Chapter 26
Arctic
Crash Site
Kasey wasn’t sure precisely why the critically injured man had died. Some combination of blood loss, internal injuries, and trauma, she guessed. He had never regained consciousness, and his vital signs deteriorated until his heart simply stopped.
Sharpe had found no identity documents in his pockets, and while that would be sorted out in the coming days, to Kasey the man’s anonymity was oddly comforting.
As she and Nick hauled his body outside, using blankets as a makeshift body bag, the fact that they knew nothing about him gave a measure of detachment.
The same was true of the two snow-covered bodies outside that they respectfully relocated.
The lifeless flight attendants were different.
Their name tags and uniforms verified who they were and what they did.
For hours Kasey had interacted with them, receiving their smiles and appreciating their service.
The last minutes of their lives had been dedicated to keeping everyone safe.
They had perished in the course of their duties, but their professionalism had saved others.
Sharpe helped extract their bodies from the debris, and the anguish on his face was clear.
These were people he had known and worked with, and extricating one woman in particular, a stunning blonde, had brought tears to his eyes.
Had he dated her? Kasey wondered. Been her lover?
These were questions that couldn’t be asked.
Not now. Probably not ever. But she was glad for one thing: By volunteering to take the bodies outside with Nick, she was easing his burden.
Admittedly, however, her true motivation wasn’t quite so pure.
The storm was abating, but only slightly. The polar wind whipped at the sleeves of her jacket as she and Nick dragged the last body into the cargo hold—a natural, if soulless, temporary resting place. When they were done, the two of them stood back for a quiet moment.
A gravedigger’s pause.
“Thanks for your help,” she finally said. “You’ve been a rock.”
He nodded appreciatively. “Same to you. This whole thing sucks, but there’s no way I can feel sorry for myself. Sofia and I came through with barely a scratch, while so many others…”
His words trailed off, and Kasey said, “I know what you mean. I lost a good friend today.”
A tiny tornado of snow whipped past.
“Guess we should head back inside,” he said.
She followed him to the canopied opening, and the moment she entered the cabin, Kasey felt relief.
It wasn’t exactly warmth, but there was no wind, and the cold was ten degrees less excruciating.
Sharpe had built a makeshift fire pit using metal baking sheets from the oven and layers of aluminum foil that had been covering hot meals.
His first attempt at a fire had taken nicely.
He kept it small, slowly adding books and tightly wrapped cardboard.
The fire was situated centrally in the cabin, and its smoke channeled up and out through a small breach high in the sidewall.
Kasey saw all the other passengers huddled in the forward section.
Some were eating. Others had used the fire to warm mugs of what was probably tea or coffee scrounged from the galley.
She tugged at one of her gloves, then said to Nick, “You know, these are pretty tight. I might go back to the hold—I think I saw a pair that would be a better fit. If Sharpe asks, tell him I’ll be right back. ”
“Will do.”
Nick padded ahead, removing his gloves and rubbing his hands together.
Kasey loitered near the back long enough to make sure no one was watching, then retrieved Sky Fire. She had repositioned it deep in a crevice of twisted metal near the makeshift door.
Seconds later she was outside. Shouldering close to the hull, she moved halfway toward the cargo hold and then sat down on the ice.
She flipped open the case and powered up the system.
The interface was essentially that of a laptop—a standard keyboard and monitor.
As promised, the machine booted up quickly.
She pulled out the password, which was scrawled on a piece of paper in her pocket, and began typing.
It was twenty-six characters in length, an alphanumeric stew of upper- and lowercase letters, numbers, and special characters.
How Chen remembered it she had no idea, but the screen unlocked immediately.
She quickly found a communications application Chen had described and began inputting commands—these, too, she had written down.
Snow swept over the keyboard, but the system seemed impervious to the elements.
Prompted by a message on the screen, Kasey removed the thick disc antenna from the carrying case, plugged it in, and walked it away until the cable went taut—Chen had emphasized getting as far away as possible from the hull of the jet.
Back at the keyboard, she performed a signal-integrity check.
A circular icon spun as the test ran. Chen told her that the last time he’d used Sky Fire, he’d configured the protocols to ensure that uplinks weren’t routed through MSS servers.
She’d sensed equivocation on this point, and when she challenged him, he admitted that he couldn’t be absolutely sure—it depended on which satellite the system locked on to for its connection.
They had debated the issue for a time, but in the end, Chen had won her over with math—he told her that the odds against the signal being compromised were better than 90 percent.
When a green check mark confirmed a solid signal, Kasey typed in a destination address and then slewed the cursor into the message field. Sometime in the next minute, the precise coordinates of their position would land in either Langley or Beijing.
Possibly both.
Ever so tentatively, she removed her gloves, put her fingers to Sky Fire’s keyboard, and began to type.
Having already composed the message in her head, it flowed quickly.
In less than a minute she hit the send button.
Sky Fire seemed to hesitate, as Chen had told her it would.
He’d tried to explain the secure routings and connections required to reach Langley, but even for an experienced intelligence officer it was too arcane to follow.
Kasey was so fixated on the screen, and the howling wind so loud, that she never heard the footsteps approaching on her right.
“What are you doing?” bellowed an authoritative voice. “And what the hell is that?”