Thrilling Thirteen

by Ponzo, Gary

  He took a deep breath and whispered a quick prayer. Then he let his body slide down into the dark pit.

  * * *

  The sharp claws of frigid waters tore at his skin. The water crept from all sides, filling his boots and climbing up his pants. Justin felt the numbness starting to petrify his hands. The feeling pressed on him the urgency of the rescue. His entire body jerked in a series of throes, his muscles beginning their involuntary contractions.

  He lunged downward, blindly searching with his hands and feet. He did not open his eyes, afraid the seawater would instantly freeze them. He spun around and dove deeper, frantically thrusting his arms to all sides. All he could feel were broken ice pieces. Where did the truck go?

  He felt the strong water current pushing him underneath the ice sheet and realized the truck had been dragged away. His feet struck something hard, which felt like rubber. Is that one of the tires? After a back flip, he stretched his hands toward the bottom of the pit. Yes, that’s a tire, he thought after touching the hubcap. His breathing became difficult, and he swam back to the surface.

  “I’ve . . . brrrr . . . I found it,” he could hardly mumble, as he lifted his head over the slushy water. “Now . . . I should . . . pull . . . pull them out.”

  “Justin,” Anna called. “Come out. You’re gonna freeze.”

  “One . . . more . . . try.” Justin quivered as he took another deep breath, his muscles tensing. He braced himself for the return dive to the frozen hell.

  This time he kept his eyes open. He blinked rapidly to fight the sharp needles of water seemingly puncturing his eyeballs and intensifying his jackhammer headache. Justin clenched his teeth and carried on, reaching the bottom of the pit. He found the truck tipped to its left side. Hypothermia was slowing his limbs’ movements and was shutting down his brain. What do I do now? Oh, yeah. Open the door. The passenger’s door!

  As he reached for the door handle, a sudden movement inside the truck’s cabin startled him. He heard a weak thud and saw a horror-stricken face pressed against the window. Justin did not recognize the terrified eyes buried deep in their dark sockets, but he knew she was not Alisha. He read the terror in her lips. She was crying for help, shoving the door with her hands and her shoulders.

  Justin tried prying the door open, but his vicious yanking was in vain. He gestured for the woman to lean back and stepped on the glass. He stomped his feet. The water was softening the impact of his boots. The glass was resisting his repeated attacks.

  The woman’s motions were dwindling away. Justin wondered whether she was resigning herself to her fate. Maybe he was experiencing the early symptoms of hallucination. Suddenly, he felt a sharp object jab him on his hip. He lifted the bottom of his shirt, fearing an ice fragment had stabbed him. It was his M-9 pistol, its metallic barrel stuck to his skin.

  The gun! I can use the gun to break the glass!

  In a single, swift move, he pulled the gun from his right side, ripping a chunk of his skin. He slammed the gun muzzle against the glass as hard as he could, but there was no crack. After the fourth failed attempt, he gestured to the woman to hide behind the door frame. He placed the gun muzzle at the center of the glass and pulled the trigger.

  Twice.

  The first shot would have been enough for the job. The glass shattered, fragments raining over the woman’s head. Justin finished clearing the leftover glass pieces on the truck’s window frame and stretched his arms toward the woman. She grabbed his hands, and he pulled her out of the cabin. Once her body was outside the deathtrap, he lifted the woman by her waist. They swam together toward the blurry headlights gleaming over the water’s surface.

  * * *

  “Quick, let’s get them both somewhere warm,” Ned instructed the two men standing next to him.

  Awakened by the noise, a large group of curious onlookers were observing the rescue mission.

  “Our home,” said one of them, lifting Justin’s left arm.

  The other man moved to the right side, dragging Justin’s almost unconscious body to the truck.

  “OK,” Ned replied. “We’ll bring Tania.” He helped Anna carry the gasping woman to his Land Rover.

  “What about Alisha?” Anna asked, as they laid Tania in the backseat.

  “She’s . . . she’s dead,” Tania mumbled. “The crash . . .” She broke into a violent cough.

