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Dane Maddock peered through the lenses of his Nikon Aculon A211 binoculars and studied the area around the dark wedge protruding from the mountainside below. The surrounding snow was glowing a brighter shade of blue in the reflected light of the illuminated art piece, and he was easily able to distinguish four snowmobiles parked nearby. They had arrived just a few minutes earlier, the riders dismounting and heading into that imposing structure with the ominous nickname—the Doomsday Vault. Maddock kept scanning the area, ensuring that none of the recently arrived party was remaining outside to guard the snowmobiles. When he was satisfied that this was the case, he lowered the binoculars and unclipped a Motorola T600 Talkabout radio from the tactical gear vest he wore over his North Face parka. He keyed the mic and spoke. “Bones, you copy?”
“Only when I don’t know the answer,” came the reply.
Maddock rolled his eyes. It was a terrible joke, but at least Bones had stopped griping about the cold. “I think this is the place,” Maddock continued. “Those snowmobiles that passed us went straight to the seed vault and stopped. Four machines, eight riders.”
There was a momentary pause, probably just long enough for Bones to relay the information to the rest of the group, and then he spoke again. “You sure they aren’t just there to shovel the walk?”
“Pretty sure,” Maddock said.
Christian Garral had been unable to reach his contact inside Prometheus, which meant there had been no way to confirm the supposition that the secret facility was located at or near the Global Seed Vault, but given the timing, there was little doubt as to the real identity of the group that had just entered it.
There had been another plane parked on the runway of the Svalbard Longyear airport, and a check of the tail numbers confirmed it was the same plane that had left Alexandria almost twelve hours earlier. A discreet inquiry revealed that the first plane had landed a little over an hour before them—two arrivals in such a short time span was a noteworthy event on the remote island—and while they had not been able to confirm the identity of the passengers, they at least knew how many of them had deplaned. Seven men and one woman.
That news had plainly startled Christian Garral. The woman, he told them, was in all likelihood his contact inside Prometheus—Leda Hauser nee Kismet. Nick Kismet’s mother.
During the flight to Oslo, Maddock and Bones had teleconferenced with Professor, and done extensive map reconnaissance of Spitzbergen Island, where the Seed Vault was situated. The vault was only about half-a-mile from the airport, so rather than traveling into Longyearbyen to rent snowmobiles, the decision was made to depart directly from the plane, traveling overland on foot using snowshoes. Bones had grumbled about the cold until Professor pointed out that the exertion of hiking through the snow would generate so much body heat that freezing to death would be the least of his concerns. After that, Bones had complained about overheating.
A half-mile snowshoe trek would be no picnic, so Maddock had given everyone the option of remaining behind at the plane. He wasn’t actually that worried about their physical ability; Rose and Jade were certainly capable. Garral had been a professional mountaineer and explorer in his younger days, and still appeared to be in prime condition. Maddock’s real concern was what would happen when they finally confronted Hauser. He saw no outcome that did not end in violence, and in such a situation, he would need people trained for combat like himself—Bones and Professor had that training. Everyone else would be a liability.
On the other hand, a few extra guns might make all the difference, and while the others weren’t former SEALs, they all had some experience. In any event, no one had taken him up on the offer, though Jimmy had shifted nervously in his seat, shooting glances at Professor. Maddock had no idea what the latter had said to convince Jimmy to tag along, and Jimmy wasn’t talking.
Maybe later, when this was over, he’d have to ply Jimmy with some Wild Turkey.
Jimmy, Professor, and Garral had been waiting for them in Oslo, along with snowshoes, cold weather gear, and even weapons—hunting rifles, which Garral explained were necessary for travel to the Svalbard territory where polar bears outnumbered people. Garral had also discreetly supplied Maddock and Bones each with a not-strictly-legal Glock 20 10-millimeter semi-automatic pistol.
While Bones and Professor led the main party up a poorly marked road from the airport, Maddock scouted ahead. His intention was to climb partway up the side of the mountain into which the seed vault had been carved in order to get a top-down look at the site, but shortly after beginning his ascent, he’d heard the noise of snowmobiles coming down the road from Longyearbyen.
The riders had blazed past, taking no note of his tracks, and continued on to the Seed Vault.
Hauser had won the race to reach the secret Prometheus facility, but not by much.
Maddock keyed his radio mic again. “Come on up. I’ll meet you at the entrance.”
Bones said something—it might have been something off-color or simply an acknowledgment, but Maddock had already returned the walkie-talkie to his vest and brought his rifle—a Remington 700, bolt action with a wooden stock—to the low ready. He started down the hill, backtracking down to the road below. Polar bears were a real concern, but avalanche was an even greater danger, especially here on the side of a mountain, so he moved slowly, careful to avoid triggering a slide.
As he neared the road, he spotted a line of human figures trudging toward him from the east. They were still a good hundred yards away, moving slower than his average walking pace, hampered somewhat by fatigue and unfamiliarity with snowshoes, but they were moving. Rather than wait for them, he turned toward their destination and continued to the entrance to the seed vault, moving easily in the trail of packed snow left by the snowmobiles.
