Chapter 10
ten
After dinner, Elliot slipped away from the group, claiming he needed to check their gear one more time before tomorrow’s field expedition.
It was a thin excuse, but nobody questioned him—they were all too busy nursing cups of Koos’s surprisingly decent coffee and pretending the tension in the room wasn’t thick enough to cut with a knife.
The dinner had been a study in forced pleasantries.
Lydia had complained about everything from the temperature of the soup to the quality of the bread rolls.
Dr. Keene had peppered the summer crew with questions about the station’s research capabilities until even his enthusiasm couldn’t mask their evasive answers.
And Noah Braddock had spent the entire meal watching everyone like he was cataloging potential threats.
Which, knowing what Elliot suspected about the man, he probably was.
Now, as Elliot made his way through the station’s narrow corridors, he let his tactical training take over.
The layout was standard for a research facility this size—functional, efficient, designed to maximize space while minimizing heating costs.
But the devil was in the details, and those details were what had his instincts screaming.
He started with the obvious: the cameras.
They were everywhere, tucked into corners and mounted on walls with the kind of professional installation that suggested serious money behind the surveillance system.
Too many cameras for a legitimate research station, and all of them appeared to be high-end models with night vision capabilities.
The biometric scanner on Lab B caught his attention next. He ran his fingers along the edge of the device, noting the fresh installation marks in the metal door frame. This wasn’t part of the original station construction—it had been added recently, probably within the last few weeks.
Someone had gone to considerable expense to secure whatever was inside that lab.
He moved deeper into the station, his footsteps muffled by the industrial carpeting that had seen better days.
The communications room was his next stop.
He’d noted its location during Koos’s tour, but now he wanted a closer look without their cheerful host hovering over his shoulder.
The door stood slightly ajar, and through the gap, he could see banks of equipment that looked far more sophisticated than what a small research station would typically need.
He itched to examine the setup more closely, but the sound of approaching footsteps in the corridor made him freeze.
Shit.
He ducked into a utility closet as Jess and Dr. Keene walked by, headed to their quarters. He waited for several seconds to make sure they were gone.
Enough snooping. He needed to call his brother.
He hurried to his and Rue’s room. She wasn’t back yet. Good. Closing the door, he unzipped his jacket pocket and pulled out the secure satellite communicator—a WSW prototype Daphne had pressed into his hand before departure.
“Only if absolutely necessary,” she’d told him.
Three hours at Thwaites, and it was already absolutely necessary.
He powered on the device. It bypassed the station’s communication system, establishing a direct uplink. The tiny screen glowed harsh and blue in the dark room as the connection indicator blinked amber, then steady green. Encrypted. Secure.
Elliot keyed in the priority code for WSW headquarters and waited, watching as the system authenticated his credentials. Seconds later, the screen flickered to life with an image of Davey and Rowan, both hunched over his brother’s office desk with identical expressions of concern on their faces.
“That was fast,” Davey said, not bothering with small talk. “You’ve been there what, three hours?”
“Three hours, seventeen minutes,” Elliot confirmed. “And we’ve got problems.”
He kept it brief. The unexpected summer crew. Excessive surveillance. Lab access restricted. People dodging basic questions.
Davey did not look happy. “All right, give me the details on the summer crew. I’ll have Daphne and Celeste run backgrounds.”
Elliot rattled off names and descriptions, then hesitated. “Not sure if Jess is short for something.”
“The twins will figure it out,” Davey said, jotting the names down.
Rowan leaned in closer. “What about Rue? Is she safe?”
“For now.” Elliot ran a hand over his jaw. He hadn’t shaved since leaving New York, and the stubble was rough against his palm. “She’s doing her job. Establishing protocols. Getting everyone settled. She’s noticed the same inconsistencies, but brushed them off in her usual flippant way.”
Davey and Rowan exchanged a look. The connection stuttered, the image freezing for a second before resolving.
“We’ve received some... concerning intelligence,” Davey said, choosing his words with care.
“Dad confirmed that Dr. Irina Volkova is Evgeny Volkov’s niece,” Rowan blurted. “And now with this Russian lab at the base...”
Fuck.
Evgeny Volkov, former head of Russia’s infamous Volkov Group, a mercenary army known for toppling governments, silencing journalists, and leaving mass graves in their wake.
At least until HORNET took them down thirty-some years ago.
The group splintered, but that didn’t mean the remnants weren’t still out there, lurking in the shadows and waiting for a chance to resurface.
Was Irina hoping to step into her uncle’s shoes? Elliot’s mind raced through the implications. If she was carrying on the family legacy, then this wasn’t just about scientific research—this was about power, influence, and probably a whole lot of violence.
“Jesus,” he muttered. The ventilation system’s hum seemed louder now, almost oppressive in the confined space of his room.
He itched to get back to Rue. He didn’t want to leave her alone with those people any longer than he had to.
“You think Irina’s trying to rebuild Volkov Group?
But how would coming to Antarctica help with that? ”
“Unknown,” Davey said. “But you gotta admit the timing’s suspicious as fuck.”
Genuine worry shone in Rowan’s hazel eyes. “Elliot, if your gut says something’s wrong, you need to get Rue out of there. Now.”
“It’s not that simple, Ro.”
“Yeah, it is. Call Griffin and?—”
“We can’t leave,” he interrupted. “Whatever’s happening here, Rue and I might be the only ones who can stop it.”
“That’s assuming you know what ‘it’ is,” Rowan snapped, then sucked in a sharp breath and straightened, pacing away from the camera.
Davey also stood, so that all Elliot could see was a broad chest covered in a worn US Navy t-shirt.
He pulled Rowan into his arms and rubbed her back, murmuring something Elliot couldn’t hear.
They both came back a moment later.
“I’m sorry,” Rowan said, her eyes shining with tears she was too stubborn to cry. “But my sister thinks she’s invincible. She’s not.”
“I know that,” Elliot said quietly. God, did he know that, and it worried him as much as it did her. “I won’t let anything happen to Rue.”
Davey’s expression softened marginally. “Griffin is your ripcord. You need extraction, you call, and he’ll have a team at the designated coordinates within four hours.”
“Weather permitting,” Elliot muttered. Antarctic storms could ground even the most experienced pilots.
Davey’s lips quirked. “Griff hasn’t met a storm that’s grounded him yet.”
Rowan leaned forward again. “Elliot, I’m serious. The first sign of real trouble, you get her out. She won’t leave willingly. You’ll have to convince her.”
“Or carry her,” Davey added, with the ghost of a smile that faded fast. “Be careful. We think Praetorian is?—”
The connection stuttered again, pixelating Davey’s image mid-sentence. Then the screen went dark. Must have lost signal. He powered down the communicator and slipped it back into his jacket pocket.
Davey hadn’t volunteered much concrete information, but his caution spoke volumes.
If Praetorian was behind this expedition—if Frost had been working with them all along—then the stakes were far higher than he and Rue had anticipated.
This wasn’t just about scientific research or resource competition.
Whatever lay behind the biometric door of Lab B was significant enough to justify elaborate cover stories and military-grade security in one of the most remote locations on Earth.
And somewhere in the middle of it all was Rue—brilliant, reckless Rue, who would throw herself headfirst into danger if she thought it was the right thing to do.
The thought sent a chill through him that had nothing to do with the Antarctic cold. He’d made a promise to keep her safe, and he intended to keep it.