by B. V. Larson
“Why do I have to accompany you down to the bottom?” Burkov asked, already having forgotten about his initial complaints. A near death and few extra hours on the ice was nothing compared to diving under the ice cap to the trenches beneath the Arctic Ocean.
“Because that’s where we’re going, and I have new orders for you as well. I apologize.”
“I accept your apology, but I—”
“Don’t,” Chendev said, suddenly cutting him off. “They told me you weren’t a complainer. Don’t disappoint me.”
Burkov’s face darkened, but he nodded, swallowing the insult and the compliment together as one. “Fine. We’re going down. Is it safe?”
Chendev laughed. This action revealed more of his teeth, which were indeed gray and damaged. Burkov was struck with a disturbing thought. Could this be an effect of the radiation—or whatever it was that plagued the site? He’d heard things…
“Is there anything else I need to know?” Burkov asked. “I must relieve myself.”
“Didn’t want to freeze your khui off out there, eh, Lev? Very wise of you. But a Spetsnaz man should be able to hold it indefinitely. Can you hold it for ten more minutes?”
Burkov shifted in his seat. “Of course.”
“Good. We have very little time, and I feel it’s necessary to brief you before we reach the underwater dock.”
“Proceed.”
“First of all, the protocol has changed. We’re not allowed to approach the Artifact without everyone aboard having been briefed, cleared and suited in radiation gear.”
Lev nodded uncomfortably. He wondered if the captain was taking perverse pleasure in his discomfort. Out on the ice, he’d held his urine easily, but here in a warm chamber with the full knowledge that the boat’s head was nearby, he found he could think of little else.
“The Artifact has changed its nature somewhat,” the captain continued. “It has begun to release more rads in pulses.”
Burkov frowned. “Is that generating heat? Melting the ice?”
Chendev made a dismissive gesture. “A little. It’s not as hot as the reactor core on this boat—not yet. But there are those who are concerned that it’s becoming unstable. That it will eventually become impossible to observe closely—even for robots.”
“I understand, but I don’t see why we have to divert this mission to investigate. What is the nature of this emergency?”
“There’s someone important at the base. We’re to pick them up and take them home. You, in particular, have been charged with the task of removing this person from the Artifact and escorting them back to Moscow. What with you and this person, I feel like a taxi driver.”
Burkov’s lips twisted together. He thought Chendev would look good with a humiliating little cap and a cabbie license.
“So, that’s it?” Burkov asked. “The thing is mysteriously heating up, and some scientist down there panicked?”
“The visitor isn’t a typical scientist—but yes, essentially.”
“Who then?”
Chendev stared at him for a long second. Then, coming to a decision, he leaned forward and spoke in a husky whisper. Burkov wondered who he thought might be listening in aboard his own boat.
“I hear that it’s the top science director herself,” he rasped. “She runs the Institute for Biomedical Studies. She reports directly to the Kremlin.”
“A director? Down here?”
Chendev shrugged and retreated. “That’s the word. We’ll find out soon enough. Now, let’s go over the procedures. Radiation suits must be worn within two kilometers of the core. No exceptions.”
“Fine.”
“And no weapons are allowed into the site, either.”
Burkov smiled. “That is always a good thing. I prefer it when those around me are not armed.”
Chendev waved and made a sniffing sound. Burkov was sure he’d gotten the point.
“Have you got all that?” the captain asked.
“Yes, I believe so.”
“Good. Now Lev, go to the head before you piss yourself!”
Lev stood stiffly and walked away, his face shifting into an angry mask. The captain’s unpleasant laugh followed him, ringing down the metal passageway.
Lev entertained fantasies of killing the man. He had the training and he knew it would be a simple thing. There were so many quick ways for a fool to die at the skilled hands of a Special Forces officer, it sometimes seemed like a wonder that so many annoying military people had survived as long as they had. To Burkov, men like Chendev were like proud chickens: they clucked and strutted around self-importantly in suits of fluffy white feathers until one day a real predator became hungry.
