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Graham came trudging up, Hoskins limping along behind, both looking like snowmen, their Arctic jumpsuits dusted white, their face masks plastered with ice from their breathing. Graham lifted his mask, exposing his bloodied face and studied Pitt blankly for a moment, then he smiled bleakly.
"Welcome, stranger. Your timing was perfect."
No one on the helicopter had seen the other two members of the archaeology expedition from the air, and Pitt began to wonder how many other ambulance cases were wandering around the fjord.
"We have an injured man and lady here," Pitt said without formalities.
"Are they part of your group?"
The smile fell from Graham's face. "What happened?"
"They took a bad spill."
"We took one too."
"You see the aircraft?"
"Saw it go down, but we didn't reach it."
Hoskins moved around Graham and stared down at Lily and then glanced around until he spied Gronquist. "How badly are they hurt?"
"Know better after they've had X-rays."
"We've got to help them."
"I have a team of medics on board the helicopter."
"Then what in hell are you waiting for?" Hoskins cut him off - "Call them out here - " He made as if to brush past Pitt, but he was stopped dead by an iron grip on his arm. He stared uncomprehending into a pair of unblinking eyes.
"Your friends will have to wait," Pitt said firmly. "any survivors on the downed aircraft must come first. How far to your camp?"
"A kilometer to the south," Hoskins answered compliantly.
"The snowmobile is still operable. You and your partner rehitch the sled and carry them back to your camp. Go easy in case they have any internal injuries. You have a radio?"
"Yes. "
"Keep it set on frequency thirty-two and stand by," said Pitt. "If the plane was a commercial jetliner loaded with passengers, we'll have a real mess on our hands."
"We'll stand by," Graham assured him.
Pitt leaned over Lily and squeezed her hand. "Don't forget our date,"
he said.
Then he yanked the parka hood over his head, turned and jogged back to the helicopter.
Rubin felt a great weight smothering him from all sides as if some relentless force was driving him backward. The seat belt and harness pressed cruelly into his gut and shoulders. He opened his eyes and saw only vague and shadowy images. As he waited for his vision to clear he tried to move his hands and arms, but they seemed locked in place.
Then his eyes gradually focused and he saw why.
An avalanche of snow and ice had forged through the shattered windshield, entrapping his body up to the chest. He made a desperate attempt to free himself. After a few minutes of struggling, he gave up.
The unyielding pressure held him like a straitjacket. There was no way he could escape the cockpit without help.
The shock slowly began to fade and he gritted his teeth from the pain that erupted from his broken legs. Rubin thought it strange that his feet felt as though they were immersed in water. He rationalized that it was his own blood.
Rubin was wrong. The plane had settled through the ice in water nearly three meters deep and it had flooded the cabin floor up to the seats.
