James Rollins - Ice hunt

Ice Hunt

By: James Rollins

Category: fiction action adventure

Synopsis:

Suspense lives at the top of the world, in the latest breathtaking

thriller from James Rollins, the best-selling master of gripping

adventure who has kept readers spellbound with Subterranean,

Excavation, Deep Fathom, and Amazonia

Buried deep in the earth's polar ice cap carved into a moving island of

ice twice the size of the United States is a secret place, the site of

a remarkable abandoned experiment that could have frightening

ramifications for the planet. The brain trust of the former Soviet

Union who created the seventy-year-old Ice Station Grendel would like

it simply to melt from human memory. But that becomes impossible when

an American undersea research vessel, the Polar Sentinel, inadvertently

pulls too close to the hollowed-out iceberg ... and one of the crew

sees something alive inside. Something that never should have

survived.

It is a discovery that sends shock waves through the intelligence

communities of two powerful nations, as American and Russian

scientists, soldiers, and unsuspecting civilians are pulled into

Grendel's lethal vortex of secrets, violence, and betrayal. To

preserve the silence to prevent others from uncovering the terrible

mysteries locked behind submerged walls of ice and steel no measures

will be too extreme. For within the station, experiments have blurred

the line between life and death. It was a place never meant to be

found.

One man already knows too much: Matthew Pike, a former American Special

Forces operative, living in seclusion in Alaska on the edge of the

Arctic Circle. On the run after rescuing the survivor of a plane crash

no one was meant to observe, Pike is relentlessly drawn into the eye of

the gathering storm even as a Russian nuclear attack submarine draws

silently nearer to the men and women on the Polar Sentinel. The covert

battle over Grendel is spinning out of control, and the future of all

human life on Earth will be altered or destroyed once its nightmarish

truths are revealed.

A masterful blending of science and adventure, suspense and explosive

page-turning excitement, James Rollins's Ice Hunt is a novel that will

chill readers to the bone, holding them in its icy grip from the first

sentence to its final startling twist.

JAMES ROLLINS is the author of four previous nationally best selling

adventure novels: Subterranean, Excavation, Deep Fathom, and Amazonia.

An amateur spelunker and scuba enthusiast, he holds a doctorate in

veterinary medicine and has his own practice in Sacramento,

California.

To receive notice of author events and new books by James Rollins, sign

up at www.authortracker.com.

Jacket design by Richard L. Aquan and Ervin Serrano

Jacket illustration by Paul Stinson Author photograph by John Clemens

WILLIAM MORROW

An Imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers www.harpercollins.com

www.jamesrolhns.com

ALSO BY

JAMES ROLLINS

Amazonia

Deep Fathom

Excavation

Subterranean

WILLIAM MORROW

An Imprint of

James Rollins

This is a work of fiction The characters, incidents, and dialogues are

products of the authors imagination and are not to be construed as

real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely

coincidental.

"A History of Secret Human Experiment" copyright by Healthnewsnet. All

rights reserved. Used by permission.

permission of Steve Prey.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever

without written permission except in the case of brief quotations

embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information address

HarperCollins Publishers Inc., 10 East 53rd Street, New York, NY

10022.

HarperCollins books may be purchased for educational, business, or

sales promotional use. For information please write: Special Markets

Department, HarperCollins Publishers Inc., 10 East 53rd Street, "New

York, NY 10022.

FIRST EDITION

Designed by JoAnne Metsch

Printed on acid-free paper

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-PUDlication Data

Rollins, James, 1961-Ice hunt fames Rollins. 1st ed.

p. cm-ISBN 0-06-O52156-2

1. Cryonics Fiction. 2. Polar regions Fiction. I. Title.

PS3568.O5398 128 2003

To Dave Meek, the next star on the horizon

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A book is seldom the work of the author alone, but usually the

collaborative effort of many folks. This novel is no exception. First,

Steve Prey must be mentioned as the chief engineer and draftsman for

this novel, whose painstaking work on constructing the station

schematics both inspired and changed the story. Then I had a posse of

language experts who helped with countless details. Carolyn Williams,

Vasily Derebenskiy, and William Czajkowski helped with the Russian

translations, while Kim Crockatt and Nunavut.com were integral to

finding my Inuit translator: Emily Angulalik. I also must thank John

Overton of the Health News Network for his assistance in collating

historical information used in this novel.

