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PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS
OF SARAH ANDREWS
DEAD DRY
“[Em Hansen is] a clear-thinking, straight-talking heroine whose unabashed naiveté is endearing.”
—The New York Times Book Review
“Compelling.”
—Dallas Morning News
“Another engaging chapter in a rock-solid series.”
—Booklist
“Fans of this series will find plenty to like in Dead Dry, and any mystery reader who enjoys the lovely rocks of Colorado will, too.”
—Rocky Mountain News
“A terrific who-done-it … Fans will appreciate Em’s latest digging in the dirt gem.”
—thebestreviews.com
“Filled with moments of suspense and twists and turns that will leave readers stuck to their seats … The characters are engaging, and they are the sort of people you would like to meet again.”
—Iloveamysterynewsletter.com
“Fans of information-packed suspense should be satisfied.”
—Publishers Weekly
EARTH COLORS
“Intriguing.”
—Publishers Weekly
KILLER DUST
“Ably combining science and suspense, Andrews once again entertains and educates.”
—Publishers Weekly
FAULT LINE
“The most intriguing complexities in Fault Line lie within Em’s own character.”
—The Washington Post
“Graphic, frightening, and entertaining use of earthquake science … Em Hansen is rapidly carving out a niche for herself as a forensic geologist…and may eventually make her field as popular as that of forensic anthropology or medicine.”
—Publishers Weekly
“The resourceful and intelligent Hansen makes a terrific series heroine…What has made the series shine has been the amount of ‘hard science’ that Andrews, a professional geologist herself, was able to work into the stories.”
—Booklist
AN EYE FOR GOLD
“Em Hansen is plucky and smart…[and] the mystery is complicated and absorbing.”
—Booklist
“Suspense every step of the way…Twists and turns that [will] keep you turning the pages.”
—The Press Democrat
BONE HUNTER
“Andrews…has become a leading light. The fifth entry in her series rivets both as a crime story and as a discussion of the relationship between science and religion…Her novel is a suspenseful mystery spiked with dinosaurs, science, and religion: What more could readers ask for?”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“The latest Em Hansen mystery is by far the best yet…Andrews makes the most of her paleontological background. The novel is, in addition to a fine mystery, a lively exploration of the high-stakes world of dinosaur research and perceptive rumination on the debate between science and creationism.”
—Booklist
“Geologist Em Hansen’s adventures become more and more intriguing with each new book…A most fascinating tale.”
—Romantic Times
“Appealing characters and fluent prose.”
—Library Journal
ALSO BY SARAH ANDREWS
Dead Dry
Earth Colors
Killer Dust
Fault Line
An Eye for Gold
Bone Hunter
Only Flesh and Bones
Mother Nature
AVAILABLE FROM
ST. MARTIN’S/MINOTAUR PAPERBACKS
IN COLD
PURSUIT
Sarah Andrews
St. Martin’s Paperbacks
NOTE: If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
IN COLD PURSUIT
Copyright © 2007 by Sarah Andrews.
All rights reserved.
For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 007013828
ISBN: 0-312-94596-5
EAN: 978-0-312-94596-1
Printed in the United States of America
St. Martin’s Press hardcover edition / August 2007
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / July 2008
St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To the good people of McMurdo Station, Antarctica—
and some of the bad ones, too
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
THIS MATERIAL IS BASED UPON WORK SUPPORTED BY THE National Science Foundation under Grant No. 0440665. Any opinions, findings, and conclusions or recommendations expressed in this material are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the National Science Foundation.
My sincerest thanks go to the National Science Foundation Office of Polar Programs for their support of science education and outreach. It was through NSF’s Antarctic Artists and Writers Program that I traveled to the locations depicted in this book to do the research necessary to bring to the page this story and the descriptions of scientific research and discoveries it conveys. In particular, I wish to thank Marilyn Suiter, who first invited me to speak at NSF; Guy Guthridge, who invited me to apply for an AAWP grant; Kim Silverman, who picked up where he left off; Julie Palais, who connected me with glaciology programs; Tom Wagner, who connected me with geology programs; and Dave Bresnehan, who managed McMurdo Station while I was there.
This is not a work of science fiction, which is a genre characterized by “what if?” questions posed by either suspending certain facts of science or by projecting future occurrences based on not-as-yet-invented technology or not-yet-discovered features of nature. Instead, I write fiction about science, which presents fictional characters but actual scientific findings, or events of nature that are within the bounds of what would actually occur at a given location. Thus the scientific research and findings presented in this book are borrowed from current science events, but the scientists have been replaced by fictional characters and situations, and, need I say, no one was actually murdered in the creation of this book.
