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Fast Ice

Clive Cussler




  TITLES BY CLIVE CUSSLER

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  NONFICTION

  Built for Adventure: The Classic Automobiles of Clive Cussler and Dirk Pitt

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Cussler, Clive, author. | Brown, Graham, author.

  Title: Fast ice: a novel from the Numa files / Clive Cussler and Graham Brown.

  Description: New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, [2021] | Series: A Kurt Austin adventure.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2020048520 (print) | LCCN 2020048521 (ebook) | ISBN 9780593327869 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780593327876 (ebook)

  Subjects: LCSH: Austin, Kurt (Fictitious character)—Fiction. | Marine scientists—Fiction. | GSAFD: Suspense fiction. | Adventure fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3553.U75 F37 2021 (print) | LCC PS3553.U75 (ebook) | DDC 813/.54—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020048520

  LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020048521

  Title page photo: Ship among icebergs by I. Noyan Yilmaz/Shutterstock.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  pid_prh_5.6.1_c0_r0

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Titles by Clive Cussler

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Cast of Characters

  Prologue: The Bottom of the World

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 4
1

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  About the Authors

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  ANTARCTICA, 1939

  CAPTAIN GUNTHER JURGENSON—Lufthansa pilot, expert at piloting seaplanes and flying boats, recruited for the Bremerhaven expedition to Antarctica

  LIEUTENANT SCHMIDT—Navigator on Jurgenson’s aircraft, devoted member of the Nazi Party

  PRESENT DAY

  Grishka Expedition

  CORA EMMERSON—Climate expert and microbiologist, also a former member of NUMA (National Underwater and Marine Agency)

  ALEC LASKEY—Captain of the Grishka, a forty-year-old polar research vessel

  National Underwater and Marine Agency (NUMA)

  KURT AUSTIN—Director of Special Projects, salvage expert, world-class diver, and boating enthusiast

  JOE ZAVALA—Kurt’s assistant and closest friend, helicopter pilot, and mechanical genius

  RUDI GUNN—Assistant Director of NUMA, graduate of the Naval Academy, runs most of the day-to-day operations at NUMA

  HIRAM YAEGER—NUMA’s Director of Technology, designed and runs their most powerful computers and processing systems

  PAUL TROUT—NUMA’s chief geologist, graduate of Scripps Institute, married to Gamay

  GAMAY TROUT—NUMA’s leading marine biologist, also graduated from Scripps

  ST. JULIEN PERLMUTTER—World-class historian and gourmet cook, keeps a large collection of rare nautical books and charts in his home

  LEE GARLAND—Director of Remote Sensing and Communications, known as a satellite wrangler

  South Africa—Limpopo Province

  YVONNE LLOYD—Environmentalist and microbiologist studying ancient bacteria, part of Cora Emmerson’s expedition on the Grishka

  RYLAND LLOYD—Yvonne’s older brother, CEO of Mata Petroleum, caught up in a continuing feud with his sister

  ZHAO LIANG—Owner of Liang Shipping, a large tanker operation, associate of Ryland Lloyd

  SERGEI NOVIKOV—Russian construction magnate, builder of ports and shipping terminals, also an associate of Ryland Lloyd

  EILEEN TUNSTALL—Canadian industrialist, her company builds turbines and pipeline equipment, also an associate of Ryland Lloyd

  South Africa—Johannesburg

  LEANDRA NDIMI—NUMA liaison officer in South Africa and a friend of Rudi’s

  PROFESSOR NOAH WATSON—Microbiologist at the University of Johannesburg

  LIEUTENANT CLARENCE ZAMA—Special-operations commander in the South African Navy

  Europe

  MATTHIAS RÄIKKÖNEN—Director of Research at the European Ice Core Depository in Helsinki

  ANDREA BAUER—Lead curator at the Berlin Document Center

  P-8 Poseidon Flight Crew

  COMMANDER WALTER HANSEN—Commander of P-8 Poseidon aircraft code-named Hermes 51

  LIEUTENANT REBECCA COLLIER—Reconnaissance Systems Operator on Hermes 51

  PROLOGUE

  THE BOTTOM OF THE WORLD

  TERRA AUSTRALIS (ANTARCTICA)

  JANUARY 1939

  The droning of aircraft propellers echoed across the stark winter landscape. It caromed off snowfields and along rivers of ice, a reverberating hum never heard before in this part of Antarctica.

  A colony of emperor penguins nesting on the land below caught wind of the noise. They looked skyward for the cause of the disturbance, turning their heads in unison. Finding the source, they watched in rapt curiosity as a large gray “bird” lumbered across the sky.

  That bird was a Dornier flying boat. An all-metal silver aircraft with a registration number painted in large block letters. It boasted a high-mounted wing and two powerful radial engines arranged sequentially along the centerline of the fuselage—one engine pulled the plane forward while the second pushed it from behind.

