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He and Mason had been born twelve minutes apart, with Mason being older. They were, unless you knew them incredibly well and had seen them naked, identical twins. They were both heavily muscled and well endowed, but Mason had several scars his younger brother didn’t. Mason had moved to Alaska, up above Otter Cove on the peninsula. There wasn’t a snow leopard-shifter clan there, but the small town was comprised only of shifters. Mason lived outside the city limits in a remote part of the Aleutian Range.
Mostly, Mason supposedly lived on his pension and worked as a lumberjack. But Carson wondered if that was the whole truth. Given Mason’s background, as well as his heightened level of suspicion of the world around him, it made more sense that his brother also worked as a cyber security expert, hiring out to black ops and intelligence agencies as a private contractor. Despite their myriad differences, the brothers were close—as only twins could be. They tried to get together at least twice a year—the winter and summer solstices.
Tucking the data storage device into his cell phone, Carson headed out, waving at the security desk as he did so. They were supposed to have an over-the-top security system, but most everybody, including the security staff, ignored the protocols. One of the perks of his recent promotion was that Carson had a reserved parking space close to the building. He started his engine and drove back into Reykjavik, finding a spot right out front of the Glacier Café.
“Hey, Carson. We’ve been expecting you. Sit anywhere you like. I’m assuming you want the meatloaf?” called one of the waitresses.
“That would be great,” he said, heading for his favorite small booth in the back.
It offered him the best view of the café, was right by the restrooms and an emergency exit, as well as the bank of ancient payphones. No one ever used them anymore with the advent of cellular phones, but they were some of the few in the world that were actually still operable.
Once his meatloaf with garlic smashed potatoes, roasted baby carrots, and coffee was served, he began to look at his company-issued cell phone. For one thing, Carson wanted someone to be able to track that he’d been at the diner.
Halfway through his meal, he got up, paid his check and then walked to the back where the payphones were all in a line. Carson fed the vintage payphone with a number of coins. Dialing his brother’s number, he waited for Mason to answer. Carson had managed to sneak into some files he shouldn’t have had access to and copy the information he found there. The EnGen Project had been of special interest to him, and some of the information he’d been able to scan left him feeling more unsettled than ever.
Finally, Mason’s phone picked up. “You know who you dialed. You know what to do.” BEEP.
“Mason, it’s Carson. Look, I’m not going to be able to get together for our birthday. Give me a call so we can arrange something else.”
The message was innocuous and certainly wouldn’t translate to anyone who wasn’t him or Mason that Carson had found something unsettling and needed to talk to him and was going to be enroute to Mason’s cabin. Slipping out the back door, Carson walked briskly to the bus station, taking the first bus out to the airport.
He got off the bus and waited for it to pull away before going into the terminal and catching a flight out of Reykjavik to Montreal, Quebec, where he opened the locker he and his brother kept there with a stash of cash and fake passports. He then rented another small locker and stashed his company and registered personal cell phones within before making the connecting flight that would ultimately land him in Kodiak, Alaska, where he hired a bush pilot to take him to a landing strip as close to Mason’s home as he could get. From there he’d take one of the two snowmobiles his brother left in the private, heated shelter the remaining distance to Mason’s. The shelter also contained everything one needed to travel in the arctic climate including a polar survival suit, helmet, and goggles.
Getting out of the small bush plane, Carson had to agree—compared to the Aleutian Peninsula, Reykjavik was downright balmy. Carson keyed in the code that allowed him to access the shelter. He pulled on the polar suit and goggles, opting for his ski hat instead of the helmet. Once clothed to withstand the environment, he got on the snowmobile and took a tour around the landing strip. For one thing he wanted to get the feel of the vehicle and ensure it was working properly. For another, he wanted to see if anyone had followed him.
I’m starting to get as paranoid as Mason. Gunning the engine, he began the long, cold journey to see his brother.
CHAPTER2
AMELIA
Bellingham, Washington
Amelia Lockhart sat behind the controls of her single-engine prop plane, a de HavillandBeaver, enjoying the smooth way the plane handled. It was a favorite among bush pilots, and it was worth every dime she’d scrimped and saved to buy it. Amelia had grown up in America’s bread basket and was flying crop dusters before she could legally drive. After a stint flying cargo planes and rescue choppers for the US Military, she’d mustered out in Washington State’s Fort Lewis, fallen in love with the Pacific Northwest, and stayed.
Her two passengers on this trip were regulars. Hal and Don both worked in the high-tech field, and Amelia flew them to their favorite fishing hole on the Alaska Peninsula at least twice per year. They were relaxed, gregarious, and great tippers.
Having arranged for a car and driver to pick them up, Amelia scanned the commercial dock area to see if she could spot Jack. He was waiting for them. She flew past, waggled her wings at him, and radioed the marina and closest tower to inform them of her approach and impending landing. The latter wasn’t absolutely necessary, but Amelia thought it was good form. She banked the airplane back toward the marina and executed a flawless landing. Jack grabbed the line to tie off the plane as she killed the engine and let the plane sidle up to the dock, got out and opened the passenger door, folding down the stairwell.
“Gentlemen, we have arrived, and your chariot awaits,” she said with a flourish.
“Thanks, Amelia. As always, a great trip,” said Hal.
Don nodded. “Yep; even when the fishing is lousy, the trip up and back is always a treat. You sure we can’t convince you to come to work for the company as our corporate pilot?”
Amelia laughed. “And miss going up to Alaska on a regular basis? No way.”
“Just thought I’d try,” said Don, slipping her an enormous tip.
“Gentlemen?” said Jack, “as the lady said, I’ve got the SUV waiting and a couple of homemade brews in the back.”
Jack knew how to take care of his customers, as well. He loaded their gear on his foldable trolley and the three men walked down the dock to Jack’s SUV.
Once the plane was secured, Amelia jogged down the dock to the small office area she had at the marina. It wasn’t much, but it gave her a physical address to meet passengers, receive mail, and check in with Phoebe, her receptionist.
“Hey, Boss,” Phoebe said by way of greeting. “How’d it go?”
“Gorgeous clear blue, smooth skies and Don and Hal are always great.” She handed Phoebe the wad of cash from Hal.
