“Even worse,” Byron admitted. “We mentioned before how this corner of the Arctic has been the least explored. While the coastal quarter of the East Siberian Sea has been decently mapped, due to the Northern Sea Route passing through there, farther out from the coast almostnothinghas been charted.”
“And these waters are extra shallow, if I recall,” Anna said.
“Some of the shallowest of the Arctic—which makes traveling through here so treacherous.”
Seichan frowned at him. “Then is it possible that the top of a tall seamount could be buried in thick ice, making it hard for a satellite to detect?”
Gray nodded. “The island is also said to be strongly magnetic. A mountain of lodestone. Maybe that emits enough electromagnetic radiation to blur or mask itself. Especially here in the polar region, in this highly ionized air, with a magnetosphere that’s constantly under bombardment by solar energies.”
Byron cast him a doubtful look, but he didn’t negate this as a possibility.
Kelly interrupted the discussion by clearing his throat and pointing to the windows. “Might want to take a look. You’re not likely to see a sight like this again in your lifetime.”
Their gazes shifted from the radar screen to the glowing skies and shining ice.
The borealis had grown even more brilliant, shimmering and swirling wildly, no longer a tranquil lightshow. Farther out, near the horizon, it grew more violent. Nimbuses of light raged, radiant and furious, reflecting the severity of the solar storm as it reached its peak.
No wonder we lost communication with the world.
Seichan swore she could hear that storm, a barely audible keening that cut through air and steel, accompanied by cracks and sharper whistles.
And it wasn’t just her.
Anna rubbed at an ear, as if trying to erase that noise.
The men seemed unaffected.
Seichan stepped closer to the window, drawn with the others. The skies seethed off in the distance, whipping into a great tempest, forming a shining radiant cyclone across the stars.
Gray bumped her as he dug through his pack and removed his tablet. He flicked it on and scrolled through images, settling on one, a photo from the old Greek book. It showed high cliffs circling a valley. At its bottom, a mountain rose, surrounded by a swirling pattern.
Gray held the picture up to the view outside. “First Nicolas, then Mercator, and whoever drew this in the eighteenth century... I don’t think they were describing a whirlpool ofwater.”
Anna understood, equally dumbstruck. “It was a whirlpool oflight.”
Gray turned to Kelly. “That’s where we must go.”
35
May 13, 7:43P.M. MSK
Severodvinsk, Arkhangelsk Oblast
“Hold tight!” Tucker hollered.
He clutched hard to the wheel of the GAZ Tigr, an all-terrain 4x4 painted in Arctic camo. The team had commandeered the transport vehicle, finding it parked near the church, keys inside, courtesy of the combat force they had ambushed.
Monk and Elle hugged over Bailey, who lay sprawled across one of the two benches that flanked the rear compartment. Marco kept close to them, while Kane commanded the front passenger seat.
Tucker crushed the accelerator under his boot. The eight-ton behemoth shot toward the base’s rear gate. Its wipers fought the snow, struggling to keep a view open.
Ahead, a fence, topped by razor-wire, appeared out of the snow. A figure burst from a neighboring gatehouse, rifle at his shoulder, shifting in all directions, momentarily confounded by the wind and white-out conditions, struggling to pinpoint the source of the roaring engine—but it didn’t take him long.
The rifle swung toward the truck.
Tucker didn’t slow.
Bullets peppered across the Tigr’s ballistic windshield and pinged off its armor—then the transport hit the gate. It crashed through with hardly a jolt.