Additionally, I must heartily acknowledge my friends and family who

helped shape the manuscript into its present form: Carolyn McCray,

Chris Crowe, Michael Gallowglas, Lee Garrett, David Murray, Dennis

Grayson, Penny Hill, Lynne Williams, Laurel Piper, Lane Therrell, Mary

Hanley, Dave Meek, Royale Adams, Jane O'Riva, Chris "the little" Smith,

Judy and Steve Prey, and Caroline Williams. For the map used here, I

must acknowledge its source: The CIA World Factbook 2000. Finally, the

four folks who continue to remain my most loyal supporters: my editor,

Lyssa Keusch; my agents, Russ Galen and Danny Baror; and my publicist,

Jim Davis. Lastly and most importantly, I must stress that any and all

errors of fact or detail fall squarely on my own shoulders.

PERSONNEL CIVILIAN

(1) Matthew Pike, an Alaska Fish and Game warden

(2) Jennifer Aratuk, sheriff for the Nunamiut and Inupiat tribes

(3) Junaquaat (John) Aratuk, retired

(4) Craig Teague, reporter for the Seattle Times

(5) Bennie and Belinda Haydon, owners of an ultralight sightseeing

company

(6) Bane, retired search-and-rescue dog, wolf malamute cross

OMEGA RESEARCHERS

(1) Dr. Amanda Reynolds, an American engineer

(2) Dr. Oskar Willig, a Swedish oceanographer

(3) Dr. Henry Ogden, an American biologist

(4) Dr. Lee Bentley, a NASA researcher in material sciences

(5) Dr. Connor MacFerran, a Scottish geologist

(6) Dr. Erik Gustof, a Canadian meteorologist

(7) Lacy Devlin, a geology postgrad

(8) Magdalene, Antony, and Zane, biology post grads

UNITED STATES MILITARY

(1) Gregory Perry, captain of the Polar Sentinel

(2) Roberto Bratt, lieutenant commander and XO of the Polar Sentinel

(3) Kent Reynolds, admiral and commander of the Pacific Fleet

(4) Paul Sewell, lieutenant commander and head of base security for

Omega

(5) Serina Washburn, lieutenant

(6) Mitchell Greer, lieutenant

(7) Frank O'Donnell, petty officer

(8) Tom Pomautuk, ensign

(9) Joe Kowalski, seaman

(10) Doug Pearlson, seaman

(11) Ted Kanter, master sergeant, Delta Forces

(12) Edwin Wilson, command sergeant major, Delta Forces

XIV PERSONNEL

RUSSIAN MILITARY

(1) Viktor Petkov, admiral and commander of the Russian Northern

Fleet

(2) Anton Mikovsky, captain first rank of the Drakon

(3) Gregor Yanovich, diving officer and XO of the Drakon

(4) Stefan Yurgen, member of Leopard ops

ARCHIVED RECORD:

THE TORONTO DAILY STAR,

NOVEMBER 23, 1937

ESKIMO VILLAGE VANISHES!

RCMP Confirms Trapper's Story

Special to the Star,

Lake Territory, November 23. The inspector for the Royal Canadian

Mounted Police returned today to confirm the disappearance of an Eskimo

village in the Northern Lakes region. Ten days ago, fur trapper Joe La

Belle contacted the RCMP to report a chilling discovery. While running

a trap line La Belle snow shoed out to an isolated Eskimo village on

the shores of Lake Anjikuni only to discover every inhabitant man,

woman, and child had vanished from their huts and storehouses. "It was

as if every one of them poor folk up and took off with no more than the

shirts on their backs."

Inspector Pierre Menard of the RCMP returned with his team's findings

today and confirmed the trapper's story. The village had indeed been

found abandoned under most strange circumstances. "In our search, we

discovered undisturbed foodstuff, gear, and provisions but no sign of

the villagers. Not a single footprint or track." Even the Eskimos'

sled dogs were found buried under the snow, starved to death. But the

most disturbing discovery of all was reported at the end: the Eskimos'

ancestral graves were found excavated and emptied.

The RCMP promises to continue the search, but for now the fate of the

villagers remains a mystery.

_j

PROLOGUE

FEBRUARY 6, 11:58 a.m.

538 KILOMETERS NORTH OF ARCTIC CIRCLE

FORTY FATHOMS UNDER THE POLAR ICE CAP

The USS Polar Sentinel was gliding through the dark ocean. The sub's

twin bronze screws churned silently, propelling the Navy's newest

research submarine under the roof of ice. The warning bells of the

proximity alarms echoed down the length of the vessel.

"Sweet mother, what a monster," the diving officer mumbled from his

post, bent over a small video monitor.

