During the Cold War, ruthless and cynical British operative David Morse is sent to northern Alaska, where he meets Miri Smith who is supposedly researching arctic water systems. As a seasoned agent, David has kidnapped, killed, sabotaged, and even seduced in order to obtain information. He plies his tricks on Miri and what he finds out could change his life – or ruin it. Her secret will twist the couple from 1967 back to 1959 and result in a deadly confrontation as they try to reach for an unimaginable future.
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Thursday
David boarded the plane at Thule Air Force base, none too pleased to be flying from frozen Greenland straight through to the bitter cold of Elmendorf AFB in Anchorage. Yet being the only available British operative already in the Arctic, he was the obvious choice for the assignment. He had a long journey ahead of him.
At Anchorage, a charter plane awaited to take him to Barrow. From Barrow, he would be traveling by snowmobile, given the weather. At least he didn’t have to go via dogsled. He had done that plenty of times, but when snowmobiles became viable in ’65, his people had acquired a fair amount of the speedy things. He no longer had to deal with trying to hire sleds and teams every time he was sent to the blasted frigid north.
“Are you comfortable, Mr. Morse?” A young Airman offered him a blanket.
“Thank you, yes.” He took the scratchy thing, spreading the short scrap over his long legs. I could do with a double shot of brandy about now.
With one hand, he lit a cigarette, and with the other, he opened the folder in his lap. The name David Morse was on the British passport he currently held. Admiral Jensen, his handler, figured he might as well keep the same moniker for this next assignment.
Why couldn’t he have a mission in the Mediterranean somewhere? At least his destination was Snow Owl Cabin, which meant it would be well-stocked. Those insane American operatives sometimes used Snow Owl for rest and relaxation. He couldn’t imagine who in the world would want to go to Snow Owl for a getaway, damned cold up there. But the supplies they kept year-round would be an advantage for him. There was sure to be plenty of whiskey, some halfway decent canned food, and other semi-luxuries on hand. It could be worse.
His only job would be to dig around a bit, see what caused the odd non-earthquake seismic shudder three days ago and get to the root of some peculiar goings-on. Not much detail appeared in the dossier, other than to say that some sort of life form, possibly human, had appeared from nowhere during the tremor. Might we have aliens? Doubtful. He chuckled to himself. The only kind of aliens he had ever encountered were of the hostile Russian type. And why did they choose to come during such cold weather? He was tired of shivering.
He looked toward the blackness outside the window and saw only his reflection, appearing less tired than he actually felt. Small lines trailed from the corners of his eyes, but there was still clarity in his gaze. He was lucky to have his particular shade of blue. With just a glance, he could get a point across, intimidate an aggressor, or soften a woman. As an aside, it helped to make him look less fatigued. The edge of his mouth rose cynically as he peered at himself, then he turned back to his reading. It wasn’t long before the engine’s calm buzz and the plane’s soft motion began to lull him into losing focus. His lids grew too heavy to fight sleep.
Friday
Hours later, he was shaken awake by the same Airman who had provided the blanket. David sat up straight, eyes wide.
“I apologize, Mr. Morse,” the Airman said, “but we’ll be landing in about forty-five minutes. I thought you might like some breakfast.”
“Yes, yes. Thank you.” With a stretch, he regained his senses, then stood, bent over, and moved to the center of the plane. In the aisle, he was able to rise to his full 6’2” height. He stretched as best he could, then dragged his hand through the mass of disheveled waves on his head. He’d need a haircut after this, but he’d have to deal with the rugged look for now. “Is there someplace I can clean up?”
“Certainly.” The Airman pointed him toward the back.
David splashed his face with water. He had seen himself look better, that was for sure. He used the towel to give himself a brusque drying, then tried, once again, to get his hair in order, but his fingers made a poor comb. The hair seemed to go where it wanted. When his stomach started to grumble, he decided his time would be better spent getting some breakfast before they landed.
The journey went smoothly to Elmendorf and onward. Then in Barrow, as expected, a large snowmobile awaited him. He stowed his gear inside a sturdy case that had been temporarily affixed to the seat, which was long enough for a second passenger. The vehicle had some power, and he smiled as the snowmobile flew over the blinding hills.
The pale landscape stretched in front of him, and although he had pulled his hood up tightly, the wind blew stray curls around his forehead and chilled his skin. He paused long enough to tie a woolen scarf across the bottom half of his face to keep his face from freezing as he surged onward. With little patience for travel, he liked the speed the snowmobile offered. Plus, the sooner he got to his destination, the sooner he could make his report and be done with this assignment. Nevertheless, the drive took longer than he would have liked. He reached Snow Owl Cabin just before the afternoon sky was beginning to darken.
