Cold Flood (Kea Wright Mysteries Book 1) Read online

  Cold Flood

  R.J. Corgan

  Copyright

  Disclaimer: All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. While every attempt has been made to be scientifically accurate, the rapid retreat of the glacier means that the landscape is constantly changing.

  Copyright © 2017 by R.J. Corgan

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

  First Printing: 2017

  Fifth Edition, 2020

  ISBN: 978-1-387-29769-6

  https://RJcorganbooks.com/

  Cover art and maps by Justus Lyons

  Dedication

  For Kate, Matt, and Scott

  Cast

  Burlingame University Glaciology Department

  Dr. Kea Wright

  Dr. Marcus Posner

  Dr. Carlyle (former project lead)

  Julie

  Tony

  Thaumaturgical Telecommunication Technologies (T3)

  Max

  Bruce

  Jon

  Erik

  Derek

  Fernando

  Tiko

  Bonnie

  Corvis Engineering

  Andrei

  Nadia

  Amirah

  Reynard

  Gary

  Contractor

  Zoë

  Cole

  Reporter

  Lexie

  Park Staff

  Ísadóra

  Icelandic Pronunciation

  á - the "ou" in "house"

  ð - the "th" in "father"

  í - the "i" in "Maria"

  j - the "y" in "yes"

  ó - the "o" in "sole"

  ö - the "u" in "urgent"

  ú - the "zoo"

  æ - the "aye"

  Glossary

  Beheaded – the term for the lower part of a glacier that, during retreat, may become separated, due to topography or burial by sediment.

  Black Death – slang for Icelandic potato mash vodka.

  Dirt Cones – mounds of dirt-covered ice, created by uneven melting due to the presence of sediment or ash that may serve to insulate the ice, resulting in uneven topography.

  Englacial – term used to refer to processes or features located within the glacier.

  Esker – a sinuous, ridge-shaped feature formed by the deposition of sediment by water moving through, or below, the ice.

  Geomorphology – the study of the earth surface, including landforms, geology, and surficial processes.

  Gloop – slang used to describe sediments that have become supersaturated with water.

  Ground Penetrating Radar (GPR) – device that determines a glacier’s internal structure by sending radar waves into the ice and recording the return time of the reflections.

  Inverted topography – the deposition of sediment on the ice, and subsequent melting, which may result in the topographic reversal of high and low features in the landscape.

  Jökulhlaup – Icelandic term for glacier outburst flood; may be generated by the sudden release of water impounded within, below, upon or adjacent to a glacier and may be volcanic, lacustrine (lake), or pluvial (precipitation) in origin.

  Kettle hole – depression, usually circular, formed by the melting out of ice blocks that have become stranded or completely buried by sediment during a jökulhlaup.

  Kirkjubæjarklaustur (or ‘klaustur) – a small town in southern Iceland; closest medical facilities and a hamburger joint.

  Kúkalabbi – Icelandic term for scumbag; ‘poop on two legs.’

  Meltout – the melting out of sediment above or within the glacier.

  Moraine – referring to the region across the front of a glacier, composed of ice, sediment, rocks, and boulders deposited by the ice; alternatively, a lateral moraine is found on the sides of the glacier as the ice scrapes material off the valley walls.

  Moulin – hole in the ice where surface drainage flows down into a glacier.

  Magnetic Resonance Sounding (MRS) – surveying technique used to measure the level of water in an aquifer by applying an electric field to water molecules, then measuring how long it takes for the water molecule to return to its original state.

  Munter – slang term to describe a person impaired by alcohol or other drugs; ugly.

  Sandur – Icelandic term for outwash plain in front of a glacier.

  Snout – slang term referring to the front edge of the glacier.

  Subglacial – term used to refer to processes or features located beneath the glacier.

  Supraglacial – term used to refer to processes or features located above the glacier.

  Surge – rapid advance of a glacier.

  Tephra – volcanic ash.

  Thaumaturgical – magical.

  Tuya – Icelandic term for the flat-topped (table-top) volcanic mountains formed beneath the ice.

  Wildlands – the name Kea has given to the heavily ash-covered western region of the glacier covered by an extensive drainage network of streams and canyons.

  Location Maps

  Prologue

  Pénzesgyőr, Hungary

  Andrea sprinted through the forest, her feet blindly finding purchase on the soft earth. Branches slashed her cheeks and snagged her hair. Glancing back, she saw flashlight beams pierce the mist between the tree trunks, their white blades searching for her. She scanned the landscape ahead, desperately searching for any sign that she was on the right path.

  Nothing.

  She ducked behind the shelter of a fallen tree, pausing to rest.

  Things were not going to plan.

