Emerald

by Brian January

  Running the Zodiac up on a beach strewn with black granite pebbles, they climbed out. A bitter wind had sprung up from the southeast, chopping against the exposed skin of their faces, driving with it scurrying flakes of snow. From this vantage point Skarda could see the curling sweep of the coastline more easily. Ochre-and-rust-colored lichen clung in clumps to the beach rocks, looking like random splashes of flung paint, and as the ground tapered upward, deep patches of snow frosted the landscape, giving way to vertical walls of bare rock that rose up to sharp-edged volcanic escarpments whose summits were sheathed in ice. On Rubini Rock thousands of nesting seabirds wheeled, screaming and squawking.

  Candy Man had given them two possible locations where the NASA GPR satellite data showed underground caverns large enough to house a Nazi research station. One lay almost in the center of the island, at the highest elevation of a basaltic cliff; the other butted up to an escarpment at the opposite end, in an area of hard-packed perpetual snow. This, they’d decided, would be their best bet.

  Following the curve of the beach, it took them over an hour to reach a snow-hummocked rise, pockmarked with small boulders, that angled downward toward a flat rock-strewn beach. Here hundreds of carcasses of arctic animals had washed up on shore, their gleaming white bones flecked with the scraps of dried flesh not gnawed at by scavengers.

  The sight made Skarda’s blood boil. He glanced at Flinders. Her face had paled to chalk-white and she looked like she wanted to vomit.

  In the lead, April started up the rise, then halted. She turned to Skarda. “Park.”

  Making his way over the slippery stones, he came up next to her and stared down the slope that led to a valley-like depression and beyond it, a rocky beach. Next to the hump of a crag-like boulder a human skeleton lay half-buried in snow, its arms thrust out in front of it. Beyond it, toward the sea, the demolished remains of a camp lay scattered over rocks and snow. He could see the sharp angular shapes of more skeletons sprawled in grotesquely contorted positions. Some of the bones were broken off, shattered.

  Seeing them, Flinders sucked in a sharp breath.

  They scrambled down the hill. Stooping beside the first skeleton, April turned her face up to Skarda. “It’s a woman,” she said. “Back of her head bashed in.” She studied the shreds of flesh still clinging to the bones and the tattered remnants of clothing. “Scavengers have gotten to her. But I don’t think she’s been here all that long.”

  Getting to her feet, she moved forward. The beach was pockmarked with craters and littered with shell casings. “M72 LAW rockets,” she announced, pointing at two khaki-colored tubes lying close to the water. She stooped to pick up a shell casing. “5.56 NATO round from an assault rifle.”

  Skarda’s gaze was dark as he caught her eye. “Jaz?”

  April nodded in assent. “It looks like this was a scientific research camp. These people didn’t have a chance.”

  Despite the insulating cocoon of her parka, Flinders shivered

  ___

  The entrance to the ice cave opened exactly where the NASA GPR readout on Skarda’s Stealth said it would. Struggling up a snow-covered slope, where their boots cracked through the surface crust and sank deep, they came upon a plateau-like wall of ice, stretching away on both sides like a low mesa. Into the wall a wedge-shaped section at least twenty feet across cut into the wall like an arrowhead, tapering in thick slabs of hard-packed snow to a ragged round hole about ten feet high.

  April scanned the terrain, not liking the setup. Only one way in and one way out. “I’m staying out here.”

  Skarda nodded. Then, with Flinders at his heels, he stepped through the dark hole into a flat-bottomed corridor where snow had drifted high on the rounded walls and what little exterior light that filtered in now shifted into a spectrum of muted blues and greens. From the ceiling, jagged stalactites of ice hung down like silver spikes.

  The entrance corridor became a downward passage, barely wide enough to accommodate his wide shoulders. Beneath his boots, the ice floor was steep and slick. With a concentrated effort, he shook off the dreaded sense of claustrophobia, turning to make sure Flinders was managing the trail. She smiled an “okay”. Deeper into the passageway the light began to dim, so he switched on his LED. A few steps later the corridor ended abruptly at a doorway carved from the ice.

  Skarda stepped through into a square chamber that had been hacked out of the tongue of a centuries-old glacier whose walls bristled with ice crystal formations that looked like they were made out of spun sugar. A firn-layer banding ran along the line of the walls about two-thirds down from the ceiling. Off this main chamber, smaller side rooms had been excavated.

  He peered into the nearest room, seeing a jumble of ice picks, aluminum avalanche shovels, and a primus stove. Against one corner two wooden crates had been stacked, their iron hasps rusted. The letters “KM” had been stenciled on their sides.

  “It stands for ’Kriegsmarine’,” Flinders said behind him. “German navy. U-boats.”

  “I guess we’re on the right track.”

  With careful steps they followed the line of the wall, their lamps piercing the icy darkness of several more rooms, sweeping across more stacked supply boxes, sleeping bags, and an empty food locker whose metal door hung open on one hinge.

  Skarda’s light found a larger chamber. He panned around it. “Here it is,” he said without emotion. He was staring at a series of metal shelves that ran around the perimeter, constructed with rectangular shallow depressions about four by ten inches.

