"Get below and make sure the generator gets cranked."

"Aye, aye, Captain." Williams disappeared.

Hudson toggled switches, punched a keyboard.

Nothing.

d.a.m.n.

The hull vibrated as it pulverized a chunk of ice. But there was a different feel to it.

Hudson knew his ship well.

The Polar Circle was slowing to a stop.

___.

They'd waited until the icebreaker crunched through the pack ice to a complete stop, dead in the water. Then Jaz and ten commandos in Zodiac H-733's bounced through the lane of black water opened in the wake of the stern. Now she stood up in the inflatable as it maneuvered next to the huge rudder of the stricken icebreaker. She'd changed into an anti-exposure worksuit and Lowa boots. Aiming a T-PLS line gun, she shot a t.i.tanium grappling hook to catch the deck rail above, then climbed the Kevlar line to the aft deck. At the rail, she secured a cable boarding ladder and let it unfurl down to her crew.

Armed men began to climb.

___.

Williams raced into the bridge as Hudson was trying to click on his third flashlight. The batteries were as dead as the rest of the electronics.

"Generators are out, too." The man was out of breath and shivering. He'd had to run up several outdoor companionways instead of taking the bridge elevator. "What the h.e.l.l's going on? People are starting to panic."

In the dark, Hudson shook his head in frustration. No power, no communication, no lights, no heat. Already the cold was beginning to seep into the bridge. "All right. Let's round up everybody, calm them down. Then we can put our heads together and come up with a plan of action."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Willliams turned to head for the hatch, but a beam of light speared him, pinning him in place.

"Hold it right there."

It was a female voice, but rough and husky.

Hudson took a step forward. "Who the h.e.l.l are you?" He strained to let his eyes adjust to the white shaft of light.

More beams flicked on, all stabbing at the two officers. Hudson could make out the woman now, flanked by two hard-looking men in black Arctic survival gear, all pointing a.s.sault rifles in his direction.

The woman spoke again. "You must be the captain." Her tone held a faint note of mockery. She knew she had the upper hand.

Hudson chafed at her arrogance. "I'm Captain Hudson. Who are you and what have you done to my ship?"

Jaz smiled, pulling down her hood. "Nothing much. Just an EMP pulse generator. Your electronics are fried."

Hudson started when he saw the woman's bloated, distorted face, but his eyes flared with anger. "This is a United States Coast Guard vessel. Have you got any idea what you're doing?"

She laughed. "I always know what I'm doing. We needed a ship to sink. No time to buy one. So you're it." She gestured with her rifle. "And now, Mr. Captain Hudson, it's time we go downstairs and hook up with the rest of the crew."

Hudson showed her a defiant scowl. "You really think I'm going to let you sink this ship? I'm not leaving this bridge."

Jaz shrugged. "Okay. Your choice."

She lifted her gun and sprayed Hudson and Williams with bullets. Their bodies. .h.i.t the deck with solid thunks.

She turned to her men. "Okay, boys, let's roll. We've got work to do."

FORTY.

Ostrov Gukera Island THE Antilles G-21G Super Goose skidded across the choppy waters of Tikhaya Bay, its pontoons creaming out twin wakes as April throttled back the turbine engines, gradually applying back elevator pressure. Gliding around in a half-circle, the seaplane rocked to a stop. Fat globules of wind-driven rain smacked against Skarda's window, trickling down in branching streamers. Tatters of gray mist obscured what little they could see of the sh.o.r.e. Peering through the canopy, he could just make out the swaybacked hump of Rubini Rock, its blackish-brown flanks blurred and robbed of their color.

During the flight, Flinders had lapsed into an uncharacteristic silence, withdrawing into herself, and now, in the rear seat, she had grown even more quiet as they approached the island. Skarda glanced over at her, seeing the tight line of her mouth and rigid arc of her spine as she stared out the porthole at the mist-shrouded island. Coming to the place where her parents might have died was a palpable weight on her shoulders. It must have been terribly hard, he reflected, for an intelligent, sensitive girl of twelve to lose them, especially in a frigid, lonely outpost like this, so far from home.

Climbing out of the c.o.c.kpit, he looked up at the sky. High above the island the rain clouds were breaking up, revealing open patches of blue Arctic twilight that at this time of the year preceded the deep polar night, but tatters of heavy mist still scudded across his vision. On the surface of the ocean April had already inflated a Zodiac tender. Skarda put his arms up to help Flinders climb down from the cabin, steadying her against the pitch of the inflatable. Even though the temperature had risen to the low twenties, they were wearing Aramark Arctic survival parkas, six-layer gloves, and waterproof boots. Under her coat April had strapped the knife sheath across her chest and stuck the Glock in her waistband. In her right hand she carried the Steyr AUG.