  She fought to control her breathing, reducing her heaving pants into hushed, measured gasps. Closing her eyes, she felt the damp kiss of the tree’s bark, cold and alien against her neck. Her pale hands were covered in grime, her manicured fingernails crusted with mud. Her long black hair had been tied up in a knot, but spilled out as she fled, and was constantly falling across her eyes. She wore only a rain jacket, a t-shirt, sneakers, and skinny jeans. No phone, no gun.

  Breathe, she thought. Just breathe. Opening her eyes, a gossamer thread glinted in the faint morning light, drifting down from the shadowy canopy above. A silkworm dangled from the delicate strand, parasailing through the forest with ease, oblivious to the drama unfolding around it. She focused on the tiny hypnotic creature as it floated off into the mist.

  If only it were that easy, she thought.

  Huddled deeper into the husk of the tree, she listened as the voices in the woods called to each other, sometimes distant, sometimes seeming to be right beside her. She willed herself to remember the way back to her vehicle. Instead, her mind was trying to comprehend how it could all have gone wrong so quickly.

  The call had come in just after midnight. Still blinking sleep from her eyes, she had thrown on whatever clothes were at hand, jumped in her car, and entered the coordinates into her GPS. Heading out of Munich at full speed, she had been thankful for the lack of traffic in the dead of night. She would swear she hadn’t been followed. Yet, despite reaching the target without incident, she was ambushed as she made her way back through the forest. Either her pursuers had tracked her phone, or they had known where she was going all along.

  Had she been in her own territory, she would have had a chance. She could have made a feint to throw them off, doubled back to her car, and then fled to a safe house. Here, though, this deep in a strange woodland on the outskirts of a tiny town tw
o hours southwest of Budapest, she didn’t know the terrain. She had no allies, no safe haven, no plan, and no weapons. She possessed nothing except the panic belonging to a creature of prey, frantic to keep ahead of the pack.

  She waited. One minute. Three. Ten. The gaps between shouts became longer, the voices farther apart. Or so it seemed. A trick?

  Have to risk it.

  She peered over the edge of the trunk. She saw nothing but the sun cresting the treetops, bleeding through the boughs like a broken yolk.

  Go!

  Sprinting, she leaped out of cover, threading through the tree trunks. She headed west where her vehicle was parked a kilometer distant. Or so she hoped.

  She heard a cry of alarm, followed by an exultant shout.

  They had spotted her.

  A shot rang out, its deafening echoes reverberating through the trees.

  Her heart pounding, she dug deep, tapped into her last spark of energy. As she ran, she gave silent thanks to those who had planted this forest. Unlike the wild woodlands of her youth, this one had been planted with evenly spaced trunks and minimal undergrowth. The layout allowed her to quickly zigzag between the trees, putting their sturdy girth between her and gunfire.

  Nearing the brink of exhaustion, she heard shouts growing closer. A crackle of thunder rolled through the trees: the sound of her pursuers smashing through the undergrowth. They were closing in. She staggered up a steep rise and almost cried out in relief as she recognized a distinctive outcrop of slate, its surface dripping a scraggly beard of dark green moss.

  So close. Her car was parked just at the end of the valley. She slid down the embankment, rolling like a child in a pile of leaves, her head giddy with relief. Stumbling into a final run, she headed toward the lights of her car.

  Lights?

  She hadn't left-

  A mixture of shame and terror tightened her chest. They had followed her. Not just through the forest. They had followed her car. Of course, they would know where she’d parked her car.

  Stupid! I’m so stupid!

  Another shot rang out. Still stumbling, she veered off to the right, her feet skidding in the leaves as she picked up speed. She ran in a blind panic, not caring where.

  Out of options. Out of time.

  She headed east toward the rising sun, fighting to keep her pace steady, to push through the pain that burned her thighs, to see through her tears that blurred her vision.

  The sound of rushing water reached her ears. She sprinted toward it, hoping to put it between herself and her pursuers.

  She exploded out of the trees to find herself on the edge of an embankment. Below, ribbons of steam rose from the turbulent surface of a roaring river. The gray light of dawn made it difficult to ascertain the channel’s murky depths. The cliff itself was less than ten meters high, but the river below was at least fifty meters wide. She paused, trying to gather the nerve to leap into the water’s unknown, and potentially lethal, embrace.

  Her foot suddenly flew into the air unbidden, slamming her backward onto the rocky ground. The impact knocked out the last of her breath. She stared up at the sky blinking stupidly, her exhausted brain finally processing the sound of the gunshot. The pain in her foot roiled across her body, its white fire lighting up her nervous system in stages, before finally forcing a cry from her gasping throat.

  Frantically, she crawled to the cliff’s edge and reached into her pocket to fling her prize into the river in a final act of desperation. Her hand came up empty save for the lining of her jacket. She groaned. She must have dropped it in the forest. It could be anywhere. Rolling onto her back, she found that she was laughing hysterically at the ridiculousness of it all, of the stupidity of her situation.

