Ninth Cycle Antarctica: A Thriller (A Rossler Foundation Mystery Book 2)

by JC Ryan

  JR swept his eyes over the horizon, straining to see the Sno-Cat where they’d left it. Not seeing it, he went back into the cave, thinking it would be better to look for it when the sun came up, even though it wouldn’t be very high or stay up for long. But, he’d better wake the others so they’d be ready to go as soon as they could find the vehicle. Who knew how long this lull would last?

  ~~~

  JR hurried back to where the others were sleeping. He touched Becca first, waking her gently. “The wind’s down, but I can’t see the Cat, it’s too dark. Should I wake the others, or wait until we’ve got a little light?”

  She sat up. “Wake the others, I think. It should be a group decision, and if we’re going to have to hunt for the vehicle in the dark, we need all of us.”

  JR left her to get up and get herself together while he woke the others. Angela was now splayed over Summers as if to keep him warm, while Cyndi and Robert had barely moved. JR woke them first, then Angela and finally Summers. Once everyone was fully awake, or as close to it as they could be after just a few hours of sleep, he told them that the wind was relatively still and the sky clear. Then the bad news; he hadn’t spotted the Sno-Cat.

  “It makes sense,” Summers said. “If we’ve been in here for more than a day, and Roosky couldn’t clear the opening in that time, they’d have assumed we were dead or unreachable and headed back to the base. We might as well go back into the valley.”

  It was finally time to come clean with everyone regarding Roosky, the Sno-Cat and Bart’s probable fate. The three who hadn’t already heard his theory were angered at being left in the dark, but none had the energy to lash out. Summers insisted that if that were the case, Roosky would no doubt have taken off in the Sno-Cat and they should still go back to the valley.

  “Wait,” objected JR. “Those OS guys got here somehow. There were six of them, and there are now six of us. We should be able to escape in their vehicle.”

  “Which could be anywhere,” Summers retorted.

  “They came in through here,” JR countered. “They blew the rock fall and came in the same entrance we did, which is now much bigger, so you know that’s what they did. Their vehicle has to be right outside, or not very far off. Let’s go find it and get out of here, instead of giving up without even trying.”

  The others murmured their agreement, only Angela agreeing with Summers out of loyalty, though she wanted to go home as much as the rest did.

  Robert said they should probably retrieve the ropes, so another half-hour was spent in reeling them in and coiling them for ease of carrying. Robert’s idea was to rope themselves together while they searched for the OS vehicle, so that no one would be lost in the dark. Finally, they were ready to go. With JR leading the way, they paced themselves to the mouth of the cave, though some wanted to run. They still had an arduous task ahead. Finding a vehicle in the dark and the snow without knowing exactly what they were looking for could prove to be a challenge.

  When they got to the opening, though, surprisingly there was some light. A red glow at the tops of the surrounding peaks had to mean the sun was up, but it seemed like very early morning, around two a.m. according to JR’s calculations, or was it p.m.? JR was now completely confused. However, it mattered less what time it was, than that they had some light. Robert’s insistence that they rope together was brushed off, but they did pair off to go searching, JR and Rebecca going left, Summers and Angela straight out from the opening to the cave, and Robert taking Cyndi to the right. Before leaving, they synchronized their watches to Rebecca’s, which now said February 27th, 1:22 a.m. This time, they stayed synchronized after five minutes, so the pairs set off with instructions to walk for half an hour and return, unless they found something sooner. If so, they were to shout. Even if they weren’t heard, the group would come back together in an hour or less.

  JR swept the horizon again, hoping to see the Sno-Cat now that it was light. He couldn’t help but remember that what Summers had said made sense. It had been two days. Roosky, and maybe Bart would have headed for the base, probably as soon as Roosky set the explosives. Was Bart OS as well? Or had Roosky murdered him, too? He couldn’t recall whether he’d looked back at the Cat as they went into the cave. He thought it was located at an angle between his trajectory and Summers’, but he didn’t remember how far from the cave they’d parked it. He strained harder to see the white vehicle against the snow.

