North Cape

Once outside, it was easier to pull the seat all the way forward and open the lockers. The bundles he drew out were tightly packed and opened easily. He pulled them around the side of the battered capsule and beneath the overhanging branches of a thick fir. Here, out of the wind, he opened the first' and checked its contents, carefully piling the equipment he did not need back into the bag.

Teleman found a .22-caliber pistol, which, after a moment's hesitation, he tucked into the waistband of his trousers. VERY pistol, field glasses, small but complete first-aid kit, rations, extra socks, gloves and boots, all went into the pile that he would take with him. He shed his lightweight flight jacket while shivering uncontrollably and pulled a set of Arctic pants and parka over his flight pants and bare skin. Over his boots went a pair of Arctic vacuum boots. Finally, he pulled the hood of the parka over his head and tied it securely beneath his chin. Teleman managed to get the compass and, after a moment's indecision, a tube of Benzedrine tablets into the pocket of his parka. He did not want anything to do with them at the moment, but they might come in handy in an emergency. His metabolism was so low after the long flight and the steady diet of drugs that it would be disastrous to use them now. But he might need them later, he thought. If there was a later. With a pack of rations, he crawled back into the comparative shelter of the capsule. While he ate the cardboard-flavored ration he tried to figure out where he was. After choking down half the bar, he rewrapped the half-eaten pack and shoved it into a pocket. He glanced at his watch: now six hours and twenty minutes since he had radioed the RFK. They ought to be coming onto station shortly, so it was time he got going. Teleman climbed out of the capsule again and walked around to pick up the pack he had made up from the survival kit. The rest of the gear he shoved into the capsule, then closed and latched the hatch.

Set into the middle of the door was a small, spring-closed flap. Teleman opened this and dialed the switch to three minutes. Then he turned and, in an awkward, stumbling gait, ran for the trees.

The thermite bomb exploded. Teleman, watching from a safe distance, saw the flames run in streamers up and down the capsule before fusing into a single sheet. In minutes the capsule was reduced to a shapeless, hissing mass in the steady snowfall. Teleman crouched at the base of a large pine until he was satisfied that the capsule-had been completely destroyed. His last link with the aircraft, in which he had spent what he considered the most important years of his life was severed. Now, cut off from the stabilizing effect of his semi-computer-controlled aircraft and thrown onto his own, he was confused and uncertain, and the drug residues only increased the intensity of his anxieties.

For a moment he felt as if the complexity of the situation was going to overwhelm him. The windblown snow swirling about him narrowed his world to a tiny circle. Into this world, he huddled against the base of the tree and buried his head in his arms, trying to shut out its effects.

The.roar of a jet aircraft, hidden in the clouds, but low enough to be clearly heard over the wind, shocked him into consciousness. He sprang up, head cocked to one side, listening. He could hear the fading scream of tortured air as the sound went toward the coast.

Teleman stooped down to gather up a handful of snow and rub it on his face. The. Soviets had tried three times to kill him. They had succeeded in unhorsing him, so to speak, but he was not down yet, at least in any but the descriptive sense. The pilot, with grim determination, shouldered his pack and, following his compass, set off due north to the cliffs of the North Cape.

Larkin chafing at the delay, paced the bridge, back and forth from meteorological gear to helm, making short sorties onto the deck to judge the condition of the storm. Larkin would never admit it to anyone, but he trusted his own innate weather sense more than all the meteorological gear in the world. That the gale was subsiding, he was now ' certain. And as swiftly as they begin, katabatic storms, by their very nature, are shortlived, but while living are possibly the most dangerous storms-of their kind. The aftermath would still be thoroughly dangerous, and the blizzard it would bring would be both a help and a hindrance. It would at least keep the Soviet surface craft snug in port since the high seas would continue to run for quite some time yet, subsiding slowly over a matter of days, even after the winds had blown themselves out. Larkin was worrying about the pounding the bow was again taking as they. plunged toward the Gape at high speed. Each time the forefoot smashed, into a wave, the shock could be felt through the entire ship.