After dinner, he was led to a room carved out of the rock. Bunks four high were spaced along two of the walls. Most of them were empty.

As the door was locked behind him, he spotted Masinga and the South American, playing cards.

“Which bunk?” he asked.

“Pick any of them,” Masinga said. “There’s plenty of space.”

He threw his stuff on one of the bunks and then sat down by the other men. “Why is it so hot down here?”

Masinga played a card. “Because we’re in a volcano,” he said. “Where do you think the hot water comes from?”

“Geothermal?”

They nodded in unison.

Devlin looked around. There was no shaft leading to the surface here, only a thin grate above the door for ventilation.

“How far down are we?”

Neither man answered. The South American played a card. Masinga looked at it briefly and then reached for it. Devlin slammed his hand down on Masinga’s. “I said how far down are we?”

Masinga threw the table over and grabbed Devlin by the shirt, hauling him up and slamming him into a locker.

“You think you’re the first one here with plans to get out?” Masinga shouted. “The men who run this place aren’t fools. They know that a death sentence awaits them for the things they’ve done. To think of escape is a crime, to talk of escape will land you in the torture chamber. And to actually try… The rule here is simple: one man fights back, three men die.”

Devlin shook loose of Masinga’s grasp. “So you just put up with it until they work you to death?”

Masinga glared at him. “My father spent twelve years in a South African jail for his political activities. He survived by putting up with it until salvation came from the outside. That’s the only way any of us are going to see home again, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you get us killed with your rabid tongue before that happens.”

Devlin stared at his two roommates. “Maybe that’s how you’re going to play it, but I’m going to get out of here or die trying.”

The South American spoke next. “There are informers everywhere,” he warned, “even among the men. Maybe even Masinga or me. So if I was you, I’d watch what I say. And who I say it to.”

Devlin took a deep breath and came to a decision. “They brought me here on a ship. I’m going to find my way back to it at some point. If either of you are going to rat on me, then do it quick and put me out of my misery.”

They stared at him with sullen eyes. Finally, Masinga reached over and righted the table. “And what do you know about sailing a ship, my friend?”

Devlin sat down and grinned at his fellow prisoners. “Just about everything,” he said.

THIRTY-NINE

Kurt woke up from the flash-draw as disoriented as Joe had been in the desert. He thought he’d fallen asleep on his couch at home after a long day. But he couldn’t ever remember it being so cold in his town house, even in the dead of winter.

As he moved about, the icy sensation on his face cleared the cobwebs a bit. He opened his eyes and saw nothing but white. Realizing it was snow, he brushed it away and dug himself out.

Once he’d burrowed clear of the snowbank, Kurt got to his feet and looked out over the escarpment. The flat light of the snowfield and the gray sky was broken only by a few jagged sections of black rock.

He quickly remembered where he was, how he’d gotten there, and who was with him.

He looked around, saw no trouble or any sign of movement. “Hayley!” he shouted. “Hayley!”

He heard nothing but the wind.

Forcing himself to stand and ignoring the aches and pains in his body, Kurt began to trudge forward to where the snowmobile lay on its side. Even if she was unconscious, Hayley should have been nearby, but she was nowhere to be seen.

He considered the wreck and where he’d ended up. He searched the snowbank and the surrounding ledge. Not finding any hump in the snow that might have been her, he returned to the snowmobile. He found a fragment of her coat caught on the handlebar and a trail of depressions almost covered in the falling snow that led back toward the glacier. It was hard to tell, as they had almost been filled in, but the depressions looked like they had once been footprints stamped deep into the soft snow.

He began to think Hayley had been captured. It made him wonder about the others, particularly his best friend. If either Joe or the Russians were around, they were keeping out of sight.

He climbed to a high point and scanned the distance. In the fading light, he saw no sign of the other snowmobiles. Considering how they’d scattered, that didn’t surprise him, but it left him with a tough choice. He certainly couldn’t wander around the glacier-covered island on foot, looking for help. Time was too precious now. Besides, he’d begun to think his own escape from capture was a fluke of some kind. Considering the effect of the flash-draw and how determined Thero’s men seemed, he doubted they’d have just disappeared if they didn’t think they’d rounded up the infiltrators.

He had to assume the worst: that Joe, Hayley, and the others had been captured.

Stepping back to the snowmobile, Kurt grabbed the handlebars and forced the machine back up onto its tracks. The damage seemed mostly cosmetic, but a flick of the starter did nothing. Not even the lights would come on.

“This flash-draw is really starting to annoy me,” he muttered.

He flipped open a small cargo box on the back of the snowmobile and searched for anything useful. He found a flashlight, but it too was drained.

“Great,” he muttered.

He glanced up at the sky. The falling snow made it seem lighter than it really was, but the night was coming on fast. He had every intention of continuing on to Thero’s lair, but it would be almost impossible in the utter darkness that was about to envelop the island.

He knew basically where he was. All he had to do was make his way down the cliff and across the snowfield and he’d run smack into the Winston Glacier. From there, he’d turn left and follow it toward the lagoon. Somewhere farther down, he’d encounter the hot spots photographed by the Russian drones.

He began to pick his way down the steep face of the bluff, studying the route carefully and noticing the wreckage of the hovercraft not far from the foot of the cliff.

When he reached the mangled shell of the vehicle, he found it half buried in the falling snow. Only the engine cowling, which was still venting heat, remained visible.

Kurt brushed the snow away and found the hatch ajar. He forced it open and climbed inside.

He was looking for anything useful: food, maps, radios, anything he could get his hands on. He found a flashlight and turned it on. Thankfully, it worked. He located the radio. The panel lit up as he flipped a toggle switch, but even with the headset on, Kurt heard no static. He figured something had blown. It didn’t matter. It was a short-range unit anyway. He wasn’t going to be able to reach help with it.

A few more minutes of rummaging provided him with some extra supplies, including a Zippo lighter, a few greasy rags that might burn if he needed a marker, and, most important, a set of night vision goggles.

Without them, the approaching darkness would have been Kurt’s worst enemy. With the moon and stars blocked by thick clouds, and no source of artificial light on the island, the darkness would be like that of a cave, complete and all-encompassing.

To navigate through it without any type of aide would be impossible. To walk with the flashlight switched on or to carry a makeshift torch of flame was just asking to be seen and shot. But with the night vision goggles, Kurt could hike through the darkness like a bat using sonar.

He checked his watch. It was just past eight p.m. local time. They had nine hours before Thero’s promised attack. He figured a three-hour hike awaited him.