Cold Sanctuary (John Decker Series Book 2) (3 page)

2

The Arctic Maiden lurched like a drunken sailor as it rode the large swells of Baldwin Bay, Alaska, the freezing waters rushing up the sides of the boat with each tilt, threatening to swamp the deck.

John Decker sheltered within the cramped vessel’s three-walled cabin, watching the coast grow steadily larger through the spray streaked front window as they inched forward. He took a deep breath to hold back the nausea that threatened to empty his stomach of the breakfast he ate in Anchorage before boarding the boat. The eggs and bacon had seemed like a good idea at the time, but he soon come to regret them. His travel companion in the small vessel, a thin, rakish man who wore spectacles and a dark green parka, huddled on the opposite side of the cabin, as silent now as he had been at the dock when the two boarded the boat. If the lurching ocean was affecting him, he didn’t show it, except to keep his lips pursed tight and stare off into the distance. That was fine with Decker. He wasn’t in the mood for small talk anyway.

“If the weather gets much worse we’ll have to turn back,” said the burly skipper, who had identified himself only as Seth, without looking around. He fought to keep the boat on course. His large, calloused hands gripped the wheel with such force that Decker wondered if he would snap it in two.

“I thought you said this was a routine trip,” Decker replied.

“It is,” Seth said. “Most of the time. Damn squall came in fast. Weather service said it wouldn’t arrive for another six hours.”

“Great.” Decker grimaced. It was bad enough he had just endured a sixteen-hour journey, first traveling from New Orleans to Los Angeles, then on to Seattle, and then finally a three hour flight to Anchorage. After that he’d checked into a hotel for what remained of the night and slept until a few hours before his noon appointment at the docks with Seth. He felt irritable and exhausted, and there was a nagging pain at the base of his spine from too many hours sitting in the same position. “I really don’t want to turn back. I’ve come so far already.”

“I’ll do my best,” Seth mumbled in a gruff Pacific Northwestern accent. “But if the waves are too high when we reach the dock, that’s it. I’m not having my boat reduced to matchwood on your account.”

“Thanks.” Decker wasn’t sure if the skipper was being helpful or obtuse.

“Don’t mention it.” Seth shot him a glance, then returned his gaze frontward. “What are you doing all the way up here anyway? That’s a Southern accent you’re sporting there if I’m not mistaken. Georgia? Alabama?”

“Louisiana. I grew up outside New Orleans.”

“Big Easy, eh?” The skipper wiped a hand on his orange offshore jacket. “Never been outside Alaska myself, but I had a cousin went down there a few years back. He didn’t care for it. Not one little bit. Said it was too hot and muggy. Thought the whole place smelled like a toilet.”

“Sorry about that,” Decker said, wishing the boat trip would end and he could step foot on dry, stable land once more. He gulped, hoping the action would relieve his discomfort, and leaned against the cabin’s wall.

“His words, not mine.”

“It’s fine.” Decker wiped his forehead with the palm of his hand and closed his eyes for a moment. It made things worse so he opened them again.

“You’re looking a little green around the gills there, buddy.” Seth looked nervous. “You’re not going to up chuck all over my deck are you?”

“I’m doing my best to avoid that outcome.” Decker looked through the front window and was pleased to see that they were nearing the dock. In another few moments he would be on terra firma, and then he could get some relief from the churnings in his stomach. “How do you do this every day?”

“I’ve been around boats since I was in diapers.” The skipper chuckled. “Piloted my first tug at fifteen. The chop doesn’t bother me none.”

“You’re lucky.” Decker reached out and gripped the rail.

“Luck has nothing to do with it.” Seth spun the wheel to the left, turning the boat toward the dock. “Just takes time to get your sea legs, that’s all.”

“I don’t think I have any sea legs.” Decker felt his stomach lurch as the boat rode a particularly large swell. He doubted he would ever get used to this. “My legs are definitely happier on land.”

“You’re doing okay.” Seth pulled the throttle and slowed the boat. “I remember one guy, spent the whole trip with his head over the side, heaving. I tell you, I thought he was about to go and die on me, he looked so ill. Weren’t near as bad as it is today either.”

