“Atmospherics are playing havoc with our radio signals again,” he said to Bue. “Satellite reception is nil, and our ground transmitter is little better.”

“I’m sure the approaching storm isn’t helping matters any,” Bue replied. “Does Tuktoyaktuk even know that we are trying to hail them?”

Case shook his head. “Can’t tell for sure, but I’ve detected no callbacks.”

The sound of the track loader shoving a load of ice just outside the structure echoed off the thin walls.

“You keeping the field clean just in case?” he asked Bue.

“ Tuktoyaktuk has us scheduled for a supply drop later today. They may not know that we’ll be in the middle of a gale-force blizzard in about an hour. Keep trying, Scott. See if you can wave off the flight for today, for the safety of the pilots.”

Before Case could transmit again, the radio suddenly cackled. An authoritative voice backed by static interference blared through the speaker.

“Ice Research Lab 7, Ice Research Lab 7, this is NUMA research vessel Narwhal. Do you read, over?”

Bue beat Case to the transmitter and replied quickly. “Narwhal, this is Dr. Kevin Bue of Ice Research Lab 7. Go ahead, please.”

“Dr. Bue, we’re not trying to eavesdrop, but we’ve heard your repeated calls to the Coast Guard station at Tuktoyaktuk, and we’ve picked up a few unanswered calls back from Tuktoyaktuk. It sounds like the weather is keeping you two from connecting. Can we assist in relaying a message for you?”

“We’d be most grateful.” Bue had the American ship forward a message to Tuktoyaktuk to delay sending the supply plane for twenty-four hours on account of the poor weather. A few minutes later, the Narwhal radioed a confirmation back from Tuktoyaktuk.

“Our sincere thanks,” Bue radioed. “That will save some poor flyboy a rough trip.”

“Don’t mention it. Where’s your camp located, by the way?”

Bue transmitted the latest position of the floating camp, and the vessel responded in kind.

“Are you boys in good shape to ride out the approaching storm? Looks to be a mean one,” the Narwhal radioed.

“We’ve managed everything the Good Witch of the North has thrown at us so far, but thanks all the same,” Bue replied.

“Farewell, Ice Lab 7. Narwhal out.”

Bue set down the transmitter with a look of relief.

“Who says the Americans don’t belong in the Arctic after all?” he said to Case, then slipped on his parka and left the building.

THIRTY-FIVE MILES TO the southwest, Captain Bill Stenseth examined a local meteorological forecast with studious concern. An imposing man with Scandinavian features and the build of an NFL linebacker, Stenseth had weathered storms in every ocean of the world. Yet facing a sudden blow in the ice-studded Arctic still made the veteran captain of the Narwhal nervous.