Ice Station (27 page)

Schofield watched the screen.

The Marine stood at the edge of the deck for a while, watching the
circle of ripples that indicated the spot where Schofield's body
had entered the inky water. After about thirty seconds, the Marine
turned and looked around him.

And at that moment, as the Marine turned, Schofield saw something that
made his blood run cold.

Oh, no..., he thought.

The Marine then turned on his heel and quickly walked out of the
frame.

Schofield turned to Renshaw, his mouth agape.

“It's not over yet,” Renshaw said, interrupting him
before he spoke. “Keep watching.”

Schofield turned back to face the screen.

He saw the image of the deck and the pool. Otherwise there was
nothing.

Nothing was happening.

Nothing at all.

There was no one on the deck. No movement in the water.

A full minute passed.

And then Schofield saw it.

“What the hell...” he said.

At that moment, the water in the pool seemed to part of its own accord
and suddenly, in a wash of bubbles and froth, Schofield's
body—limp and lifeless—emerged from the water.

Schofield watched, stunned.

But it was what came after his body that truly laid him cold.

Whatever it was, it was absolutely huge, at least as big as a killer
whale.

But this was no killer whale.

It lifted Schofield's lifeless body out of the water and deposited
it gently onto the deck. Water washed out onto the deck all around
Schofield's limp body as the animal leaped up onto the deck after
him. The whole deck shuddered under its immense weight.

It was huge. It dwarfed Schofield's body. Schofield
watched it, entranced.

It was a seal of some sort.

An enormous, gigantic seal.

It had a huge blubbery body, layer upon layer of undulating fat, and
it propped itself up on two massive foreflippers. The impression that
Schofield got of the animal's strength was overwhelming—to
hold up that enormous body required phenomenal musculature. It must
have weighed at least eight tons.

The strangest feature of all, however, was the animal's teeth.
This enormous seal had two long inverted fangs—fangs that
protruded from its lower jaw and rose up in front of its
nose.

“What the hell is that?” Schofield said softly.

“I have no idea,” Renshaw said. “The nose, the eyes,
the shape of the head. It looks like an elephant seal. But
I've never seen one so big. Or with teeth like that. Elephant
seals have large lower canines, but I've never seen one with lower
canines that big before.”

The seal on the screen was on the deck now. It ducked its head over
Schofield's body. It seemed to be sniffing him. It slowly made its
way up his inanimate body, until finally its long whiskers brushed
against his nose. Schofield didn't move at all.

And then, slowly, very slowly, the big seal began to open its mouth.

Right in front of Schofield's face!

Its jaws parted—a hideous, obscene yawn—revealing the
animal's enormous lower fangs. The massive seal leaned forward and
lowered its head. Its mouth began to close around
Schofield's head....

Schofield stared at the screen; his eyes went wide.

The seal was about to bite his head off.

It was going to eat him!

And then suddenly the giant seal spun. At first, Schofield was
surprised at how quickly the big animal moved. The deck beneath it
shook as it turned its hulking frame around.

It had seen something offscreen.

The seal began to bark.

There was no sound on the monitor, but Schofield could see it barking.
It bared its teeth. Barked and barked. It shuffled around, agitated,
adopted an aggressive stance. The muscles on its huge foreflippers
bulged as it moved.

And then suddenly the big seal turned and dived back into the pool.
The huge splash it created sent waves sloshing up over the deck, all
over Schofield's unmoving body.

“Wait for it,” Renshaw said. “Here's my big
entrance.”

At that moment, Schofield saw another man step into the frame. This
man was not wearing a Marine helmet, and his face was clearly visible.
It was Renshaw.

On the screen, Renshaw hurried forward and grabbed Schofield's
body by the armpits and dragged him quickly out of the camera's
field of vision—

Renshaw hit the STOP button on the video recorder.

“And that's all there is,” he said.

At first, Schofield didn't say anything. It was all just too
overwhelming.

First, the Marine shooting him and checking his pulse— to
make sure that he was dead—and then kicking him into the
pool so that there would be no trace.

