, right. Pleasant.” He shook his head. “You know what your problem is? You’re too damned trusting.”
“I trust you.”
“You should.”
Sophie didn’t know what to make of his attitude, but she decided to placate him. “I don’t trust Paul the way I trust you. He works for the security force here, so you know the powers that be have done a thorough background check.”
“You’re getting riled, sweetheart.”
The endearment flustered her. “I think I’ll go back to my room and unpack. I’ve got to charge my phone,” she said. “The battery’s low. Are you going to stay here?”
He nodded. “Don’t leave the hotel without me, all right?”
She glanced out the window. The snow was now coming down hard. Since she wouldn’t be able to see two feet in front of her if she went outside, that was an easy request to agree to. With the lack of sunlight, she could easily get disoriented and end up wandering in a snowstorm. There was also the possibility of running into Barry or one of his furry relatives.
Polar bears, up close and personal. She shivered thinking about it.
Sophie stopped at the front desk to ask Zester if he had heard of William Harrington.
“Everyone’s heard of him,” he said. “He’s the man Barry went after.”
She nodded. “Did you happen to meet Mr. Harrington, or do you know anyone who might have spoken to him?”
“I never met him,” he answered. “I didn’t hear that anyone around here did. He might have flown int
o Barrow and taken a small plane to Alaktak and headed west, or maybe he went to Nuiqsut or Umiat and headed east. His camp wasn’t too far from there. He was found close to the ocean, though, so I can’t really say how he got there.”
Sophie didn’t have any idea where Alaktak or the other towns were located. She had a map in her bag and would have to look them up.
“What about the Coben brothers? Do you know them?”
“Who?”
She repeated the name. “They’re trappers,” she explained, “and I heard secondhand that they had talked to Mr. Harrington.”
He nodded. “Could be. I’m only filling in here for a couple of days, but I know a lot of people come through here, and they don’t all stay in the hotel, of course. The name’s familiar, though.”
Thank goodness for Paul, Sophie thought. If he hadn’t taken an interest and helped her, she wouldn’t have learned anything about the Cobens on her own. Paul had talked to a number of truckers who drove in and out of Deadhorse. He’d done the legwork for her.
Sophie thanked Zester and went to her room to unpack. She spread her map out on the bed and used a highlighter to mark the villages Zester had mentioned. The police could tell her where Harrington’s campsite had been.
An hour passed as she was organizing, and when she was finally settled, she called Mr. Bitterman to check in. He was in a fine mood and asked a lot of questions about Prudhoe Bay.
“Have you seen the northern lights?”
“Not yet.”
“What’s the weather like?”
She answered that question and several others.
“Are you going to join the polar bear club?” he asked. “Be a heck of a story if you did.”
“Sir, there are limits to what I will do for my job. I’m not jumping into the Arctic Ocean for a story.”
“Give it some thought,” he said. “Now tell me about Harrington, and then I’ve got a whopper of a surprise for you.”
“We just got here so there’s very little to tell.”
“That’s right. Jack’s with you, isn’t he? Alec called me this morning. It was a relief to hear that you’ve got an FBI agent with you. Can’t be too cautious, you know.”
Fire and Ice Page 18
