“Volkov Station.”
“Volkov? Don’t they close down for the winter?”
“Normally. But I understand they brought a construction crew in to renovate this year.” He didn’t let himself imagine what it would be like to winter-over with a handful of Russian workers…and Angel.
“What about the South African station? Aren’t they closer?”
“Eighty miles closer, as the crow flies.”
Her jaw dropped.
“To get there, we’d have to either climb some of the continent’s highest mountains or go around them. Don’t like our chances.” He shook his head, sure of his decision. “I thought about it, and Volkov’s the best choice.” Their sole chance at survival. “Those are the only two options within five hundred miles of here.”
“Five hun—” She looked like she’d be sick. “How far is it?”
“It’s a straight shot. Fairly steady downhill slope, given the elevation here, and without—”
“How far?”
“A little more than…” He cleared his throat. “Three hundred miles.”
“What?” She didn’t sound happy. “How long’s it gonna take us?”
“We’ll drive the big plow for the first fifty or so. The rest could take as little as twenty days.” Unlikely, but possible. They’d have to ski thirteen miles a day at that rate and he had no notion of her skill level or endurance.
Her eyes were massive. “As little? Are you nu—No. No, let’s think about this.” She backed up, put more space between them. “Okay. So, what other options do we have?”
“None.” He shrugged. No point arguing against facts. “Anyway. Backup generator’ll run out of fuel. We need to get our gear together, pack up these sleds, and go. Sooner the better.”
“Right. No fuel, no heat.” Looking shell-shocked, she eyed the sky. “Once we take off, what’s to stop them from coming after us?”
“Nothing.” No point in lying, was there? “It’s why we need to head out, ski all night, if we can. Put some miles between us and this place.”
“We’re heading out into the most dangerous place on earth with killers after us?”
“Yeah.” He couldn’t help a grim smirk. “Better hit the road.”
Chapter 13
Harper Research and Testing Facility, East Antarctic Ice Sheet
“We don’t have the virus.”
“What do you mean you don’t have it?” The director’s voice crackled over the sat phone.
“I’ve been given the wrong ice cores.”
“How on earth could they make an error like that?”
“I’m not certain.”Because you hired monkeys, obviously.“It’s a pretty major issue.”
Without sparing a glance at the man responsible for this colossal error, Dr. Clive Tenny, MD, PhD, waited for the director to respond.
Her breathing was audible through the line, as if she’d been running. Or was in the throes of some kind of fit. Having seen her in person, it was likely the latter, since Katherine Henley Harper, head of Chronos Corporation, was getting on in years and it was perfectly obvious that she did not run.
“Go back and locate the samples. Drill some more if you must.” Of course she’d say that. Of course. It was what he’d said, too. “We need the virus.Now.”
“Well…” Clive hated being the bearer of bad tidings. And, honestly, he shouldn’t be the messenger here, since he wasn’t the one who’d fucked up. He threw Bradley Sampson a poisoned glare. The man was incompetence itself. He’d been given weeks at that research station. In fact, in the time it had taken that paramilitary bozo to do basically nothing at Burke-Ruhe, Tenny had been in charge of outfitting an entire vaccine research and testing facility. In fucking Antarctica, for God’s sake.