Running the Zodiac up on a beach strewn with black granite pebbles, they climbed out. A bitter wind had sprung up from the southeast, chopping against the exposed skin of their faces, driving with it scurrying flakes of snow. From this vantage point Skarda could see the curling sweep of the coastline more easily. Ochre-and-rust-colored lichen clung in clumps to the beach rocks, looking like random splashes of flung paint, and as the ground tapered upward, deep patches of snow frosted the landscape, giving way to vertical walls of bare rock that rose up to sharp-edged volcanic escarpments whose summits were sheathed in ice. On Rubini Rock thousands of nesting seabirds wheeled, screaming and squawking.

Candy Man had given them two possible locations where the NASA GPR satellite data showed underground caverns large enough to house a n.a.z.i research station. One lay almost in the center of the island, at the highest elevation of a basaltic cliff; the other b.u.t.ted up to an escarpment at the opposite end, in an area of hard-packed perpetual snow. This, they'd decided, would be their best bet.

Following the curve of the beach, it took them over an hour to reach a snow-hummocked rise, pockmarked with small boulders, that angled downward toward a flat rock-strewn beach. Here hundreds of carca.s.ses of arctic animals had washed up on sh.o.r.e, their gleaming white bones flecked with the sc.r.a.ps of dried flesh not gnawed at by scavengers.

The sight made Skarda's blood boil. He glanced at Flinders. Her face had paled to chalk-white and she looked like she wanted to vomit.

In the lead, April started up the rise, then halted. She turned to Skarda. "Park."

Making his way over the slippery stones, he came up next to her and stared down the slope that led to a valley-like depression and beyond it, a rocky beach. Next to the hump of a crag-like boulder a human skeleton lay half-buried in snow, its arms thrust out in front of it. Beyond it, toward the sea, the demolished remains of a camp lay scattered over rocks and snow. He could see the sharp angular shapes of more skeletons sprawled in grotesquely contorted positions. Some of the bones were broken off, shattered.

Seeing them, Flinders sucked in a sharp breath.

They scrambled down the hill. Stooping beside the first skeleton, April turned her face up to Skarda. "It's a woman," she said. "Back of her head bashed in." She studied the shreds of flesh still clinging to the bones and the tattered remnants of clothing. "Scavengers have gotten to her. But I don't think she's been here all that long."

Getting to her feet, she moved forward. The beach was pockmarked with craters and littered with sh.e.l.l casings. "M72 LAW rockets," she announced, pointing at two khaki-colored tubes lying close to the water. She stooped to pick up a sh.e.l.l casing. "5.56 NATO round from an a.s.sault rifle."

Skarda's gaze was dark as he caught her eye. "Jaz?"

April nodded in a.s.sent. "It looks like this was a scientific research camp. These people didn't have a chance."

Despite the insulating coc.o.o.n of her parka, Flinders shivered ___.

The entrance to the ice cave opened exactly where the NASA GPR readout on Skarda's Stealth said it would. Struggling up a snow-covered slope, where their boots cracked through the surface crust and sank deep, they came upon a plateau-like wall of ice, stretching away on both sides like a low mesa. Into the wall a wedge-shaped section at least twenty feet across cut into the wall like an arrowhead, tapering in thick slabs of hard-packed snow to a ragged round hole about ten feet high.

April scanned the terrain, not liking the setup. Only one way in and one way out. "I'm staying out here."

Skarda nodded. Then, with Flinders at his heels, he stepped through the dark hole into a flat-bottomed corridor where snow had drifted high on the rounded walls and what little exterior light that filtered in now shifted into a spectrum of muted blues and greens. From the ceiling, jagged stalact.i.tes of ice hung down like silver spikes.

The entrance corridor became a downward pa.s.sage, barely wide enough to accommodate his wide shoulders. Beneath his boots, the ice floor was steep and slick. With a concentrated effort, he shook off the dreaded sense of claustrophobia, turning to make sure Flinders was managing the trail. She smiled an "okay". Deeper into the pa.s.sageway the light began to dim, so he switched on his LED. A few steps later the corridor ended abruptly at a doorway carved from the ice.

Skarda stepped through into a square chamber that had been hacked out of the tongue of a centuries-old glacier whose walls bristled with ice crystal formations that looked like they were made out of spun sugar. A firn-layer banding ran along the line of the walls about two-thirds down from the ceiling. Off this main chamber, smaller side rooms had been excavated.

He peered into the nearest room, seeing a jumble of ice picks, aluminum avalanche shovels, and a primus stove. Against one corner two wooden crates had been stacked, their iron hasps rusted. The letters "KM" had been stenciled on their sides.

"It stands for 'Kriegsmarine'," Flinders said behind him. "German navy. U-boats."

"I guess we're on the right track."

With careful steps they followed the line of the wall, their lamps piercing the icy darkness of several more rooms, sweeping across more stacked supply boxes, sleeping bags, and an empty food locker whose metal door hung open on one hinge.

