The iceberg loomed: a daunting presence, at least one hundred feet high, disappearing into the darkness to the right and left, a huge rampart more formidable than the fortifications of any castle in the world. During their radar- and sonar-guided approach to the site, they had discovered that the berg was four fifths of a mile long. Rising dramatically from the mottled green-gray-black sea, it was curiously like a totem, a man-made monolith with mysterious religious significance. It soared, glass-smooth, gleaming, marred by neither major outcroppings nor indentations: vertical, harsh, forbidding.
Gorov had hoped to find a ragged cliff, one that shelved into the water in easy steps. The sea was not discouragingly rough there in the leeward shadow, and a few men might be able to get across to the ice. But he saw no place for them to land.
Among the submarine’s equipment stores were three inflatable, motorized rubber rafts and a large selection of the highest-quality climbing gear. On fifteen separate occasions in the past seven years, the Ilya Pogodin had carried top-secret passangers—mostly special-forces operatives from the army’s Spetsnaz division, highly trained saboteurs, assassins, reconnaissance teams—and had put them ashore at night on rugged coastlines in seven Western countries. Furthermore, in the event of war, the boat could carry a nine-member commando team in addition to her full crew and could put them safely ashore in less than five minutes, even in bad weather.
But they had to find a place to land the rafts. A small shelf, a tiny cove. A niche above the water line. Something.
As if reading the captain’s mind, Zhukov said, “Even if we could land men over there, it would be one hell of a climb.”
“We could do it.”
“It’s as straight and smooth as a hundred-foot sheet of window glass.”
“We could chop footholds out of the ice,” Gorov said. “We have the climbing picks. Axes. Ropes and pitons. We’ve got the climbing boots and the grappling hooks. Everything we need.”
“But these men are submariners, sir. Not mountain climbers.”
The flare was high over the Ilya Pogodin now, still drifting southward. The light was no longer either fierce or white; it had taken on a yellowish tint and was dwindling. Smoke streamed around the flare and threw bizarre shadows that curled and writhed across the face of the iceberg.
“The right men could make it,” Gorov insisted.
“Yes, sir,” Zhukov said. “I know they could. I could even make it myself if I had to, and I’m afraid of heights. But neither I nor the men are very experienced at this sort of thing. We don’t have a single man aboard who could make that climb in even half the time it would take trained mountaineer. We’d need hours, maybe three or four, maybe even five hours, to get to the top and to rig a system for bringing the Edgeway scientists down to the rafts. And by the time—“
“—by the time we’ve worked out a way to land them on the ice, they’ll be lucky to have even an hour left,” Gorov said, finishing the first officer’s argument for him.
Midnight was fast approaching.
The flare winked out.
Semichastny still trained the floodlight on the iceberg, moving it slowly from left to right, focusing at the water line, hopefully searching for a shelf, a fissure, a flaw, anything that they had missed.
“Let’s have a look at the windward flank,” Gorov said, “Maybe it’ll have something better to offer.”
In the cave, waiting for more news from Gunvald, they were exhilarated by the prospect of rescue—but sobered by the thought that the submarine might not arrive quickly enough to take them off the iceberg before midnight. At times, they were all silent, but at other times, they all seemed to be talking at once.
After waiting until the chamber was filled with excited chatter and the others were particularly distracted, Harry quietly excused himself to go to the latrine. Passing Pete Johnson, he whispered, “I want to talk to you alone.”
Pete blinked in surprise.
Not even breaking stride as he spoke, barely glancing at the engineer, Harry put his goggles in place and pulled up his snow mask and walked out of the cave. He bent into the wind, switched on his flashlight, and trudged past the rumbling snowmobiles.