On that last day on the Eminence, high in the Arctic Sea, Robert awoke alone in bed to voices outside his porthole. At first he thought he was dreaming. Then, as he emerged further from sleep, he thought the boat had docked somewhere and the noises were from the pier. Then he realized that this was not possible, that the boat will still moving, and when he stood and looked out the porthole he saw that the boat had pulled alongside a fishing trawler. Two men stood on the deck, their rifles pointed at the Eminence. At their feet were hooked fish and the coils of longline they were apparently in the process of reeling back in. Aeneas had interrupted their work, and the fishermen clearly were not happy.
As Robert turned away from the porthole, he heard a gunshot.
Quickly he reached under the bed and extracted the handgun he’d kept hidden in his bag. He ran upstairs in his bare feet, gun held behind his back. He exited on the opposite side of the deck and made his way carefully around to where he would have a clean view. One of the fishermen had already boarded the Eminence, and the CDA crew were scattered about the deck on their stomachs, arms behind their heads. The fisherman waved his shotgun above their heads. He was yelling something in Russian to the other, who was still on the bridge of the fishing boat.
Robert had to decide what to do, and fast. He could remain undercover and take his position facedown on the deck. Or he could take the Russians down, blow his cover, and risk something else entirely.
Just then he caught sight of Noa, facedown near the gun-waving man’s feet. She looked up at him, and he knew what he had to do. He turned the corner quickly, gun extended.
“FBI,” he said, loudly enough for the fisherman to hear, not that he would understand.
The man smirked and without hesitation swung his rifle to aim at Robert. But Robert was already in position to shoot, and he had ample time to pull the trigger before the fisherman had a chance.
Robert fired three shots, watching as blood from the fisherman’s head spattered onto the crew members spread out below. Robert turned the gun toward the man on the other ship, but he’d already dropped his rifle and had started the engine. Robert held his gun on him, letting him pull away. It had all happened in less than a minute.
When Robert turned back, the crew were on their knees, looking up at him. Despite the fact that he’d announced he was FBI, he was tempted to make up some story about being a drug dealer or former cop—any excuse to explain away the gun, to go back undercover. But he was tired of lying, and none of it would have mattered.
“I’m an FBI agent,” he said. “My name’s Robert Porter.”
Noa approached, spots of the fisherman’s blood dotting her neck and shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, but she continued past him and into the ship.
Robert scanned the faces of the crew, wondering whether he needed to fear them now. He saw Aeneas standing at one side of the bridge, looking down on him.
“Everyone just stay where you are,” Robert said, trying to keep his voice from trembling. “I’m not here for you.”
“Of course not,” Aeneas said. “You’re here for the camaraderie. The sea air. And let’s not forget the romance.”
Robert raised his gun at Aeneas, then lowered it. He tucked the gun into his pants and retreated into the ship.
He found Noa in their cabin, where she had turned his bag upside down and was shaking it frantically.
“What are you looking for?”
“Aeneas wanted me to search your bag when you came on board. I didn’t. I told him I did, but I didn’t. I vouched for you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Was fucking me part of your mission, Jake? Or should I call you Robert?”
“No, of course not. My mission—I was sent here to arrest Darwin.”
“Congratulations, Robert. You got your man.” She held out her arms, wrists up. He grabbed them and raised her right wrist to his lips and kissed the infinity sign.
“I won’t arrest you,” he said. “I can’t. I’m going to call Washington and tell them to get Russia on the horn because I just killed one of their citizens. That’s it.”
“Are you going to arrest Aeneas?”
“No.”
She stared at him, and he could tell she didn’t believe a word. “How can I trust you?” she said.
“Because I’m quitting. This is my last assignment. I’ll follow you wherever you want to go.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’d follow me anywhere?”
“Anywhere.”
He reached out and hugged her, hoping for a similar embrace. But she stood immobile in his arms. He didn’t know how to act or what to say, now that his personas had collided, now that Robert and Jake were one. And he didn’t know how to explain his actions to either of his two bosses, Gordon or Aeneas. Either way he had failed.
“Let me clean up the mess upstairs, okay?” He pulled away and looked at her, hoping to get a response from her eyes. Even anger would have been a start. “Then we can talk. We’ll figure everything out.”
But Noa kept staring out the window, and finally Robert had to go upstairs. On the deck, he found Aeneas standing over the body.
“I’m sorry this had to happen,” Robert said.
“Are you?” Aeneas asked. “Someone is going to take the fall for this, and something tells me it won’t be you.”