Captain Gregory Perry didn't argue with Commander Bratt's assessment.

He stood atop the control room's periscope stand. His eyes were fixed

to the scope's optical piece as he studied the ocean beyond the sub's

double hull of titanium and plate-carbon steel. Though it was midday,

it was still winter in the Arctic. It had been months since anyone had

seen the sun. Around them the waters remained dark. The plane of ice

overhead stretched black as far as he could see, interrupted only by

occasional blue-green patches of thinner ice, filtering the scant

moonlight of the surface world. The average thickness of the polar ice

cap was a mere ten feet, but that did not mean the roof of their world

was uniform or smooth. All around, jagged pressure ridges jutted like

stalactites, some delving down eighty feet.

But none of this compared to the inverted mountain of ice that dropped

into the depths of the Arctic Ocean ahead of them, a veritable Everest

of ice. The sub slowly circled the peak.

"This baby must extend down a mile," Commander Bratt continued.

"Actually one-point-four miles," the chief of the watch reported from

his wraparound station of instruments. A finger traced the video

monitor

of the top-sounding sonar. The high-frequency instrument was used to

contour the ice.

Perry continued to observe through the periscope, trusting his own eyes

versus the video monitors. He thumbed on the sub's xenon spotlights,

igniting the cliff face. Black walls glowed with hues of cobalt blue

and aquamarine. The sub slowly circled its perimeter, close enough for

the ice-mapping sonar to protest their proximity.

"Can someone cut those damn bells?" Perry muttered.

"Aye, sir."

Silence settled throughout the vessel. No one spoke. The only sound

was the muffled hum of the engines and the soft hiss of the oxygen

generator. Like all subs, the small nuclear-powered Polar Sentinel had

been designed to run silent. The research vessel was half the size of

its bigger brothers. Jokingly referred to as Tadpole-class, the

submarine had been miniaturized through some key advances in

engineering, allowing for a smaller crew, which in turn allowed for

less space needed for living quarters. Additionally, built as a pure

research vessel, the submarine was emptied of all armaments to allow

more room for scientific equipment and personnel. Still, despite the

stripping of the sub, no one was really fooled. The Polar Sentinel was

also the test platform for an upcoming generation of attack submarine:

smaller, faster, deadlier.

Technically still on its shakedown cruise, the sub had been assigned to

the Omega Drift Station, a semipermanent U.S. research facility built

atop the polar ice cap, a joint project between various government

science agencies, including the National Science Foundation and the

National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration.

The crew had spent the last week surfacing the sub through open leads

between ice floes or up through thinly iced-over lakes, called

polynyas. Their task was to implant meteorological equipment atop the

ice for the scientific base to monitor. But an hour ago, they had come

upon this inverted Everest of ice.

"That's one hell of an iceberg," Bratt whistled.

A new voice intruded. "The correct term is an ice island."

Perry glanced from the periscope.

A gray-haired man with a neatly trimmed beard stooped through the hatch

to enter the control room from the forward research decks. It was Dr.

Oskar Willig, the Swedish oceanographer. He was accompanied by an

ensign. The aging but wiry and hard-eyed Swede waved a dismissive hand

toward the video monitor and nodded to Captain Perry. "It's a

much more spectacular view from Cyclops. In fact, Dr. Reynolds asked

to see if you'd join us there. We've discovered something

intriguing."

After a long moment, Perry nodded and folded up the periscope grips. He

twisted the hydraulic control ring, and the stainless-steel pole with

its optic module descended into the housing below. "Commander Bratt,

you have the conn." He stepped down from the periscope stand to join

Dr. Willig.

Commander Bratt raised one bushy eyebrow as he passed by. "You're

going to Cyclops? With all this ice around? You're a braver man than

I am, Captain. True balls of brass."

"Not brass." Perry tapped a knuckle on a wall plate. "Titanium."

This earned a chuckle from his second-in-command.

The Swedish oceanographer's eyes were bright with excitement as Perry

joined him. "In all my years, I've never seen such a spectacular

example of an ice island."

Perry ran a hand over the stubble of his red hair, then motioned the

older doctor ahead of him.

The doctor nodded, turning, but he continued to speak rapidly,

lecturing as if still in his classroom at the University of Stockholm.

"These islands are rare. They originate when giant icebergs calve off

the mainland glaciers. Then ocean currents drive these floating

mountains into the polar ice cap, where they're frozen in place.

Eventually, during the years of thawing and refreezing, they become

incorporated into the cap itself." Dr. Willig glanced back at the

captain as he climbed through the forward hatch. "Somewhat like

almonds in a chocolate bar, you might say."

