by Trevor Scott
“Tell me I’m not going crazy, Johnson,” Jenkins said.
Johnson pushed his thick black glasses higher on his nose. “Sir, you’re not going crazy. There is SAT coverage on Spitsbergen, but for some reason the signals are being disrupted.”
Jenkins thought for a second. “Is someone trying to jam our signal?”
“Not a chance, Sir. There’s a ton of Boreal activity, though.”
“English, Johnson.”
“Boreal, Sir. Referring to the Aurora Borealis.”
The Agency director’s face distorted. “You’re telling me the Northern Lights are fucking up my SAT Comm?”
“Yes, Sir. A qualified maybe. The Sun flares and sends ionic. . .” He stopped short. “The Sun causes the Northern Lights and screws up our satellites.”
“You’re a quick learner. Thank you, Johnson. Now how long will it last?”
Johnson’s eyes rolled up in thought. “On Svalbard? On and off until the Sun goes Supernova.”
“So SAT images are also a no go.”
“Sir, we have no assets in that region at this time. We could re-direct, but that would take a while. And then we’d still have the Sun problem.”
“Great. Thank you. That’ll be all.”
The communications specialist left Jenkins in his office alone. Great. Great. Great. The charter helicopter was hours overdue. No communications. Now Jake Adams was stuck out in the middle of nowhere, probably freezing his ass off. At least he was there with a beautiful woman.
Spitsbergen Island, Norway
The Arctic sky streaked with swirling greens and orange of the Aurora Borealis. With the darkness came the cold of the northern wind whipping off the glaciers.
The three of them had spent hours digging up the remains of five men; four Soviets and finally the body of the Oslo assistant CIA station chief, John Korkala. All of the bodies showed signs of animal predation—probably polar bears and Arctic foxes. Only one man remained missing. Jake’s old friend, Steve Olson. Also missing was the snowmobile the Americans had rented in Pyramiden.
Jake stood now outside the helicopter, mesmerized by the Northern Lights, the hunting rifle over his right shoulder. He heard the side door open behind him and seconds later arms reached around him, followed by a kiss on the side of his neck.
“Kjersti, my girlfriend is right in the helo.”
Anna slapped him on the butt and came to the front of Jake. “You’d like that.”
“She’s a very attractive woman.”
She smiled and said, “I agree. You think she might be up for a three-way?”
Jake knew that was a no-win question, but he played along. “Maybe. But it might go over better if you approach her. See what she thinks.”
“I’ll bet you’re getting hard just thinking about that.” She looked around Jake toward the helo and then placed her hand on his groin.
“It’s so cold out here I’d be lucky to find it to piss.”
She took her hand away. “You’re no fun.”
“That’s what I hear. Did Kjersti get through to anyone on the radio?”
“No.”
“We need to stay the night,” Jake said. “I’ve got to find Steve.”
“I know. The two of us agreed.”
“Might get a little cold and cozy in the helo tonight.”
Anna smiled. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
“In the meantime, I’m heading up to that ridge to see if I can get through on the SAT phone. I’m sure coverage is not great for this region under normal circumstances, but with this Boreal activity there’s probably not much chance of getting through.”
“You want some company?” Anna asked him.
“No. Stay down here with Kjersti. Let her know what I’m up to. Stay warm.”
She kissed him on the lips and said, “You stay safe. Don’t let the polar bears get you.”
Jake patted the butt of the rifle. “Got this.”
He took off toward a ridge a couple of hundred yards away. With the Northern Lights swirling above the stark white glacier, he could see fine without turning on his head lamp.
Half way there his lungs started to give out on him, the cold, damp air making him labor with each step. How had it come to this? A simple walk on a glacier and he was feeling it. His body started to shake and he stopped for a moment to catch his breath and steady himself. It wasn’t the cold, he knew, but his worst fear. He had been drinking too much over the past three months, and now had been without for days. His body was reacting to its absence. He had always thought that drinking problems were serious character flaws, a weakness that had nothing to do with the physical addiction of the juice itself. Maybe that was true. Maybe the body ruled the mind at this point and not the other way around. Regardless, he knew that he could beat this, and just maybe he was in the right place to conquer it. Without the temptation in front of him at all times.
He continued up the ridge and came to a point where he could see even farther than he had earlier in the day. It was the best place for miles to get a signal. If there was a satellite somewhere on the southern horizon somewhere above the point where Norway, Sweden, Finland and Russia met, perhaps his SAT phone would pick it up.
Looking back down the ridge toward the helo, he hoped Anna and Kjersti were staying warm. His mind drifted for a microsecond about what Anna had said earlier. He knew she was kidding, but he also knew that she knew how to play with a man’s natural thoughts.
He tried the SAT phone, angling it in all directions, hoping he could get any signal at all. Nothing. Yeah, the Aurora Borealis was playing with the satellites. They were beautiful but destructive.
Then he lifted the binoculars from his chest and scanned in all directions. He had no idea what he was looking for, but he knew that he couldn’t go back to the helo at this time. It was tight in there and he would more than likely start to shake uncontrollably. Anna didn’t need to see that, nor did Kjersti. Their confidence in him would be shot all to hell.