I am deeply indebted to Kendrick Taylor and Noel Potter for their technical input and for reading complete drafts of this book while it was in preparation. Todd Hinkley of the National Ice Core Library kindly tutored me on the care and interpretation of ice cores, David Ainley vetted the penguin bits, Gary McClanahan corrected the tractor scenes, and a great many others kindly responded to a hail of e-mails, there always being one more detail I needed to get just right. These people include Neal Pollock, Sam Bowser, Matt Huett, Jim Mastro, Ted Scambos, Mark Fahnestock, Ashley Davies, Dorothy Burke, Nicole Bonham Colby, Kristeen Dewys PA-C, Eric Junger, and Maureen Bottrell. Eileen Rodriguez once again corrected my hideous and confused use of Spanish. Richard Alley’s The Two-Mile Time Machine: Ice Cores, Abrupt Climate Change, and Our Future was a key published resource in the grow
th of my understanding about climate as interpreted from ice cores.
It has been my pleasure to have assisted many fine geologists in honoring James W. Skehan, S.J., Professor Emeritus, Director Emeritus, Weston Observatory, Boston College, by naming a character after him in this book. I thank R. Laurence Davis, Kate L. Gilliam, Helen Greer, Arthur Mekeel Hussey, Noel Potter and Helen Delano, Paul Karabinos, Priscilla Croswell Grew and Edward S. Grew, Christopher Hepburn, and good old Anonymous for contributing considerable funds to the Geological Society of America Foundation to establish this honor.
Before I deployed to Antarctica to research this book, a great many people coached and assisted me in preparing my field plan. Primary among them were Christine Siddoway, Stewart Klipper, and Karl Kreutz. I gleaned essential understandings from research papers presented at West Antarctic Ice Sheet Workshops in 2005 and 2006, which were ably run by Robert Bindschadler of NASA.
Once in McMurdo Station, I received key scientific inspiration and guidance from Kendrick Taylor, Karl Kreutz, Christine Foreman, Douglas MacAyeal, Nelia Dunbar, Phil Kyle, Kathy Licht, and Sam Bowser.
The good people who support McMurdo’s infrastructure were also keys to the success of my visit. Being a part of that great army that travels on its stomach, I wish to thank all the Raytheon Polar Services personnel who worked so hard to serve three incredibly delicious meals per day under the superior guidance of Sally Ayotte. Trevor and Erik had us eat freeze-dried sludge with chocolate bar chasers at survival school, but I thank them as well. I am grateful to the personnel at Berg Field Center who stocked such warm sleeping bags, snug tents, and leak-proof pee bottles, and those at Science Support Center who taught me to drive a Pisten Bully. Thanks go to the fine pilots and personnel of Helo Ops who got me where I needed to go (especially Paul Murphy, who let me use his name, and Melissa, who always had a smile), and the staff at Crary Lab, most especially Micheal Claeys, who sustained me with hugs. Thanks also to Peter Somers, Barb Wood, Jean Pennycook, John Wright, Mariah Cross-land, and Cara Ferrier, and thank you, Warren Dickinson, for showing me around Scott Base. McMurdo runs on the backs of all those who sweep the floors, drive the shuttles, maintain the shops, recycle wastes, generate power, purify water, and process sewage; though your acts may seem humble, they were essential in creating the environment in which research can be done in a forbidding environment. There are perhaps one thousand people I need to thank, such as Holly, who kept my computer running, and the marvelous man whose name I didn’t get who gave me a disc of his favorite photos, so THANKS TO ALL OF YOU!
Field deployment in Antarctica is not undertaken casually, and many people worked hard to keep me safe while they tried to educate me; moreover, they made room and time for me during the incredibly hectic schedules Antarctica squeezes from its researchers. For teaching me about ice on Clarke Glacier, I am indebted to Karl Kreutz, Bruce Williamson, Mike Waszkiewicz, Toby Burdet, and he who prefers not to be named. On Cape Royds, I could not have had better teachers about penguins than David Ainley and Lisa Sheffield, and am indebted for archaeological information about early explorers to Neville Ritchie, Alasdair Knox, Robert Clendon, and Doug Rogan, representing the New Zealand Heritage Trust. In Arena Valley, I wish to thank Jaakko Putkonen, Greg Balco, Daniel Morgan, Bendan O’Donnell, and Nathan Turpen.
Scientific field work was not the only Antarctic field deployment that informed my research. For the great kindness of sending me on a traverse to Black Island Station, I wish to thank Fleet Operations director Gerald Crist; traverse foreman Katrine Jensen; Gary McClanahan, who taught me to drive a Challenger 95 and kept me smiling; Ron Rogers, who taught me to drive a certain Delta named Flipper; and James, who showed me how to hurl flags off the back of Flipper. At Black Island, I could not have been in better hands than those of station manager Tony Marchetti and cook Jessica Gonya.
