by A. G. Riddle
Desmond had first come to Antarctica a year after he and Peyton had broken up. He had stayed at a luxury resort that featured excursions to the South Pole and to a colony of emperor penguins. He had come to clear his mind and get away, but he had left with a lifelong love for this beautiful place—and a desire to help others experience it, not just the wealthy. That had been the mission of Charter Antarctica—to make this adventure available to anyone intrepid enough to undertake it, regardless of their means.
As soon as the plane rolled to a stop, Desmond opened the door and gritted his teeth as the cold embraced him. He, Avery, and Ward had debated their approach at length and had decided not to radio ahead, but rather to storm the building without notice. Desmond was wearing the cold weather gear from one of the Navy SEALs who had protected Peyton and Lin in the Arctic during their expedition to the Beagle. Ward wore the other SEAL’s gear, and Avery had donned Peyton’s. Peyton and Lin were bundled below blankets at the back of the cabin, trying to stay warm.
Desmond let the staircase slam into the ice, then descended, Ward and Avery close behind. His breath came out in white puffs as his feet crunched into the icy snow. Soon his lungs ached from the cold, and the crunching sound seemed louder in the still quietness around them.
Avery pulled ahead and burst through the door, rifle held up. The antechamber had rows of boots and heavy coats, but no fresh snow, no puddles of water below, and not a soul in sight. Ward was last through the door, which he slammed behind him. He doubled over, hands on his knees, panting. “Keep going,” he managed between breaths.
Avery slipped through the next door, Desmond behind her.
They heard talking and laughing at the end of the hall. Avery crept along the narrow corridor. A tool room lay to their right. Empty. A supply room with cold weather gear sat open beside it—also unoccupied. A common bathroom and showers were on the left. Empty, water off. The doors to the bunk rooms on each side of the hall were open. Avery motioned for Desmond to pause.
With her rifle at the ready, she leaned slowly into the doorway, peeked quickly, then repeated it on the other side. Desmond could smell coffee now, and voices he recognized, though he couldn’t place them.
Avery met his eyes and motioned for him to cover the bunk room on the right. Ward was coming up behind them, but she didn’t engage him.
She crossed the doorway, sweeping her rifle across as she scanned the room. Desmond did the same on the opposite side. The bunks were empty except for a middle-aged man with a thick beard, streaked with gray, lying on the bottom bunk, a tiny light on, reading a paperback in his thermal underwear, like a child staying up past his bedtime. Desmond didn’t recognize the man, but he was pretty sure he wasn’t one of Yuri’s Citium Security operatives. He looked right at home in Antarctica.
When the man realized Desmond was there, he dropped the book and reeled back, his mouth open. Desmond held a single finger to his lips and nodded for Ward to watch the man.
The other bunk room was empty, and Avery led the way down the corridor to the rec room. She and Desmond burst through the opening at the same time, guns held out.
A ripple of alarm went through the room’s occupants: four construction crew members who were playing a game of Risk while a movie—Into the Sea—played in the background. They all froze, then slowly raised their hands. Desmond recognized one of the men: Lars Peterson, the construction foreman for the ice hotel.
“Who else is here?” he asked.
“Just us,” Peterson said in a Scandinavian accent. “Well, and Jacobs is in his bunk.”
“The people I sent here—where are they?”
Peterson furrowed his brow. “They left.”
A bolt of fear ran through Desmond.
From the hall, Ward yelled, “Hey, what’s our status?”
“Join us!” Desmond called back. “Bring Jacobs.” To Peterson he asked, “When did they leave?”
“I don’t know, a month ago. They heard about the outbreak on the radio and said they needed to get back to their families. Except for the young people and that scientist,” Peterson added. “They’re at the hotel playing their video game.” He scoffed. “Not enough juice here.”
Desmond spun to Avery. “The programmers are still here—only the boat crew left.”
“How far is the hotel?”
“Twenty miles inland.”
“Let’s go,” Ward said, already turning to leave.
To Peterson, Desmond said, “Lars, I need to borrow some cold weather gear and a snowcat.”
“Of course.” The man stood and began down the corridor to the supply room.
“Has anyone else been here?” Desmond asked as they walked.
“No, just the penguins and us.” Peterson eyed Desmond’s rifle, still looking a little disturbed by it. “We’re… making solid progress on the hotel. We think next season—”
“Good,” Desmond said. “This is about something else.”
“It involves the young people?”
“Yes.”
Peterson handed over the keys to a snowcat and gear for Peyton and Lin. The garments were a little large, but they would keep them warm. Ward complained about taking Peyton and Lin along, but Avery pointed out that if they left them behind, they could be used as hostages if Yuri arrived.
Desmond took Peterson aside and spoke quietly. “I need you to do something for us.”
The man raised his eyebrows.
“Watch the runway. Take shifts outside. If anyone lands, I need you to radio us immediately. Then lock yourselves in the barracks.”
Peterson grimaced. “Are we in danger?”
“I’m just being cautious. Will you do it?”
“Of course.”
Desmond pushed the snowcat to its limits. The engine screamed, and the tracks threw up snow in its wake, like a monster truck powering through mud. The glimmering white hills rolled by in a flash, a background on repeat in a cartoon.
