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“I’m sure it’ll be over in no time,” Remi said. “But please, Selma, humor us. Let us know how it goes and how you’re doing afterward. We’re both very concerned.”
“I promise I will.” Selma cleared her throat. “Now on to more pressing things . . . The equipment I arranged for arrived in Baffin Island yesterday. I’ve got a charter flight waiting in Iqaluit to take you to Clyde River Airport, assuming there are no delays. The runway at Clyde River’s way too short to accommodate the jet, so it’ll be a prop ride for you on that leg.”
“Sounds like you’ve got everything covered, as usual,” Sam said.
Selma blushed. “If there’s anything you need I haven’t anticipated, Pete and Wendy can handle it. You’ve got your satellite phone, so you’re never more than a call away. Besides, by the time you’re finished doing the glacier survey I’ll be back on deck, ready for anything, as always.”
Selma looked down at Zoltán and moved to the car. When she opened the rear door, Zoltán shot by her, a black-and-brown furry streak of lightning. “Looks like somebody’s ready to get going. He does so love to be on the road, though he’s probably wondering where breakfast is.”
A flight crewman retrieved their bags from the trunk of the car and carried them into the small charter building, where Sandra was awaiting them, perky as ever. She led them onto the tarmac and up the stairs and stowed their things in the cabin while Sam and Remi took their seats. They were airborne in minutes, and, once they hit their cruising altitude, Sandra served a light breakfast of pastries and fruit.
Six hours went by quickly while they both worked on their computers, and when they touched down at Iqaluit International Airport on the southern side of Baffin Island, they were rested and ready for the next stage of their journey. The Gulfstream taxied to the terminal area, where a number of small prop planes sat off to one side. A single-prop Cessna Caravan was parked near the edge of the tarmac, with two men fueling it and preparing it for flight.
“Want to bet that’s our ride?” Sam asked.
Remi reached over and squeezed his hand. “It’ll be slow going the rest of the way.”
The G650 rolled to a stop and Sandra opened the door. A blast of Arctic wind blew in, instantly chilling them, and Remi thanked Providence for the winter coats they’d brought. Going from seventy-degree San Diego weather to below freezing was going to be a shock, they knew, but there was no getting around it, and it would be even colder off the eastern coast of Baffin, the fifth-largest island in the world and the biggest in the Arctic Archipelago, much of its shores covered in ice year-round.
“Don’t look at me like that. We both signed off on this, remember?” Sam said in response to the glare Remi threw him.
“I didn’t really take into account the cold. Or all the snow.”
“It won’t be that long. Only a week. And the ship should have heat. At least, I hope it will.”
“I can’t feel my feet.”
“Oh come on, we’re still on the plane.”
“We’re getting out?”
“That’s the spirit,” Sam said, and then stepped out onto the stairs. A frigid gust cut across the runway and hit him like a cold slap and he silently wondered if Remi didn’t have a point. “See? It’s like being on Maui,” he declared.
Remi gave him one of her looks and reluctantly trudged after him. The taller of the two men near the Cessna waved and approached. “Mr. and Mrs. Fargo?”
“That depends on whether there’s heat on the boat,” Remi said.
The man looked at them, puzzled, and Sam tried a grin, hoping his face wouldn’t crack.
“That’s us. You must be the welcome committee.”
The taller man nodded and extended a hand. “I suppose so. Let’s get your things stowed. We don’t want to lose the light. Landing at Clyde River can be challenging even under the best of circumstances. You don’t want to do it in the dark. By the way, I’m Rick.”
“Rick, nice to meet you. You sound like you know the area pretty well,” Sam said.
“You could say that. Been flying these parts for over twenty years.”
Rick wasn’t talkative once in the air, which suited Sam and Remi just fine. The Caravan droned along on the four-hundred-fifty-mile trek, and there was less than a half hour of light remaining when the gravel landing strip of Clyde River Airport came into view through the scattered clouds. The plane touched down without in- cident, and in moments they stopped in front of a small Quonset hut that passed for a terminal.
Two men exited the structure, wearing heavy jackets and knit caps. As Rick opened the door, Sam immediately recognized Commander Wes Hall, the head of the research mission and an old friend.
“Sam, Remi, good to see you again. Although it would be nicer if this duty was in Fiji,” Hall said as Rick retrieved their bags from the hold.
“Be pretty tough to map glacier melting rates there, though, wouldn’t it?” Remi asked with a smile.
Sam nodded. “Serves you right for not having the foresight to investigate something more fun. Like maybe coral density on the Great Barrier Reef.”
“That’s why I’m a simple Coast Guard officer and you’re the hotshot adventurers.”