“Lucky me.” They were coming alongside the dock now. Decker noticed a figure in a thick raincoat waiting there. He could tell it was a woman despite the hood that was pulled up over her head, obscuring her features. Apparently he had a welcoming committee.

“Here you are then.” Seth turned to him. “This is where you boys get off.”

“Right.” Decker reached down and grabbed his travel bag, which was sitting like an island in a pool of brackish water. He was thankful that the bag was waterproof, or his clothes might have been ruined, and he doubted there was a mall close by.

“Son?” The skipper raised an eyebrow. “Are you going or not, because I don’t know how long I can hold us steady like this.”

“Sorry.” Decker reached up and took hold of the dock, heaving himself from the boat with less grace that he would have liked. Just as he stepped up, the vessel bobbed sideways, threatening to deposit him into the swirling, freezing waters, but somehow he managed to keep his balance. The woman on the dock held her hand out. Decker took it and allowed her to pull him up, grateful to exit the boat.

He turned around and offered his hand to the spectacle-clad stranger, helping him out of the swaying boat. No sooner had the man’s feet touched the dock than he pushed past Decker, mumbling an apology as he did so, and hurried toward a black pickup idling on the quay.

“Nice guy.” Decker watched his travel companion climb into the passenger seat of the truck without a backward glance and slam the door.

“Indeed.” The woman smiled, the wind whipping at her hood. “John Decker, I presume?”

“The one and only.” Decker watched the boat pull away, a little concerned that his only escape from this barren plot of land at the end of the earth was chugging into the distance.

“I’m Hayley Marsh.” The woman introduced herself. “The town administrator.”

“Town?” Decker glanced around. All he could see were two tall buildings that looked like dilapidated office blocks and a smattering of boat sheds and workshops clustered near the water. Further away, on the other side of the bay, were two more docks, these much larger than the one he now stood on and made of concrete instead of wood. Beyond that was a marina, with several boats docked within the shelter of a sea wall that stretched out around the berths like a protective arm, and a smattering of low buildings that were nothing more than a scattering of restaurants and shops, and what looked like a motel. “Where does everyone live? I don’t see any houses.”

“Right there.” Hayley pointed toward the nearest tower.

“That’s the town?” Decker said, surprised. “It looks like an office building.”

“I can assure you, it’s much more than that.” Hayley steered him along the dock. “Ten floors of apartments, one hundred and twenty in total. The first, second and fourteenth floors are commercial. We have a grocery store, a movie theatre, even a health spa. We have a school on the third floor. There are a few restaurants and a bar near the docks, but we’re mostly self contained.”

“Must be convenient. Everything under one roof.”

“Exactly. But why don’t you come and see for yourself?” She motioned for him to follow and set off along the dock. “Follow me.”

Decker fell in behind her, taking in the scene as he walked. When the wind dropped enough to speak again he pointed at the second tower block, which looked bleak and empty. “What’s the deal with the other building?”

“We don’t use the north tower,” Hayley said over her shoulder, raising her voice so that he could hear her. Even then he needed to strain to hear. “This whole place used to be a Navy base, at least until the late seventies when the military pulled out. Our building was used as personnel quarters, while the other one was administrative. We looked at using it for housing several years ago, but it would cost too much to convert it for our needs. Lots of asbestos and stuff.”

“I see. What about the docks?” Decker pointed to the twin concrete arms that stretched into the bay.

“At one time there would have been military vessels, destroyers and escorts moored there. Now the cruise lines use them. We have six different ships that stop here at various times during the summer months. If it weren’t for the tourists who come ashore to take tours of the glacier, this town would be long gone. Half the residents make their money off the cruise ships.”

Hayley pointed to a large expanse of blue-white ice nestled in a ridge between two mountains. The river of ice weaved down to the ocean, where it ended in a breathtaking wall of white. All along the coastline of Baldwin Bay there would be many other such tidal glaciers carving their way toward the sea, but only this one had a town in its shadow. The twin peaks, and the great sheet of compacted snow they bordered, loomed over the two tall buildings that made up the majority of the town of Shackleton, dwarfing them.

