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Back Beneath the Dark Ice
Chapters (42)
  1. BENEATH THE DARK ICE
  2. Table of Contents
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. Acknowledgements
  6. Prologue
  7. One
  8. Two
  9. Three
  10. Four
  11. Five
  12. Six
  13. Seven
  14. Eight
  15. Nine
  16. Ten
  17. Eleven
  18. Twelve
  19. Thirteen
  20. Fourteen
  21. Fifteen
  22. Sixteen
  23. Seventeen
  24. Eighteen
  25. Nineteen
  26. Twenty
  27. Twenty-one
  28. Twenty-two
  29. Twenty-three
  30. Twenty-four
  31. Twenty-five
  32. Twenty-six
  33. Twenty-seven
  34. Twenty-eight
  35. Twenty-nine
  36. Thirty
  37. Thirty-one
  38. Thirty-two
  39. Epilogue
  40. One
  41. Two
  42. Three

John Johnson laughed quietly. “Hey, witches I can handle, I’ve been married, remember.” He trotted off into the dark to take point.

On the Antarctic surface, one hundred feet from the hole, the snow moved. Three white-clad bodies burst from their concealment and sprinted to the rim of the crater. They landed flat at the edge of the pit and the largest man thrust forward a tube covered in white cloth that he held up to his eye. Borshov used the hand-held surveillance scope to see over the edge without casting a head-shaped shadow. He adjusted the magnification and peered down.

Borshov and his men had also been travelling for two days without stop. First in supersonic jumps across the Middle East, Libya and Nigeria, crossing the Atlantic and then on to scream down the coast of Argentina. The Russian Sukhoi S21 was carbonyl ferrite coated and had achieved speeds of mach-one without showing once on any watching radar. The Krofskoya agents transferred at Ushuaia on the Argentinean horn to a waiting Kamkov helicopter. Its 1,300-horsepower Rybinsk powerplant pushed it through the freezing air at 220 miles per hour. The young pilot, just skimming the waves, had turned to Borshov and complained that he was pushing the limits of the sleek helicopter’s range when the giant Russian had walked to the cockpit and lifted the young man’s communication headpiece. He whispered something into his ear before retaking his seat—the young pilot didn’t complain anymore; he didn’t even turn to look when he unloaded them onto the snow.

From his scope, Borshov saw that the Americans had set up camp at the base of the south wall and were just setting off down into the southern tunnel. He also detected one man was being left behind to anchor the base camp; by his size and the way he moved it seemed he was no scientist. If they were with Alex Hunter then they must be at least SEALs, or worse, HAWCs. This man had to be neutralised before they could proceed.

Borshov knew that the helicopter would wait for them at the abandoned Russian research base at Leningradskaya. He didn’t care; all that mattered now was Alex Hunter and the mission. Nothing would be recognisable when he left. He’d give the Americans a few minutes to get farther into the tunnels and then commence his operation.

The creature could sense more of the little warm bloods slowly approaching and had tasted them again recently. They were small but once again there were enough of them to nourish it. It was the largest of its kind and had seen many millennia in its warm, deep sea below the ice. The little animals could be mimicked easily but their sounds were still too complex to copy. It reached forward to taste them once more.

Nine