  Rebecca, unaware of JR’s musings, was looking straight ahead as they walked. Not too far away was an outcropping that they’d have to skirt, but JR hadn’t turned yet. Maybe he intended to walk right up to it and then around. She looked up at him to see him looking intently off to their right.

  “JR, there’s an outcropping ahead,” she said, thinking he hadn’t seen it.

  “Yeah, we’ll angle out in a few yards, go around it.” He knew the Cat wasn’t close to the canyon wall, which was steep though pitched at a softer angle than the inside canyon’s. Now that he knew what it was, it was almost comically obvious. An ash cone, if he remembered his undergraduate geology lessons correctly. Probably built rapidly as the volcano erupted, which meant that the sides would be steep, only wearing down through erosion over the centuries. How old was it? He’d have to ask Robert if that could be determined.

  Rebecca’s cry shook him out of his near-sleepwalking daze. They’d rounded the outcropping, and there, in front of them, were a group of odd-looking man-made objects. JR and Becca both broke into a run, though he outstripped her rapidly with his long legs. It was almost a surprise when he reached them. They were small, so the low light and lack of color in the environment had fooled him into thinking they were further away.

  But what the heck were they? They were no longer than a two-seater snowmobile, but they were enclosed, all but the skis and tracks, in a hard shell that had no visible opening. JR was circling the first one he got to for the second time when Rebecca finally reached them.

  “Snowmobiles,” she said. “Three of them. These must be what the OS came in on.”

  “Impossible, they’d have frozen to death,” JR remarked.

  “Not with these fairings on them,” Becca corrected. She lifted the shell from the right side of the snowmobile next to her. It raised easily, revealing a plush interior with plenty of room for two people and some cargo. JR sheepishly lifted the shell from his. Yeah, hinged on the left side. Otherwise airtight, and the onboard controls indicated they were heated. Realizing what it meant, he gave a whoop that echoed through the canyon.

  “Let’s drive two of them back to the meeting point, and then we can bring someone back to get this one,” he said.

  “Let’s hope there’s sufficient fuel to get back to the Pole,” Becca said, more soberly.

  “They were planning to get back to somewhere,” said JR, confident now that they could get back to base and not have to winter inside the mountain. He mounted the snowmobile next to him and pulled down the fairing, sealing himself inside a cocoon that soon became almost too warm. Rebecca followed him in the second machine, back to the mouth of the cave, where she joined JR in his machine and they sat cozily, holding hands to JR’s infinite wonder, until the others returned about ten minutes later.

  Summers and Angela had heard JR’s shout, and passed it along to signal Robert and Cyndi, so they’d cut short their routes and returned immediately. Everyone but Summers was excited to see the snowmobiles. Summers had grave doubts about making it back to base before the winds kicked up again, and these machines wouldn’t be able to withstand a gale.

  Everything that had happened since he insisted on this last, catastrophic, trip to the canyon had served to undermine his self-confidence to the point that he didn’t even believe himself. The prospect of being left completely alone for the next six months, much less traversing the narrow tunnel entrance or the squeeze to get back into the valley convinced him he had to go with the others.

  Rebecca ran Angela out to the third snowmobile in her machine, then both
returned to the meeting point. Pausing just long enough to check fuel reserves and whether there was food—there was—the group wasted no time in heading for the South Pole and Scott-Amundsen base as fast as they could push the machines. That turned out to be very fast, even with JR’s instructions about who should be in the lead, how far apart or close together they should stay, and to be on the lookout for new crevasses, keeping their eyes on each other at all times.

  In spite of the events of the last couple of days, Rebecca couldn’t get over how different this JR was from the brat who’d embarked with them at the beginning. This must be the old JR, the one that Sarah talked about with regret. How wonderful that she would be able to see her friend’s eyes light up when she realized JR, the real JR, was back.