  “Don’t talk.” Ned started the car and followed the truck. “Save your energy. You can tell us everything later. Once you’re better.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Thule, Greenland

  April 14, 01:00 a.m.

  The commander fumbled with his wristwatch. He was awaiting the arrival of a captain who was visiting five of his men in the hospital. They had been wounded during the shoot-out with the Canadians. He looked around the table, trying to read the thoughts of his colleagues. The superintendent of the air base was writing on a yellow notepad in front of him. The commander was unsure of his reaction. Before the commander could fix his eyes on the other two men sitting to his left, he heard quick footsteps coming from the hall.

  “I apologize for my delay,” the captain said as he entered the conference room.

  The commander gestured for the captain to take a seat. “How are the men doing?”

  “They’ll all make it. No one is in danger of their lives.”

  “Good, I’m glad to hear that. So what do we have?”

  “The Seahawk handled the storm without a scratch. The pilot, Ms. O’Connor, did a damn good job riding the blizzard,” replied one of the men at the table.

  “Where did they land?”

  “We lost our tracking signal when the Seahawk was about six miles east of Nanisivik, Canada.”

  “They did four hundred miles in the blizzard?” the superintendent asked. “Who are these people?”

  “The blizzard, like most Arctic storms, was localized mainly around our air base. The tail end of the storm stretched over Ellesmere Island,” explained the same man who had earlier expressed admiration of the Canadian pilot. “Still, it’s quite an amazing feat.”

  “Which confirms my initial suspicions these Canadians are anything but geologists,” the commander said. “Special Forces? Rangers? Canadian Air Force?”

  “Whoever they are, sir, we should dispatch immediately two rescue teams,” said the deputy commander in a tense voice. “Then, when we find them—”

  “Wait a second,” the commander said, trying to calm him, “we need a plan for the rescue.”

  “We’re here for this purpose, sir, to draft a plan,” the deputy commander replied. “If they made it through the snowstorm, so can our pilots. We know their coordinates, and we’ll find them. Then, we’ll engage these people and force them to release the hostage and return our helo.”

  “There are so many issues with your suggestion,” one of the other men said. “First, the difficulties of a night flight in the blizzard. I’m not saying our troops are incompetent, but it’s just too great of a risk to order them into a doomed mission before they even take off from the tarmac.”

  The deputy commander opened his mouth to begin his objections. The commander stopped him with a stern gaze.

  “Second, it’s clear from the data that we know only the possible destination of the helo, not the exact coordinates of its landing. And that’s their position as of what, thirty minutes ago?”

  “Fifty minutes ago,” said another man.

  “Yes, thanks. They could be anywhere, and our teams will have trouble locating them. Third, the Canadians took a Seahawk, a helicopter this air base is not even supposed to have. And we’re planning to go after them with what, other Seahawks that shouldn’t be in Greenland’s airspace? Fourth, we’ll be sending our troops into Canada, our ally. Can you imagine the repercussions of such an action?”

  The deputy commander shrugged. “Since when do we worry about ‘repercussions’ of our acts? We carry out missions like this on almost a daily basis all over the world. Somalia. Paki
stan. Colombia. These renegades kidnapped one of our soldiers. That act should not go unpunished.”

  “It will not go unpunished,” the commander spoke softly, setting an example of the tone he expected from his men. “As it was pointed out accurately, we will not jeopardize our relationship with a strong ally by wreaking havoc in the Arctic. We revert to the use of force as a last resort, by targeting a precise location. Canada is not like the countries you mentioned. Our first step will be to inform the Canadian government about this crisis and to seek to resolve it through diplomatic means.”

  The deputy commander raised his metal-framed glasses to the bridge of his nose and scratched his shaved head. “Yes, sir,” he mumbled.

  “Good. I’ll contact our Chief of Mission to Canada, and he will follow this matter further through diplomatic channels.”

  “Is that . . . is that all we’re doing, sir?” asked one of the men in a faltering voice. He was Support Squadron Commander of the airbase. Sergeant Emily Moore and Sergeant Tom Brown were two of the people in his team.

