Dead Ice

THIRTY TWO

The Super Huey had already set down on the ice outside the compound when Maddock emerged from the building. As he ran toward it he could see that Leopov, Bones and the prisoner were already on board. The rotor blades continued to turn. Head down, he ran toward it.

“Where are Willis and Professor?” he asked, climbing aboard. He had to shout to be heard against the noise of the engine.

“They should be here any minute,” Bones said. “They’re just taking care of business,” but the way he said it made the word sound more like bidness.

“They’ve got sixty seconds and we’re out of here,” said the pilot. “We’ve just had intel that the Russkies have scrambled a couple of MIGs and they’re inbound. We are not sticking around for that. We need to be back out over international waters before they get here. As much as I love you guys, I’m not being held responsible for world war three.”

“Roger that.”

“There they are!” Leopov shouted, pointing at the two men as they rushed toward them. They ran as if the hounds of hell were at their backs.

“Go, go, go,” Willis shouted, launching himself into the cabin. Professor was two steps behind him, and inside the chopper just as the runners left the ground. The wind from the rotors was fierce. The reason for their haste became obvious as they rose into the air. The main building was rocked by first one explosion then another. The backdraft engulfed the helicopter, sending it lurching through the sky as a gout of flame rose into the air. Another blast of air almost sent the chopper completely out of control. The pilot clung onto the joystick with both hands, fighting to keep the bird in the sky.

For a moment it felt as if he was fighting a losing battle as the ice reared up in the windows, showing them once again the bodies sprawled out across it, but he managed to keep it under control, barely.

The aircraft banked and turned.

Maddock could see the whole place was in flames.

In a matter of minutes what had been the Russian gulag would be consumed, leaving no trace of its evil past.

The chopper flew low, skimming the thermals close to the ice, churning up a snow storm as it headed back toward the ice floe and the waiting ship.

They saw the MIGs pass overhead. Only a few minutes after, they stood on the deck and watched as the missiles streaked down toward the ice, making absolutely sure that their secret was kept from the rest of the world.

It was closer than anyone would have liked.

His knew that his own government would never acknowledge their presence on the island, and there would be no funeral for the lost Echo II submariners, and no mention of the man they had liberated from his island prison or the biological terror he had created.

They might not be going home with Pandora’s Egg, but they were bringing back the next best thing, the man who had made the contagion it contained. As far as he was concerned that meant the job was done.

His lone regret was that they had not all made it off the island.