  The group only slowed for the crevasse field that they’d have to negotiate carefully, otherwise running at nearly thirty miles per hour, an unheard-of speed over the polar ice. At this rate, they’d be back at base in seven hours, give or take an hour to account for the slow-down and barring unforeseen accidents. Even Summers began to believe they’d make it, if the winds would just hold back for the rest of the night.

  Chapter 30 – Three Vehicles Sir

  An enlisted man woke Cmdr. Andersen at seven-thirty a.m. to report three small vehicles approaching at speed half an hour from the base perimeter. The groggy commander, who’d stayed up until very late the night before to supervise the loading of the last scheduled flight’s passengers and their cargo, couldn’t understand at first what he was hearing. He asked for a repeat of the intel.

  “Three vehicles, sir. Approaching our perimeter at an estimated speed of forty-eight kph.”

  “What kind of vehicles?” he asked.

  “Unknown, sir. Radar profile is confused. They appear to be about the size of snowmobiles, but they have a higher profile. Your orders, sir?”

  “Send an armed squad to meet them at the airlock. I’ll be there directly.” With half an hour to wait, Andersen indulged himself in a hot shower and leisurely shave, then strolled toward the airlock.

  Visual confirmation of the vehicles once they were within eyesight revealed they were snowmobiles all right, at least, they had tracks on the back and skis on the front. The upper part, however, was just a bubble of some material that the exterior camera couldn’t see through. A squad of half a dozen waited beyond the thick inside door to the airlock, rifles aimed at the door, with an open intercom giving them a move-by-move description of what was going on outside.

  “Vehicles are opening, two people climbing out of each. Six total, repeat, six total. No visual recognition; all are wearing snow gear and face masks. Ready; outer door opening.”

  Outside, the sudden cold after hours in the relative warmth of the machines was a shock. There had been no room inside to remove snow gear, so everyone was somewhat overheated and anxious to get inside and strip down to their regular clothes. Summers led the way, hitting the large pad that would operate the outer door, unless it had been sealed for the winter. Then, he’d have to hope he could operate the intercom buttons with his gloves on. Taking them off and touching an outside surface, even for a moment, would invite frostbite at the current temperature of minus four degrees Fahrenheit. To his relief, the door began to swing open. He signaled the others to hurry. There was room in the airlock for all of them; no need to cycle the door more than once.

  Inside, six men raised their rifles and aimed at the door, fingers resting lightly on the triggers. Quick reflexes would be important if the intruders came in shooting.

  “No weapons in sight, repeat, no weapons in sight. Hold your fire unless fired upon.”

  Slowly, the inner door swung open, to the most bizarre sight the soldiers inside had ever seen. Six bulky, snow-suited figures were jumping up and down, hugging each other and giving awkward high-fives. When they noticed that the inner door was completely open, as one they rushed the soldiers and hugged them, guns and all. In the midst of the chaos, Andersen’s voice rang out.

  “Hold your fire!” was his totally unnecessary command. Every soldier was incapacitated in a bear hug from the strangers, one of whom snatched his face mask off to reveal that he wasn’t a stranger after all.

  “Commander, are we glad to see you!” Summers crowed.

  Andersen, stunned, could only stare as each of the others shed their hoods and masks. Back from the dead, six members of the Rossler Foundation Expedition were alive after all.

  Andersen started forward, meeting Summers halfway to clasp his hand and arm in a congratulatory greeting. “How the devil?”

  “It’s a long story,” Summers said. “My people are tired, dirty, hungry and ready to get out of this gear. Can we save the report until we’ve had a chance to regroup?”

  “Of course. But, my God, man, they’re probably having the memorial service for you right now. Let me check.” Andersen pushed a couple of buttons on his big, complicated watch, and realized that the service in Boulder would start in only an hour or so. Who could he call? Rossler wouldn’t be answering his phone; no one at the Foundation would. It had been declared a day of mourning for the entire nation, with the President and First Lady traveling in person to Boulder to attend the memorial service. That was it! He would call his commanding officer and have the news passed up the line to the Secret Service, who would be able to alert the President.

