Gunn and Giordino soon joined Stenseth on the bridge, studying the ice camp’s Mayday message.

“It is a little early in the season for the ice to be breaking up in a cataclysmic fashion,” Gunn said, rubbing his chin. “Though the moving ice sheet can certainly fracture on short notice. Typically, you would have a little bit of a warning.”

“Perhaps they were surprised by a small fracture that struck a portion of the camp, such as their radio facility or even their power generators,” Stenseth suggested.

“Let’s hope it’s nothing worse than that,” Gunn agreed, gazing at the maelstrom outside. “As long as they have some degree of shelter from the storm, they should be all right for a while.”

“ There is another possibility,” Giordino added quietly. “The ice camp may have been situated too close to the sea. The storm surge could have broken up the leading edge of the ice field, taking the camp apart in the process.”

The other two men nodded grimly, knowing that the odds of survival were severely diminished if that was the case.

“What’s the outlook on the storm?” Gunn asked.

“Another six to eight hours before it abates. We’ll have to wait it out before we can drop a search team on the ice, I’m afraid,” Stenseth replied.

“Sir,” the helmsman interrupted, “we’re seeing large ice in the water.”

Stenseth looked up to see a house-sized iceberg slip past the port bow.

“All engines back a third. What’s our distance to the ice camp?”

“Just under eighteen miles, sir.”

Stenseth stepped over to a large radar screen and adjusted the range to a twenty-m ile diameter. A thin, jagged green line crossed the screen near the top edge, which remained fixed in place. The captain pointed to a spot just below the line, where a concentric ring on the scope indicated a distance of twenty miles.

“Here’s the reported position of the camp,” he said somberly.

“If it wasn’t oceanfront property before, it is now,” Giordino observed.

Gunn squinted at the radarscope, then pointed a finger at a fuzzy dot at the edge of the screen.

“There’s a ship nearby,” he said.

Stenseth took a look, noting that the ship was headed to the southeast. He ordered the radio operator to hail the ship, but they failed to receive a response.

“Maybe an illegal whaler,” the captain suggested. “ The Japanese occasionally slip into the Beaufort to hunt beluga whales.”

“In these seas, they’re probably too busy hanging on to their shorts to pick up the radio,” Giordino said.