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  Then, quite suddenly, a grotesque face materialized on the other side of the window, scant centimeters from Pitts eyes.

  He unconsciously stepped back. The sudden appearance of a woman with a cut over one eye and blood flowing over half the features, all distorted by the hairline cracks running through the window, startled Pitt momentarily.

  He quickly shook off the shock and studied the unblemished side of the face. The high cheekbones, the long dark hair, and one olive-brown eye was enough to suggest a very beautiful woman, Pitt thought charitably.

  He leaned close to the window and yelled, "Can you open an emergency exit hatch?"

  The plucked eyebrow raised a fraction, but the eye looked blank.

  "Do you hear me?"

  At that instant, Simon's men fired up the auxiliary power unit, and a stand of floodlights flashed on, illuminating the aircraft in a glare as bright as daylight. They quickly connected the heater unit and Simon began dragging the flexible hose across the ice.

  "Over here, on the wing," Pitt waved. "And bring something to cut through a window."

  The damage-control team had been trained for emergency ship repair, and they went about their trade, competent and without wasted movement, as if rescuing trapped passengers from a downed airplane was an everyday exercise.

  When Pitt turned back, the woman's face was gone.

  Simon and one of his team scrambled up on the twisted wing, struggling to keep their footing while tugging the widemouthed heater hose behind.

  Pitt felt a blast of hot air and was amazed that the heating unit required so little time to warm UP

  "We'll need a fire ax to break through," said Pitt.

  Simon feigned a haughty look. "Give the U.S. Navy credit for a touch of finesse. We've advanced far beyond crude chopping methods." He removed a compact battery-powered tool from his coat pocket. He pushed the switch and a small abrasive wheel on one end began to spin. "Goes through aluminum and Plexiglas like butter."

  "Do your stuff," Pitt said dryly, moving back out of the way.

  Simon was as good as his word; the little cutting device sliced through the thick exterior window in less than two minutes. The sheet inside took only seconds.

  Pitt hunched down and extended his arm inside and beamed a flashlight. There was no sign of the woman. The cold water of the fjord glittered under the light's ray. The water lapped at the edge of empty, nearby seats.

  Simon and Pitt inserted the end of the heater hose through the window and then hurried around to the forward section of the aircraft. The navy men had reached under the water and released the latch to the main exit door, but, as expected, it was jammed. They rapidly drilled holes and screwed in stainless-steel hooks which were attached to cables leading to the snowmobile.

  The driver engaged the clutch and the snowmobile slowly inched ahead until the slack was taken up. Then he revved the engine, the metal spikes of the treads dug in, and the little snowmobile strained forward.

  for a few seconds nothing seemed to happen. There was only the growl of the exhaust and the crunching noise of the treads as they chiseled their way into the ice.

  After an anxious wait, a new sound broke the cold-an unearthly screeching of protesting metal, and then the lower edge of the cabin door raised out of the water. The cables were unhooked and the entire rescue crew crouched down, set their shoulders against the door and heaved upward until it creaked almost to a full open position.

  The inside of the plane was dark and ominous.

  Pitt leaned across the narrow stretch of open water and stared into the unknown, his stomach churning with morbid curiosity. His figure threw a shadow over the water in the aisle of the main cabin, and at first he saw nothing but the gleam from the walls of the galley.

  It was strangely quiet and there was no sign of human remains.

  Pitt hesitated and looked back. Doc Gale and his medical team were standing behind him, staring in grim anticipation, while Simon's men were unreeling cable from the power unit to light the plane's interior.

  "Going in," Pitt said.

  He jumped across the opening into the plane. He landed on the deck in water that splashed over his knees. His legs felt like they had been suddenly stabbed by a thousand needles. He waded around the bulkhead and into the aisle separating the seats of the passenger cabin. The eerie silence was unnerving; the only sound came from the sloshing of his movement.

  Then he froze in shock, his worst fears unfolding like the petals of a poisonous flower.

