The Cold Edge (8 page)

Jake set down the rifle and moved to the deepest point under the overhang, got to his knees, and started digging with his hands. Moments later he hit something solid. Not rock solid, but something out of place.

It was a body.

Exhausted, he rolled to his side and something sharp stabbed him in the back. Damn it.

He dug to see what it was. His headlamp soon started shining back at him. Metal of some kind. He dug faster now and quickly uncovered a one foot cube metal box.

There was no doubt that the box had been a perfect fit to the foam hole inside the MiG. So his old friend had actually gotten the box, whatever it was, away from the Soviets. And he had somehow survived the shoot-out, escaping to this place. Jake imagined his old friend's face and tried to understand what had gotten him to this location. On top of the trailer, the item that had reflected the Northern Lights had been one of the old collapsible satellite dishes the military and the CIA had used back then for remote communications. Maybe Steve had also gone to high ground to call in their location, call in for extraction. But maybe he had been injured. Or maybe the weather had been severe. It had been October, an unforgiving time up here. Regardless, Steve had gotten the item from the MiG and now Jake had it.

He wiped snow from the metal box and saw the Russian symbols on the side. Although he couldn't read the words, he had seen the symbols before many times.

Biohazard.

Crap.

Stockholm, Sweden

Colonel Reed had gone back to his hotel after being shot at during his meeting with Oberon at the café. He had sat for a while eating and drinking from the mini-bar, wondering what had happened and why. His mind flicked back and forth considering if the shots had been aimed at him or the Russian. But one thought stuck with him—the little Russian, the former KGB officer, had warned him just in time to save his life. Sure it could have been self preservation coupled with a natural inclination to help a fellow human being. Yet, Reed guessed it had been more than that. For some reason Oberon, or Victor Petrova, had wanted him to live. The why was the difficult conundrum. After all, they had been adversaries at one time. A time when spy versus spy had rules of civility—if that were even possible. You didn't kill your adversary just for the hell of it. You tried to use your opponent to gain some intelligence advantage, some piece of information you could exploit for your side. And maybe that had been the motive of his little friend.

Later in the evening, the colonel had gone to a section of Stockholm where he knew he could satisfy himself to make him feel alive. For he had survived the shooting, and that type of close-death activity had always led him to the arms of a woman. At first it had been his wife, who had come to almost enjoy those close calls just so she could benefit from a rough encounter afterwards. But they had been divorced for nearly fifteen years now, so his pleasure quests had to come elsewhere.

Although he didn't like to do so, paying for sex was the most efficient form of un-subdued intimacy, if he could call it that. With a hooker he didn't have to screw around pretending he was something or someone he wasn't, spending hundreds of dollars taking a woman out to dinner, to the movies, or some other expensive activities. And then when all that worked and he finally got to sleep with a woman, it was usually underwhelming. A flat on the back hair twirler, while he pumped away. No, a call girl was much more efficient. He got an experienced woman who would do damn near anything, within reason, and they could cut all the damn games and pretense. A business transaction. That's what he liked. And that's what he needed after being shot at.

Now, laying awake at zero three hundred, the tall blonde naked Swedish goddess snoring lightly at his side, Reed thought about his old friend Jake Adams, who was still up on Spitsbergen Island. He hadn't been truthful with Jake, and that did bother him.

Jake was supposed to call him hours ago for an update. When that call didn't come, Reed had contacted the charter helicopter service he had arranged for them. They had not returned to Longyearbyen yet, but that didn't concern them, since the pilot was experienced and they had brought plenty of warm weather gear, including sleeping bags that went down to fifteen below zero. They were also armed. Reed wasn't sure why the man had told him that. They both agreed to wait until noon the next day, this day now, before they would send someone out to look for them. The weather was clear and had been displaying amazing Aurora Borealis, which was strange for that time of year. They were far more prominent in the winter. But that had also made Colonel Reed understand why Jake had not called him on the SAT phone. The Boreal activity had probably wiped out the SAT communications. He was sure Jake was all right. A more capable man the colonel had not met.

