Peering out of their meager cave, Bue could see a watery passage expanding between their shelter and the unbroken ice sheet. They were part of a separate ice flo e now, drifting slowly into the Beaufort Sea. Every few minutes, the scientist would hear a deep thunderous crack as their floating ice shelf ruptured into smaller and smaller pieces. Propelled into the storm-driven waters, he knew it would be only a matter of time before their own frozen refuge would be battered to bits and all three men tossed into the sea.

With no one else even aware of their predicament, they had no hope for survival. Shivering in the frightful cold, Bue contemplated the merciless gray ship that had decimated the camp so unexpectedly and without reason. Try as it might, his frozen mind could make no sense of the brutal act. Shaking his head to clear away the marauding vessel’s ghostlike image, he peered at his comrades with sad compassion, then quietly awaited death to visit them all.

Chapter 27

27

THE RADIO CALL HAD ARRIVED FAINTLY AND IN A single transmission. Repeated efforts by the Narwhal ’s radio operator to verify the message were met with complete silence.

Captain Stenseth read the hand-scribbled message transcribed by his radioman, shook his head, and then read the message once more.

“Mayday, Mayday. This is Ice Lab 7. The camp is breaking up . . .” he recited aloud. “That’s all you got?” he asked, his eyes glaring.

The radioman nodded silently. Stenseth turned and stepped to the helmsman.

“All ahead flank speed,” he barked. “Come left, steer course zero-one-fi ve.” He turned to the executive officer. “I want a plot to the ice lab’s reported position. And call three additional lookouts to the bridge.”

In an instant, he was towering over the radio operator’s shoulder.

“Notify the regional U.S. and Canadian Coast Guards of the distress call and tell them that we are responding. Alert any local traffic, if there is any. Then get Gunn and Giordino to the bridge.”

“Sir, the nearest Coast Guard station is Canadian, at Tuktoyaktuk. That’s over two hundred miles away.”

Stenseth gazed at the blowing snow buffeting the bridge’s windscreens, his mind conjuring an image of the ice camp inhabitants. Softening his tone, he replied quietly, “Then I guess that means their only saving angel is wearing turquoise wings.”

The Narwhal was rated at twenty-three knots, but even running fla t out the research ship could barely muster a dozen knots lunging through the storm-whipped seas. The storm had reached its peak, with winds gusting over seventy miles per hour. The sea was a violent turmoil of thirty-foot waves that pitched and rolled the ship like it was made of cork. The helmsman nervously monitored the ship’s autopilot, waiting for the mechanism to go tilt from the constant course corrections necessary to keep the vessel on a fixed northeast heading.