And then the elephant seal.

The massive creature that had lifted Schofield's body out of the
water and placed it gently on the poolside deck and had then
disappeared back into the murky water.

Renshaw said, “Now do you understand what I was saying about you
being clinically dead? That guy we just saw, I think he was pretty
sure that you were dead.”

Schofield said, “He was ready to put a bullet in my head if he
wasn't sure.”

He shook his head at the thought of what he had just seen. Death, it
seemed, had just saved him from death. “Holy shit...,” he
breathed.

He stared blankly into space for a few moments, taking it all in. Then
he blinked quickly, returning to the present.

“Can you rewind that tape, please,” he said to Renshaw. He
had just remembered something about the image of the Marine who had
shot him, something that the sight of the elephant seal had
temporarily pushed from his mind.

Renshaw rewound the tape, pressed PLAY.

Schofield saw himself walk out onto the deck.

“Fast-forward through this,” he said.

Renshaw fast-forwarded through the tape. Schofield watched as he
walked around the deck in fast motion and then suddenly fell to the
ground, shot.

The Marine arrived. Checked Schofield's pulse. He then stood up
and starting rolling the body toward the pool with his foot.

“OK, slow down here,” Schofield said.

The image returned to normal speed just as the Marine shoved
Schofield's body a final time and the body dropped into the water.

“OK, get ready to stop it,” Schofield said, watching the
screen intently.

On the screen, the Marine was standing at the water's edge,
looking down into the pool at the spot where Scho-field's body had
entered the water.

Then the Marine turned and looked about himself.

“There!” Schofield said. “Stop it there!”

Renshaw quickly hit the PAUSE button on the VCR, and the image on the
screen froze.

The screen showed the top portion of the Marine's helmet. The
man's shoulders had also rotated upward slightly as he had turned
to look about himself.

“I don't get it,” Renshaw said. “You still
can't see his face.”

“I'm not looking at his face,” Schofield said.

And he wasn't.

He was looking at the man's shoulders. At the man's right
shoulder plate.

The image on the screen was grainy, but Schofield could see the
shoulder plate clearly.

A picture had been painted onto it.

Schofield felt a sliver of ice run down his spine as he stared at the
picture that had been tattooed onto the man's shoulder plate.

It was a picture of a cobra, with its jaws bared wide.

In the dark storeroom down on E-deck, Mother
rested her head gently against the cold, icy wall.

She shut her eyes. It had been about a half hour since anyone had come
to check on her, and she expected Buck Riley to come by soon. Her leg
was starting to ache, and she was itching for another hit of
methadone.

She took a deep breath, tried to shut out the pain.

After a moment, however, she had a strange sensation thai someone else
was in the room with her....

Slowly, Mother opened her eyes.

Someone was standing in the doorway.

A man. A Marine.

He just stood there, like a statue, silhouetted in the doorway. His
face was cloaked in shadow. He didn't say a word.

“Book?” Mother said, sitting upright. She squinted, took a
closer look, tried to see who it was.

She stopped, startled.

It wasn't Book.

Book was shorter than whoever this was, more rounded. This Marine was
tall and lean.

The Marine still didn't speak. He just stood there, staring at
Mother, his features covered in darkness. Mother realized who it was.

“Snake,” she said. “What's the matter? Don't
you talk anymore? Cat got your tongue?”

Snake didn't move from the doorway. He just kept staring at
Mother.

When he spoke, Mother didn't see his mouth move. Hisface was low,
rough. “I'm here instead of Book,” he said.
“I'm here to take care of you, Mother.”

“Good,” Mother said, sitting up straighter, preparing
herself for another shot of methadone. “I could use another shot
of that kickapoo joy juice.”

Snake still didn't move from the doorway.

Mother frowned. “Well?” she said. “What are you waiting
for—a gilt-edged invitation?”

“No,” Snake said, his voice cold.

He stepped forward into the storeroom and Mother's eyes widened in
horror as she saw the light from the corridor outside glint off the
knife in his hand.