There. Nearly a mile to the northeast. A large figure and a smaller one lumbered across the glacial plain—a polar bear sow and her cub. They were vectoring away toward the east of their location. Better check for company. He quickly scanned in three hundred sixty degrees. Nothing.
He set the binoculars to his chest and took in a deep breath, when something green glimmered just thirty yards away. Then it was gone. Then again. He looked up at the Northern Lights and saw they were mostly green at this time. But something had reflected the light.
Pulling up the binoculars again, he couldn’t tell what was causing the reflection. So he walked over there for a closer look.
As he got closer, he saw that the ridge had an overhang—an indentation like a half cave. He clicked on his headlamp and directed the beam of light lower. Then he saw it. With the warmer temps and the wind, snow had cleared from a trailer. Brushing further ahead, the trailer was attached to a snowmobile. The missing snowmobile.
His old friend, Captain Steve Olson, had to be close by. What would Jake have done? Steve had been either hiding or trying to find protection from the elements. The overhang would have provided some cover for both. And until recently, Jake guessed, the entire cave-like structure would have been covered in heavy snow. It was only because of the warm trend that summer that any of these things—the MiG and the snowmobiles—had been exposed.
Jake set down the rifle and moved to the deepest point under the overhang, got to his knees, and started digging with his hands. Moments later he hit something solid. Not rock solid, but something out of place.
It was a body.
Exhausted, he rolled to his side and something sharp stabbed him in the back. Damn it.
He dug to see what it was. His headlamp soon started shining back at him. Metal of some kind. He dug faster now and quickly uncovered a one foot cube metal box.
There was no doubt that the box had been a perfect fit to the foam hole inside the MiG. So his old friend had actually gotten the bo
x, whatever it was, away from the Soviets. And he had somehow survived the shoot-out, escaping to this place. Jake imagined his old friend’s face and tried to understand what had gotten him to this location. On top of the trailer, the item that had reflected the Northern Lights had been one of the old collapsible satellite dishes the military and the CIA had used back then for remote communications. Maybe Steve had also gone to high ground to call in their location, call in for extraction. But maybe he had been injured. Or maybe the weather had been severe. It had been October, an unforgiving time up here. Regardless, Steve had gotten the item from the MiG and now Jake had it.
He wiped snow from the metal box and saw the Russian symbols on the side. Although he couldn’t read the words, he had seen the symbols before many times.
Biohazard.
Crap.
7
Stockholm, Sweden
Colonel Reed had gone back to his hotel after being shot at during his meeting with Oberon at the café. He had sat for a while eating and drinking from the mini-bar, wondering what had happened and why. His mind flicked back and forth considering if the shots had been aimed at him or the Russian. But one thought stuck with him—the little Russian, the former KGB officer, had warned him just in time to save his life. Sure it could have been self preservation coupled with a natural inclination to help a fellow human being. Yet, Reed guessed it had been more than that. For some reason Oberon, or Victor Petrova, had wanted him to live. The why was the difficult conundrum. After all, they had been adversaries at one time. A time when spy versus spy had rules of civility—if that were even possible. You didn’t kill your adversary just for the hell of it. You tried to use your opponent to gain some intelligence advantage, some piece of information you could exploit for your side. And maybe that had been the motive of his little friend.
Later in the evening, the colonel had gone to a section of Stockholm where he knew he could satisfy himself to make him feel alive. For he had survived the shooting, and that type of close-death activity had always led him to the arms of a woman. At first it had been his wife, who had come to almost enjoy those close calls just so she could benefit from a rough encounter afterwards. But they had been divorced for nearly fifteen years now, so his pleasure quests had to come elsewhere.
Although he didn’t like to do so, paying for sex was the most efficient form of un-subdued intimacy, if he could call it that. With a hooker he didn’t have to screw around pretending he was something or someone he wasn’t, spending hundreds of dollars taking a woman out to dinner, to the movies, or some other expensive activities. And then when all that worked and he finally got to sleep with a woman, it was usually underwhelming. A flat on the back hair twirler, while he pumped away. No, a call girl was much more efficient. He got an experienced woman who would do damn near anything, within reason, and they could cut all the damn games and pretense. A business transaction. That’s what he liked. And that’s what he needed after being shot at.
Now, laying awake at zero three hundred, the tall blonde naked Swedish goddess snoring lightly at his side, Reed thought about his old friend Jake Adams, who was still up on Spitsbergen Island. He hadn’t been truthful with Jake, and that did bother him.
Jake was supposed to call him hours ago for an update. When that call didn’t come, Reed had contacted the charter helicopter service he had arranged for them. They had not returned to Longyearbyen yet, but that didn’t concern them, since the pilot was experienced and they had brought plenty of warm weather gear, including sleeping bags that went down to fifteen below zero. They were also armed. Reed wasn’t sure why the man had told him that. They both agreed to wait until noon the next day, this day now, before they would send someone out to look for them. The weather was clear and had been displaying amazing Aurora Borealis, which was strange for that time of year. They were far more prominent in the winter. But that had also made Colonel Reed understand why Jake had not called him on the SAT phone. The Boreal activity had probably wiped out the SAT communications. He was sure Jake was all right. A more capable man the colonel had not met.
