Under the Ice

“I can’t tell a lie. We both gave it a try in the kitchen, and are you two in for a special treat. Why should such a delicacy be only reserved for rich foreigners? Such a policy is a national disgrace.”

As the conversation turned to the wisdom of bartering away national treasures such as Beluga caviar for the hard currency it brought, the telephone began to ring. Lara was in the process of turning for the bedroom phone when the ringing abruptly stopped, to be replaced by the shrill voice of their daughter.

“Poppy, it’s for you!”

These unexpected words hit Sergei like a blow to the stomach. Briefly catching the concerned stares of his guests, he put down his glass, excused himself, and headed for the bedroom.

Several minutes passed before he returned. It only took one look at his sullen face to know he would be the bearer of bad news.

“I don’t believe it,” said Sergei with a heavy sigh, “but I just got off the phone with Admiral of the Fleet Kharkov. And not only has he just landed in Murmansk, he wants — immediately — to meet us at the docks, where we’re to have the Neva ready for sea at the next change of tide!”

A moment of constrained silence followed as the navy men wives exchanged disappointed glances while the tragic conclusion of Tchaikovsky’s Fifth symphony rang out appropriately in the background.

Chapter Eight

Lieutenant Jack Redmond sat in the jumpseat of the Canadian Forces CP-140, Aurora long-range patrol aircraft. The muted whine of the plane’s four turboprop engines produced an almost hypnotic effect on the exhausted, forty-three-year-old Arctic Ranger, and he briefly closed his eyes to take advantage of this rare moment of free time.

The past twenty-four hour period had been a most hectic one. It had all started innocently enough, with what was to be a routine overnight bivouac in the foothills surrounding Mount Assiniboine. With Angus McPherson accompanying them a good portion of the way with his melodious bagpipes, they had proceeded up into the Sunshine meadowlands without incident. Of course, this atmosphere of normalcy had changed the moment Jack had had his terrifying encounter with the two grizzlies. Yet the hand of fate had miraculously intervened in the form of the Canadian Forces helicopter that had literally rescued Redmond from the jaws of death and whisked him off to nearby Calgary.

It was at Calgary’s Currie Barracks that he learned why the chopper had been sent for him in the first place. In yet another isolated corner of the world’s third largest nation, a plane carrying Soviet Premier Alexander Saratov had presumably crashed. To make certain of this, and hopefully to locate the plane’s black box which would explain to the world the reason for this tragedy. Jack Redmond and his crack squad of Rangers were to be sent northward to far-off Baffin Island.

Most anxious to undertake this demanding mission, Jack waited as the rest of his squad arrived at the barracks. They flew in aboard a lumbering Boeing Chinook helicopter. This same vehicle whisked them off to the Calgary airport, where a chartered jet was waiting to convey them on a one and a half hour flight almost due northward, to the town of Yellowknife, in the Northwest Territories. It was here that the Arctic Rangers had their permanent headquarters.

Once at their home base, they hurriedly gathered together the gear they would need. This included six snowmobiles that could each carry up to four men, special Arctic clothing, food, ammunition, and a directional finder with which to home in on the missing cockpit voice recorder. As soon as this assortment of equipment was gathered together, their present means of transportation arrived to carry them off to Baffin Island.

Jack Redmond was no stranger to the prop-driven Aurora aircraft they had been flying in for the last two hours. These reliable planes were used by Canadians to patrol their vast Arctic frontier. Loaded with state-of-the-art surveillance gear, eighteen long-range Auroras covered that immense frozen wasteland. And it was a difficult, demanding task. Yet if Canada was serious about extending its sovereignty to the portion of North America above the Arctic Circle, such patrols were vital.

“Excuse me, Lieutenant Redmond.” The voice came from the front of the cockpit.

“We’ve spotted the Louis St. Laurent.”

These words were all that was needed to break Jack from his light slumber. Quickly wiping the sleep from his weary eyes, he unbuckled his seat belt and carefully edged his way forward, to the front portion of the flight deck. As he settled in between the two pilots, the uniformed figure seated to his left pointed out the cockpit’s window and continued.

“There she is now.”