Skarda's light found a larger chamber. He panned around it. "Here it is," he said without emotion. He was staring at a series of metal shelves that ran around the perimeter, constructed with rectangular shallow depressions about four by ten inches.

The dimensions of a four-hundred-ounce ingot bar.

But all the s.p.a.ces were empty.

Then, behind him, Flinders burst out in a sob.

FORTY-ONE.

WHIRLING around, Skarda stabbed his light in the direction of the open doorway to another ice chamber directly across from his position. The beam outlined Flinders. She had dropped to her knees, her torso bent in half, sagging toward the floor. He raced toward her. Stepping inside, he saw her lamp lying on the cold floor, it beam spearing out a cone of light over what looked like a hump of clothing. Her hands hung in the air in front of her, motionless, as if they were useless sticks affixed to her body.

He crouched down beside her. Now he could see what lay sprawled out in front of her: a withered corpse, still bundled in a parka and thick wool pants.

Flinders' shoulders were shaking uncontrollably as sobs wracked her body. Finally she turned her face up to him. Tears rolled down her cheeks. "It's my mother," she said in a voice that was a croak.

Shock hit Skarda like a hammer blow. He sank to his knees, looking at the body. Thankfully, scavenging animals hadn't discovered it. But the eyes were black, hollow slits and the mouth was pulled back in a rictus, exposing teeth that looked like they were clenched in agony. One withered hand clutched a something attached by a chain to her neck.

"Are you sure?" he asked her gently.

Still sobbing, Flinders pulled off her glove and opened her mother's hand. Inside the palm a silver object caught the light "It's a charm I gave her before they left," she said. "She had it made into a necklace."

Skarda snapped around at the sound of pounding footsteps. Seconds later April burst into the room, the Glock steady in her right hand. She'd heard Flinders' sobs. With a quick appraisal she took in the scene.

He got to his feet and pulled her aside. "It's her mother," he told her in a whisper.

An expression of deep sorrow showed in April's eyes and was gone. Right now emotions were a luxury. "Bars?"

He shook his head. "Cleaned out."

Flinders looked up at them. "My father! He must be here, too! Where is he?"

"Stay here," Skarda said. "I'll look for him."

He disappeared and April dropped to her knees. "I'm truly sorry," she said. Then she laid her hand on her shoulder. "I'm getting a bad feeling. We should go. But I promise you, when this is all over, we'll come back here and give your mother a proper burial."

For several heartbeats Flinders' stare was bleak and desolate, tears trickling down her cheeks. Then her eyes closed and she nodded. "Thank you."

Then, with another sob, she threw her arms around her mother.

Skarda raced back inside. Flinders looked at him, her throat tightening.

He shook his head. "Nothing."

Again her eyes closed. A tremor shook her body. April bent over and helped her to her feet. "We have to go."

Guiding Flinders toward the door, she caught Skarda's eye, then unzipped the top of her parka and pulled the material away from her throat. Her eyes flicked at the body.

When the women had moved beyond the doorway, he hunkered down and bent over the corpse. April's keen eyes had seen something that he'd missed. Pulling away the top of the dead woman's parka, he drew back in surprise.

A ragged hole gaped in the dried flesh just next to the sternum.

A hole that only could have been made by a bullet.

She'd been shot.

___.

They'd almost made it to the corridor shaft when Jaz stepped out of the first ice room, pinning them in place with the snout of her G36. Behind her two men took positions, leveling their rifles. In the darkened pa.s.sageway, the green shafts of their laser sights glowed like neon.

Her mouth split open in a huge grin. "I figured you'd show up here sooner or later." Her voice had dropped to a lower-pitched ba.s.s and the planes of her face had altered dramatically, the coa.r.s.e skin now puffy with retained water and spotted with bulbous acne pustules.

April's black eyes bored into her.

Jaz motioned to the nearest commando. "Her first," she ordered, indicating April. Then she aimed her rifle at Flinders. To April and Skarda she said casually, "No tricks, or cutie here will get it."

April exchanged a lightning-fast glance with Skarda, letting her shoulders droop. It was the signal to go along with Jaz for the time being. The commando approached her, spinning her around and grabbing her wrists. There was a sharp click of metal as he snapped on a pair of handcuffs. Then he yanked a roll of duct tape from his pack and wound several lengths around her lower legs and shins. He repeated the handcuffs with Skarda, but not the tape.

Bulling forward, Jaz spun Flinders around herself, manacling her with brutal force.

Flinders cried out in sudden pain. A tremor of pleasure rippled over Jaz's face. "Like that, honey?"

Skarda's face twisted. "Get your hands off her," he snarled. But before he could lunge forward, Jaz lashed out with the b.u.t.t of her rifle, hammering it against the meat of his shoulder.

He staggered back, slamming against the ice wall. But he thrust his boots apart, anchoring himself to the ice, refusing to fall.

Flinders shrieked.