Before he could finish his long overdue piss, he felt the boat pitch forward. The dive klaxons sounded, and the lights went red. He had to throw a hand up to press against the forward bulkhead to support himself.
They were on their way down to the bottom.
Chapter 3
Santa Cruz, California
Midday
Cole was a big man. He wasn’t just fat—he was tall and strong, too. Today, he had work to do. It wasn’t the kind of work he liked, but he had done it before, and he’d do it again.
The target was an average-sized guy, much smaller than Cole. He was muscular and fit, but not buff. The only remarkable thing about him was his pale green eyes. Cole had never seen eyes that color on a Mexican dude. The unusual eyes stared at Cole as the bigger man approached, making the waterfront beach-house balcony creak with every step.
The staring part was normal. People often stared at Cole as he walked up to them—even if they weren’t in trouble. But this guy was different. His name was Perez, and there was no fear in his watery green eyes. Just frank appraisal and maybe…maybe a little curiosity.
Cole shook his head. The guy had to know what was coming. He had to know his number was up. This was real today. This was going down. This was happening.
Cole kept walking until he was close—closer than polite society allowed. Close enough to reach out and hug a girl or strangle a man.
Perez didn’t flinch. He just slouched there with his butt up against a weathered railing, watching Cole.
“You know why I’m here?” Cole asked in his best deep voice. Accentuating his deeper-than-normal voice often intimidated people, but it didn’t seem to have any special effect on this dude.
“I know why you’re here,” Perez answered. There was almost no accent and absolutely no fear in that voice.
“Well? Do you have it or do we get down to business?”
“I’m not paying.”
Cole rasped his teeth over his lower lip and shook his large head slowly. “I thought you had it from the look on your face.”
Perez shrugged disinterestedly.
Cole’s eyes ran over the target. If the dude had a weapon, he was hiding it well. The two of them stood on the cliff-top balcony for a moment, motionless. The balcony had one of those older, warped decks with creaky gray wood and peeling paint. There was a hundred foot drop beyond the thin, rickety railing Perez was leaning against. At the bottom, waves crashed on a rocky shoreline. After that the hazy blue waters of Monterey Bay stretched out as far as the eye could see.
Cole’s target was wearing nothing but a pair of baggy nylon swim trunks. No shirt, no shoes, nothing else. Cartoonish drawings of mermaids frolicked on the swim suit.
“You planning on going for a swim?” Cole asked with a snort and crossed his heavy arms. Seeing how thick his arms were always seemed to alarm people, but not this guy.
“Is that the plan?” asked Perez. “You’re throwing me over this rail?”
“No. It’s not time for that yet. No easy way out, if that’s what you were hoping for. You have to pay. And you’re going to pay today, one way or another. With cash or with pain.”
The dude nodded appreciatively—as if he was really frigging interested. “So, what are you supposed to do exactly?” he asked.
Cole felt an
odd rage bubbling up. He couldn’t take it any longer. “What am I supposed to do? Here, try this.”
He punched the guy. That wasn’t in the script, but he didn’t like Perez’s attitude. His big fist sang through the air and landed a glancing blow on the man’s left cheek. He’d expected to really nail him, but the guy had flinched away at the last moment. Somehow, Cole’s knuckles slid off without connecting.
“Is that it?” Perez asked, unperturbed.
“No, that’s not it,” Cole said, reaching into his back pocket.
The target watched Cole carefully as the big man removed a pair of garden shears. “You see this?” Cole demanded. “This is what’s next.”
“I get it. Cutting off a finger, right?”
“No. Not a finger.” Cole indicated the man’s bare feet. “A toe. The little one today.”
“Left or right?”
Cole laughed. “What the hell difference does that make?”
“I just want to know the procedure.”
“The procedure? You want to know the frigging procedure? You’re certifiable, man!”
