ICE GENESIS

by Kevin Tinto

  Before Leah had a chance to respond, K’aalógii, who had continued stroking her hair, said, “Díí aláahdi haz’ą́nii bee baadiidááł. Daʼnjahí góneʼ.” She reached into the air with both hands and drew two circles. “Naaki jóhonaaʼéí”.

  This time the young girls’ words didn’t seem as strange as they once had.

  “You are the one who will lead us,” she said, “to a place between the 4th and 6th… The 5th Domain.”

  “Naaki jóhonaaʼéí.”

  Leah almost could have predicted K’aalógii’s next words before she spoke them.

  “A place that has one plus one suns.”

  Chapter 42

  The remains of David Samuelson amounted to little more than a mass of twisted climbing line and bone. Jack had a visceral reaction. He backed up, turned around and vomited, tears streamed down his cheeks.

  A group of unknown Special Operations soldiers had already obtained and documented the intelligence, then split in a hurry. Wheeler’s worst-case scenario—unless it had been Americans.

  “Mr. Jack! Mr. Jack!” Kajir sprinted around the perimeter of the spring, something held up in his hand. When he got within ten meters, Jack knew exactly what it was, because he’d gotten cases of them for Marko: MRE. Meals Ready to Eat. American military. The empty wrapper had at one time contained two high-energy bars.

  It was all too obvious—and infuriating. Wheeler had sent a Special Operations unit in before Jack arrived, and had already executed a high-altitude dive into the hot spring. Likely one of the divers, freezing his ass off, needed a snack to help ward off hypothermia after exiting the water. It was sloppy, leaving identifying wrappers behind—but, then again, they’d left just about everything else here, except weapons and ammunition. No one was going to come up here looking around anyway, Jack thought. Get rid of the weight, the team was faster and more agile.

  The fury and anger boiled up. If Jack got back to the States alive, he knew one thing for certain. Wheeler was a dead man.

  The bastard set him up, knowing if he took it, he’d be out of the country, hoping he’d get killed, solving one problem, or making it easier to round up the entire Antarctic crew.

  Killing two birds with one stone. This time—Wheeler might just have successfully disposed of Jack Hobson, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. That might also explain the helicopters searching the shoulders of Ararat. Special Operations were good—but so were the Turks. It’s likely, given the messy withdrawal from the well, that the Special Operations team had to blow off the mountain to an extraction in a hurry to avoid capture, or, they had indeed found something extra-terrestrial in nature, and it was imperative they get out alive in order to get the intelligence back to Wheeler.

  Jack fumbled inside his pack for the two sat phones. He chose Paulson’s phone number, but when he tried to make the connection, nothing. The phone’s secure satellite service had been deactivated and he was locked out of the device. He dropped it on the ground and tried the second satellite phone with same result. It wasn’t lack of service, which might be explained by the geomagnetic anomaly reaching into the upper latitudes—the phones were locked down.

  ✽✽✽

  Hawar stood at the edge of the cavern, looking down the mountainside without expression. The heavy ‘thwack’ of military helicopter rotor blades echoed off Ararat from nearly every direction. The horses were safe inside the cavern, but Kajir and Camir and Jack Hobson would be in great danger if they were caught out in the open, returning from the Western Plateau.

  Hawar swung an AK over his shoulder and shoved many loaded magazines into a canvas bag. He opened one of the wooden crates and pulled out a rocket-propelled-grenade rifle and five rounds of Iranian high-explosive rounds. That was the maximum load he could carry and maintain any speed while running up the mountain with other weapons and gear. He loaded the rounds into the canvas bag, along with the AK magazines, and slung the RPG gun over his shoulder, using the strap to hold it in place.

  He turned to Bazi and said in Kurdish, “I’m going to help Mr. Jack and your brothers. You stay here. You must keep the horses calm. When the helicopters swoop down, it’ll spook them.” Hawar hesitated and then pointed a finger. “Do not leave the cavern for any reason, Bazi. Do you understand?”

