The Cold Edge by Trevor Scott Read Free Book Online

crashed in Norway in bad weather. That’s the last note we have in the official file.”
    Jake let out a deep breath, the air escaping in a cloud of vapor. “There’s more to this. Always is.”
    â€œI don’t know that for sure.”
    â€œBut you suspect I’m correct.”
    Pause. “I don’t know.”
    Context. Jake always knew that what was not said was usually as import as what was said. It was all context and juxtaposition. This would be no exception.
    â€œThanks, Kurt. Appreciate the effort.”
    â€œJake?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œBe careful.”
    Those words hung in his brain like the fog on the muskeg of Spitsbergen.
    He jogged back to the hotel and caught Anna in the shower, where he joined her. They had a quick breakfast, checked out, and took a van to the airport.
    They were directed to a helo out on the pad, where the pilot was already behind the controls and a ground crewman was making final preparations for the flight. Piling all their gear in, Jake strapped Anna into a seat before heading to the cockpit.
    He was surprised when the pilot turned out to be the pretty blonde who had passed him while he talked on the SAT phone that morning. She handed him a headset as she powered up the engines and clicked switches to get ready for flight.
    â€œKjersti Nilsen,” the pilot said, reaching out her gloved hand to Jake.
    He shook and she squeezed down hard. It surprised him, since she had the build of a cross country skier like Anna. But then Anna’s strength had also surprised Jake on more than one occasion.
    â€œHow was your run?” she asked him through the headset.
    â€œA little cold and moist,” Jake said.
    â€œWelcome to Svalbard. It doesn’t get any better where we’re going.”
    Moments later they were airborne, and Jake wondered how in the hell they could even lift off in that thick fog. He got his answer seconds later as the helo lifted out of the low clouds and an obscured sun appeared.
    Jake pulled out his GPS handheld, waited for the satellites to get picked up, and then punched in their destination. He watched as their elevation fluctuated and the distance counted down. By air they were about 120 miles from Pyramiden, a Russian coal mining settlement that had once had a population of 1,000 before being abandoned in 1998. But the Russians had re-established mining operations in 2007, and Jake had heard the population had already gone back up to 500. Which is how someone had found the wreckage of the MiG-25 a week ago.
    The scenery was surprising—high glacial mountains, mostly barren, with deep fjords that cut through rocky coasts. It was breathtaking and Jake guessed not many people had actually seen the place. Other than those hardy coal miners, Norwegian fishermen, or those stopping off on their way to explore the North Pole.
    They stopped in Pyramiden to drop off mail and pick up another package of the same, topped off with fuel, and then quickly lifted off again. Total ground time about ten minutes.
    Anna had not said a word since they left the capital. Jake knew she hated to fly by helo. She tried to sleep through the experience.
    Jake pulled up their next destination on the GPS and saw they were only about 20 miles away. He gave the pilot the location. He had read in the briefing from Colonel Reed that Captain Olson and John Korkala had taken snowmobiles from Pyramiden back in 1986. Looking at the terrain below, he guessed it had been some pretty rough sledding.
    â€œHow would you get to our destination by snowmobile?” Jake asked the pilot. “It’s so rocky.”
    She glanced to the ground. “Couldn’t do it this time of year. Well, not true. I hear last year you could have. This is an unusually warm summer. August is the warmest it gets up here, and the melt is at its peak. Global warming.”
    â€œLooks like the glaciers are doing all right up here,” Jake said.
    â€œI’m