She was on the ground, leaning back against the rock. I shone the light in her face and saw open eye slits behind the goggles. I shook her, feeling the stiffness of rigor mortis.

There was no telling how long she had been dead, but from the tracks in the snow it appeared as if she had been dragged.

A flashlight beam danced on my jacket, beckoning me to the sub.

I hurried over as the cockpit dome popped open.

Ben looked up from the center seat. “Where the hell have you been?”

He was ghostly pale, his eyes wild from loss of blood. His lap was covered in it, the wound gurgling beneath the jumpsuit’s torn left pant leg where he had attempted to tie a tourniquet.

“What happened?”

“I set my device, then waited for you where we left Ming. When you didn’t show, I headed down the slope. I heard this growling, only I couldn’t see anything because of the fog. So I started running. Something chased after me. It knocked me down from behind. The snow was deep, and that saved me. As it rolled over to come after me again, I swung the climbing axe with both hands and split open its skull.

“It wasn’t until I left the fog behind that I realized the bastard had bitten me on the leg. Must have gotten my femoral artery. Tried to make a tourniquet, but all I had were shoelaces. Can you find something?”

I pulled off my scarf. Trying my best to be gentle, I worked the length of wool beneath Ben’s leg as he moaned, his eyes rolling up as he passed out.

I tied a knot and then searched the sub for something resembling a stick. Finding Ben’s backpack, I opened it—

—and found the sensory device, still in its lead case.

“Lying bastard.”

Discarding the plutonium device, I slid the narrow length of lead between the wound and scarf and twisted it tight, eliciting a grunt from my patient. Locating his scarf among a pile of discarded clothes in Ming’s seat, I secured the tourniquet in place.

I glanced back at Ming’s remains. Taking her body back with us was a sentimental gesture, but served no purpose. The sub would be lighter without her.

Moving to the bow, I pushed the Barracuda backward down the shoreline and into the icy waters, and I climbed inside the cockpit. I sealed the dome and attempted to start the engine.

Nothing happened.

It must still be on remote pilot.

The radio crackled. “Vostok Mobile Command to Barracuda, Colonel Vacendak here. Report, gentlemen.”

“Wallace here. Captain Hintzmann’s been seriously wounded, and Dr. Liao has died of hypothermia. I’m suffering from exhaustion and mild hypothermia. Start the engine so I can crank up the heat.”

The sub powered on, sending a rush of cold air pouring out of my vent.