  “Of course not,” the commander replied. “Emily is my highest priority, and we’ll do everything we can to bring her home. I had a chance to interrogate the Canadians, when they were still recovering in the hospital. While I may have misjudged their abilities, they didn’t strike me as vicious criminals.”

  “‘Vicious criminals’ is an understatement, sir,” the same man replied. “Sergeant Brown’s skull is fractured. He was tied up and left naked on the emergency room floor.”

  “It’s all because of that stupid radar signal that notified us about these people in the first place,” another man blurted out. “If those technicians would stop messing around with their toys, we wouldn’t even be here at this graveyard hour.”

  “Whoa, whoa,” said another voice. “If it weren’t for my team, we would have three dead people on our conscience. Three dead people, whom we could have saved. There was no way for anyone to know about this turn of events.”

  “Oh, is that so? Well, my conscience is already burdened with a head-split sergeant and a kidnapped sergeant, held as hostage who knows where.”

  “Gentlemen,” the commander shouted, silencing their bickering. “There’s no gain in figuring out who’s to blame. Let’s focus on solutions, rather than accusations.”

  Some of the men nodded in agreement.

  “I was saying the Canadians seemed like decent folks,” the commander said. “I know Hall mugged Sergeant Brown, and I don’t condone his action. I’m simply accepting it as a fact, regrettable as such, yet still notable, since it tells us about his determination. It also testifies to his character. Hall is not into overkill, but precise, controlled use of physical force, in correct proportion with the needs of the situation.”

  He looked around the room. “I’ll explain myself, since some of you seem lost. When the Canadians had a chance to fight back, their machine guns blasted tarmac chunks, not the flesh of our soldiers. I’m sure they’re not going to hurt Emily. They did not kid . . . take her for ransom or to pressure us into submission or negotiation. Hall was afraid we were going to pulverize the chopper. The bastard was right; I may have issued the order to shoot down the Seahawk, if it had nothing valuable on board.”

  There were some nods around the table.

  “Now, my question is: Why were they in such a hurry to go back? What was so important that couldn’t wait, not even three, four days, until their health improved, and we could escort them safely back to Canada?”

  “They were trying to hide something,” one man guessed.

  “Rushing to get rid of their tracks in whatever illegal scheme they were working on,” the deputy commander said.

  “Hall claimed they had secured evidence confirming their suspicions about Danish soldiers attacking their Arctic territory.”

  “What?” the superintendent asked.

  “Really? That’s a clever one,” the deputy commander said in a mocking tone.

  “Yes, a fascinating claim,” the commander said. “I dismissed it offhand as nonsense. But after their death-defying stunt, I’m not so sure. I want to check yesterday’s satellite monitoring records for anything out of the ordinary, in terms of Danish aircraft or icebreakers heading toward Canada. Hall talked about some isolated maneuver Denmark may be carrying out. I remember seeing a memo a few weeks back, when they were planning a training exercise, but I don’t recall its details. At the time, it looked pretty harmless. Find me anything recent about the Danish preparations for this exercise. I also want the other Seahawks on standby for a rescue mission at a moment’s notice. Pilots and armaments should be ready, awaiting my orders.”

  “Sir, hmmm . . .” the superintendent began, “those choppers, the Seahawks. We’ll have to anticipate a considerable backlash from the Danish government if news about their existence at our base appears in the media.”

  The commander thought about the superintendent’s words for a few moments. “I’m quite aware of our agreement with Denmark on the expansion of our base. I know it prohibits the presence of sophisticated and heavily armed fighter aircraft. But thank you for the reminder. Now, allow me to remind everyone around this table we’re the only people in possession of this secret. If the Danes start asking about our Seahawks and whether they’re in violation of our treaty with their government, I’ll start an investigation of the leak. I will not hesitate to court-martial anyone who leaks the information. Is this clear?”