  Those who flew this model of the Dornier called it The Whale, mostly because of its great size, but also because the plane’s ribbed sheet metal resembled the distinctly folded blubber on the underside of many ocean-dwelling leviathans.

  Inside the aircraft, a middle-aged pilot sat at the controls. He had brown eyes and graying hair, but with a thick growth of dark stubble on his face. He wore a buttonless blue jacket known as a Fliegerbluse. A captain’s badge on the collar indicated his rank, while an eagle grasping a swastika on his breast identified him as a Luftwaffe pilot. A temporary name tag, only recently sewn onto the Fliegerbluse, gave his name as Jurgenson.

  Tilting the wings and glancing down at the penguins through the heated cockpit glass, Jurgenson marveled at how the birds lined themselves up in near-perfect rows.

  “Kleine Soldaten,” he said in German. Little soldiers.

  The copilot laughed and then pointed to something else. “Blaues Wasser,” he said. Blue water. “It must be another lake. That makes three in the last fifty kilometers, all along the same line.”

  Jurgenson turned his attention to the lake up ahead. He saw a long, narrow stretch of aquamarine water shimmering in the sun. The color was intense, standing out like a sapphire in the endless field of white snow.

  “This one’s larger than the others.” He pressed the intercom button. “Navigator, I need a position report.”

  From deeper inside the plane, the navigator responded with the current latitude and longitude, adding, “We’re nearing the two-hundred-kilometer waypoint. Time to perform our duty for the Reich.”

  Jurgenson rolled his eyes and exchanged a knowing glance with the copilot. They were officially here as explorers, photographing large swaths of the unexplored continent, but in 1939 exploring unknown lands meant claiming them for King and Country—or, in this case, for Führer and Fatherland.

  To press that claim, they were required by the high command to deposit evidence of their journey every fifty kilometers. That meant dropping weighted markers through the cargo door of the plane and hoping they would land in the ice like flags.

  The markers were three feet long, made of steel and shaped like arrows. They were weighted in the nose, designed to fall like spears and embed themselves in the snow and ice. If all went well, they would remain erect, proudly displaying the swastikas emblazoned on their tails.

  Jurgenson found the exercise a ridiculous waste of time. As far as he could tell, the arrows either fell down upon impact or plunged so deeply that they’d vanished from sight.

  Jurgenson made a quick decision and pressed the intercom button. “Our true duty to the Reich is to find things of value. Liquefied snow and ice suggest geothermal heat, which shall be of tremendous use should the high command decide to build a base here. Strap yourself in. We’re turning back for a landing.”

  With the intercom silent, Jurgenson addressed the copilot. “Contact the Bremerhaven. Tell them we’re landing.”

  As the copilot reported back to the freighter they’d launched from, Jurgenson adjusted the controls and put the Dornier into a slow, descending turn. He passed over the lake once, eyeing it for rocks or obstructions, and then set up for the landing. On the approach, he lowered the flaps and feathered the throttle.

  There was no wind to speak of, which made th
ings easy. The Dornier touched down at one end of the narrow lake, splitting the calm water in two and carving a long, thin wake down the middle.

  The drag of the water reduced the plane’s speed as effectively as any brakes and the big craft was soon coasting along like a heavily laden boat. Jurgenson maneuvered the craft using the pedals at his feet that were attached to a small rudder under the plane’s keel. As the speed dropped further, he added some power, turned the plane to the right and then shut the engines down.

  The Dornier went quiet, drifting to a stop against the far end of the lake.

  “Time to stretch our legs,” Jurgenson said.

  As Jurgenson released his shoulder harness, the navigator popped his head into the cockpit. “Captain,” the navigator said. “I must insist that we—”

  Jurgenson cut him off. “Lieutenant Schmidt,” he said. “I insist that you join us. You may bring as many markers as you wish. We can even outline the lake with them, if you please. As a further honor, you shall be given the right to name this lake for the Fatherland.”

  Silence for a second, and then, “Danke, Kapitän.”

  The navigator disappeared back into the fuselage of the plane. The copilot grinned. “We’ll make a politician out of you yet.”

  “Not in a million years.”

  Jurgenson couldn’t have cared less for the National Socialist Party—in fact, he’d been an opponent of the Nazis in their early years, back when that sort of thing was still allowed. It had driven the Gestapo to put a red flag next to his name and they’d tried to keep him off the expedition. But after years working the overseas routes with Lufthansa, his level of skill in flying The Whale could not easily be matched. Those skills—along with a written rejection of his unionist past—had gotten him onto the expedition and out of working a coal mine in the Ruhr.

  Reaching up, Jurgenson opened a hatch above his head. Most versions of the Dornier had an open cockpit, but the aircraft chosen for the Antarctic expedition had been given a glassed-in canopy for obvious reasons.