Scarecrow Returns

ARCTIC ICE FIELD

4 APRIL, 0840 HOURS 2 HOURS

20 MINUTES TO DEADLINE

KILLER WHALES and extreme cold are two things that the Arctic and the Antarctic have in common, but in many other respects they are actually quite different.

While Antarctica is a vast landmass covered in snow and ice, the Arctic is simply a giant frozen sea. Even the North Pole itself is situated on floating ice. In 1953 a submarine called the USS Nautilus sailed under the Pole; six years later, the USS Skate surfaced at the Pole, bursting up through the ice itself.

Around March every year, as the sun rises for the first time in months, the sea ice begins to melt, creating long cracks called “leads.” As the region warms, these leads get wider and wider, forming a labyrinthine network of canals and alleyways in the sea ice, some a few feet deep, others over thirty feet deep. Polar bears hunt in leads because seals and small whales surface in them to breathe.

The leads were also useful for an insertion team, as any land-based radar system could only scan the surface of the sea ice: anything down in the sunken network of leads would not be detectable to such devices. The leads could really only be monitored by human eyes looking down from a surveillance aircraft, and as Scarecrow’s little assault boats raced down a major lead to the site of the crashed Beriev, no such aircraft could be seen.

At 8:40 A.M., Schofield’s boats came to a small pancake-shaped ice floe floating out in the middle of their lead.

A large white shape lay slumped on it, unmoving.

“What is that . . . ?” Mother said over the radio.

Schofield slowed his boat, bringing it in close to the little ice floe. The white shape became clearer.

“It’s a polar bear,” he said.

“Great, now we can test that stupid bear repellent,” Mother said. “Hey Kid, go on. Go over and pat the nice widdle bear.”

“Not this time, Mother,” Schofield said as his boat came further around the ice floe and he saw the other side of the unmoving bear. “This bear’s deader than disco.”

It certainly was.

The bear’s throat was ripped open, its belly a grisly mess of blood, flesh and sprawling intestines. This polar bear had practically been disemboweled.

Zack grimaced. “Eugh. Nasty.”

The Kid said, “Jesus . . . the thing’s been gutted.”

“But not eaten,” Schofield observed. “That’s not right.”

Emma said, “No, it’s not right at all. The polar bear is an apex predator. The only other animal in these parts that could do something like this is another polar bear. You’re correct: another bear might attack a fellow bear out of starvation or for territorial reasons, but it would almost always eat its fallen rival. Polar bears are the most dangerous bear in the world primarily because they are opportunists; they’ll eat anything they can find, including humans and other bears. But this bear has been slaughtered and then abandoned. Polar bears just don’t do that.”

“Are there any gunshot wounds?” Mother asked.

“Not that I can see.” Schofield stared at the dead bear for a long moment. It was absolutely huge, and its snow-white coat was matted with blood. Who or what could have done this?

It didn’t escape his notice that they were now only about thirty miles from Dragon Island.

“Come on,” he said, turning away. “We’ve got a plane to find.”

He gunned the engine and his sleek assault boat powered away from the remains of the dead polar bear.