  The dimensions of a four-hundred-ounce ingot bar.

  But all the spaces were empty.

  Then, behind him, Flinders burst out in a sob.

  FORTY-ONE

  WHIRLING around, Skarda stabbed his light in the direction of the open doorway to another ice chamber directly across from his position. The beam outlined Flinders. She had dropped to her knees, her torso bent in half, sagging toward the floor. He raced toward her. Stepping inside, he saw her lamp lying on the cold floor, it beam spearing out a cone of light over what looked like a hump of clothing. Her hands hung in the air in front of her, motionless, as if they were useless sticks affixed to her body.

  He crouched down beside her. Now he could see what lay sprawled out in front of her: a withered corpse, still bundled in a parka and thick wool pants.

  Flinders’ shoulders were shaking uncontrollably as sobs wracked her body. Finally she turned her face up to him. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “It’s my mother,” she said in a voice that was a croak.

  Shock hit Skarda like a hammer blow. He sank to his knees, looking at the body. Thankfully, scavenging animals hadn’t discovered it. But the eyes were black, hollow slits and the mouth was pulled back in a rictus, exposing teeth that looked like they were clenched in agony. One withered hand clutched a something attached by a chain to her neck.

  “Are you sure?” he asked her gently.

  Still sobbing, Flinders pulled off her glove and opened her mother’s hand. Inside the palm a silver object caught the light “It’s a charm I gave her before they left,” she said. “She had it made into a necklace.”

  Skarda snapped around at the sound of pounding footsteps. Seconds later April burst into the room, the Glock steady in her right hand. She’d heard Flinders’ sobs. With a quick appraisal she took in the scene.

  He got to his feet and pulled her aside. “It’s her mother,” he told her in a whisper.

  An expression of deep sorrow showed in April’s eyes and was gone. Right now emotions were a luxury. “Bars?”

  He shook his head. “Cleaned out.”

  Flinders looked up at them. “My father! He must be here, too! Where is he?”

  “Stay here,” Skarda said. “I’ll look for him.”

  He disappeared and April dropped to her knees. “I’m truly sorry,” she said. Then she laid her hand on her shoulder. “I’m getting a bad feeling. We should go. But I promise you, when this is all over, we’ll come back here and
give your mother a proper burial.”

  For several heartbeats Flinders’ stare was bleak and desolate, tears trickling down her cheeks. Then her eyes closed and she nodded. “Thank you.”

  Then, with another sob, she threw her arms around her mother.

  Skarda raced back inside. Flinders looked at him, her throat tightening.

  He shook his head. “Nothing.”

  Again her eyes closed. A tremor shook her body. April bent over and helped her to her feet. “We have to go.”

  Guiding Flinders toward the door, she caught Skarda’s eye, then unzipped the top of her parka and pulled the material away from her throat. Her eyes flicked at the body.

  When the women had moved beyond the doorway, he hunkered down and bent over the corpse. April’s keen eyes had seen something that he’d missed. Pulling away the top of the dead woman’s parka, he drew back in surprise.

  A ragged hole gaped in the dried flesh just next to the sternum.

  A hole that only could have been made by a bullet.

  She’d been shot.

  ___

  They’d almost made it to the corridor shaft when Jaz stepped out of the first ice room, pinning them in place with the snout of her G36. Behind her two men took positions, leveling their rifles. In the darkened passageway, the green shafts of their laser sights glowed like neon.

  Her mouth split open in a huge grin. “I figured you’d show up here sooner or later.” Her voice had dropped to a lower-pitched bass and the planes of her face had altered dramatically, the coarse skin now puffy with retained water and spotted with bulbous acne pustules.

  April’s black eyes bored into her.

  Jaz motioned to the nearest commando. “Her first,” she ordered, indicating April. Then she aimed her rifle at Flinders. To April and Skarda she said casually, “No tricks, or cutie here will get it.”

  April exchanged a lightning-fast glance with Skarda, letting her shoulders droop. It was the signal to go along with Jaz for the time being. The commando approached her, spinning her around and grabbing her wrists. There was a sharp click of metal as he snapped on a pair of handcuffs. Then he yanked a roll of duct tape from his pack and wound several lengths around her lower legs and shins. He repeated the handcuffs with Skarda, but not the tape.

  Bulling forward, Jaz spun Flinders around herself, manacling her with brutal force.

  Flinders cried out in sudden pain. A tremor of pleasure rippled over Jaz’s face. “Like that, honey?”

  Skarda’s face twisted. “Get your hands off her,” he snarled. But before he could lunge forward, Jaz lashed out with the butt of her rifle, hammering it against the meat of his shoulder.

  He staggered back, slamming against the ice wall. But he thrust his boots apart, anchoring himself to the ice, refusing to fall.

  Flinders shrieked.

  April’s eyes were like the holes of open graves. “Untie me and try that,” she said.

  The harsh bark of Jaz’s laugh echoed off the ice chamber’s walls. “You’re good, I’ll admit that. But not as good as me.”