The woman at his side rolled over, exposing her tight body to him, her perfect round breasts rubbing up against his arm. God, he would have never been able to get a woman that hot no matter how many dinners he had paid for—unless he was rich. He smiled thinking about having more money. More money than he would ever have dreamed possible.
A hand reached down and grasped his erection, stroking it gently.
“Someone’s awake,” the woman said.
What was her name? Who cared. It was fake anyway. Names were a pain in the ass.
“You were snoring,” the colonel said.
With one hand she stroked a rubber onto him. Then she rolled onto him and with one smooth motion was filled completely by him. A real pro. That’s what he liked. He grasped her breasts as she rode him with great enthusiasm and precision. And he held out longer than normal, thinking about the cold edge of Svalbard.
Oslo, Norway
McLean had gotten back to Edinburgh, cleared his travel with MI6 headquarters at Vauxhall Cross in London, and booked his travel. The only caveat was that he bring his associate, Velda Crane. He had protested, knowing that she had some kind of obsession with him, and that could cloud her judgment, but she had proven herself quite capable to Vauxhall. She also had friends and benefactors there who could send Jimmy to an assignment far less comfortable than his native land. That little half-pint had even suggested Turkey or Iraq—two places he had no desire to see again.
Their plans had changed late the night before, when McLean had gotten word that his contact, Gary Dixon, had purchased a ticket to Oslo—the red eye. Velda had hurried to Glasgow to get on the same flight as Dixon, and McLean had taken a different route, flying to London to pick up a diplomatic pouch and then going on to Oslo, getting in an hour before Dixon and his associate.
Sitting now near the arrivals gate for the Glasgow to Oslo flight, Jimmy McLean watched over the top of his newspaper as the passengers streamed out and down the concourse corridor, their eyes like zombies from the night flight. It wasn’t hard for him to see Gary Dixon shuffle along, a carry-on bag over his shoulder. Bringing up the rear was Velda, her little legs doing their best to keep up, and her gaze catching McLean, who smiled at her.
McLean caught up to her and walked a few paces behind Velda. “Glad to see you made it.”
“Crappy flight. Hot as hell. No air. We going to get some local support?”
“NIS says they can’t spare an officer.” NIS was the Norwegian Intelligence Service, the MI6 counterpart.
“Great. I gotta pee. Can you keep an eye on that little troll for me while I scoot?”
“Go ahead. Since he knows me, I’ll stay back and track him on my Blackberry.”
Her head nodded as she hurried off.
McLean went to the baggage carousel area and looked at the wall advertising hotels in Oslo. He could see Dixon’s reflection in the glass. Seconds later he felt a nudge at his side.
“That was quick,” McLean said, not looking down at Velda.
“You gotta go, you gotta go. Time for me to move front and center.”
“Put on the charm.”
“You know me.”
He thought about the alley encounter with her the other night. Yeah, he knew her.
The crowd was large enough now that Jimmy McLean could turn around and watch her work. She stood a few feet from Dixon and kept checking bags, not even looking at the man. But he had noticed her. Couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. McLean walked farther away so he wouldn’t be seen. Finally the bags stopped coming and the only two who had not gotten their suitcases were Velda and Dixon. Both of them went for help, two little folks without their bags. Of course, McLean had made sure both were confiscated—Dixon’s to have a bug sewn into the lining, and hers to maintain the ruse and bring them together.
8
Spitsbergen Island, Norway
The night had been uncomfortable for
Jake. The back of the helo was small and the three of them were packed in tight, girl girl boy, with Anna in the middle. For some reason, maybe because of Anna’s comment the evening before, he couldn’t help thinking about the three of them together. It wasn’t like he was dissatisfied with the sex that he and Anna had experienced over the past couple of years, but still. . .this was like having two Anna’s.
But not only those thoughts had kept Jake awake. He also wondered about the box he had found with his old friend, Steve Olson. The one with the Biohazard symbol. What was in there? And, better yet, why had it been so important back in 1986 to send four KGB officers after it? Even more importantly, perhaps, was why they had not sent more officers to retrieve the box. What had changed? And why hadn’t the old CIA sent someone to find Olson and Korkala? Too many damn questions.
Jake had told Anna and Kjersti about finding Steve and the snowmobile, but had left out the part about finding the box. No need to mention that. At least not yet. He had simply buried it again where he had found it. What if it was a biological weapon? What if the box leaked? Although the box looked completely solid, as if there was no seam or way to open it. How was that possible? It was as if the box had been formed around something. Or at least the top had been melted onto it.
Jake finally did get to sleep. He dreamt of a beast gnawing at the bodies, even though there wasn’t much left of them.
He woke and it was almost light outside. Sitting up, he glanced out the window and saw something from his dream.
A huge polar bear rummaged about a few feet from the helicopter. A cub shuffled around the massive sow bear.
Not wanting to wake Anna and Kjersti, and knowing that was probably not possible, Jake unzipped his sleeping bag and put on his jacket. Then he pulled the rifle from his side and looked at the two women sleeping. Better to wake them with a nudge than a shot.
