Against the glare, the beast reared up, then slammed down. It backpedaled its bulk down the passage, away from the fiery display.

Tom and Kowalski edged closer. “We can’t trust that thing will stay gone for long,” the seaman said.

Jenny clenched her gun. “I only have one more flare.” She turned to the crack in the wall. “Then we have nothing to chase them off with.”

Craig heard her. “They’re grendels. They’ve been hibernating down here for thousands of years.”

Jenny pushed such matters aside for now and asked the other question utmost in her mind. “Where’s Matt?”

Craig sighed. He took a moment too long in answering. “We got separated. He’s somewhere in the station, but I don’t know where.”

Jenny sensed something unspoken behind his words, but now wasn’t the time to question him. “We need to find another way out of here,” she continued. “Our flashlight is out, and we’re down to one flare to defend ourselves.”

“How did you get down here?” he asked.

Jenny waved vaguely behind her. “Through a ventilation shaft back there. It goes to the surface.”

“Well, it’s not safe anywhere out there. We’ve some metal tools in here. Maybe we could hack the crack wider. Get you through to us.” His voice was full of doubt.

The ice was a yard thick. They’d never make it.

Another voice spoke from behind Craig. A woman, the same one who had called out earlier. “What about the fuel drums for the sea-gate motors? Maybe we could create a gigantic Molotov cocktail. Blow a way through.”

Craig’s face moved away from the crack. “Hang on, Jen.”

She heard muffled words, arguing, as the group beyond sought some solution or consensus. She heard something about the noise alerting the Russians. She glanced over to the flare as it began to fade. She would rather take her chances with the Russians.

Craig again appeared at the crack. “We’re going to try something. You’d better stand back.”

Something was shoved into the crack. It looked like a hose nozzle. It smelled of kerosene and oil.

Jenny scooted back from the wall. Tom and Kowalski continued to guard the tunnel with Bane at their side.

A flicker of flame dazzled in the crack, then a whoosh of fire blasted toward Jenny. She fell backward as a ball of flame rolled past her face. The heat singed her eyebrows.

“Are you okay?” Kowalski asked, stepping toward her.

She waved him back, pushing up. “I don’t think I need to worry any longer about that bit of frost nip on my nose.”

“You’re lucky you still have a nose.”

In the crack, a blazing inferno glowed. Flames lapped out into the cavern. Steam sizzled and billowed, instantly precipitating and wetting walls, floors, and bodies. Runnels of fiery oil seeped into their cavern.

It was surreal to see flames dancing atop ice.

“They’re trying to melt a path through for us,” Jenny realized.

The fiery channels traced across the floor toward them, driving them back.

Kowalski frowned. “Let’s hope they don’t set us on fire first.”

Amanda held the hose nozzle while one of the biology students, Zane, manned the manual pump. “Keep the pressure up,” she ordered, yanking the release lever and spraying more fuel onto the fire in the crack, careful not to let the flames leap to the hose. She had to be careful. Strong outward pressure had to be maintained. It was like trying to add lighter fuel to an already burning barbecue.

Craig was on the other side of the crack, shielding his face with his hand. Steam roiled out, along with smoky billows. Underfoot, channels of water ran into the room as the ice blockage melted. Floating oil burned in several patches, washed out with the meltwater. The biology team smothered them with fire blankets found among the supplies on the shelves.

Craig turned to her. “We’re about halfway through.”

“How wide?” she asked, reading his lips.

“A foot and a half, narrow but enough to squeeze through, I think.”

Amanda nodded and continued her deft fueling. It would have to do. They didn’t want the melted tunnel too wide or the grendels could follow the other party in here.

But the grendels weren’t the only danger.

Magdalene waved from her post by the door, drawing Amanda’s attention. “Stop!” she mouthed.

Amanda cut the hose feed.

The biology postgrad had pressed against the wall beside the door. She thumbed toward it. “Soldiers.”

Craig crossed to her. He peeked through the door window, then ducked away. He faced Amanda. “They’ve pried open the far door. The hall out there is flooded and frozen over, but they surely spotted the flickering flames through the window.”

“But they can’t know it’s us,” Ogden said, clutching his fire blanket.

Craig shook his head. “They’ll have to investigate the fire. Until they’re finished here, they won’t want the base blowing up under them.”

Amanda spoke, careful to modulate her voice to a whisper, “What are we going to do?”

Craig eyed the crack. “Come up with a new plan since this one’s screwed.”

“What—?”

Craig shook his head, his face going unusually hard. He pulled the drawstring on his parka’s hood and pressed it to his ear, then lifted the wind collar of his coat and pressed it against his throat.

Amanda watched his lips.

“Delta One, this is Osprey. Can you read me?”

“Delta One, respond,” Craig repeated more urgently.

He listened for any response. The miniature UHF transmitter in the lining of his parka was efficient at bursting out strong signals, capable of penetrating ice. Yet it still required a special receiving dish pointed at his exact coordinates to pick up the signal. The radio dish was established at the Delta team’s rendezvous camp about forty miles from here. The unit had been tracking him since he flew in last night.

And while it took only a whisper to communicate out to the Delta team under his command, the radio’s reception was a problem. The anodized thread woven throughout the parka’s stitching was a poor receiving antenna through so much ice. He needed to get out of this frozen hole to clear his communication.

Still, faint words finally reached him, cutting in and out. “Delta…receiving.”

“What is your status?”

“The target…sunk. Omega secured. Awaiting further orders.”

Craig allowed himself a surge of satisfaction. The Drakon had been wiped off the chessboard. Perfect. He pressed the throat mike tighter. “Delta One, the security of the football is compromised. Extraction complicated by Russian presence. Any direct hostile action on your part could result in a defensive reaction to destroy the data along with the station. I will attempt to get clear of the ice station. I will radio for evacuation when clear. Only move on my order.”

Static answered him, then a scatter of words: “…complication…two helicopters down…men on the ground…only one bird still flying.”

Shit. Craig had to forgo trying to ascertain what had happened. There was too much interference, but clearly the Russian submarine had put up a fight. “Are your forces still mobile?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Hold Omega secure. Mobilize an evac team only on my all-clear order. I will attempt to reach you.”

“…One…roger that.”

“Osprey out.” Craig yanked the drawstring receiver, and it zipped back into its hood. He found the group, wide-eyed, staring at him.

“Who are you?” Amanda asked.

“My real name is not important. Craig will do for now.”

“Then what are you?”

He tightened his lips. What was the use of subterfuge now? If he was going to secure the data files, he would need the cooperation of everyone here. He answered the question honestly. “I’m CIA, liaison to the Special Forces groups. Currently in temporary command of a Delta Force unit which has retaken Omega.”