“What about the South African station? Aren’t they closer?”
“Eighty miles closer, as the crow flies.”
Her jaw dropped.
“To get there, we’d have to either climb some of the continent’s highest mountains or go around them. Don’t like our chances.” He shook his head, sure of his decision. “I thought about it, and Volkov’s the best choice.” Their sole chance at survival. “Those are the only two options within five hundred miles of here.”
“Five hun—” She looked like she’d be sick. “How far is it?”
“It’s a straight shot. Fairly steady downhill slope, given the elevation here, and without—”
“How far?”
“A little more than…” He cleared his throat. “Three hundred miles.”
“What?” She didn’t sound happy. “How long’s it gonna take us?”
“We’ll drive the big plow for the first fifty or so. The rest could take as little as twenty days.” Unlikely, but possible. They’d have to ski thirteen miles a day at that rate and he had no notion of her skill level or endurance.
Her eyes were massive. “As little? Are you nu—No. No, let’s think about this.” She backed up, put more space between them. “Okay. So, what other options do we have?”
“None.” He shrugged. No point arguing against facts. “Anyway. Backup generator’ll run out of fuel. We need to get our gear together, pack up these sleds, and go. Sooner the better.”
“Right. No fuel, no heat.” Looking shell-shocked, she eyed the sky. “Once we take off, what’s to stop them from coming after us?”
“Nothing.” No point in lying, was there? “It’s why we need to head out, ski all night, if we can. Put some miles between us and this place.”
“We’re heading out into the most dangerous place on earth with killers after us?”
“Yeah.” He couldn’t help a grim smirk. “Better hit the road.”
Chapter 13
Harper Research and Testing Facility, East Antarctic Ice Sheet
“We don’t have the virus.”
“What do you mean you don’t have it?” The director’s voice crackled over the sat phone.
“I’ve been given the wrong ice cores.”
“How on earth could they make an error like that?”
“I’m not certain.” Because you hired monkeys, obviously. “It’s a pretty major issue.”
Without sparing a glance at the man responsible for this colossal error, Dr. Clive Tenny, MD, PhD, waited for the director to respond.
Her breathing was audible through the line, as if she’d been running. Or was in the throes of some kind of fit. Having seen her in person, it was likely the latter, since Katherine Henley Harper, head of Chronos Corporation, was getting on in years and it was perfectly obvious that she did not run.
“Go back and locate the samples. Drill some more if you must.” Of course she’d say that. Of course. It was what he’d said, too. “We need the virus. Now.”
“Well…” Clive hated being the bearer of bad tidings. And, honestly, he shouldn’t be the messenger here, since he wasn’t the one who’d fucked up. He threw Bradley Sampson a poisoned glare. The man was incompetence itself. He’d been given weeks at that research station. In fact, in the time it had taken that paramilitary bozo to do basically nothing at Burke-Ruhe, Tenny had been in charge of outfitting an entire vaccine research and testing facility. In fucking Antarctica, for God’s sake.
“Well what? Tell me.”
He pulled in a long breath. “The drills don’t work.”
“I provided you with engineers as requested. Have they not—”
“They were unable to acquire a sample at the original site. Apparently, they melted straight through the ice. The engine overheated and the entire mechanism died.” He paused, enjoying this just a little. “Seems the design wasn’t as simple as they’d assumed. The engineers didn’t have time to—”
“And it’s too late, I suppose? Were they left at—”
“I had the men retrieve them and load them into the plane, so we’ve got the drills here at the Facility.”
He cringed, ready for another dressing-down, but she surprised him. “Smart.”
“Anyone would have done the same, ma’am.” Which wasn’t strictly true. If Sampson had been in charge, the drills would have stayed at Burke-Ruhe, smashed to smithereens, no doubt. Instead, Tenny had made sure the team worked all night to retrieve them.
“Have that man fix them. The glaciologist. They’re his drills after all.”
“Ah.” His hand tightened on the phone. And he sucked in another breath, wishing he had an actual drink in his other hand instead of cold coffee.
“Please just spit out whatever it is.”
“Cooper. The researcher. The one who retrieved the virus and designed the dril—”
“You’ve explained who Cooper is, for God’s sake, Clive. Now get to the point.”
“He’s still there.”
“There?” The word dropped into the phone like a stone into water. The ripples reached him, even here at the bottom of the earth.
“At Burke-Ruhe.” Clive swallowed audibly. He wasn’t made for this nonsense. He was a virologist, an immunologist, and a physician, not some covert operative. “Apparently Sampson was unable to locate him. And…”
Sampson shifted at the other side of the room.
“There’s more.” Not a question.
“There has been some unexpected collateral damage.” All thanks to Bradley Sampson. The man was a wild dog, a barely domesticated mutt who, in Clive’s opinion, ought to be put down. He was uncomfortable in the same room with him.
“We’ve lost four, counting Cooper.” He dreaded this part. “One of them was summer crew.” When she didn’t speak, he went on. “The, uh, station’s cook was left behind. The two scientists questioned by Sampson are—were—winter researchers, but they did not…” He dragged in a shaky breath. Not at any point during his long, difficult climb had he foreseen his career winding up this way. An accessory to murder? No. No, he was—
“Yes?”
“They didn’t make it.”
“I’m extremely disappointed.” An understatement, obviously.