  His youngest son, showing no fear, nodded.

  ✽✽✽

  Jack was kneeling near the remains of David Samuelson, saying a prayer. Kajir and Camir spoke in semi-panicked Kurdish, but Jack paid no attention. He was thinking of the young man’s family and how much pain his death must have caused them and Jacob Badger.

  “Mr. Jack. We must leave,” Kajir said. “We have not heard the helicopters—but that does not mean they will stay low on the mountain.”

  Jack drew a breath and stood. “These are the remains of a young man about your age. His name was David Samuelson. I want to give him a proper burial.”

  Kajir stepped back in shock, then nodded his approval.

  Jack had seen enough climbers left dead in the mountains, to know that he wasn’t allowing that to happen to Samuelson. This young man deserved a proper burial on Ararat. The remains of his body, tangled up in nylon and line, left out in the open was a level of disrespect Jack couldn’t stomach.

  He chose one of the canvas gear bags to serve as a casket of sorts. He looked around the site and decided upon a small mound on the ice, fifty meters away.

  Jack used a folding shovel and chopped away until he had a hole about a half a meter deep. He gently laid the remains into the shallow ice grave and covered it with the cut ice. He dug out pieces of rock near the surface of the ice and began to stack them on top of the ice.

  Kajir brought more rock and, within minutes, they had a meter-high rock cairn standing over the burial site.

  Jack stood back and said another prayer while Kajir and Camir stood watch, ready to open fire at the slightest movement. Once finished, he returned to the spring and looked down into the waters. He could easily see twenty meters down, but there was nothing, even at that depth, that faintly resembled anything but shaped rock.

  Still, even considering the risk, it seemed pointless to have made this entire trip and not shoot the video. Jack retrieved his pack, and dug into it for the climbing line, the aluminum GoPro mount with two camera attachments, and the five pound diving weight that affixed to the bottom of the mount, a guarantee that the camera rig would sink straight down into the spring.

  The two GoPro cameras were kept in a padded case. He checked one camera by initializing it. The battery bars registered full and he had a 32G SD card in each camera—enough to video for an hour, or more, at high resolution. The waterproof cases each sported a helmet attachment, and the metallic mount had the corresponding mounts, glued onto two arms. Jack slid each camera into the helmet mounts, making sure each audibly locked in place. He clipped the line onto the aluminum mount, and secured the five-pound lead diving weight with plastic ties.

  Jack paused, and took a breath. The next part was critical. If he got this wrong, as simple as it seemed, the entire trip was for nothing. He made sure both cameras were on video record mode, pushed down the button to start the GoPro recording, and double-checked that he saw a constant blinking light on each camera.

  He attached two Fenix handheld high intensity underwater dive lights, used by SCUBA divers to thumb screw friction mounts. One light pointed straight down, one at a ninety-degree angle. Wherever the camera was pointed, the light would illuminate the water around for at least ten meters—thirty plus feet, providing high resolution video, even near the bottom of the spring.

  Before he lowered the device into the spring, he checked one last time that each camera featured a blinking red light. With both cameras, recording, his rig was ready to go.

  Jack allowed the line to slide through his gloves, getting through the 50 meters at a speed of about a meter every five seconds. He twisted the line, while on the descent, forcing the mount to do same. This forced the Go Pro
s to capture three-hundred and sixty-degree video, capturing every angle down below.

  He took his time, despite Kajir’s urging that it wasn’t safe to remain at the site, even for another minute. Jack nodded, telling the Kurd he’d be done in just a matter of a few minutes. After allowing the line down to just short of 60 meters, Jack pulled the cameras up, twisting the line as he did. When the rig reached the surface, he checked that the cameras were still recording and that no water had seeped into the cases. Both were operating perfectly. He detached each camera and placed them back into their padded bag.

  He was tempted to just toss the mount and the line into the spring, and be done with it, but his disgust with climbers polluting mountains with garbage of all kinds, prevented him from doing that. He coiled the line and stuffed the entire rig back into his pack.