Perry followed, bending his own six-foot frame through the opening.

"But what's so exciting about such a discovery? Why did Dr. Reynolds

insist upon us mapping around this embedded almond?"

Dr. Willig bobbed his head, leading the way down the main passage and

through the research section of the sub. "Besides the rarity of these

ice islands, because they have been calved from glaciers, they contain

very old ice and many even hold boulders and sections of terra firma.

They're frozen glimpses of the distant past. Can you just imagine?"

Perry followed, urging the doctor onward.

"We dare not lose this chance. We may never find such an example

again. The polar ice cap covers an area twice the size of your United

States. And with the cap's surface worn featureless by winter winds

and summer melts, such islands are impossible to discern. Not even

NASA satellites could pinpoint such discoveries. Stumbling upon this

mountain is a scientific gift from God."

"I don't know about God, but it is intriguing," Perry conceded. He had

been granted command of the Sentinel because of his background and

interest in the Arctic region. His own father had served aboard the

USS Nautilus, the first submarine to cross the Arctic Ocean and pass

under the North Pole back in 1958. It was an honor to be adding to his

father's legacy up here, to captain the Navy's newest research

vessel.

Dr. Willig pointed to a sealed hatch at the end of the corridor.

"Come. You need to see this with your own eyes."

Perry waved him on, glancing over his shoulder. The Polar Sentinel was

divided into two sections. Aft of the control station were the crews

living quarters and the engineering levels. Forward of the bridge lay

the research labs. But ahead, in the nose of the boat, where normally

the torpedo room and sonar boom would be on a Virginia-class submarine,

was the strangest modification of a naval sub.

"After you," Dr. Willig offered as they reached the sealed door.

Perry opened the hatch and pushed his way into the room. The muted

lighting of the Sentinel ill prepared him for the blinding brilliance

of the next chamber. He shielded his eyes as he entered.

The upper shell of the former torpedo room had been replaced with a

canopy of foot-thick Lexan polycarbonate. The clear plastic shell

arched overhead and in front, allowing an uninterrupted view of the

seas around the Sentinel, a window upon the watery world. Viewed from

outside, the Lexan canopy looked like a single glass eye, hence its

nickname: Cyclops.

Perry ignored the handful of scientists off to the sides, bent over

equipment and monitors. The Navy men stood straighter and nodded to

their captain. He returned their acknowledgment, but it was impossible

to truly break his gaze from the view out Cyclops.

Ahead, a voice spoke from the heart of the glare: "Impressive, isn't

it?"

Perry blinked away his blindness and spotted a slender figure in the

room's center, limned in aquamarine light. "Dr. Reynolds?"

"I couldn't resist watching from here." He heard the warm smile in the

woman's voice. Dr. Amanda Reynolds was the nominal head of Omega

Drift Station. Her father was Admiral Kent Reynolds, commander of the

Pacific submarine fleet. Raised a Navy brat, the doctor was as

comfortable aboard a submarine as any sailor wearing the double

dolphins of the fleet.

Perry crossed to her. He had first met Amanda two years ago when he

was granted his captain's bars. It had been at a social function given

by her father. In that one evening, he had inadvertently insulted her

potato salad, almost broken her toe during a short dance, and made the

mistake

of insisting that the Cubs would beat the San Francisco Giants in an

upcoming game, losing ten dollars in the bargain. Overall it had been

a great evening.

Perry cleared his throat and made sure Amanda was looking at him. "So

what do you think of Cyclops?" he asked, speaking crisply so she could

read his lips. She had lost her hearing at the age of thirteen as a

result of a car accident.

Amanda Reynolds glanced overhead, turning slightly forward. "It's

everything my father dreamed it would be."

She stood under the arch, surrounded on all sides by the Arctic Ocean.

She appeared to be floating in the sea itself. Presently she leaned on

one hip, half turned. Her sweep of ebony hair was snugged into an

efficient ponytail. She wore one of the Navy's blue underway uniforms,

crisply pressed.

Perry joined her, stepping out under the open ocean. Being a career

submariner, he understood his crew's discomfort with this room.

Although fire was the main fear on any submarine, no one completely

trusted the foot-thick plastic shell as an alternative for a double

hull of titanium and carbon plate especially with so much ice around.

He had to resist the urge to hunch away from the plastic canopy. The

weight of the entire Arctic Ocean seemed to hang overhead.

"Why did you call me up here?" he asked, touching her arm to draw her

eyes.

