"Damn the compassion, full steam ahead," Pitt said coldly. "This isn't

war, Captain. We're talking about a mission of mercy. I wouldn't want

it on my conscience if a hundred people died because I failed to act.

The Navy can well afford the time it takes to investigate."

Knight tilted his head toward the empty chart room, closing the door

after Pitt and Giordino entered. "We have our own mission to consider,"

he persisted calmly. "We Turn off course now and the Russians will

suspect we found their sub and home in on this area."

"Solid point," Pitt acknowledged. "But you can still send Giordino and

me into the game."

"I'm listening."

"We use our NUMA helicopter on the aft deck and you supply your medical

people and a couple of strong bodies. We'll chase the aircraft while the

Polar Explorer keeps running search lanes."

"And Russian surveillance? What will their intelligence analysts make

of it?"

"At first they won't see it as a coincidence. They're already probably

trying to paint a connection. But if, God forbid, the plane crashes,

and proves out to be a commercial airliner, then at least you'll have a

legitimate reason for turning off course to launch a rescue mission.

Afterward we resume our search pattern, fake out the Russians and gamble

on turning a disaster into a windfall."

"And your helicopter flight, they'll monitor your every move."

"Al and I will use open communications and keep a running dialogue of

our search for the downed mystery plane. That should pacify their

suspicions."

Knight's eyes turned downward, staring at something beyond the deck.

Then he sighed and raised his head to look at Pitt.

"We're wasting time. Get your bird untied and warmed up. I'll see to

the medical personnel and a team of volunteers."

Rubin made no attempt to circle the Polar Explorer because of the almost

nonexistent altitude and his sad lack of flying talent. There was every

chance he would stall the plane and send it cart-wheeling into the

rising swells.

The mere sight of the ship had ignited a small glimmer of hope in the

cockpit. Now they had been sighted and rescuers would know where to

look for survivors. A small comfort, but better than none at all.

The black sea abruptly turned to solid pack ice and, magmfied by

starlight, whirled crazily beneath the windshield. Rubin almost felt as

if he were sledding through it. With the final impact only minutes

away, it finally occurred to him to order Ybarra to Turn on the landing

lights.

The Mexican feverishly scanned the instrument panel, found the marked

switches and flicked them to "ON." A startled polar bear was caught in

the sudden glare before he vanished beneath and behind the aircraft.

They were hurtling over a dead, frozen plain,

"Mother of Jesus," murmured Ybarra. "I see hills on our right. We've

crossed overland."

Luck's pendulum had finally swung in Rubin's favor. Ybarra's hills were

a desolate range of mountains that swept above the jagged Greenland