Free Jack Higgins by East of Desolation

an expert navigator could chart a course with any certainty across that wilderness of snow and ice.
    The route of the expedition had been plotted in red ink. It had started from old Olaf Rasmussen’s place at Sandvig and had crossed the glacier at the head of Sandvig Fjord by the most direct route, following the high valley through the mountains beyond that led to the ice-cap. They had discovered the plane about a hundred miles inland not far from Lake Sule.
    I studied the map for a while then shook my head.
    â€œYou’re talking to the wrong man, Mr. Vogel.”
    He frowned. “I don’t understand.”
    â€œIt’s simple. I fly an Otter amphibian, but I also have wheels which means I can put down on land or water, but not on snow.”
    â€œBut what about this lake that’s marked here,” Stratton said. “Lake Sule. It can’t be more than fifteen miles away from the wreck. Couldn’t you put down there?”
    â€œIt’s usually ice-free for about two weeks during September,” I said. “Never any earlier than that within my experience.”
    â€œBut you could take a look couldn’t you? Tomorrowperhaps?” Vogel said. “I’ll pay well. You’d have no worries on that score.”
    â€œI’d be taking your money to no purpose. I can tell you that now and in any case I’ve already contracted to make three charter flights tomorrow.”
    â€œWhatever you’re getting paid, I’ll double.”
    I shook my head. “No you won’t. I’ll still be here trying to make a living after you’ve gone and I wouldn’t last long if I treated people like that.”
    â€œWhat about getting there by land?” Stratton said. “I see there’s a road from Frederiksborg to Sandvig according to this map.”
    â€œA hundred-mile cart track through the mountain. You could get to Sandvig by Land-Rover all right in five or six hours depending on weather conditions, but getting to Sandvig isn’t the problem. I could fly you there inside an hour. It’s what lies beyond that’s the trouble. The glacier and the mountains and then the ice-cap. A hundred miles on foot over some of the worst country in the world. At a guess I’d say it took that Oxford expedition the best part of a fortnight.” I shook my head. “The ideal solution would be a helicopter, but the nearest one of those to my knowledge is at the American base at Thule and that’s a thousand miles up the coast from here.”
    There was another of those heavy silences and Vogel looked across at Stratton glumly. “It doesn’t look too good, does it?”
    Up until then I’d rather enjoyed myself pointing out the difficulties and making the whole thing look impossible, but there had to come a time when I offered the only obvious solution.
    â€œOf course it’s just possible that someone could put down a ski plane up there.”
    Vogel was all attention. “Is there one available?”
    I nodded. “A friend of mine runs an Aermacchi. An Icelander called Arnie Fassberg. You’re in luck. He usually takes his skis off for the summer, but this year he’s left them on because he has a regular charter contract with a mining company on the edge of the ice-cap at Malamusk.”
    â€œAnd you think he could land in the vicinity of the wreck?” Stratton said.
    â€œHe might with luck. It would really depend on whether he could find a snowfield.”
    â€œBut not otherwise?”
    I shook my head. “It’s a nightmare world up there, a moonscape carved out of ice by the wind, cracked and fissured in a thousand places.”
    â€œThis friend of yours, Fassberg I think you said his name was? He is here in Frederiksborg?” Vogel asked.
    â€œHe’s based at the airstrip here. You could phone him through from the desk and leave a message for him. He’ll get it first thing in the