“Must be a lonely existence,” Decker said as they reached the end of the dock, his eyes still fixed upon the spectacle of ice and the insignificant town below.

“Not really.” Hayley stopped at a battered red truck and unlocked it. “You get used to it. Most of the residents value the solitude. They find it cathartic.”

“Each to their own,” Decker said, pulling the door open and sliding into the passenger seat, happy to be out of the howling gale and unrelenting icy drizzle.

“Okay.” Hayley glanced toward him, starting the engine as she did so. “Let’s get you someplace warm.”

                            3

The black truck moved slowly through the town of Shackleton, sticking exactly to the fifteen mile an hour speed limit. In the passenger seat Dominic Collins warmed his hands against the dash vent, the hot air finally bringing some feeling back to his numb fingers. The boat ride from Anchorage had been brutal, and a few times he feared he might lose the contents of his stomach. Still, at least he didn’t look as bad as the other passenger, who actually appeared to turn a shade of green.

He glanced through the rain-streaked window at the bleak, mundane town beyond and sighed. He hated field assignments, loathed them, in fact, and if it weren’t for the insane amount of money he was paid for such work, he would not even consider them. Still, he couldn't complain. Many of his peers, men and women whom he went to college with and studied alongside, were not making anywhere near the kind of dough he was pulling in. He was lucky to be recruited straight out of MIT, targeted for his particular skill set, and also because he matched the behavioral profile his employer required. He was a loner, with few friends and no family to speak of. Everything he achieved was with the sweat of his brow. There was no silver spoon, no old money trust fund to bankroll his path through higher education. He earned his degree with a partial scholarship and a handful of part time jobs. After that, when the money ran out, he sold his soul to the devil, or at least the organization that he now worked for, and allowed them to fund his master's degree on the condition that he come to work for them right out of school; nothing was ever really free. He also agreed to keep his mouth shut about the sometimes-dubious activities of his employer. He even let them erase his identity, and remove him from circulation, so to speak. He had no credit cards, no mortgage, and no car payment. He travelled under assumed names and used assumed lines of credit. Wherever he went, he left little to no paper trail. Just like everyone else in the organization, he was a ghost.

He removed his spectacles and pulled a napkin from his pocket, wiping the lenses to remove the thin sheen of moisture that had beaded there during the boat trip. As the truck moved past the squat, low buildings that clustered near the docks, he spoke for the first time in hours.

“So what’s the deal here, are we looking at a contagion situation?”

“No. There is no contagion.” The driver of the truck, a burly man with short-cropped black hair and a square jaw, named Adam Hunt, glanced over at him with cold, emotionless eyes. “This situation is a little more unique than you might be used to.”

“So what then?” Dominic hated the compartmentalized structure of his job. There was a strict
need to know
policy that trickled down from the highest ranks to the lowliest operatives, and briefings were always, without exception, carried out on site. That way if anything went south, if an asset were to fall into the wrong hands – and there were plenty of those – there could be no damage done. Even under torture you couldn't talk about things you didn’t have any knowledge of.               “Biohazard?”

“Not that either.” Hunt was tight lipped. “It’s rather more complicated.”

“You could be a wee bit more informative,” Dominic said, doing his best to keep the frustration out of his voice. His curiosity was piqued. If it wasn’t a contagion or a biohazard, then he was not sure what use he would be, being that his specialization was in infectious diseases. Sometimes he wondered if he would have been better suited to a job with a more transparent outfit such as the CDC or the World Health Organization. “You might as well tell me. I’m here now.”

“All in good time.” Hunt turned left, onto a road that led away from the docks, toward two drab concrete towers that rose like eyesores, blocking out his view of a majestic mountain range and the stunning glacier cutting through it.

“Fine.” Dominic lapsed into momentary silence. He would have pressed the matter further, but he had a feeling his companion was not one to succumb to pressure. When Hunt deemed it necessary he would, presumably, be briefed. Eventually he spoke again. “Can you at least tell me where I will be sleeping while I’m here?”

“I can do better than that.” Hunt maneuvered the truck around the two towers, circling to the rear of the closest building, and came to a stop. He applied the parking brake and turned to Dominic. “Why don’t I show you?”