“Maybe. But why a toe? Why not a finger?”
Cole heaved a sigh. This had to be the weirdest shakedown of his career. “Just because, that’s why.”
“There has to be a reason. I’m curious. Come on, tell me. It’s my toe.”
“Because a man can’t hide a missing finger. A missing finger makes people ask questions. Maybe his wife calls the police before he gets the money together.”
“I get it. Makes good sense. A toe—a man could hide that. He could put a sock over it, then a shoe.”
“Exactly. Now, put your foot out here on this stool.”
Cole pulled a stool closer to the man, and then he watched as Perez sat down on a splintering chair like he didn’t have a care in the world. To Cole’s surprise, the dude actually put his foot out on the stool, just like he was going to get a pedicure.
The situation was beginning to make Cole nervous. He craned his neck to look around. Was he on camera? Was there a sniper waiting somewhere on the hilltop over the house, thinking about putting an extra ounce of pressure on his trigger? The entire situation didn’t feel right.
Cole had never been accused of being a genius, but he knew when something was wrong. He’d bolted before and escaped bad situations. Maybe this was one of those situations—a deal gone bad.
“Losing your nerve?” the man asked.
“No, dammit. Hold still.”
“I am holding still. How much does Tommy pay you for this kind of thing?”
“What?”
“I mean, does he pay you per job, or does he pay you every week to do whatever needs doing?”
“I’m not talking about that. What’s with you? Do you have a wire in your pants or something?”
The man shook his head. “It would have to be pretty small to fit inside my swim suit.”
Cole lifted the shears suddenly, grabbing the man’s foot and putting the open blades around his toe. He was gratified to see the guy flinch just a tiny bit. He grinned.
“This is a fresh pair of snips,” Cole said. “You don’t have to worry about infection.”
“I trust you. Tell me how much. Don’t you think my toe is worth a little information?”
“Whatever, man. He pays me by the week. Now shut up ‘cause it’s cutting time.”
“I’ll double it.”
Cole paused. His muscles had bunched up, and he was ready to do the cut. He’d only done this sort of thing a few times before and each time he’d had to psych himself up for the actual cut. Oddly, it was harder to snip off a toe than it was to just shoot a dude. Cutting was messy, and you could feel the bone come apart through the tool in your hand. He didn’t like it—and besides, this was by far the weirdest reaction he’d ever gotten from a target.
“You’ll double what?” he asked.
“Your weekly pay. I’ve been sizing you up. I could use a man like you.”
“You can’t even pay your gambling debts. You must be high if you think I’m going to work for a dude with no money.”
“I never said I didn’t have the money.”
“Why not just pay up then?”
“Ah, I get it,” Perez said.
“You get what?”
“You’re loyal to Tommy, huh? You’re sweet on him. Maybe he adopted you out of some ghetto years back. Is that it?”
Cole shook his head. “Hell no. He’s a piece of crap. But he pays me well every week, no bullshit.”
“If you won’t take double, then there must be a reason. Maybe you’re afraid of him. Is that it, Cole?”
“How’d you know my name?” Cole said, eyes suddenly narrowing.
“I don’t offer employment to people who I don’t know.”
Cole stared at him, troubled. “I don’t like this, and I don’t like you.”
“Do you like money?”
“Yeah. Yeah sure, I like money.”
The man reached behind him into a potted plant and pulled something up from under the dirt. Cole lifted a big hand up and grabbed at the package, expecting it to be a gun—but it wasn’t.
A clear plastic Ziploc full of money was placed into Cole’s hand. He looked at it wonderingly. He could see hundred dollar bills in there—lots of them.
“How much is this?” he asked.
“Ten thousand.”
Cole almost choked. “Ten thousand? Why not use this as a down payment on your debts?”
“Because I don’t want to pay Tommy. I want to steal from him.”
“Steal what?”
“You, for starters.”