  Pitt found himself exchanging blank looks with a sea of ghostly white faces. None moved, none blinked, none spoke. They just sat strapped in their seats and stared at him with the sightless expression of the dead.

  A chill colder than the freezing air spread over the back of Pitts neck.

  The light from outside filtered through the windows, casting eerie shadows on the walls. He looked from seat to seat as if expecting one of the passengers to wave a greeting or say something, but they sat as still as mummies in a tomb.

  He leaned over a man with slicked-back red-blond hair precisely parted down the middle of the skull, who sat in an aisle seat. There was no expression of agony on the face. The eyes were half open as if they were about to close in sleep, the lips met natumfly, the jaw slightly loose.

  Pitt lifted a limp hand and placed his fingertips just below the base of the thumb and pressed against the artery running beneath the skin on the inner side of the wrist. His touch felt no pulsations-the heart had stopped.

  "Anything?" asked Doc Gale, wading past him and examining another passenger.

  "He's gone," replied Pin.

  "So's this one."

  "from what cause?"

  "Can't tell yet. No apparent injuries. Dead only a short time. No indication of intense pain or struggle. Skin coloring doesn't suggest asphyxiation."

  "if he last fits," said Pitt. "The oxygen masks are still in the overhead panels."

  Gale quickly moved from body to body. "I'll know better after a more thorough examination."

  He paused as Simon finished mounting a light unit above the doorway and safely above the water. The naval officer motioned outside, and suddenly the interior of the passenger cabin was flooded with light.

  Pitt surveyed the cabin. The only noticeable damage was a slight distortion in the ceiling. All seats were in an upright position and the seat belts buckled.

  "Impossible to believe they just sat here half immersed in ice water and died from hypothermia without making any movement," he said while checking an elderly brown-haired woman for life signs. There was no hint of suffering in her face. She looked as if she had simply fallen asleep. A small rosary hung loosely from her fingers.

  "Obviously all were dead before the plane struck the ice," offered Gale.

  "A valid answer," Pitt murmured, rapidly scanning the seat rows as if searching for someone.

  "Death probably came from toxic fumes."

  "Smell anything?"

  "No

  "Neither do I."

  "What does that leave us?"

  "Digested poison."

  Gale stared at Pitt a long, hard moment. "You're talking mass murder."

  "We appear to be headed in that direction."

  "Might help if we had a witness."

  "We do."

  Gale stiffened and hurriedly looked over the white faces. "You spot someone still breathing? Point him out."

  "Before we broke inside," Pitt explained, "a woman stared at me through a window. She was alive. I don't see her now."

  Before Gale could reply, Simon sloshed down the aisle and stopped, his eyes bulging with shock and incomprehension. "What in hell?" He stiffened and stared wildly around the cabin. "They look like figures in a wax museum."

  "try cadavers in a morgue," said Pitt dryly.

  "They're dead? Everyone? You're absolutely sure?"

  "Someone is alive," answered Pitt, "either in the cockpit or hiding out in the bathrooms to the rear."

 
"Then they're in need of my attention," said Gale.

  Pitt nodded. "I think it best if you continue your examination in the slim chance there's a spark of life in any of these people. Simon can check the cockpit area. I'll head aft and search the bathrooms."

  "What about all these stiffs?" asked Simon irreverently. "Shouldn't we alert Commander Knight and begin evacuating them?"

  "Leave them be," Pitt said quietly, "and stay off the radio. We'll make our report to Commander Knight in person. Keep your men outside. Seal the door and place the interior of the aircraft off limits. Same goes for your medical team, Doc. Touch nothing unless it's absolutely necessary. Something's happened here beyond our depth. Word of the crash has already gone out. Within hours air-crash investigators and the news media will be swarming around like locusts. Best to keep what we've found under wraps until we hear from the proper authorities."

  Simon weighed Pitts words for a moment. "I get the picture.