Maddock stopped at the metal walkway and unclipped his bindings and stepped out of his snowshoes, stabbing the paddle-shaped aluminum frames into a snowbank, tail-end down. He glanced back and saw the rest of his party approaching. The towering figure in the lead—almost certainly Bones—was advancing at a jog, his rifle at the ready, but the rest were spaced out unevenly behind him, with some clearly struggling to stay on their feet, using their ski poles for balance.
“Come on,” he muttered, knowing that his exhortation would go unheard. “We’re running out of time.”
He couldn’t wait any longer. As soon as Bones reached him, he gestured to the door. “Cover me. I’m going to try the door.”
Bones nodded and, without pausing to remove his snowshoes, took a knee and aimed his rifle at the door. Maddock let his rifle hang from its sling and reached inside his parka for the Glock pistol. Extreme cold could play havoc with semi-automatic weapons, freezing ordinary gun lubricants and deforming plastic and metal components, so he had kept the weapon inside the coat, close to his body to minimize exposure to the sub-zero temperatures, even though doing so meant that it wouldn’t be within easy reach. He held the pistol in his extended right hand, and reached for the door handle with his left.
A nasally voice cried out. “Wait!”
Maddock grimaced, and turned back to see one of the figures—it had to be Jimmy—stumbling forward, waving his arms. He made it a few steps before the front of his snowshoe snagged the snow and his attempt to run ended with him going face down, half-buried in white powder. He struggled back up and started forward again.
As impressed as he was at his friend’s tenacity, Maddock shook his head. “Jimmy, we have to go in. Now. Get behind some cover.”
Jimmy kept advancing coming up right behind Bones. To his credit, he made it the rest of the way without falling. “Just wait,” he said again, panting to catch his breath. “Wait. I didn’t let you guys drag me all the way out here so I could just sit in the rear with the gear.”
Maddock wasn’t sure what Jimmy was trying to say. Did he want to be part of the assault?
Jimmy wasn’t reaching for his gun however. Instead, he unslung his backpack and pulled out a laptop computer. He tromped across the bridge to join Maddock in the lee of the entrance, and knelt beside him, balancing the computer on one knee.
“Jimmy, I don’t think you’re going to get WiFi out here,” Bones said. He still had his rifle up, ready to fire at anyone who might come through the door.
“And that’s why you don’t get paid to think,” Jimmy shot back without looking up. As the screen lit up, he stripped off his gloves and began tapping at the keyboard. After a few seconds of this, he let out a whoop of triumph. “Yes!” He pumped his fist, but then thrust the bare hand into the depths of his parka for warmth. “As I suspected, the security system here transmits data by secure satellite connection.”
Understanding dawned for Maddock. “So you can hack into it?”
“I can hack into it,” Jimmy confirmed, resuming his keystrokes. “It’s a secure transmission, like a sat-phone. Give me a minute.”
Maddock pursed his lips. Even a minute seemed like an indulgence. And even if Jimmy succeeded, it wouldn’t change the fact that they would, in all likelihood, have to fight their way in. “Just keep at it,” he told Jimmy. He glanced back and saw that the rest of the group had arrived. “Professor. Come back me up. We’ll go in—”
“Got it!” Jimmy announced. He turned the laptop so Maddock could see the screen, which was divided into several smaller screens displaying what appeared to be nondescript hallways and empty warehouses.
“This is real time?”
“Live from the Doomsday Vault,” Jimmy confirmed. He pointed to the screen, his finger moving from one static image to the next. “This is the entrance. These are different angles of the tunnel. These cover the vault doors. And here’s vault two, the only one currently in use.”
The indicated image showed what looked like the aisles of a big box store, but instead of bulk groceries, the rack shelves held gray tote boxes.
“Not much to look at,” Jimmy said, almost apologetically.
“There’s no one there.”
Jimmy just shrugged. “Sorry. Maybe they’re standing somewhere the cameras can’t see.”
Maddock shook off his disappointment. “Good work, Jimmy. At least we know what’s on the other side of this door.” He reached out for it again and tugged on the handle.
The door swung open. Unlocked.
Leading with his pistol, Maddock moved inside, but the interior was empty, just as the video feed had indicated. At the far end of a short hallway was another door with a numeric keypad mounted on the wall beside it. He hurried forward and tried the door handle.
Locked.
He looked at the keypad then back at the open door behind him. The others were already filing in. “Jimmy, can you open this?”
The other man started to shake his head, but then stopped and came forward to take a closer look at it. “Maybe.”
He said it slowly, pausing between the syllables so that it sounded like two separate words. “May. Be.” Maddock took that as a good sign.
Jimmy dipped into his pack and brought out a black cable with plugs on either end. He inserted one into his laptop and then found a port on the underside of the keypad into which he plugged the other end.
Maddock took a step back, letting the other man do his magic. Then he felt a tugging on his arm. It was Rose. “Dane, look.”
She was holding a piece of parachute cord, from which dangled the adamantine-infused tomahawk head. But it wasn’t hanging down. Instead, it was pulling straight ahead, pointing right at the door.
“Definitely the right place,” she said with a grin of triumph.