  Andersen was pleased. He liked this President, and giving him the power to interrupt a memorial service with the good news that some had survived would be a feather in his cap. Maybe even move him up the line for promotion, get him off this barren rock. He returned to his office to make the call, failing to take note of who besides Summers and that freakishly tall Rossler kid had survived. It was an oversight that would delay the news reaching the President by a critical half hour.

  Summers and his crew were hastily assigned rooms, with the luxury of each having one to himself or herself now that the base was almost empty of other people. Unfortunately, their effects had been shipped out with the plane that left three days before, the last scheduled plane of the season. Extra fatigues were found, but Angela, the shortest woman, had to roll her pants from both the waist and the ankle to avoid tripping over them. She opted for stocking feet, vowing to put the boots back on only to board a flight for home.

  When they’d been fed, showered and sent to rest, Summers went to meet with Andersen to be debriefed.

  “Summers, I’ve sent word to the States that a few of you have survived. I just got a communique back that they won’t inform the President or the Rossler Foundation until they know who. Don’t want to get the hopes of the families up, you understand.”

  “Of course. Well, I’m sure you recognized JR Rossler, the tall one. Dr. Rebecca Mendenhall, Cyndi Self, the electronics engineer. Angela Brown, cartographer. Robert Cartwright, from Australia, the geologist. You should probably report separately to his government. And myself, of course.”

  “What happened to the others?”

  “Are you ready for a bizarre story?” Receiving an affirmative answer, Summers proceeded to tell Andersen about the deaths of LeClerc in the cave and Carmen at the hands of the OS attackers. Making sure that Andersen knew he was cuffed and incapacitated himself, Summers praised JR for his courage and ingenuity in taking out the OS. He was less complimentary about the young man’s insistence that they return to base, but admitted that all was well that ended well. Summers’ only question, barring the obvious, was whether Roosky and Bart had showed up at the base. When told of Roosky’s appearance and story, Summers shook his head. “I think we’ll find that the incident that trapped us was deliberate. JR believes Roosky was OS. God only knows what happened to Bart.” Turning to matters of more immediate concern, he said, “I presume we aren’t too late to get out of here before the winter shutdown?”

  “Actually, you are. But, the weather looks calm for the next few days. Let’s report your wish to be picked up, and see what happens.”

  “I thought the last flig
ht wasn’t until today, February 27th?” Summers objected. Andersen gave him an odd look.

  “Today is March 1st, here. Still the 28th in Boulder. They’re holding your memorial service as we speak.”

  Summers jumped to his feet, distraught. “Call them!”

  Andersen made a motion for Summers to sit back down. “I did. The Secret Service will get word to the President as soon as I report who has survived, and he’ll make the announcement. Come to think of it, I’d better make that report before it’s all over. Wait here.”

  Andersen was a capable enough administrator, but there was a reason he was stationed at the South Pole, and it had just been demonstrated. A tendency to be reactive instead of proactive, to get mired in minor details and to lose track of time when it was critical to be on top of things would keep him in his current rank until he retired. He had his adjutant open a line of communications to his commanding officer and listed the names of the survivors, then the dead, and finally the cause of death for each of the dead, with the exception of Bart. That might never be known unless Roosky could be apprehended and made to talk.

  A burst of agitated shouting from the other end of the phone line met the assertion that the microbiologist had been shot by OS operatives. Orders to get more details were followed by a statement to expect a flight to pick up the survivors the next day. They would need to be debriefed, all of them. A chastened Andersen returned to talk to Summers more.

  Unfortunately, Summers had spent much of the time after becoming aware that they were under attack unconscious. Reluctantly, he told Andersen he’d have to get the details he needed from JR Rossler. Andersen told him that they would be picked up the next day and dismissed him to get some sleep. He decided to wake Rossler after his own breakfast, which had been delayed by the excitement.