Cole stared at the money, then at the man on the splintery chair. Perez’s foot had retreated from the stool and was now tucked low, out of sight. Cole realized his clippers were still in his hand, clean and unused.
“You’re offering me a bribe instead of paying up?” Cole asked. “You’re wasting your time.”
“Ten thousand,” the man repeated. “That’s double, isn’t it? Double what you get per week?”
Cole’s lips twitched, and he rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand as if he were thirsty. The truth was Tommy was a cheap prick. He only gave him a thousand a week.
“Yeah,” he said thoughtfully. “Ten thousand is double.”
“Keep it.”
“That’s not enough. Would you quit a job for two weeks’ pay?”
“Maybe, if it was my best offer. But that’s not all you’ll get. You’ll get more. That’s only good for one week. Are you with me?”
“What do you want from me, you crazy fuck? What are we going to do?”
For the very first time, Perez smiled. It was a slow thing, a victorious thing. “We’re going to rob someone,” he said.
“Who?”
“Tommy. Who else?”
“I can’t do that. He’s my man. He pays me to protect him and to shake down little squats like you.”
“Right, exactly—but now you work for me. He’s not protected any longer. You’ve been paid, and you’ll get a share of the big money when we take Tommy down. He hasn’t got an army—just you.”
Cole was troubled. “I don’t like it.”
The guy nudged the package of money in his hand. “You like that, don’t you? I’m giving you that and promising you much more. Even if we don’t find another ten K, I’ll make good for that much. What do you say? That’s twenty thousand in one day, guaranteed.”
Cole’s mouth twitched, and he rubbed his lips with the back of hand again. He needed a drink.
“All right,” he said at last.
His new boss slammed his hands together, making a popping sound. Perez then hopped to his feet and walked away across the creaking deck. Cole followed him uncertainly, wondering what he’d gotten himself into. He rubbed the Ziploc full of money with his thumbs, looking at it.
He hoped this would be worth it. If it wasn’t—well, then maybe he’d change sides again and nail this cocky dude when he w
asn’t looking. Not even a man with lightning-fast reflexes could dodge a blow from behind.
Chapter 4
Beneath the North Polar Icecap
Darkness
Lieutenant Lev Burkov waited, leaning against the steel door of his tiny assigned cabin until the boat leveled off. The hull creaked ominously at this depth. He’d heard that Akula-class attack subs weren’t designed to take the kind of pressure that the sea exerted so far down. But this ship had been refurbished and rebuilt for this very purpose. All the Russian ships were Cold War relics, but they’d been given fat maintenance budgets once the Artifact had been found. After all, what good was a base on the bottom of the ocean if you couldn’t get to it?
There were cover stories to keep the place secret. Russia had made a very large deal out of broadly laying claim to Arctic mineral rights back in 2007. That had been a ruse, of course. Russia hadn’t really been after inaccessible oil fields at the bottom of a frozen sea—she’d been after the rights to exploit something far more important.
Lev didn’t know what the Artifact was. He’d heard rumors, naturally, but he’d dismissed them. Some said it was a natural cache of highly radioactive ore. Others said it was a crashed spaceship. Still others claimed it was a long-lost Nazi wonder-weapon, stuck in the ice directly below the North Pole itself.
All these theories sounded absurd to Lev. But he had to admit that there was something down there under the ice. Something had been melting the region and releasing increasing amounts of radioactivity in the local waters.
He shrugged as the boat made its final approach. It wasn’t his job to figure out what his government was hiding down here. It was his job to protect it and to guard its secrets.
“I see you’ve put on your rad suit,” Captain Chendev said as Lev came aboard the bridge and stood as unobtrusively as possible near the aft hatch.
“It pays to be prepared,” Lev answered.
Whatever he was, Captain Chendev wasn’t slow-witted. He watched his bridge like a hawk. His eyes roved over every crewman’s station. Even while he oversaw the docking operation, he spoke to Lev in an easy voice.