The enclosed cab was surprisingly comfortable. Ward sat in the passenger seat, Avery, Peyton, and Lin in the back. They listened as Desmond described the layout of the hotel. He didn’t know its current status, but it was intended to be a ring, with a large lobby and open ballroom at the entrance. In the center of the ring was a solar power array that was disguised to look like a reflecting pool. A hallway ran the length of the ring on the inside, with the bedrooms all on the outside, so every guest could take in the views. Most were bunk rooms, like a giant hostel, but there were a few private suites. Desmond had insisted the architect design the structure to be both breathtaking and functional—to accommodate as many people as comfortably possible.
Ward opened the glove box and rummaged around. He took out a sheaf of papers and unfolded one. “Does your hotel look like this?”
He was holding a blueprint of the floor plan. It made sense the construction crew would keep this handy.
“Yeah, that’s it. But I think the far side of the ring is still under construction—based on the last report. The Rendition team is probably in the ballroom. It would be the warmest place because of the heat coming in through the ceiling.”
“The construction foreman said they needed juice,” Avery said. “For what?”
“Rendition. The developers brought the Rendition server from the office. It’s like a small Rook array that allows an instance of Rendition to run. It takes a lot of power though. The solar array at the barracks isn’t nearly as powerful as the one at the hotel. I think they’re using the power to run the portable Rook server and load Rendition.” He thought for a moment. “If they’re using it when we arrive, we’ll have to get them to exit the program.”
“Why?” Avery asked.
“We designed the Looking Glass to enable those with root access to move back and forth—between it and the corporeal world. It was essential. After all, someone has to oversee the maintenance of the Rook array. Anyway, we never had time to program the eventuality of the Rook array spontaneously shutting off. It’s one of the ass
umptions of the program: the underlying system will always be there. Long story short, pulling the plug could cause brain damage. I can go in using my Rapture implant and get them.”
The group was silent. Ward shot Avery a look that Desmond couldn’t quite read.
When the hotel appeared ahead, situated atop a ridge, Peyton, Lin, and Avery leaned forward to get a better view. The other snowcat was parked outside, and Desmond parked beside it. As they had done at the barracks, Desmond, Avery, and Ward got out and entered first.
The steel double doors creaked as Desmond pushed them open. The lobby was empty and eerily quiet. Desmond took off his goggles and pulled the insulated hood from his head.
The ice floor was pitted like travertine to provide traction. They crept across it carefully, rifle butts barely touching their shoulders. The ballroom loomed just ahead. Everyone at Charter Antarctica had taken to calling it “the rotunda” because of its domed glass ceiling and incredible acoustics.
In the middle of the room, in a six-foot-tall server rack, sat the Rendition server Raghav and his team had brought with them. Its face plates were obsidian, and they shimmered in the sunlight pouring through the ceiling.
Beside it, four cots stood in a row, each holding a programmer lying peacefully. No wires ran to the server—the implants communicated wirelessly—but Desmond knew from their breathing they were inside Rendition.
Movement out of the corner of his eye drew his attention, and he spun and trained his rifle on a man wearing a heavy parka and reading glasses. Dr. Manfred Jung.
Desmond lowered his rifle.
“Doctor.”
“Hello, Desmond. It’s good to see you again.”
More footsteps behind them. Two women, both in their twenties. Desmond didn’t recognize them, but assumed they were Raghav’s girlfriend and Melanie’s sister. The hall behind them was sealed with a temporary construction wall, hanging strips of thick plastic—most likely to keep the heat in.
Ward motioned to the machine in the center of the cavernous room. “That it?”
“Yeah,” Desmond said.
“Rendition is loaded on there?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s the only copy.”
“It is.” He was getting annoyed with Ward’s prodding. He needed to question the others. To Dr. Jung, he said, “How long have they—”
“Whoa!” Avery screamed.
Desmond spun and saw Ward pointing a gun at her. She was standing in front of the server, her hands held out.
Ward stepped closer to her. “Get out of the way, Avery.”
Desmond trained his rifle on Ward and stepped closer. “Ward, you shoot that server, and those four people could die. Give me five minutes.”
Ward kept his eyes on Avery. “I can’t take that chance.” A pause. “Get out of the way. I’m warning you, Agent. This is what we signed up for.”
Desmond crept closer, to within four feet.
He lunged just as Ward pulled the trigger.
Chapter 76
From the plane window, Conner peered down at the Gulfstream jet on the runway. “They beat us here.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Yuri said. “What’s important is who leaves.” He pointed to his laptop. “The tracker says she’s twenty miles away.”
“At the hotel.”
“Likely.”
Conner activated the radio and instructed one of the three planes they’d brought to land and clear the habitat of hostiles.
The ballroom was a hundred feet wide and long, with a thirty-foot-high glass ceiling and an ice floor. The crack of the gunshot was earsplitting in the space.
Desmond collided with Ward a split second later. The older man’s head cracked against the ice floor when they landed, Desmond on top. He punched Ward hard in the face, his knuckles crunching into the bone and soft flesh, the sound like boots digging into the snow. Ward’s head rolled to the side. He wasn’t unconscious, but he was close.