  Then she took a heavy step forward and smashed her rifle butt against April’s jaw. The blow flung her backwards. She hit the ice floor with a sickening thud, unconscious.

  Jaz looked down at her. “And don’t ever threaten me again.”

  Skarda glared daggers, but she just grinned at him. “Take it easy, handsome. It was just a love tap.” She jerked her rifle at one of her men. “Okay, pick her up and let’s get to the ship.”

  ___

  The wind slashed at Skarda’s exposed face and icy spray stung him like flying stone chips each time the Zodiac banged down in a trough of choppy water. Beside him, Flinders sat shivering uncontrollably, her face and lips drained of blood. April lay in the bottom of the inflatable, still out, the wind whipping her hair across her face. Skarda shifted his position, trying his best to block the spray from reaching the women.

  They were in a second inflatable, sitting surrounded by armed men whose hard eyes never wavered. Up ahead, Jaz’s Zodiac threaded a path through the dark water in a spreading wake, avoiding the great chunks of drift ice. In the near distance Skarda could see the gigantic silhouette of a stranded icebreaker, immense and black against the horizon and the perpetual twilight. Off to his left, through a shroud of mist, he could make out the dark hump of a submarine’s conning tower.

  Within minutes they reached the hull of the big ship. Jaz scrambled up the ladder.

  A rifle barrel jabbed Skarda’s back. “Move!” a man with a German accent ordered.

  ___

  Two men carried April down a narrow passageway lined with closed hatches. In front of her, Skarda moved with jerky steps, the German commando driving him on with sharp jabs of his rifle, his free hand aiming a halogen torch to guide their way. They’d crossed over an icy deck, devoid of any lights, then followed a narrow staircase to a corridor that opened onto a computer room, wet and dry labs, and a hydrographic laboratory. Skarda concluded they’d boarded an oceanographic research ship.

  But why?

  They moved into another passageway. Jaz halted the group in front of a closed bulkhead door. Rotating the dog wheel, she yanked it open. A cacophany of angry shouts hit Skarda’s ears. Jerking up her gun barrel, she squeezed off a quick burst at the ceiling, clearly not caring if the ricocheting shots found a target. A woman cried out. The voices changed from anger to terror.

  With a grin, she played a light over the crowd of frightened faces: the crew and scientists of the Polar Circle. “Play nice, now.”

  Rough hands shoved Skarda, his wrists still shackled, into the knot of captives. April followed, her wrists and legs bound. Friendly hands grabbed her before she fell face first, gently lowering her to the floor. He glanced around. The captives were packed into a triangular-shaped room dominated by gigantic twin chains wrapped around a black cylindrical barrel. The anchor windlass room.

  Outside in the passageway Flinders stood hemmed in between two commandos. Terror and helpless uncertainty clenched her face.

  A burly petty officer took a belligerent step toward Jaz. “Who the hell are you people?”

  She sighed in mock exasperation. “Why does everybody keep asking me that? If you must know, I’m the one who’s going to lock you in here and sink the ship, big boy.”

  A female scientist gasped.

  The petty officer leapt forward. Jaz swung her rifle, smashing the barrel against his cheekbone.

  He went down in a heap.

  “Like I said, everybody be nice. I’ll be back in a few and we’ll wrap this party up.” She turned to a stocky commando. “Lock the door and stay here until I get back.”

  He nodded. Then, with an evil grin, she grabbed Flinders by the bicep and hauled her down the passageway.

  A yelp broke from Flinder’s lips. “Where are you taking me?”

  Jaz didn’t answer. Leaning back, Flinders dug her feet into the steel plating, stumbling as she was dragged along.

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked again. It was almost a shriek.

  Whirling around in a blur of speed, Jaz snapped her forearm around Flinders’ throat. She pressed her lips against her ear and ran her tongue sensually along the inner grooves. “Just shut up and enjoy the ride, cutie.”

  ___

  Dragging Flinders into the captain’s cabin, Jaz yanked the hatch closed and threw her on the bed.

  “Leave me alone!” she screamed. She landed on her back, twisting, trying to snake away, but Jaz jumped on her, straddling her and pinning her in place with both thighs.

  Shrugging her shoulders out of the bulky immersion suit, Jaz reached in a pocket and took out a hypodermic and vial, drawing yellow steroid fluid into the hypo.

  Flinders struggled, thinking the hypo was for her. Her legs kicked frantically. Her hands hammered against Jaz’s swollen muscles.

  With an expression of exquisite pleasure, Jaz jammed the needle into her bicep, squeezing the plunger down with her thumb. When
the liquid had disappeared, she flung the hypo across the cabin. It hit the bulkhead and shattered.

  “God, I love it!” she said, rising up and arching her back, shuddering as the drug hit her system.

  Flinders’ face twisted with revulsion. “You’re sick.”

  Lust tightened the blonde woman’s face. She stared down at the captive squirming between her thighs. “The problem with this stuff is, it turns you into a man.” She jerked her body forward, lowering her face until it was an inch away from Flinders’. Her tongue snaked out, probing, licking. “See what I mean?”