  Jack shouldered the pack and told Kajir and Camir, “Time to go.”

  The expression of relief on their faces told Jack all he needed to know. These seasoned fighters had an instinct for trouble, and they were expecting more than their fair share climbing down the open shoulders of Ararat.

  Chapter 43

  Hawar crouched behind a row of boulders, watching the T129 ATAK helicopter gunship working the shoulders of Ararat. He swore under his breath. The helo was a state-of-the-art, lethal, all-weather attack helicopter, a combined effort of Turkish and Italian aerospace companies.

  With a crew of two, a 20mm cannon and a wide variety of rockets and guided missiles in its arsenal, it was a most formidable weapon. Plus, it had the ability to operate up to twenty-thousand feet in altitude. There was nowhere in Turkey that Kurds were safe from the T129.

  God-willing, Mr. Jack and his sons had perceived the threat and would stay well-hidden until the helicopter needed to refuel or was called off to work another grid. The Turks only had a handful of the highly advanced attack helicopters, and even fewer deployed. It meant either that the authorities were hunting Mr. Jack or another threat of significance. They would never waste such an important resource pursuing a few Kurdish rebels on Ararat.

  When the T129 swung around and suddenly gained altitude, Hawar knew the crew had spotted something.

  As the T129 probed the upper reaches of the mountain, Hawar crept out from behind the rocks and started jogging up-mountain, jumping from rock to rock, running around the larger rocks and boulders with the grace only someone borne of this land could muster.

  ✽✽✽

  Jack, Kajir, and Camir moved quickly down the shoulder of Ararat, stumbling and falling on the glacier’s ice, using ice-axes to self-arrest before getting solid traction with the crampons and running again. They had descended to slightly below the glacier when they heard the first echoes of helicopter blades. Kajir cupped his ears, trying to determine the direction and distance.

  Jack scanned the skies around and below them. “Well, I doubt anyone flew up here to give us a courtesy ride off Ararat.”

  The sudden military activity on the shoulders of Ararat meant either that the Special Operations team that beat them to Jacob’s Well had been made by the Turks, or else someone had dropped a dime on Jack and sent the Turks hunting.

  “We will be safe once we get to my father and the cavern,” Kajir said.

  The trio had traveled another kilometer down the mountainside, when the sound of rotor blades got a whole lot louder. Jack watched as Kajir and Camir simultaneously dived to the ground and slid their thin bodies under rocks that would’ve hardly fit a housecat.

  Jack dropped as well, but he had no way to conceal himself. He covered his face even as he realized that his blue climbing parka would be a dead giveaway if the attack helicopter overflew his location.

  The T29 opened up with an intense barrage of 20mm cannon fire. The rock around Jack exploded, followed by the sound of the helicopter overflying his position.

  Jack checked to make sure he had all his arms and legs and wasn’t bleeding out after having been struck by rock shrapnel. He’d gotten lucky. He’d been on the upslope side of a sizable boulder and the helicopter had been firing from downslope. Rock cover wouldn’t keep him safe for long, though.

  Once the helicopter had passed over, its nose pitched up sharply and the aircraft spun 180 degrees and began another attack run.

  This time Jack had no cover between him and the 20mm rounds. He had ten seconds to decide: make his body as small as possible or dive over the rocks and hope the 20mm shells would either impact the upslope side of the rock or pass over his head.

  The choice was really no choice at all, if he wanted to live. He shrugged off the backpack and dived headfirst over the rock, unsure how far he’d have to fall before impacting the rocks downslope of the boulder.

  The rounds from the 20mm cannon started blowing rock to pieces even before he hit, nearly ten feet below. His bulk thudded into the rock-studded earth and his entire body went numb. He hadn’t the strength to rise and dive out of the helicopter’s range again. Instead, he lay still, playing dead. A sitting duck.

  The pilot pitched up, this time in a leisurely manner, before rotating the helicopter and preparing the final attack run.