The woman at his side rolled over, exposing her tight body to him, her perfect round breasts rubbing up against his arm. God, he would have never been able to get a woman that hot no matter how many dinners he had paid for—unless he was rich. He smiled thinking about having more money. More money than he would ever have dreamed possible.

A hand reached down and grasped his erection, stroking it gently.

“Someone's awake,” the woman said.

What was her name? Who cared. It was fake anyway. Names were a pain in the ass.

“You were snoring,” the colonel said.

With one hand she stroked a rubber onto him. Then she rolled onto him and with one smooth motion was filled completely by him. A real pro. That's what he liked. He grasped her breasts as she rode him with great enthusiasm and precision. And he held out longer than normal, thinking about the cold edge of Svalbard.

Oslo, Norway

McLean had gotten back to Edinburgh, cleared his travel with MI6 headquarters at Vauxhall Cross in London, and booked his travel. The only caveat was that he bring his associate, Velda Crane. He had protested, knowing that she had some kind of obsession with him, and that could cloud her judgment, but she had proven herself quite capable to Vauxhall. She also had friends and benefactors there who could send Jimmy to an assignment far less comfortable than his native land. That little half-pint had even suggested Turkey or Iraq—two places he had no desire to see again.

Their plans had changed late the night before, when McLean had gotten word that his contact, Gary Dixon, had purchased a ticket to Oslo—the red eye. Velda had hurried to Glasgow to get on the same flight as Dixon, and McLean had taken a different route, flying to London to pick up a diplomatic pouch and then going on to Oslo, getting in an hour before Dixon and his associate.

Sitting now near the arrivals gate for the Glasgow to Oslo flight, Jimmy McLean watched over the top of his newspaper as the passengers streamed out and down the concourse corridor, their eyes like zombies from the night flight. It wasn't hard for him to see Gary Dixon shuffle along, a carry-on bag over his shoulder. Bringing up the rear was Velda, her little legs doing their best to keep up, and her gaze catching McLean, who smiled at her.

McLean caught up to her and walked a few paces behind Velda. “Glad to see you made it.”

“Crappy flight. Hot as hell. No air. We going to get some local support?”

“NIS says they can't spare an officer.” NIS was the Norwegian Intelligence Service, the MI6 counterpart.

“Great. I gotta pee. Can you keep an eye on that little troll for me while I scoot?”

“Go ahead. Since he knows me, I'll stay back and track him on my Blackberry.”

Her head nodded as she hurried off.

McLean went to the baggage carousel area and looked at the wall advertising hotels in Oslo. He could see Dixon's reflection in the glass. Seconds later he felt a nudge at his side.

“That was quick,” McLean said, not looking down at Velda.

“You gotta go, you gotta go. Time for me to move front and center.”

“Put on the charm.”

“You know me.”

He thought about the alley encounter with her the other night. Yeah, he knew her.

The crowd was large enough now that Jimmy McLean could turn around and watch her work. She stood a few feet from Dixon and kept checking bags, not even looking at the man. But he had noticed her. Couldn't keep his eyes off of her. McLean walked farther away so he wouldn't be seen. Finally the bags stopped coming and the only two who had not gotten their suitcases were Velda and Dixon. Both of them went for help, two little folks without their bags. Of course, McLean had made sure both were confiscated—Dixon's to have a bug sewn into the lining, and hers to maintain the ruse and bring them together.

Spitsbergen Island, Norway

The night had been uncomfortable for Jake. The back of the helo was small and the three of them were packed in tight, girl girl boy, with Anna in the middle. For some reason, maybe because of Anna's comment the evening before, he couldn't help thinking about the three of them together. It wasn't like he was dissatisfied with the sex that he and Anna had experienced over the past couple of years, but still. . .this was like having two Anna's.

But not only those thoughts had kept Jake awake. He also wondered about the box he had found with his old friend, Steve Olson. The one with the Biohazard symbol. What was in there? And, better yet, why had it been so important back in 1986 to send four KGB officers after it? Even more importantly, perhaps, was why they had not sent more officers to retrieve the box. What had changed? And why hadn't the old CIA sent someone to find Olson and Korkala? Too many damn questions.