Desmond chanced a glance back. The two women and Jung were gone. The programmers remained on the cots, as if nothing were amiss. And Avery lay still, a pool of blood spreading out around her.
“Jung!” Desmond screamed.
The doctor’s head popped out from the corridor.
“Help her!”
The man walked out briskly, knelt over Avery, and gently rolled her over. His eyes went wide.
Desmond was so focused on Avery he didn’t see the blow coming. When Ward connected with his side, Desmond realized the pain wasn’t from a fist, but from a knife, buried deep.
Over the snowcat’s idling engine, Peyton heard the crack of a gunshot. Her hand instantly went to the door handle.
Her mother grabbed her arm. “Peyton.”
“I’m going.”
Lin smiled. “I know. I’m going with you.” She reached in her pocket and handed her a pistol. “You may need this.” Lin grabbed the backpack she had guarded since the Cave of Altamira. “Inside, follow my lead.”
“Mom.”
“Do you trust me, Peyton?”
Peyton didn’t answer, only stared at her mother, wondering if she actually did trust her.
“Everything I ever did was to protect you—and your brother and sister.”
Peyton opened the door, and they jumped out.
They raced to the hotel, Peyton with the gun in her hand, her mother close behind. The handheld radio crackled with Peterson’s voice.
“Mr. Hughes, there’s another plane landing.”
Chapter 77
Ward jerked the blade from Desmond’s side. Blood flowed from the wound like a dribbling faucet. Ward drew back to stab again, but Desmond caught his hand and pinned it to the ice floor. He balled his other hand into a fist and brought it down on Ward’s face, but it never connected. Ward kneed him in the balls.
Agony radiated from Desmond’s abdomen and up his chest. The shock nearly made him gag, but he held on to Ward’s knife hand. Ward rolled Desmond over and brought the knife to his neck. Desmond’s arm shook as he strained to stop the knife pressing into him. The wound in his side gushed blood and spewed pain. His abs ached, and the blade inched closer.
It touched his skin. Cut. Blood trickled. Desmond kicked, but his legs were useless. He punched Ward in the side. Once. Again. Three times. But the knife continued digging into his skin.
Yuri listened as the operative questioned the foreman of the construction crew.
“I told you,” the bearded man said, “there were only five of them. Two men and three women.”
“Desmond Hughes.”
“Ya,” he nodded. “He was with them.”
Conner took Yuri aside. “We could send the spec ops ahead and have them clear the hotel.”
“No. You and I must see this through. It’s too important.”
Blood flowed down Desmond’s neck. His strength was gone. David Ward had won—had killed him the moment he stabbed him in the side. But Desmond held on. He would fight for every second of life.
Ward’s head snapped to the right, and blood streaked the floor. The echo of the gunshot seemed to arrive a second later. Ward’s shoulders sagged, and he toppled to the side as Desmond released him.
In the back seat of the snowcat, Yuri turned to Conner. “He will be there.”
Conner said nothing.
“He is the last of your family,” Yuri said, pressing.
“We all make our choices.”
Chapter 78
Desmond threw Ward’s dead body off of him. A few feet away, Avery’s hand was shaking, holding a handgun, the barrel smoking in this frigid chamber.
Desmond crawled to her on elbows and knees. Inspected her wound. A shot to the chest. Out the other side. Bleeding. Too much blood. His hands were soaked in red—from both his own wound and the pool he had crawled through. He didn’t care. He reached up and took her face in his hands.
“Thank you.”
She closed her eyes and exhaled.
He let his face fall into her a
bdomen, just below her breasts. “I’m sorry.”
Her fingers ran through his hair, then tightened, lifting his head up. She stared into his eyes. “I’m not. Not if you finish this.”
Peyton followed her mother through the ice hotel’s front door and the empty lobby. In the ballroom, Desmond lay on top of Avery, looking down at her. Their words echoed in the domed room, muddled, too hard to hear. A pool of blood spread out around them, red flowing to black.
Peyton rushed forward and gripped Desmond’s shoulders, turned him over, and saw the gash in his side.
“I’m okay,” he breathed. “Avery. She needs you.”
Peyton’s eyes scanned the younger woman. Gunshot wound to the upper chest. Barely missed puncturing her lung.
A white-haired, heavyset man was hovering, eyeing Avery with concern. “Keep pressure on the wound,” she said to him, and got up and ran back toward the entrance. Behind her, she heard her mother saying, “Help me extend the antennae, Doctor Jung. Yes, that can wait. This is far more important.”
Outside the hotel, Peyton ran to the snowcat and threw the door open. The freezing temperature stung at her face, but she didn’t bother putting her hood up or goggles on. She pulled the med kit from under the passenger side seat, then stopped. In the distance, she heard a buzzing sound. An engine. She released the med kit and grabbed the binoculars from the dash, raised them to her face. Another snow machine. Two. Moving toward them.
Chapter 79
Peyton grunted as she pulled the hotel door open, still holding the med kit.
In the rotunda, her mother was bent over an open suitcase that lay on the floor. The pack she had carried after Altamira was open, discarded nearby.
