Part 18 (2/2)
”You keeping the field clean just in case?” he asked Bue.
”Tuktoyaktuk has us scheduled for a supply drop later today. They may not know that we'll be in the middle of a gale-force blizzard in about an hour. Keep trying, Scott. See if you can wave off the flight for today, for the safety of the pilots.”
Before Case could transmit again, the radio suddenly cackled. An authoritative voice backed by static interference blared through the speaker.
”Ice Research Lab 7, Ice Research Lab 7, this is NUMA research vessel Narwhal. Do you read, over?”
Bue beat Case to the transmitter and replied quickly. ”Narwhal , this is Dr. Kevin Bue of Ice Research Lab 7. Go ahead, please.”
”Dr. Bue, we're not trying to eavesdrop, but we've heard your repeated calls to the Coast Guard station at Tuktoyaktuk, and we've picked up a few unanswered calls back from Tuktoyaktuk. It sounds like the weather is keeping you two from connecting. Can we a.s.sist in relaying a message for you?”
”We'd be most grateful.” Bue had the American s.h.i.+p forward a message to Tuktoyaktuk to delay sending the supply plane for twenty-four hours on account of the poor weather. A few minutes later, the Narwhal radioed a confirmation back from Tuktoyaktuk.
”Our sincere thanks,” Bue radioed. ”That will save some poor flyboy a rough trip.”
”Don't mention it. Where's your camp located, by the way?”
Bue transmitted the latest position of the floating camp, and the vessel responded in kind.
”Are you boys in good shape to ride out the approaching storm? Looks to be a mean one,” the Narwhal radioed.
”We've managed everything the Good Witch of the North has thrown at us so far, but thanks all the same,” Bue replied.
”Farewell, Ice Lab 7. Narwhal out.”
Bue set down the transmitter with a look of relief.
”Who says the Americans don't belong in the Arctic after all?” he said to Case, then slipped on his parka and left the building.
THIRTY-FIVE MILES TO the southwest, Captain Bill Stenseth examined a local meteorological forecast with studious concern. An imposing man with Scandinavian features and the build of an NFL linebacker, Stenseth had weathered storms in every ocean of the world. Yet facing a sudden blow in the ice-studded Arctic still made the veteran captain of the Narwhal nervous.
”The winds seem to be ratcheting up a bit in the latest forecast,” he said without looking up from the doc.u.ment. ”I think we're in for a pretty good gale. Wouldn't want to be those poor saps hunkered down on the ice,” he added, pointing toward the radio.
Standing beside Stenseth on the s.h.i.+p's bridge, Rudi Gunn suppressed a pained grin. Sailing through the teeth of a powerful Arctic storm was going to be anything but pleasant. He would gladly trade places with the ice camp members, who would likely sit out the storm in a warm hut playing pinochle, Gunn thought. Stenseth's preference for battling the elements at sea was clearly the mark of a lifelong sailor, one who never felt comfortable with his feet on the sh.o.r.e.
Gunn shared no similar propensity. Though he was an Annapolis graduate who had spent several years at sea, he now spent more time sailing a desk. The Deputy Director for the National Underwater and Marine Agency, Gunn was usually found in the headquarters building in Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C. With a short, wiry build and horn-rimmed gla.s.ses on his nose, he was the physical opposite of Stenseth. Yet he shared the same adventurous pursuit of oceanographic challenges and was often on hand when a new vessel or piece of underwater technology was sea-tested for the first time.
”I'd have more pity for the polar bears,” Gunn said. ”How long before the storm front arrives?”
Stenseth eyed a growing number of whitecaps cresting off the s.h.i.+p's bow. ”About an hour. No more than two. I would suggest retrieving and securing the Bloodhound within the next thirty minutes.”
”They won't like returning to the kennel so soon. I'll head down to the operations room and pa.s.s the word. Captain, please let me know if the weather deteriorates any sooner than predicted.”
Stenseth nodded as Gunn left the bridge and made his way aft. The two-hundred-foot research s.h.i.+p was rolling steadily through a building sea, and Gunn had to grasp a handrail several times to steady himself. Nearing the stern, he looked down at a large moon pool cut through the vessel's hull. Surface water was already slos.h.i.+ng back and forth, spilling onto the surrounding deck. Stepping down a companionway, he entered a door marked LAB, which opened up into a large bay. At the far end was a sectioned area with numerous video monitors mounted on the bulkhead. Two technicians sat tracking and recording a data feed from underwater.
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