Jake had told Anna and Kjersti about finding Steve and the snowmobile, but had left out the part about finding the box. No need to mention that. At least not yet. He had simply buried it again where he had found it. What if it was a biological weapon? What if the box leaked? Although the box looked completely solid, as if there was no seam or way to open it. How was that possible? It was as if the box had been formed around something. Or at least the top had been melted onto it.

Jake finally did get to sleep. He dreamt of a beast gnawing at the bodies, even though there wasn't much left of them.

He woke and it was almost light outside. Sitting up, he glanced out the window and saw something from his dream.

A huge polar bear rummaged about a few feet from the helicopter. A cub shuffled around the massive sow bear.

Not wanting to wake Anna and Kjersti, and knowing that was probably not possible, Jake unzipped his sleeping bag and put on his jacket. Then he pulled the rifle from his side and looked at the two women sleeping. Better to wake them with a nudge than a shot.

“Anna,” Jake said, shaking her.

Her eyes opened. “Yeah?”

“Got a little polar bear problem.”

With those words Kjersti woke also and sat up, her sleeping bag falling from her shoulders. She was completely naked, or at least from the top to the waist. Jake looked away as Kjersti put on her thermal underwear top.

“Don't shoot them,” Kjersti said. “Just scare them away. Here, use my handgun.” She handed Jake her .44 magnum revolver.

He slid the door open slightly, put his entire arm outside to keep down the noise inside, and fired off a round into a snow bank. The huge sow swiveled around and ran off, the cub at her tail. Jake closed the door and handed her gun back to her.

“Nice piece,” Jake said.

Anna smiled at him.

They got dressed and Anna checked over the helo to make sure it was ready for flight, while Jake put a backpack over his shoulders and the 30.06 rifle over his right shoulder. He needed to take care of one more thing before they left.

“I'm going to hike back up to Steve,” Jake said.

“Need some company?” Anna asked.

“No. Stay here and watch for those polar bear.”

“Your loss,” she mumbled.

Jake came closer to her. “What'd you have in mind?” he whispered.

“Thought you might be a little excited after seeing Kjersti's breasts.”

“They were all right.”

“Come on,” she said. “They turned me on. She stripped down in front of me last night before getting into her sleeping bag. What a body.”

Jesus. Why was she doing this to him? His body still felt like shit, although not as bad as the previous morning. He had a feeling things were moving in the right direction for him.

“Let's hold that thought until we reach the hotel tonight,” he said.

She pouted her lips. “All right.”

Jake reluctantly walked away toward the ridge where Steve's body remained, and would probably remain forever. When he reached the top he programmed in the location on his GPS. Looking around, the sun was rising. No wind. He could see the sow polar bear and her cub nearly a mile away already. See the clarity of the morning and that the GPS had picked up a number of satellites, Jake tried the SAT phone. A perfect signal.

Punching in the number, he waited.

“Jake, you there?” It was Kurt Jenkins.

“Yeah, we're fine. I tried calling last night but the Boreal activity must have been messing with the SAT comm.”

“That's what my comm guy said here also.” Pause and static. “What's your current situation?”

“Found the MiG yesterday. It's actually a MiG thirty-one, not a twenty-five. Initially we found five bodies and two snowmobiles. All looked like gunshot but with animal predation.”

“Any sign as to what they were trying to find?”

Jake wondered how much he should tell Jenkins. He was the Agency director and should already know the answer to this. But maybe the Russians had not been as forthcoming as they initially seemed.

“Jake?”

“Yeah. No sign of weapons configuration on the aircraft. No external drop tanks, as far as I could tell, but those could have been jettisoned as the plane was going down.”

“Anything else remarkable about the MiG?”

“Well, in eighty-six we knew just about as much about the MiG thirty-one as we did about the MiG twenty-five. As you know, they were very similar. The newer model had some upgrades in avionics and engines. Both were screamers, yet far less capable as our initial fears. Most of what we knew came from that plane that landed in Japan. The one we flew to Wright-Patt, tore apart, and sent back to the Soviets in pieces. That was brilliant, by the way. I'd like to know who came up with that plan.”