  The commander waited until everyone had nodded their acknowledgment before continuing. “I’ll make sure our personnel are informed about our official position on the situation. We’re actively pursuing a diplomatic solution with the government of Canada. At the same time, we’re working to ensure the return of our airman. I’ll address the troops over the radio as early as this morning. Hopefully, we’ll have more positive news by then.

  “One last thing, I want all our eyes on the Canadian coast. Nothing flies over or swims in or under the waters separating Greenland from Canada without me, personally, knowing about it.”

  Arctic Bay, Canada

  April 14, 01:47 a.m.

  “He’s a lucky bas . . .” Nilak’s voice trailed off.

  He stood up as Anna entered the small spare bedroom. She tiptoed toward the bed, where Justin was buried underneath a mountain of sheets and blankets. His pale face was the only uncovered part of his body. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was heavy.

  Iluak, who was sitting on a small wooden stool next to his twin brother, asked Anna, “How’s Tania doing?”

  “The nurses are still with her.” She gestured toward the hall leading to Iluak’s bedroom, where Tania was wrapped in warm blankets. “They say her exposure to the freezing water was not severe, so no internal rewarming is necessary.”

  “I remember they were saying something about a hot bath,” Iluak said.

  “You’re right. They did that already. Has Justin said anything?”

  “Not much. He complained about being cold, ten minutes ago, so I turned up the heat. It takes some time for the house to warm up, since it’s so damn cold outside,” Nilak replied.

  “What did the nurses say about his arrhythmia?”

  Nilak rolled his eyes. “I don’t think they mentioned it. But how do you know so much about this?”

  “Just recovered from some serious hypothermia of my own.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes. All thanks to the one who’s frozen solid at the bottom of the Bay.”

  “Alisha, she’s such a f . . .” He stopped and offered an apologetic smile.

  Anna shrugged.

  “So why did Alisha do that?” Iluak asked.

  “Oh, it’s a long story. A very long story.”

  Anna looked at Justin’s face. One of the nurses had combed his hair to the side and had attended to the wound on his forehead, which was now dressed neatly in clean gauze. She reached over to remove a loose hair from his eyelids, but her warm breath on his face disturbed his light
sleep.

  “Carrie,” he muttered, his eyes still shut. “Is that you?”

  “No,” she whispered in his ear. “It’s Anna.”

  “She gave you the kiss of life, and you’re confusing her with another woman?” Nilak wondered aloud, quite loud, for the small room.

  “Yeah, man, what’s wrong with you?” Iluak said with a smug grin.

  “I . . . I don’t know . . . maybe because I’m exhausted,” Justin replied with a wheezing sigh, which turned into a loud cough. “And dead, if she had to revive me,” he added after his hacking stopped.

  Anna helped Justin to sit up. Nilak straightened Justin’s pillow and blankets, forming a soft support against the headboard.

  “Did you really kiss me?” Justin whispered, reaching for her hand.

  “Why? You really don’t remember?” Anna replied, her left fingers toying with a few curls at the back of his head.

  “I was going to say ‘get a room,’ but you already have one,” Carrie said, interrupting their ill-timed romance. She stood at the doorway, staring at Justin and Anna, as their fingers parted ways.

  “Gentlemen,” Carrie said to Nilak and Iluak. “Thank you for your help. We need the room to go over a few things.”

  “We’re at the Health Center to talk to Kiawak,” Iluak said, speaking for himself and his brother. “Call us if you need anything. Mi igloo es su igloo,” he added, the usual smug grin returning to his face.

  “Gracias.” Carrie closed the door behind them. She sat on one of the stools. Anna kept standing at the left side of the bed.

  “What did Kiawak say?” Justin asked.

  “He hasn’t said a single word, other than painful grunts,” Carrie replied. “The two nurses at the Health Center and Emily are doing what they can to detox him. That psychopath shot him with a bunch of ‘truth serums,’ as they call them, so Kiawak would do whatever she wanted. The nurses are cleaning him up pretty good. Liver, kidney, blood. When he wakes up, he’ll feel like a new man. What about you?”

  Justin smiled. “I’m doing well, just very, very tired. But don’t worry about me. What did you find at the inn?”