“Just tell your crew to remain calm. I’m not going to hurt anyone unless they give me a reason to.”
As Robert went through the fisherman’s pockets looking for identification, he heard an engine come to life off the port side of the ship. He walked to the railing, and as he looked down, a Zodiac sprinted away from the ship with Noa at the helm. He shouted her name into the wind. She looked back at him just long enough for him to know exactly what she was doing. He said he’d follow her anywhere, and he knew that’s what she was betting on—luring him off of this ship, away from Aeneas and their mission. They were alike that way, and she, too, had a mess to clean up.
Robert heard footsteps behind and he spun around, reaching again for his gun. Aeneas froze. “Where is she headed?” he asked, and Aeneas didn’t answer. “Where?”
“By the looks of it, north.”
Robert pointed his gun at Aeneas. “Tell her to turn around.”
“With what? She isn’t wearing a radio.”
Robert glanced back at Noa, looking for the black nylon strap that would indicate she wore a radio. He couldn’t see it, but he wasn’t about to believe Aeneas. In the end, he knew he couldn’t let her go. But he wasn’t about to let Aeneas go either. Then he remembered the helicopter.
He held his gun on Aeneas until he was strapped into the passenger side, then he fired up the propellers, keeping his gun on his left jacket pocket. He couldn’t trust Aeneas, but he also knew that Aeneas couldn’t fly this contraption on his own.
Once they were airborne, he relaxed. Aeneas would mind his manners, and having Aeneas with him guaranteed that the ship would be waiting when he returned. With a brief glance down, he saw the crew scrambling to get the boat moving again, to follow as best they could.
Heading north, he kept Aeneas busy with the radio, making him call Noa, despite Aeneas’s insistence that she had no way of responding. “Keep in touch with the ship so they stay close,” he added.
Robert stayed close to the water, mindful of the minivan-sized icebergs that dotted the surface. In the distance he could see the ice blink, a crystal-white shadow in the sky reflecting the ice below it. Soon he began to see the mush of undulating ice that edged the polar cap. He began to run parallel to the ice line, looking for a point of entry.
“There’s a trail,” Aeneas said, pointing.
Robert circled around what could have been an opening through the slush cut by Noa’s boat. He could see that she wouldn’t get far. The sharp chunks of ice would inevitably puncture each of the Zodiac’s six inflatable sections.
“Do you see her?”
“Not through this fog,” Aeneas said. “Can you get any lower?”
The cloud layer had merged with the ice, forcing Robert to decelerate and stay as close to the ice as possible while still trying to avoid any spiked bergs. By then Noa’s trail had sealed back up, and the slush turned to whiter chunks—solid ice.
“I’ll double back.”
“I see something,” Aeneas said. “Circle around.”
Robert banked, and Aeneas pointed below at what appeared to be the Zodiac, pinned sideways between two chunks of ice.
“See her?”
“No.”
“I’ll expand circles,” Robert said.
“Wait, I see her.”
Then Robert saw her, too, waving at them. Her red parka glistened with water, not a good sign. Robert began descending.
He looked for a stable place to land but saw nothing wide enough. Perhaps she could grab his strut and climb in. Looking down through the floor window of the helicopter, Robert descended over her—her hair flying everywhere, face ascendant and bright.
“Stop! You’re shredding the ice.”
Robert glanced down. Noa was no longer looking up at them but down at the ice crumbling under her feet. Robert ascended as quickly as possible and began to scout out a solid place to land. But with each second he slipped further away, until he lost sight of her completely. He spotted a wide slice of ice and dropped down hard; he could feel the ice bobbing under them.
“I’ll get her,” Aeneas said, stepping out.
“Not without me.”
“If this ice begins to give, who’s going to save the helicopter?”
Aeneas was right, and Robert reluctantly let him go alone, disappearing into the mist. Robert stepped out and circled around the helicopter, making sure the struts weren’t perforating the ice. He leaned in to check the fuel gauge; they had just enough to make it back to the ship, assuming Aeneas returned with Noa within the next few minutes.
He tried to listen for voices in the whiteness surrounding him, but the steady throbbing of the blades kept him deaf. He felt time slipping, fuel expiring. He debated shutting down the engine, but what if the ice began to break? What if the engine refused to start again? And what if Aeneas had fallen into the water trying to reach Noa?
He didn’t know how much time had passed, but it felt like too much. He began shouting their names. He walked to the edge of the ice floe, straining his eyes. He shouted again, then felt the ice pull out from under him like a rug.