  "Then let's get a move on and find a survivor,"

  What was normally a twenty-second walk took Pitt nearly two minutes of struggle through the thigh-high water before he reached the bathrooms.

  His feet had already turned numb and he didn't require the services of Doc Gale to tell him he'd have to dry and warm them in the next half hour or risk frostbite.

  The death toll would have been much higher if the plane had carried a full load of passengers. But even with many of the seats vacant, he still counted fifty-three bodies.

  He paused to examine a female flight attendant seated against the rear bulkhead. Her head was tilted forward and blond hair spilled across her face. He felt no pulse.

  He reached the compartment containing the bathrooms. Three had the VACANT sign showing and he peered inside, They were empty. The fourth read OCCUPIED and was locked. Someone had to be inside to have slipped the latch.

  He knocked loudly on the door and said, "Can you understand me? Help is here. Please try to unlock the door."

  Pitt put his ear to the panel and thought he heard a soft sobbing from the other side, followed by low murmurs as if two people were conversing in hushed tones.

  He raised his voice. "Stand back. I'm going to force the door. "

  Pitt raised his dripping leg and gave a sharp but controlled kick, just enough to break the latch without smashing the door against whoever was inside. His heel impacted just above the knob and the catch ripped from the jam. The door gave about an inch. A gentle nudge with his shoulder and it swung inward.

  Two women were huddled in the cramped rear of the bathroom, standing on top of the toilet platform out of the water, shivering and clutching each other for support. Actually, the one doing the clutching was a uniformed flight attendant, her eyes wide with alarm and the fear of a trapped doe. She was standing on her right leg, the left was stiffly extended to the side. A wrenched knee, Pitt guessed.

  The other woman straightened and stared back at Pitt defiantly. Pitt immediately recognized her as the apparition at the window. Part of her face was still masked with coagulated blood, but both eyes were open now and had the cold look of hatred. Pitt was surprised at her hostility.

  "Who are you and what do you want?" she demanded in a husky voice with a slight trace of an accent.

  A dumb question was the first thought that crossed Pitts mind, but he quickly wrote off the woman's testy challenge to shock. He smiled his best Boy Scout trustworthy smile.

  "My name is Dirk Pitt. I'm part of a rescue team from the United States ship Polar Explorer."

  "Can you prove it?"

  "Sorry, I left my driver's license at home." 'This was bordering on the ridiculous. He tried another tack and leaned against the door frame and casually crossed his arms. "Please rest easy," he said soothingly. "I want to help, not harm you."

  The flight attendant seemed to relax for an instant, her eyes softened and the edges of her lips lifted in a timid smile. Then abruptly the fear returned and she sobbed hysterically.

  "They're all dead, murdered!"

  "Yes, I know," said Pitt gently. He held out his hand. "Let me take you where it's warm and the ship's doctor can tend your injuries."

  Pitts face was shadowed by the floodlights irt the forward part of the cabin, and the stronger woman of the two could not read his eyes. "You might be one of the terrorists who caused all this," she said in a controlled tone. "Why should we trust you?"

  "Because you'll freeze to death if you don't,"

  Pitt tired of the word games. He stepped forward, carefully lifted the flight attendant in his arms and eased her out into the aisle. She offered him no resistance, but her body was stiff with apprehension.

  "Just relax," he said. "Pretend you're Scarlett O'Hara and I'm Rhett Butler come to sweep you off your feet."

  "I don't feel much like Scarlett. I must look a mess."

  "Not to me," Pitt grinned. "How about dinner some night?"

  "Can my husband come along?"

  "Only if he picks up the check."

  She gave in then and he felt her body sag in exhausted relief. Slowly her arms circled his neck and she buried her head in his shoulder. He paused and turned to the other woman. The warmth of his smile was revealed and his eyes glinted in the light. "Hang tight. I'll be right back for you."

  for the first time Hala knew she was safe. Only then did the dam holding back the nightmare of fright, the stunning disbelief that any of this was happening to her, flood over the gates.

