until the slack was taken up.  Then he revved the engine, the metal

spikes of the treads dug in, and the little snowmobile strained forward.

for a few seconds nothing seemed to happen.  There was only the growl of

the exhaust and the crunching noise of the treads as they chiseled their

way into the ice.

After an anxious wait, a new sound broke the cold-an unearthly

screeching of protesting metal, and then the lower edge of the cabin

door raised out of the water.  The cables were unhooked and the entire

rescue crew crouched down, set their shoulders against the door and

heaved upward until it creaked almost to a full open position.

The inside of the plane was dark and ominous.

Pitt leaned across the narrow stretch of open water and stared into the

unknown, his stomach churning with morbid curiosity.  His figure threw a

shadow over the water in the aisle of the main cabin, and at first he

saw nothing but the gleam from the walls of the galley.

It was strangely quiet and there was no sign of human remains.

Pitt hesitated and looked back.  Doc Gale and his medical team were

standing behind him, staring in grim anticipation, while Simon's men

were unreeling cable from the power unit to light the plane's interior.

"Going in," Pitt said.

He jumped across the opening into the plane.  He landed on the deck in

water that splashed over his knees.  His legs felt like they had been

suddenly stabbed by a thousand needles. He waded around the bulkhead and

into the aisle separating the seats of the passenger cabin.  The eerie

silence was unnerving; the only sound came from the sloshing of his

movement.

Then he froze in shock, his worst fears unfolding like the petals of a

poisonous flower.

Pitt found himself exchanging blank looks with a sea of ghostly white

faces.  None moved, none blinked, none spoke. They just sat strapped in

their seats and stared at him with the sightless expression of the dead.

A chill colder than the freezing air spread over the back of Pitts neck.

The light from outside filtered through the windows, casting eerie

shadows on the walls.  He looked from seat to seat as if expecting one

of the passengers to wave a greeting or say something, but they sat as

still as mummies in a tomb.

He leaned over a man with slicked-back red-blond hair precisely parted

down the middle of the skull, who sat in an aisle seat.  There was no

expression of agony on the face.  The eyes were half open as if they

were about to close in sleep, the lips met natumfly, the jaw slightly

loose.

Pitt lifted a limp hand and placed his fingertips just below the base of

the thumb and pressed against the artery running beneath the skin on the

inner side of the wrist.  His touch felt no pulsations-the heart had

stopped.