He collapsed as the ice split in half, his toes on one piece, his hands on the other, holding his body above a widening pool of sub-zero water, frozen in a push-up position. He arched his back and slowly, steadily, carefully pulled the pieces back together, then rolled over onto a larger piece of ice.
Shaking, disoriented, he stood and searched the emptiness. He saw a shadow ahead and ran toward it. But it turned out to be a seal, poking its curious head out of the water. The sight of Robert scared it back under. But Robert, too, felt a jolt of fear, realizing that there were also polar bears out here, and they would not be nearly as easy to spot against the ice.
Following the sound of the engine, he made his way back to the helicopter, hoping to find both of them seated inside in the cockpit. But it was empty.
On the radio, he called to Noa, Aeneas, the ship. Nothing but silence. Was the radio broken, or were they ignoring him? He knew that if he waited much longer he would not have enough fuel to make it back to the ship. But he couldn’t bring himself to engage the throttle, to raise the helicopter from the ice.
If he could find her, if she could hang on a little while longer, he could make it to the ship, refuel, and return to her. Another minute more and there would be no return, no chance of rescue. He lifted off. Below him, everything was slush. The fog was beginning to clear as he left the ice behind, but as he backtracked—or thought he did—the ship was not where he left it. He flew farther, in broad circles, but the Eminence was nowhere to be found. And now the helicopter’s dashboard was beeping at him. Out of fuel, he had no choice but to return to the ice.
With the fog cleared, he found the overturned Zodiac. He landed as close to it as he could. The helicopter hit hard, piercing the ice, and Robert jumped out, scurrying away as the ice fell away under his feet. He heard the propellers slam into the ice and felt shards of glass and water rain on him from behind. He made his way to the Zodiac and struggled to turn it right side up. When he finally did, he pushed it into exposed water and scrambled in.
When his breathing calmed, he shouted for Noa. Then Aeneas. He shouted until his voice grew hoarse. Once, he thought he heard an engine, and he stopped and leaned into the mist, searching until his eyes blurred and the sound faded away.
Noa was gone. Aeneas, too, most likely. And Robert himself was soaked through, his fingers and face numb, a hundred miles from land. If he were to save himself, which was looking less and less likely, he had to start moving, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. He would rather perish out here on the ice than be proscribed to some sterile office in Washington, to live out a half-life of bureaucracy and paperwork. To live without Noa.
In the end, that was why he started the engine and began to scrape his way back through the ice, forcing open a passage a few feet at time. To return alone, if he returned at all, would be his purgatory, a fitting punishment, exactly what he deserved. Eventually the cracks began to give way to rivers, then to slush, then to open water, as if the ice were spitting him back out into the ocean.
The blue sky had been replaced by high clouds, and the wind pushed the waves nearly seven feet high. Perhaps he would drown after all, he thought, and he began to welcome the idea all over again. Even if he did make it a hundred or so miles south of the ice cap, finding Svalbard would be no easy task. If he veered off only a few degrees in either direction, he would be out of fuel in the middle of the Polar Sea.
When he saw a plume of spray in the distance, just above the water, his ice-numbed mind focused on it, and he was surprised that with this sudden hope, his instinct to live was stronger than his desire to die.
But as he drew closer to the source, he saw a flipper slice the surface of the water and realized it wasn’t another Zodiac but a whale. As he watched it—a humpback, as Noa had taught him—he grew so mesmerized by its graceful meandering that he began to trail after it, following its long pectoral fins, their jagged edges breaching the water every now and then.
As Aeneas had once said, the whale was the only mammal that had emerged from the sea at one point in time, took a look around, and went back. And in that moment, Robert felt as though he, too, was turning his back on dry land forever.
He followed the whale until he could no longer see it through the ice on his eyelashes, until his frozen hands could no longer control the Zodiac. He didn’t remember losing consciousness; he only remembered waking much later, a Zodiac pulling up next to his, the crew of a tourist vessel helping him up, ushering him on board. A hot shower, a doctor, a private cabin.
He returned to the States, his mission a failure, as many missions were; agents learned to get past them and move on.
But Robert knew his failures went far beyond the mission, and there was no one he could tell. Aeneas, he learned, had survived; months later, the CDA announced a new mission, this one to Japan.
For more than a year, Robert looked for news about Noa—anything. She was no longer a part of the CDA, but she didn’t seem to be a part of any other organization either. There was no announcement of her death, no obituary—but Robert also knew that if she’d died on the ice, Aeneas would not want the bad publicity. His crew members, as he’d always said, came second to the cause, and no matter what happened, the CDA would persevere.