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Carved into a moving island of ice twice the size of the United States, Ice Station Grendel has been abandoned for more than seventy years. The twisted brainchild of the finest minds of the former Soviet Union, it was designed to be inaccessible and virtually invisible. But an American undersea research vessel has inadvertently pulled too close--and something has been sighted moving inside the allegedly deserted facility, something whose survival defies every natural law. And now, as scientists, soldiers, intelligence operatives, and unsuspecting civilians are drawn into Grendel's lethal vortex, the most extreme measures possible will be undertaken to protect its dark mysteries--because the terrible truths locked behind submerged walls of ice and steel could end human life on Earth.
response, but he was way beyond diplomacy at this point. Petkov merely glanced toward him. “After all you’ve seen, is this truly a world you want to protect?” “Hell, yes. I’m in it.” He reached between the bars and took Jenny’s hand. “Everything I love is in it. It’s fucked up. No question there, but hell, you don’t throw the damn baby out with the bathwater.” “No matter,” Petkov said. “Polaris cannot be stopped. The detonation will commence in twenty minutes. Even if we could escape here, the
for emphasis. Jenny stared over at her former husband. Matthew Pike smiled back at her, but a trace of nervousness shone behind his white teeth. She glanced over to her ruined rig, then back to her father. She stood up. “Go ahead and shoot him.” 11:54 A.M. Matt knew his ex-wife was only venting, but he still kept his post at the forest’s edge. The two stared at each other for a long breath. Then she shook her head in disgust and crossed to her father. She took the rifle from him and spoke
contact, and with the story of their ordeal now passed to the outside world, they had all relaxed. But now what was wrong? Matt pulled himself up in his seat. Jenny pointed out the Otter’s windshield—not to the tundra below, but to the clear skies. Matt leaned forward. At first, he saw nothing unusual. The constellation Orion hung brightly. Polaris, the North Star, lay directly ahead. Then he spotted the shimmering bands and streamers rising from the horizon, flickers of greens, reds, and
careers. Keep your tap shoes polished was shorthand for “get ready because the shit’s about to hit the fan.” Perry turned to his XO. “Commander, clear the boat of civilians. Get them back to Omega and rally the men still on shore leave.” “Yes, sir.” “Once the Sentinel is secured, ready her to dive on my command.” The chief of the watch spoke up from his station. “So we’re heading to Prudhoe Bay?” Perry searched the hopeful faces of his bridge crew. He knew there was no need to head to
gloved fingers around the rope. Please, God… She tugged on the rope. It seemed to hold. She leaned out, testing her weight. It still held. Tears welled in her eyes as she mounted the wall. She climbed, hand over hand, crampons dug deep into the ice. Fear fueled her muscles. Fatigue was impossible. She clawed and kicked her way to the top. Reaching the edge, she heaved herself over and landed only inches from the macerated form of Connor MacFerran. His helmet lamp shone toward the ceiling, a