  A loud pop sounded near Jack’s position, and a rocket propelled grenade streaked skyward with a whoosh of propellant trailing behind. An instant later, the RPG struck the side of the helicopter’s fuselage inches below the main rotor. The explosion separated the rotor from the helicopter, which tumbled in flames toward the steep slope, flinging smoke and aircraft parts in every direction before impacting.

  Jack took a moment to perform a quick self-check. It seemed he hadn’t broken any bones hurling himself over the boulder. Aside from rock rash and the pain associated with hitting rock and gravel from ten feet above, he was unharmed.

  Hawar was working his way up the mountain from less than 200 meters below, a canvas gear bag over one shoulder and the RPG launcher on the other. As he moved toward Jack’s position, Jack stood gingerly and retrieved his backpack. He could have simply taken the chips out of the cameras, and left the pack, but after the shoot down, he had a sense he needed all the gear he had—and perhaps more if he were forced to stay out of sight for a period of days, even weeks.

  Hawar hugged and kissed his sons, and Jack felt tempted to join the lovefest. Instead, he offered Hawar his sincerest thanks while the boys recounted their climb and discovery in Kurdish.

  “The Turks will send aircraft, soldiers, and more helicopters very soon,” Hawar said, translating for Jack. “They will hunt for us without stopping because we shot down one of their helicopters.”

  “I’m truly sorry for all this,” Jack said. “I had no intention of putting you in the way of the Turkish military.”

  “We are all in danger, Mr. Jack.” Hawar pointed toward the west—the direction of Istanbul, where Jack was supposed to be picked up by the Citation after being smuggled back on to the tarmac at Istanbul airport. “I’m sorry too, but we cannot take you back, Mr. Jack. Our only choice is to travel east. If you go west, you’ll never make it back by yourself. The Turks will set up many roadblocks and it won’t take long to find you.” Hawar paused long enough for that to sink in. “There is only on way for you to survive, God willing.” Hawar pointed toward the east. “The Persian border,” he said. “It is still Kurdistan. We have allies there. The Turks won’t find us once we cross the border.”

  Iran…. Jack knew the border was only a few kilometers from Ararat. They could be across in twelve hours or less on foot.

  “How long before this area is crawling with Turkish military?”

  “Twelve hours—perhaps less.”

  “How dangerous is Iran?”

  Hawar shrugged. “Normally—I was say, not so much.”

  “But you are a very valuable and profitable target, my friend. Even Kurds could not turn down so much lira, if offered. The Iranians—they will kill us on sight, should we be caught out in the open.” Hawar glanced off to the east. “God will decide, if we are to live—or die.” Hawar spun, and begun
leading them down to the cavern, where they’d retrieve the horses, and make for the Iranian border.

  Jack hesitated for a moment, before falling in behind. He had a chilling sensation, that God had already decided, and Jack was likely to end up like David Samuelson, just another unmarked grave, this one out in the middle of the Iranian badlands.

  Chapter 44

  Marko studied the forest floor outside the cavern, checking for movement, but also waiting for full-on darkness to settle over the canyon so he could leave for what he’d begun to call his daily ‘constitutional.’ In common parlance, he had ‘to go’ and was running out of time if he wanted today’s call of nature to take place outside the cavern. The military Meals Ready to Eat were getting to his stomach and his bowels.

  Friggin’ kill for a veggie burrito.

  He winced at the sharp salivary reaction the image provoked. And the consequent urge to go to the bathroom.

  A reminder to get the ladder ready to go—every second counted today. Marko shoved the aluminum ladder, positioning it right up to the cavern entrance. He knew he should cool his heels for at least another thirty minutes, make sure it was dark, but that wasn’t happening tonight.

  Marko slid the ladder over the sandstone, seating the ladder in the same depressions created the first time he decided to do an ‘against the rules’ walkabout. He grabbed his toilet kit and, instead of dashing to an expedient but environmentally-correct ‘spot,’ he stretched and looked up at the stars. Without the crushing claustrophobic weight he suffered inside the damp cavern, the need to immediately relieve himself dissipated—temporarily, at least.