twice. They'd found one on the plane, before they'd had to jump. Then there was the other one in the bunker at North Slope Supply.
He tried to call up an image of what they'd looked like. The one on the plane had a radio transponder. Well, that cinched it. That definitely explained why he kept thinking of the ocean. But why would anyone want or need a floating radio set?
Frank's head jerked back as he pulled himself totally awake. A floating radio could pinpoint the high-seas rendezvous for an airplane—or a submarine.
Chapter 10
VIRGIL HAD HARDLY landed the chopper before Frank ran limping up to talk about his idea.
"You could be right," Virgil said. "Some of my friends think there's submarine activity up there."
"How would they know?" Frank asked.
"When things come out of a sub, they head up to the surface — oil, that kind of stuff," Virgil answered. "We'll see tomorrow."
They slept soundly and at midmorning set off in the helicopter for Virgil's fishing camp. The dogs were still there. Apparently someone came in to feed them every day while Virgil wasn't there. The boat was still sound and seaworthy, and soon they were chugging through the white-caps of the Arctic Ocean.
Virgil laughed as Tanook jumped aboard. "This dog loves fishing," he said.
The boat was sturdy, built more for endurance than speed. The engine was mounted on the back, and Virgil stored extra fuel and supplies under the seats. It was a craft made for the icy waters of the northern seas.
Frank sat in the center, Virgil at the stern, one hand on the tiller. Tanook took his station up front. He enjoyed the wind in his face, even though he did bark when hit by spray.
As they headed north Virgil tended to business, throwing out lines and catching fish. He threw them, dive, into the large wooden box in the middle of the boat. Some he would use for bait — others for food. One he threw to Tanook, who quickly gobbled it down.
"When autumn comes, all this will be dotted with pack ice," Virgil told Frank with a grin. "All the native people know. The best time to travel is in the wintertime Frank looked out over the black water. It was hard to imagine what it would look like a couple of months from then — white and frozen in the darkness of the Arctic winter.
After an hour of fishing Virgil pointed to a shiny spot on the water where the reflections from the sun were tinted with blue and red. "See that?" he called. "Oil. Not good for fish or seals!"
Frank had seen pictures of oil slicks in news magazines, but this wasn't the same. "It doesn't look very big," he said.
"Big enough," Virgil muttered bitterly. "This had to come from a big ship — a freighter or a submarine."
They continued north, past the slick, then past still another one. Virgil scanned the horizon silently. Frank, too, fell into silence, prickling with the feeling that they were not alone. Something was out there with them. But all he heard was the droning of their engine as they plowed north.
Virgil turned off the engine without warning. The complete silence was a shock to Frank. He looked at Virgil to see if everything was all right. Virgil just held up a finger to his lips to silence him. His ear was cocked into the wind and he was gazing at nothing.
"I think I hear something," he said after a moment. "Listen."
Frank caught only the sounds of waves slapping against the side of the boat and of the wind.
"What do you think it is?" Frank whispered.
"A boat, or maybe a plane," Virgil said. He remained perfectly still. "I think it's coming up from the south."
Frank was amazed at Virgil's hearing. At the fishing camp, he'd heard the approaching choppers minutes before anyone else. Now he'd picked out the sound of a distant engine over all the wind and water.
But Frank was the first to catch the glint of sunlight on the plane's wings. "There it is!"
It showed only as a tiny speck against the white of the overcast clouds. But it became clearer as it drew nearer. "It's a
He tried to call up an image of what they'd looked like. The one on the plane had a radio transponder. Well, that cinched it. That definitely explained why he kept thinking of the ocean. But why would anyone want or need a floating radio set?
Frank's head jerked back as he pulled himself totally awake. A floating radio could pinpoint the high-seas rendezvous for an airplane—or a submarine.
Chapter 10
VIRGIL HAD HARDLY landed the chopper before Frank ran limping up to talk about his idea.
"You could be right," Virgil said. "Some of my friends think there's submarine activity up there."
"How would they know?" Frank asked.
"When things come out of a sub, they head up to the surface — oil, that kind of stuff," Virgil answered. "We'll see tomorrow."
They slept soundly and at midmorning set off in the helicopter for Virgil's fishing camp. The dogs were still there. Apparently someone came in to feed them every day while Virgil wasn't there. The boat was still sound and seaworthy, and soon they were chugging through the white-caps of the Arctic Ocean.
Virgil laughed as Tanook jumped aboard. "This dog loves fishing," he said.
The boat was sturdy, built more for endurance than speed. The engine was mounted on the back, and Virgil stored extra fuel and supplies under the seats. It was a craft made for the icy waters of the northern seas.
Frank sat in the center, Virgil at the stern, one hand on the tiller. Tanook took his station up front. He enjoyed the wind in his face, even though he did bark when hit by spray.
As they headed north Virgil tended to business, throwing out lines and catching fish. He threw them, dive, into the large wooden box in the middle of the boat. Some he would use for bait — others for food. One he threw to Tanook, who quickly gobbled it down.
"When autumn comes, all this will be dotted with pack ice," Virgil told Frank with a grin. "All the native people know. The best time to travel is in the wintertime Frank looked out over the black water. It was hard to imagine what it would look like a couple of months from then — white and frozen in the darkness of the Arctic winter.
After an hour of fishing Virgil pointed to a shiny spot on the water where the reflections from the sun were tinted with blue and red. "See that?" he called. "Oil. Not good for fish or seals!"
Frank had seen pictures of oil slicks in news magazines, but this wasn't the same. "It doesn't look very big," he said.
"Big enough," Virgil muttered bitterly. "This had to come from a big ship — a freighter or a submarine."
They continued north, past the slick, then past still another one. Virgil scanned the horizon silently. Frank, too, fell into silence, prickling with the feeling that they were not alone. Something was out there with them. But all he heard was the droning of their engine as they plowed north.
Virgil turned off the engine without warning. The complete silence was a shock to Frank. He looked at Virgil to see if everything was all right. Virgil just held up a finger to his lips to silence him. His ear was cocked into the wind and he was gazing at nothing.
"I think I hear something," he said after a moment. "Listen."
Frank caught only the sounds of waves slapping against the side of the boat and of the wind.
"What do you think it is?" Frank whispered.
"A boat, or maybe a plane," Virgil said. He remained perfectly still. "I think it's coming up from the south."
Frank was amazed at Virgil's hearing. At the fishing camp, he'd heard the approaching choppers minutes before anyone else. Now he'd picked out the sound of a distant engine over all the wind and water.
But Frank was the first to catch the glint of sunlight on the plane's wings. "There it is!"
It showed only as a tiny speck against the white of the overcast clouds. But it became clearer as it drew nearer. "It's a
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