Part 49 (2/2)
The cold steel deck and bulkheads of their floating prison quickly sapped their efforts to keep warm, but a solution lie in the debris left behind. Roman organized the men under penlight and had them attack the mound of tires. First, a layer of the old rubber was laid on the deck, then a series of walls were built up, creating a smaller den where all the men could still fit. The mooring ropes were then unwound and draped over the tire walls and floor, creating an extra layer of insulation, as well as padding for the men to lie on. Huddled into the tight enclave, the men had a combined body heat that gradually forced a rise in the temperature. After several hours, Roman flashed his light on a bottle of water at his feet and noted an inch or two of liquid sloshed atop the frozen contents. The insulated den had warmed above freezing, he noted with some satisfaction.
It was the only satisfaction he had received in some time. When Murdock and Bojorquez returned after a two-hour inspection of the barge's interior, the news was all bleak. Murdock had found no other potential exit points astern of their storage hold, save for the cavernous holds themselves. The mammoth overhead hatch covers might as well have been welded shut for the chance they had at moving them.
”I did find this,” Bojorquez said, holding up a small wood-handled claw hammer. ”Somebody must have dropped it in the hold and didn't bother to retrieve it.”
”Even a sledgehammer wouldn't do us a lot of good on that hatch,” Roman replied.
Undeterred, Bojorquez began attacking the locked hatch lever with the small tool. Soon the tap-tap-tap of the pounding hammer became a constant accompaniment to the creaking sounds of the moving barge. Men lined up to have a go at the hammer, mostly out of boredom, or in an attempt to warm themselves from the exertion. Against the incessant rapping, Murdock's voice suddenly raised over the din.
”The tow s.h.i.+p is slowing.”
”Cease the hammering,” Roman ordered.
Ahead of them, they could hear the engines of the icebreaker slow their deep-throated drone. A few minutes later, the engines dropped to an idle, then the barge b.u.mped against a stationary object. Listening in silence, the men anxiously hoped that their frozen imprisonment was over.
59
THE ROYAL GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY ISLANDS appeared as a ma.s.s of buff-colored hills rising above the choppy slate waters. The islands were christened by the explorer Roald Amundsen in 1905, during his epic voyage on the Gjoa, when he became the first man to successfully navigate the length of the Northwest Pa.s.sage. Remote and forgotten for over a century, the islands remained a footnote until a freelance exploration company found an exposed deposit of zinc on West Island and sold its claims to Mid-America.
The Mid-America mining camp was built on a wide cove along the island's rugged southern coast, which zigzagged with numerous inlets and lagoons. A naturally formed deepwater channel allowed large s.h.i.+ps to access the cove, providing that the sea ice had vanished for the season. The company had built a three-hundred-foot semifloating dock that stretched from the cove, sitting empty and alone amid the chunks of ice bobbing in the surrounding waters.
Zak had the captain pull to the dock while he scanned the sh.o.r.eline through a pair of binoculars. He viewed a pair of prefabricated buildings perched beneath a small bluff alongside a gravel road that ran inland a short distance. The windows of the buildings were dark, and piles of drifting snow could be seen acc.u.mulated in the doorways. Satisfied that the facility was still abandoned from the winter shutdown, he had the Otok tie up to the dock.
”Have the team of geologists a.s.sembled and put ash.o.r.e,” Zak instructed the captain. ”I want to know the mineral content of the ore they are extracting here, as well as the geology of the general area.”
”I believe the team is anxious to get ash.o.r.e,” the captain quipped, having seen a number of the geologists suffering from seasickness in the galley.
”Captain, I had a large package sent to the s.h.i.+p before I arrived. Did you receive a delivery in Tuktoyaktuk?”
”Yes, a crate was taken aboard there. I had it placed in the forward hold.”
”Please have it delivered to my cabin. It contains some materials that I'll need on sh.o.r.e,” he said.
”I'll have it taken care of right away. What about our captives on the barge? They're probably near death,” he said, eyeing a digital thermometer on the console that indicated the outside temperature was five degrees.
”Ah yes, our frozen Americans. I'm sure their disappearance has a few people excited by now,” Zak said with an arrogant tone. ”Toss them some food and blankets, I suppose. It may still do for us to keep them alive.”
While the geologists made their way ash.o.r.e accompanied by an armed security team, Zak stepped down to his cabin. His package, a metal-skinned trunk toting a heavy padlock, sat waiting for him on the carpeted floor. Inside was a carefully organized array of fuses and detonators, along with enough dynamite to flatten a city block. Zak selected a few of the items and placed them in a small satchel, then relocked the trunk. Slipping into a heavy parka, he made his way to the main deck and was about to step off the s.h.i.+p when a crewman stopped him.
”You have a call on the bridge. The captain asks that you come right away.”
Zak took a companionway to the bridge, where he found the captain talking on a secure satellite telephone.
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