  The suppressed emotions ran free, and she wept, Rubin knew he was slipping away. The cold and the pain had ceased to exist. The strange voices, the sudden display of light, formed no meaning for him. He felt detached, To his confused mind they were like obscure recollections from a distant place, a former time.

  Suddenly a white brilliance filled the shattered cockpit. He wondered if this was the light at the end of the tunnel people who had died and returned claimed to have experienced.

  A disembodied voice nearby said, "Take it easy, take it easy."

  Rubin tried to focus his eyes on a vague figure hovering over him. "Are you God?"

  Simon's face went blank for a brief moment. Then he smiled compassionately. "Only a mere mortal who happened to be in the neighborhood."

  "I'm not dead?"

  "Sorry, but if I'm any judge of age, you'll have to wait at least another fifty years."

  "I can't move. My legs feel like they're pinned. I think they might be broken. Please . . . please get me out."

  "That's why I'm here," said Simon cheerfully. He used his hands to scoop a good foot of ice and snow away from Rubin's upper torso until the trapped arms came free. "There, now you can scratch your nose until I return with a shovel and cutting tools."

  Simon reentered the main cabin as Pitt was easing the flight attendant through the door into the waiting arms of Gale's medics, who gently lowerrd her onto a stretcher.

  "Hey, Doc, I've got a live one in the cockpit."

  "On my way," replied Gale.

  "I could use your help too," Simon said to Pitt.

  Pitt nodded. "Give me a couple of minutes to carry another from the aft section."

  Hala slid to her knees and leaned over and looked into the mirror. There was enough light to clearly see her reflection. The face that stared back was flat-eyed and expressionless. It was also a disaster. She looked like an over-the-hill streetwalker who had been beaten up by her pimp.

  She reached out and pulled several paper towels from a rack. She dipped them in the cold water, then wiped clear the clotted blood and lipstick which had smeared around her mouth. Her mascara and eye shadow looked as if they had been applied by Jackson Pollock on a drip painting. She wiped away that mess too. Her hair was still reasonably intact so she patted the loose ends into place.

  She still looked awful, she thought despairingly. She forced a smile when Pitt reappeared, hoping she looked more presentable.

  . He looked at her a long moment and then screwed his face into an expression of awed curiosity. "Excuse me, g
orgeous creature, but have you seen an old crone anywhere?"

  Tears welled in Hala's eyes and she half-laughed, halfcried. "You're a nice man, Mr. Pitt. Thank you."

  "I try, God Icnows I try," he said humorously.

  Pitt had returned with several blankets and he bundled them around her.

  He placed one arm under her knees and the other around her waist and lifted her without the slightest sign of strain. As he carried her up the aisle his numbed legs began to give out and he stumbled for several steps before recovering.

  "Are you all right?" she asked.

  "Nothing a shot of Jack Daniel's Tennessee whiskey won't cure."

  "As soon as I return home I'll send you a whole case."

  "Where's home?"

  "At the moment, New York."

  "Next time I'm in town, let's have dinner together."

  "I'd consider it an honor, Mister Pitt."

  "Likewise, Miss Kaniil."

  Hala raised her eyebrows. "You recognized me, looking horrible like this?"

  "I admit it wasn't until after you'd fixed your face a bit."

  "Forgive me for putting you to all this trouble. Your legs and feet must be frozen stiff."

  "A minor discomfort is a small price for freezing.I held the SecretaryGeneral of the U.N. in my arms."

  Amazing, truly amazing, thought Pitt. This has to be a redbanner day.

  Dating the only three women, and attractive ones at that, within two thousand miles of frigid desolation inside of minutes had to be some sort of record. The feat meant more to him than discovering the Russian submarine.

  Fifteen minutes later, after Hala, Rubin and the flight attendant were comfortably settled inside the helicopter, Pitt stood in front of the cockpit and waved to Giordino, who acknowledged with a thumbs up sign.