Free Ice Hunt by James Rollins

his forehead with his brother’s blood. This was no longer just a search-and-destroy mission. It was an oath vendetta. He would return with the American’s ears and nose. He would hand them to his father back in Vladistak. For Mikal…for what had been done to his younger brother. This he swore on Mikal’s blood.
    Stefan had caught a brief glimpse of his target earlier through his rifle’s scope: tall, sandy-haired, windburned face. The man had proven resourceful, but Mikal had been the newest member to the Leopard ops team, ten years his junior. His younger brother did not have Stefan’s years of battle-honed experience. He was a cub compared to a lion. Now forewarned of his target’s skill, Stefan would not underestimate his quarry. Upon his brother’s blood, he would capture the American alive, carve his carcass while he still breathed. His screams would reach all the way back to Mother Russia.
    As Stefan climbed through the wooded ravine, the trail left by his quarry grew more distinct. His features hardened. The distance between them was closing. No more than a hundred meters, he estimated. A skilled tracker, trained in the winter mountains of Afghanistan, Stefan knew how to judge a trail.
    He manhandled the bike up another switchback, then throttled down. He climbed off the cycle, shrugging his rifle snugly in place. He reached next to the weapon holstered on the side of the vehicle. It was now time to begin the true hunt. Raised along the Siberian coast, Stefan knew the cold, knew snow and ice, and he knew how to chase prey through a storm.
    From here, he would proceed on foot…but first he needed to shake his targets, panic them into acting instinctively. And like any wild animal, once panicked, people made mistakes.
    He slid up his nightvision goggles, raised the heavy weapon, then read the distance and elevation indicators through the scope.
    Satisfied, he pulled the trigger.
    11:02 P.M.
     
    Craig shivered, clinging close to the man saddled ahead of him. He tried to glean whatever warmth he could from the shared contact. At least he was shielded from the worst of the wind by the Fish and Game warden’s broad back.
    Matt spoke as they climbed through the snowstorm. “I don’t understand,” he said, pressing the issue. “There has to be a reason for all this. Does it have to do with your story? Or is it something else?”
    “I don’t know,” Craig repeated for the tenth time, speaking through a wool scarf wrapped over his lower face. He didn’t want to talk about it. He only wanted to concentrate on staying warm. Damn this assignment…
    “If it’s you, why go to all this trouble to keep you away from your story?”
    “I don’t know. Back in Seattle, I covered alderman races and tracked AP stories out of Washington from a local angle. I was given this assignment because the editor has a grudge. So I dated his niece once. She was twenty years old, for God’s sake. It wasn’t like she was twelve.”
    Matt mumbled, “A political reporter. I mean why would a scientific research station call in a political reporter anyway?”
    Craig sighed. The man would clearly not give up. In a desire to end this line of discussion, he finally loosened his tongue and spilled what he knew. “A marine biologist from the drift station has a cousin who works for the paper. He sent a telegram, indicating a discovery of significant interest. Something to do with an abandoned ice base discovered by their researchers. Whatever they found has stirred up a lot of excitement, but the station was placed under a gag order by the Navy personnel there.”
    “A gag order? And this biologist was able to ferret this news out anyway.”
    Craig nodded. “I was being sent to see if there really is a story of national interest.”
    Matt sighed. “Well, it certainly stirred up someone’s interest.”
    Craig snorted, but he was relieved when the man fell into a ruminative silence. Behind them, the growl of the motorcycle seemed to