The Winter Over(48)

“The day you saw the figure,” Vox said. “This was on the same day as the last flight back to McMurdo, yes?”

“Yes.”

“And your vehicle maintaining faculty has an external door, does it not?”

“Vehicle maintenance facility. Yes, it has two entrances. One is human-sized, one is big enough for the snowcats to pass through.”

“You said several of your station’s administrators were also there,” Vox continued. “This was your base manager, the security person, and your psychologist?”

“Yes.”

“If you lived in Moscow, I would say they were there to interrogate you,” he joked. “But you say they were gone by the time you came back to the garage?”

“Nowhere to be found. I’ve tried to ask them since that time what they were doing there, but they avoid answering me.”

“No news is good news, I think you say. But, I agree, it is weird. Is there anything else? You told me that your psychiatric officer had asked to see you, no?”

“That’s right. He wanted to do a psych evaluation.”

“Why would he do that?”

“To see if I’d gone crazy.”

“Did you pass?”

“Pashol na khui .”

Vox burst out laughing. “So someone knows how to use the Internet! Very good. Remind me what this psychologist said about you.”

Cass rolled onto her back; her arm was falling asleep. “I thought that he’d brought me in to make sure I wasn’t traumatized by the accident, but his questions were strange.”

“How so?”

“He seemed to want to steer the conversation toward things I didn’t even understand.” Cass groped for words. Even months later, Keene’s interview made no sense. “He seemed to think I had something to do with Sheryl’s death. He asked about my ‘role,’ then seemed disappointed, maybe even worried, when I didn’t have the answer he was expecting.”

“I am going to assume that a psychologist acting unstable is an unusual situation in America,” Vox said. “In Russia, they are the very first to go around the corner.”

“Bend. Go around the bend.”

“Whatever. Do you have anything else for me to consider, Miss Jennings?”

“Only that the base manager and head of security seemed to take Sheryl’s death pretty lightly. They made a few announcements and asked a few questions, but it’s been a closed subject since it happened.”

“But you have a theory?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me what it is. I will test it using the undisputed rigors of the scientific method.”

“I don’t think Sheryl died,” Cass said. “I think her death was faked.”

Silence greeted her statement. It stretched on for so long that Cass asked, “Vox? You still there?”

“Blaze, I must apologize. This whole time, I didn’t think you were paranoid enough to survive in Russia. I was wrong.”

“Don’t joke, Vox. I’m serious.”

She imagined him taking stock on the other end. “All right. Tell me your thesis.”

“I think the body they sent out there was just a frozen . . . mannequin or something. Wrap a side of beef or a crash test dummy in enough layers of Gore-Tex and let it freeze for a few hours, and it would seem like a dead body. Especially if they didn’t get a chance to see the face or check for an injury.”

“Where is this woman now?”

Cass swallowed. “I think they were trying to sneak her on board the last flight when I found them in my garage. Sikes and his people had no idea what she looked like; she would’ve been just another face to them. But that’s why Hanratty and the others were so shocked when I showed up and why she ran—she was probably minutes away from getting on board that plane. They must’ve found another way to sneak her on board later.”

There was no sound on the other end. Cass continued.

“Then, Keene interviews me, but shows no sympathy or compassion. Instead, it’s as if he thought I knew something, was part of something. Like I was part of a conspiracy or a plan. Say, like faking a crew member’s death.”

“But if he knows what is going on, why would he ask those questions?”

“Vox, hold on.” Cass, lying on her back with an earpiece in one ear and three layers of clothing around her head, could barely hear the wind rushing outside. But she felt, rather than heard, something—a thud, a bang, something—come through the floor, nearly stopping her heart. Moving slowly, she rolled onto her belly, pushed herself to her hands and knees awkwardly, and crawled to the hatch that led down to the ice tunnels.

There it was again. Softer now, barely felt through the floor, but noticeable. Pulse pounding, she got a flashlight ready in her right hand, then yanked the hatch open with her left. Cold air wafted upward, hitting her in the face. The beam shone down the tube, illuminating the white ice riming the metal walls and rungs.

Nothing.

Ignoring the shock of cold, Cass ripped away her parka and hood so she could listen to the empty space, hoping the tube would act like an amplifier.

Was there a scratching, scuffing sound? Or was it the fabric of her parka? Her mouth was dry and her pulse pounded in her temples as she strained to hear.