Polar Quest

The Fed leaned against the railing. “You got a letter recently from a Mr. Guilfoyle.”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Annja said.

He looked over the top of his glasses at her. Annja smiled. “Right, of course. Yes, I got the letter from Zach. So what?”

“He’s requested your presence at the research center in Antarctica.”

Annja sighed. “If you already know about the letter, I’m assuming you know all about the contents of the letter. So how about we don’t waste any more of each other’s time—me being the sweaty, stinky creature in need of a shower—and you guys tell me exactly what it is you want and then go back to scaring little kids with those costumes. Okay?”

“We need you to go to Antarctica,” the man said.

“Why?” Annja asked.

“Because Guilfoyle needs your help. He says you’re the only one he can trust. The only one he’ll work with.”

Annja felt the sweat rolling down her back. It tickled a bit whenever it did that and she really wanted that shower. “What’s the big deal in Antarctica?” she asked.

“It’s classified.”

“Of course. All that snow and ice. No wonder you guys want to keep a lid on it.”

The Feds said nothing, but just looked at her.

Annja cleared her throat. “You guys aren’t leaving until I agree to go—is that what I’m seeing here?”

“Something like that.”

“Right.” Annja took a breath and sighed. “All right. I’ll need a day or so to get my things in order and let my boss know that I won’t be in to do that work on the reports I’m supposed to be filing,” Annja said, stalling for time to figure out what was going on.

“That’s already been taken care of,” one of the men said.

Annja frowned. “Excuse me?”

“Your boss. He’s already been called. He knows not to expect you for about ten days.”

“Ten days?”

One of the Feds shrugged. “Well, it’s not like they run daily flights into the research station. Especially this time of year. Weather’s a lot worse than usual.”

“Oh. Great.”

“We need to get you to New Zealand, Miss Creed.”

“New Zealand?”

“And then on to Antarctica.”

Annja nodded. “Did you guys already take a shower for me, as well?”

“Not quite.”

Annja started up the steps. “Good. In that case, I’m going to soak my tired muscles. I’d invite you guys up, but I know what habitual snoops you are. There’s no telling what kind of trouble you’d get into up there.”

The lead Fed grinned. “That’s okay. We’ve already seen the place.”

Annja started to laugh, but something about the way he said it told her he wasn’t joking. The slimy bastards had been into her place.

She stalked into the building and slammed the door shut behind her. What the hell had Guilfoyle gotten himself mixed up with this time?

The plane jerked again and seemed to turn slightly. Annja felt as if she’d just been jarred awake.

They must be starting to come in now, she realized.

One of the crew members moved past her. “Won’t be long now. Sit tight. We’ll be on the ground shortly.”

“Thanks,” she said.

He moved off and Annja closed her eyes. The propellers seemed to be groaning now. She could hear them straining against the Antarctic gales. It sounded like frozen pellets of snow pummeling the plane outside.

She could imagine the pilot and copilot going through their loading routine. They’d lower the flaps, decrease the throttle and line up the nose of the plane with the point on the ground where they’d be landing the plane.

Did they have runway lights strung out down here? Annja didn’t know what to expect. All she knew was that two days ago she’d been standing on her front stoop back in Brooklyn sweating profusely while two Feds spoke to her. She’d gone upstairs, showered, tossed a few items into a bag and then been whisked off to the 109th Airlift Wing of the New York Air National Guard based outside Schenectady. From there, she’d been hustled aboard a big military plane and then flown across the world to Christchurch, New Zealand.

In Christchurch, the weather was seventy degrees and pleasant. She could have lounged there in jeans and a T-shirt. Instead, the flight crew made her clamber into thermal underwear and extreme-cold-weather survival gear.

“In case we go down, you have to be clothed already in survival gear,” the loadmaster told her matter-of-factly.

“You ever go down?” Annja asked nervously.

He grinned. “Once we pass the boomerang, we either land or crash.”

“The boomerang?”

“The point at which we can’t come back here.” He zipped up her parka. “But I wouldn’t worry about it. It’s only bad if we have a whiteout landing.”

“I don’t think I want to know about that,” Annja said. By that point, the two Feds who’d flown down with her from New York City had maneuvered her onto the plane and then waved goodbye to her. They’d never told her why she was heading to Antarctica and she’d given up asking.

“I hardly even got to know you guys,” Annja said.

“And that’s how it should be,” one said. Then they were gone. Back to the shadow world they lived in. Annja shook her head and focused on trying to keep herself in the moment.

Her ears popped as the plane descended. It banked again and then leveled off.

The propellers strained further and the entire cabin filled with a kind of metal grinding noise. Annja hoped the skin wasn’t about to tear itself free from the framework.

“Stand by!” One of the crew shouted over the din, and Annja clutched the armrests of her chair, willing herself to breathe normally while her heart did its best imitation of a jackhammer.

She could almost hear the wind.