Mother pushed herself back against the icy wall of the storeroom as
Snake stepped through the doorway, brandishing his long Bowie knife.
“Snake, what the fuck are you doing?”

“I'm sorry, Mother,” he said coldly. “You're a
good solder. But you're too close to this.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Snake stepped slowly closer.

Mother's eyes were glued to the glistening knife in his hand.

“National security,” Snake said.

“National security?” Mother scoffed. “What the
fuck are you, Snake?”

Snake smiled a thin, evil smile. “Come on, Mother; you've
been around. You've heard the stories. What do you think I
am?”

“A fucking wacko, that's what I think,” Mother said as
her eyes fell upon her helmet, lying on the floor of the storeroom
halfway between her and Snake. It was lying upside down, with the
microphone pointed up in the air.

Slowly, Mother began to slide her left hand down toward her belt.

“I do what's necessary to be done,” Snake said.

“Necessary for what?” Mother said as she flicked a button on
her belt. The button that switched on her helmet mike.

In Renshaw's room on B-deck, Schofield now had his body armor back
on.

He reached for his various weapons. His pistol went into its holster;
his knife went back into its sheath on his ankle guard. He slung his
MP-5 over his shoulder and bolstered his Maghook behind his back.
Last, Schofield reached for his helmet and slid it over his head.

He heard voices immediately.

“—the national interest.”

“Snake, put that fucking—”

And then suddenly static cut across the signal and there was nothing.

But Schofield had heard enough.

Mother.

Snake was down with Mother.

“Jesus,” he said.

He spun to face Renshaw. “OK, Harry Houdini, you've got
exactly five seconds to show me how you got out of this room.”

Renshaw immediately ran toward the door. “Why? What's going
on?” he said.

Schofield hurried alongside him. “Somebody's about to get
killed.”

Down in the storeroom, Snake lifted his foot off what was left of
Mother's helmet.

The small microphone at the jawline of her helmet lay crumpled and
bent, broken beyond repair.

“Come on, Mother,” Snake said in an admonishing tone.
“I expected more from you. Or did you just forget that I receive
your transmissions, too?”

Mother scowled at him. “Did you kill Samurai?”

“Yes.”

“You fuck.”

Snake was almost on top of her now. Mother shifted against the wall.

“Time to die, Mother,” Snake said.

Mother snorted at him. “Snake. I've just got to know. What
sort of sick, twisted, two-faced son of a bitch are you?”

Snake smiled. “The only kind, Mother. I'm ICG.”

Schofield watched tensely as Renshaw stepped up to the thick wooden
door of his room.

Up until that time, Schofield hadn't noticed that the door was
made up of about ten vertical wooden planks. Renshaw immediately
placed his fingers up against one of these vertical planks.

“The horizontal beams are on the outside,” Renshaw said.
“Which meant that no one outside this room saw the cuts I made on
the inside of these vertical planks.”

Schofield's eyes widened when he saw them.

Two thin horizontal lines stretched across the width of the heavy
wooden door—like two scars in the wood—cutting
across the wide vertical planks. The two horizontal lines ran
in parallel, approximately three feet away from each other—at
precisely those points where the horizontal beams on the other
side of the door would have been.

Schofield marveled at Renshaw's ingenuity.

Anyone standing on the other side of the door would never have known
that Renshaw had managed to saw right through the vertical wooden
planks.

“I used a steak knife to saw through the planks,” Renshaw
said. “Three, actually. The wood wears them down pretty
fast.” He reached off to his right and grabbed a worn-down steak
knife and Renshaw inserted the blade of the knife into the narrow gap
between two of the vertical planks. Then he worked the knife like a
crowbar until suddenly one of the planks popped clear of the rest of
the door.

Renshaw pulled the plank clear of the door, and a long rectangular
hole appeared in the
door where the plank had been. Through that rectangular hole Schofield
could see the curved outer tunnel of B-deck stretching away from him.

Renshaw worked quickly. He grabbed the next plank with his bare hands
and hurriedly pulled it away.