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“Damnit, Jim,” Phillipa grumbled. “Check in every minute as you’re cutting him free, understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Houston, we’re recovering the remains.”

“Roger, Alpha,” CAPCOM said. “Surgeon will advise on next steps whenIndependencereturns to ISS. We’ll contact the Russian government and will advise on recovery and return-to-Earth procedures.” CAPCOM hesitated. “At the least, NASA’s going to request an autopsy.”

They watched as Jim cut through the frozen straps restraining the cosmonaut’s corpse. Ice crystals floated in a diamond shower across the feed. “Got him, Houston.”

“I’ve gotIndependenceright beneath you, Jim. Bring him down nice and slow.”

Jim pushed the cosmonaut back toIndependence, taking his time as he moved in short bursts of his SAFER jets. He cursed as he tried to maneuver the stiff corpse into the airlock, first one way and then another. Finally, he radioed, “All clear. Airlock secure. Beginning repressurization now.”

“Roger that.Independence, come on back,” Phillipa said. She pulled her radio off and turned to the rest of her crew. “So, where in our home are we going to put a murder victim?”

* * *

19

Siberia, Russia

“This is, like, primordial Russia,”Pete said over their linked headsets. “This is what it was when the dinosaurs were still alive.”

Thousands of miles of untouched forest swept beneath their feet, the tops of sun-drenched pine trees growing in ladders to the sky. Larch and alder trees swayed in the wind, and cypress dotted the meadows scattered through the forest, pockets of gold amid the emerald evergreen.

“It was much hotter when the dinosaurs were alive,” Welby said. The rumble of the helicopter rotors made his voice tremble, gave him the classic traffic-reporter-over-the-highway sound from morning radio. “This was probably jungle.”

“It could be warmer. It’s supposed to be the end of summer.” Pete shivered, zipped up in a double layer of fleece and his waterproof parka. He had thick gloves on his hands and a watch cap pulled low on his head, but still, he shivered. “Can you imagine how fucking cold Siberia is in winter?”

Jack and Ethan grinned.

Their helicopter banked gently, sweeping around a U bend in a dark, almost black river. “Sirs? These are the coordinates you gave me,” the pilot called from the cockpit. Ethan could hear the confusion in his voice, even through the scratchy headset reception.

Blake, Welby, and Ethan leaned out the sides of the chopper, gazing into the ceaseless forest beneath them. Pete leaned further into the cabin, as if the helicopter were a canoe and they were all in danger of tipping over.

“What do you see?” Jack asked.

“Not much…” Ethan scoured the ground through binoculars. He peered between the tree trunks. Everything was covered, the forest thicker than any he’d ever seen. Their pilot kept circling as Ethan searched the riverbanks.

Welby already had the FLIR camera out and had started to scan the forest. He shook his head. “No heat signatures. Nobody’s home.”

“At least we won’t have any surprise visitors. I’ve had enough Siberian surprises for my entire life,” Jack said.

Ethan grunted. Two years before and a thousand miles away, Sergey and Jack had gotten separated from their convoy while they crossed a frozen Siberian river. On the way to rejoin the group, an escaped Russian serial killer had hunted them for miles, finally cornering them in an abandoned gulag. Only the sudden appearance of Sasha—back from the dead—had saved them.

Siberia was not on the list of Ethan’s favorite places in the world.

And yet, here they were again.

“I think I see something through the trees,” Ethan called. He pointed to the north bank of the river. “Does that look like something to you?”

Blake squinted through his binoculars. “Looks like something burned down.”

“And next to it. See that? Some of the dirt has been dug up.” As the helo circled and dipped, Ethan’s view opened up. “We need to check that out.”

Jack told the pilot to find as close a landing spot as he could, and they skimmed the treetops until they found the next clearing, a sloping meadow five miles away. They packed their gear as the pilot set them on the ground and powered down, the roar of the rotors fading, the scream of the engine softening to a low whine.

“I’ll wait here,” the pilot said, moving through his postflight checks. “I’ve got my radio.”