"For this ... something amazing." Amanda's voice tremored with

excitement. She waved an arm forward. Beyond Cyclops, the sub's lamps

illuminated the wall of ice slowly passing by the front of the vessel.

Standing here, it felt as if they were motionless, and it was the ice

island instead that was turning, revolving like a giant's toy top in

front of them. This close, the entire cliff face glowed under the

illumination of the sub's xenon spotlights. The ice seemed to stretch

infinitely up and down.

Without a doubt, it was both a humbling and starkly chilling sight, but

Perry still did not understand why his presence had been requested.

"We've been testing the new Deep Eye sonar system," Amanda began to

explain.

Perry nodded. He was familiar with her research project. The Polar

Sentinel was the first submarine to be equipped with her experimental

ice-surveying system, a penetrating sonar, a type of X ray for ice. The

device had been based on Dr. Reynolds's own design. Her background

was in geosciences engineering, specializing in the polar regions.

She continued, "We were hoping to test it on the island here and see if

we could discern any boulders or terrestrial matter inside."

"And did you find something?" He still could not take his eyes off the

slowly turning cliff of ice.

Amanda stepped to the side, toward a pair of men hunched over

equipment. "Our first couple passes failed to reveal anything, but

it's like peeling an onion. We had to be careful. The sonar waves of

the Deep-Eye cause minute vibrations in the ice. They actually heat it

up slightly. So we had to proceed one layer at a time as we scanned

the island. Slow, meticulous work. Then we discovered "

Perry still stood under the eye of Cyclops. He was the first to see

the danger as the sub edged around a thick ridge of ice. Ahead,

boulder-sized chunks of ice floated and bounced up the cliff face, an

avalanche in reverse. But ahead, a large dark crack skittered across

the face of the ice. A monstrous section of cliff face suddenly leaned

toward the slow-moving ship, toppling out toward them. They were going

to collide with it.

With a gasp, he dove for the intercom. "Captain to the bridge!" he

yelled.

"On it, Captain," Commander Bratt answered, tense. "Flooding

negative."

Instantly Perry felt the familiar tug on the sub as thousands of pounds

of water drowned the emergency tanks. The sub dropped, diving at a

steep angle.

Perry stared out of Cyclops, unblinking, unsure if they would avoid a

collision as the wall of ice dropped from the cliff like a blue ax. It

was now a race between the buoyancy of the falling ice and the weight

of their own emergency ballast. The submarine canted nose first.

Handholds were grabbed. A notebook slid down the slanted floor.

Small cries echoed, but Perry ignored them. He watched, powerless. A

collision here would be disastrous. There was nowhere to surface for

miles around. Though the Polar Sentinel had been built to handle the

rigors of the Arctic, there were limits.

The toppling wall of ice filled the world ahead of them. The sub

continued to dive. Seams popped and groaned from the sudden increase

in pressure as the sub plunged into the frigid depths.

Then open water appeared ahead, just under the slowly falling slab of

ice. The submarine dove toward it.

The section of cliff face slid past overhead no more than inches. Perry

craned his neck, following it past the arch of Lexan above his head.

He could read the pictographic lines of algae across the ice's surface.

He held his breath, ready for the screech of metal, ready to hear the

emergency klaxons blare. But the continual low hiss of the oxygen

generators persisted.

After a long half minute, Perry let out a deep breath and turned to the

intercom. "Captain to the bridge," he said. "Good job up there,

men."

Commander Bratt answered, relief and pride in his voice, "Shutting the

flood. Venting negative." The sub began to level. After a moment,

Bratt added, "Lets not do that again."

"Aye to that," Perry agreed. "But let's do a slow circle back around

and inspect the area from a safe distance. I wager that breakaway may

have been triggered by the Deep Eye sonar." He glanced to Amanda,

remembering her concern about the new sonar's vibration signature and

heating effect. "We should get some pictures since we're testing the

darned thing."

Commander Bratt acknowledged and ordered his bridge crew, "Helmsman,

left full rudder. Ahead slow. Take us around."

The submarine eased away from the ice mountain in a slow circle. Perry

crossed to the bank of video monitors. "Can we get a close-up of the

fracture zone?"

One of the technicians nodded. "Yes, sir."

Amanda spoke, her words slightly slurred, her enunciation slipping with

her anxiety. "We should've anticipated such a fracturing."

He patted her hand. "That's why we call this a shakedown cruise. If

you're not shook up a time or two, then you're not doing your job."

James Rollins - Ice hunt

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