Hot As Ice

He strolled across the room. OMEGA’s chief of communications hesitated for the merest fraction of a second before handing him the receiver. Hiding a frown, she stepped aside.

Maggie Sinclair, code name Chameleon, had hired Mackenzie fresh out of the navy over the objections of some of OMEGA’s older heads. Even more to the point, Chameleon had given her new Communications chief a blank check to procure the latest in high-tech gadgetry. She’d even sent Mackenzie into the field to experience first-hand the challenges of communicating with headquarters while dodging bullets or burrowing into burning desert sand to escape detection. Mackenzie considered Maggie her mentor, her role model, her friend. She still hadn’t recovered from the shock of hearing that her idol was turning over OMEGA’s reins for an indeterminate period.

And to Nick Jensen, of all people. An unabashed, unapologetic sensualist. An epicure, whose sophisticated palate demanded the finest wines, the freshest delicacies, the most glamorous dinner companions. In Mackenzie’s mind, those qualities tended to blur the fact that Nick, code name Lightning, was also one of the most experienced operatives in the agency. She’d wasted two years of her life on a man with similarly varied, if decidedly less discriminating, appetites. Her ex had forever turned her off too-handsome, too-charming rogues.

Still, when OMEGA’s new director pinned her with an intent stare, it took her a moment to get her breath back. And to realize he wasn’t looking at her, but through her.

“Where’s Artemis?”

Her glance flicked to the computerized status board projected onto the far wall. One of her unit’s main challenges was keeping track of OMEGA’s agents twenty-four hours a day. A single glance confirmed the status of Dr. Diana Remington, code name Artemis.

“She’s at John Hopkins, teaching a class on antipeptide antibodies…whatever those are.”

“Contact her. Tell her I want her in my office in thirty minutes.”

Mackenzie’s brows lifted at the preemptory order. It hadn’t taken Lightning long to shift from operative to director mode.

“Aye, aye, sir!”

A glint appeared in Nick’s dark eyes. Deliberately, he planed the brusque edge from his voice. “While we’re waiting for Artemis to arrive, get the Field Dress folks working on Arctic gear for her. Also, pull up everything in the computers on the U-2.”

“The spy plane?”

“The spy plane.”

Adam Ridgeway smiled as another “Aye, aye, sir,” rifled through the control center. Sliding a hand under his wife’s arm, he squeezed gently.

“Strange how much that woman reminds me of one of my very best agents,” he murmured.

“She should,” Maggie replied smugly. “One of your very best agents personally trained her.”

She took a last look around the control center, then set her champagne aside. Laughter danced in her eyes when they locked with her husband’s.

“Let’s blow this joint. The new team has work to do, and we’ve got a book and a baby to make.”

A half hour later, Diana Remington faced Nick across an expanse of polished mahogany. In her ivory silk blouse and navy blue suit with its slim, calf-length skirt, she defied the stereotypical image of a molecular biologist. In Nick’s considered opinion, she looked even less like an undercover operative.

As her code name suggested, however, Remington’s silky, silvery blond hair and elegantly tailored suit belied her unique talents. Artemis was the Greek name for Diana, the Roman goddess of the hunt. The modern-day incarnation seated across from Nick was every bit as skilled as her mythical counterpart at tracking and bringing down her prey. This time, it appeared, her prey had already been found.

Diana’s green eyes were wide with astonishment as she stared across the table at Nick. “They discovered what in the ice?”

“The body of an air force pilot.”

“One of ours?”

“We think so. There are no identifying labels of any kind on his flight suit or helmet. That’s a significant factor in itself. Additionally, the age of his equipment helped pinpoint his identity. All evidence indicates he’s Major Charles Stone, whose plane disappeared from radar screens at 2235 Zulu on November 2, 1956.”

Diana let out a low whistle. “He’s been lost for more than forty-five years?”

“Apparently so. No trace of him or his plane were ever found.”

“Didn’t the air force mount a search and rescue operation when he went down?”

“They couldn’t.” Nick’s dark eyes held hers. “His aircraft had just entered Soviet airspace when it disappeared from radar.”

“Oops.”

“Exactly.”

The tip of Nick’s twenty-four karat gold Mount Blanc pen tapped the cover of a plain manila folder. The pen was a gift from Maggie and Adam. The folder contained the data Mackenzie Blair had hastily milked from the OMEGA’s supercomputers.

“If this pilot is in fact Major Stone,” he continued, “he was flying a U-2, known in the air force by the nickname of Dragon Lady. It’s a high-altitude, all-weather surveillance aircraft developed in the early fifties to collect data on Soviet ICBMs.”

“I saw something about it on the History Channel a few weeks ago,” Diana said. “Isn’t that the plane Francis Gary Powers was flying when he was shot down over Russia in the early sixties?”

“It is,” Nick confirmed. “Although the U.S. insisted the U-2’s were only collecting weather data, the Soviets put Powers on trial for espionage. He was convicted and sentenced to ten years in prison, but exchanged after serving only two. The incident gave Eisenhower a political black eye and put Kennedy at a real disadvantage in the court of world opinion when the Cuban missile crisis came along.”

Diana leaned back in her chair and played with a strand of her shoulder-length blond hair. Far too busy to waste time primping in the mornings, she’d be forever grateful to the savvy stylist who’d talked her into a wash-and-go spiral perm and a few age-defying highlights.

Not that she worried unduly about her age. At twenty-nine, she was one of the youngest biologists at the prestigious Harrell Institute, a private, nonprofit consortium of scientists chartered to help define medical and moral standards for genetic research.

It was her other job that had carved the character lines at the corners of her eyes, she thought wryly. OMEGA tended to plunge its agents into situations that sent the pucker factor right off the charts. From the expression on Nick’s face, she had a feeling his first official act as the new director of OMEGA would definitely have that effect on her.

Sure enough, Lightning tapped his shiny gold pen once, twice, all the while shooting her a considering look. When he tucked the pen into his suit pocket, Diana braced herself.

“The president is scheduled for a summit meeting with the new Russian premier next month. He isn’t particularly anxious to reopen an old, embarrassing chapter in U.S.-Russian relations prior to the meeting.”

“No, I can see he wouldn’t be.”

“Nor does he want to unnecessarily inflame certain right-wing groups in this country who still see Russia as the evil empire and are looking for any excuse to resume the Cold War. If the Soviet Union shot down Stone, as they did Powers, relations between Russia and the U.S. could get real tense, real fast.”

“No kidding,” Diana murmured.

“That’s why you’re heading north. Your civilian credentials give you the perfect cover to take part in the recovery operation. If the team of other scientists already en route to the Arctic Circle succeeded in breathing life into this iceman, we want you there to—”

“What!” Diana bolted upright. “They’re going to thaw this guy out?”

“They’re going to try. Apparently the body is perfectly preserved.”

“It can’t possibly be that well preserved! Cyrogenics isn’t my specialty, but I know frozen cell technology hasn’t advanced far enough yet to undo damage caused by forty plus years buried in ice.”

“The Dragon Lady flew at such high altitudes that their pilots wore the equivalent of space suits. Dr. Irwin Goode, who worked the U-2 program during its inception, thinks the pressure suit may account for the remarkable state of Major Stone’s body.”

Since Goode had been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize some decades ago for his pioneering work in the superoxygenation of living microbes, Diana refrained from arguing the point.

“Is Goode part of the team headed for the Arctic?”

“He is. So is Dr. Gregory Wozniak, who, I’ve been informed, recently cloned an ice-age mouse found in a cave in northern Siberia from a single strand of its fur. If Goode and company can’t revive Major Stone, Wozniak wants to try cloning him.”