THE DE HAVILLAND OTTER TOUCHED DOWN harshly on the flat ice runway, then taxied to a small block building with TUKTOYAKTUK painted in faded lettering on it. As the plane’s twin propellers ground to a halt, an airport worker in a thick orange jumpsuit jogged up and opened the side door, letting a blast of frigid air into the interior. Pitt waited at the back of the plane as the other passengers, mostly oil company employees, donned heavy jackets before exiting down the stairs. Eventually making his way off the plane, he was welcomed by a numbing gust that knocked the temperature several degrees below zero on the windchill factor.

Hustling toward the small terminal, he was nearly sideswiped by a rusty pickup truck that had crossed the runway and rattled to a stop in front of the door. A squat man hopped out, covered from head to foot in multiple layers of cold-weather gear. The bulky clothing gave him the effect of a giant walking pincushion.

“Would that be King Tut’s mummy or my Director of Underwater Technology buried under there?” Pitt asked as the man blocked his path.

The man yanked a scarf away from his jaw, revealing the staunch face of Al Giordino.

“It is I, your tropics-loving Director of Technology,” he replied. “Hop into my heated chariot before we both turn into Popsicles.”

Pitt grabbed his luggage off a cart headed toward the terminal and threw it into the open truck bed. Inside the terminal, a plain-looking woman with short hair stood by the window staring out at the two men. As they climbed into the truck, she walked to a pay phone in the terminal and promptly made a collect call to Vancouver.

Giordino shoved the truck into gear, then held his gloved hands in front of the heater vent as he stepped on the gas.

“The ship’s crew took a vote,” he said. “You owe us a cold-weather pay bonus plus a week’s vacation in Bora-Bora at the end of this job.”

“I don’t understand.” Pitt smiled. “The long summer days in the Arctic are renowned for their balmy weather.”

“It ain’t summer yet. The high was twelve degrees yesterday, and there’s another cold front moving our way. Which reminds me, did Rudi escape our winter wonder-land successfully?”

“Yes. We missed each other in transit, but he phoned to tell me he was warmly ensconced back at NUMA headquarters.”

“He’s probably sipping mai tais along the banks of the Potomac this very moment just to spite me.”

The airfield was adjacent to the small town, and Giordino had only a few blocks to drive until reaching the waterfront docks. Located on the barren coast of the Northwest Territories, Tuktoyaktuk was a tiny Inuvialuit settlement that had grown into a small hub for regional oil and gas exploration.