The fixed-wing aircraft of Antarctica and their personnel were wonderfully generous with me, taking time to teach me about their aircraft, the navigation and cargo transport thereof, the trapping of nonexistent rodents, and the fine art of inventing fun in the Coffee House (Tractor Club membership being free, life-long and irrevocable). I wish in particular to thank Colonel Ron Smith, USAF JTF / CD Support Forces Antarctica, and Colonel Max Della Pia, Majors Samantha East, Dave Panzera, Mahlon Hull, and Marty Phillips, and Master Sergeant John Rayome of the New York Air National Guard 109th Airlift Wing. I wish also to thank the USAF captain who let me onto the flight deck of the C-17 flying south (name lost with a missing notebook) and Flight Lieutenant Chris Ferguson, Flying Officers Kane Stratford and Leigh Foster, Sergeants Natti Hodges and Steven Knapton, and Squadron Leader Stu Balchin of the Royal New Zealand Air Force, who let me stand in the cockpit flying north rather than die of discomfort in the cargo section of that plane. It was over their shoulders that I watched the long, white cloud of Aotearoa slide over the horizon.
I wish to acknowledge the murder and mayhem in the minds of Rachel Murray, Micheal Claeys, Jean Pennycook, Brendan Stamp, Roger Harvey, Andrew Heister, Deborah Kunze, Charlotte Lees, Robert Lloyd, and Steve Croissant, who provided assistance and input during the Howdunnit Contest I held while in McMurdo to find out how Antarcticans might best kill each other. The winner was Brendan Stamp for his most elegant “Death by Biodigestion,” which involved running the corpse through the sewer system, whence it would be shipped home to Point Magoo, California, unrecognizably as “cake.”
Thank you, tried and true Kelley Ragland for your ace literary input.
Now on the purely personal side, I wish to thank the Girls’ Night Out group—Nancy Saylor, Vicky Hill, Gabbi Shader, and Emi Takacs. You can’t imagine how much your all-white-foods send-off meant to me. And last but in no way least, I thank my husband, Damon, and son, Duncan, for understanding my itch for adventure, and for making their own sandwiches, washing their own clothes, loving me without judgment, and even driving me to the airport so that I could go to Antarctica.
1
AS THE COAST OF ANTARCTICA CAME INTO VIEW FROM the US Air Force C-17, those who had been to the ice before stayed seated, earplugs in place, trying to catch up on the sleep they had lost while crossing from North America to the jumping-off point in New Zealand. The new hands climbed out of the webbing perches that folded down from the naked walls of the fuselage and crowded around the two small portholes in the passenger doors, trying to get a squint at the measureless white world they would inhabit for the coming months.
Valena Walker was more assertive than the rest. Taking advantage of the fact that she was, by some quirk, the only woman on board, she moved to the desk at the bottom of the steps that led up to the flight deck and asked the loadmaster if she could climb up there for a better look. He gave her an appreciative smile, spoke into the microphone on his headset for a moment, then waved her up.
Climbing up the steps was somewhat difficult. As was required of all passengers—pax, in military jargon—traveling to Antarctica, she was dressed in ECWs, extreme cold weather gear. She had slipped out of the giant down parka emblazoned with its US Antarctic Program patch but still wore two layers of polypropylene underwear, thick black wind pants with suspenders, and, most cumbersome of all, giant blue boots. FDXs, they were called, another abbreviation for the growing list of Antarctic speak. The boots were glorified couch cushions with Vibram soles. The thick, insulated fabric and leather toes and heels of the uppers were a fetching royal blue. Inside these voluminous outer layers were two thick felt inner soles and quilted liners, and just to make certain she was warm enough, Clothing Issue had supplied her with extra-thick wool socks. Her feet were damp with sweat. Nothing daunted, she thumped up the steps and presented herself on the flight deck.
Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw over the pilots’ shoulders. Beyond the arc of the windshields lay… what? Those were mountains, certainly—they had to be part of the Transantarctic Range, as by her reckoning their flight path was taking them over Victoria Land—but everything was backwa
rd. Instead of dark, tree-swathed masses capped by snow, the mountains were bare fins of naked rock sticking up through … ice … which was … incredibly white—no, bluish-white—and … it looked oddly familiar … it looked … like …
It looked like whipped cream! How strange. A whole continent made of pie topping. And beyond the mountains, the whiteness rose and became the horizon, endless, unimaginably vast. The Polar Plateau, a sheet of ice miles thick and as broad as the continental US. Add to that the ice sheet of West Antarctica, and it was seven million cubic miles of ice, too great a number to comprehend. And there were no familiar objects to suggest scale.
In Cold Pursuit Page 1