  Andrea didn't recognize any of the goons who stepped into the clearing. In her head, she had envisioned being chased by professionals clad in black camouflage, bristling with military gear. Instead, she faced five men of varying heights wearing an array of jeans, hoodies, and t-shirts, dressed as if they were going grocery shopping. Average, everyday, blue-collar workers. Except for the handguns, of course.

  “Hi boys,” she managed between ragged coughs. “He couldn’t even be bothered to show, huh?” She had arranged a handover in three days’ time in Marienplatz, Munich's central square. A public place where she would have had backup, body armor, a handgun, and a getaway car. Her buyer had obviously decided he couldn’t wait and sent his men to take it from her at the source. For free. “What’s the matter with you guys? Doesn’t anyone believe in supply chain economics anymore? Un-American, that’s what this is.”

  The men frowned, not comprehending. She searched her memory for any Hungarian phrases, but the only ones she could remember were swear words. Naturally.

  “I hate to ruin your day, but I don’t have it.” She sat up slowly, holding up her sweaty palms, empty except for the grime of the forest floor plastered to her skin. “Honestly, I have no idea where it is.”

  One of the men, his face half-hidden beneath the hood of his jacket, stepped closer. “The problem with young people today,” he began, his German colored with the hint of an accent she was unable to identify, “is that you are all about the energy, the ambition, but you want nothing to do with patience.”

  Andrea lowered her hands to the ground for support, pulling her injured leg close. The man’s tone was conversational, but his gun never wavered.

  “I don't have it,” she repeated, wishing her voice would stop quavering. Very slowly, she began using her arms to pull herself backward, scooting closer to the edge.

  “This is new to you, yes?” If the man noticed her progress, he gave no sign. “But this is a very old game, one we have played for generations...”

  “I told you before,” Andrea said, her voice a whisper now, “I don’t have it.”

  An electric disco beat tinkled in the air, dancing in the space between them.

  “I believe you.” The man pulled out his ringing phone and held it up. “Hush now, daddy’s talking.”

  His accent had slipped, but she still couldn’t place it.

  He turned away to answer the phone, speaking into the receiver in low, murmurous tones. He held the gun loosely in his hand, tapping the nuzzle against his leg impatiently.

  Andrea eyed the river below, her adrenaline and terror masking the pain in her foot, though she suspected that she was slipping into shock. She wasn't sure it mattered anymore.

  Maybe they’d just walk away, she thought giddily. Maybe they’ll forget about me and start searching through the forest. Maybe...

  The man tucked the phone into his pocket and nodded to the others. They raised their weapons and advanced as one.

  Christ.

  Andrea lunged for the river. As she crested the cliff’s edge, she felt two abrupt punches slam into her shoulder. The impact of the bullets only succeeded in pushing her over the edge faster. She screamed with newfound pain as she fell, trying to twist, to straighten her dive, but instead, she slapped belly-first into the river.

  The shock caused her to gulp in lungs full of frigid water. Her knees bounced and cracked against the river’s cobbled bottom.

  Too shallow! Too shallow!

  She tried to move her arms, tried to swim, but found that her muscles refused to respond. As the roar of the rapids filled her ears, her body shook with irregular tremors. Although her eyes remained open, darkness swallowed her vision and the cold hand of death stilled her heart.

  ***

  The hooded man peered over the cliff and saw the broken body of the woman drifting in the water below. He shook his head in disgust. “Amateurs.”

  Waving the others back the way they had come, he placed a call with one hand, while searching in his pocket for a cigarette with the other. He waited patiently as the Internet call dove in and out of the series of routers and blind IPs. He used the time to light up.

  “We’re gonna need a cleanup crew,” he said in German. “No, no sign. We can look, but in this forest, you’d
have a better chance of finding a virgin in Vegas.”

  The response came as a series of deafening shouts. The man held the phone away from his ear and shouted back. “What about the other one? You want us to retrieve that one too?”

  Another shout.

  Then nothing.

  He put the phone back in his pocket. The others had paused, staring at him from the darkness between the trees. He shrugged, then in Hungarian said to the men, “Sounds like he wants try a different approach.”

  He took a long last drag from his cigarette and looked around the forest. The tree trunks were frosted with early morning sunlight and in the undergrowth, fairytale mushrooms peaked out their heads, crowned with dew. It could take weeks to search properly. Months, if ever. He peered down into the river. The young woman’s body, twisted and broken, had lodged between a knuckle of boulders in the river. “Getting that body out will be a nightmare.” He sighed, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “Such a waste.”

  Chapter 1

  Day One

  As Kea Wright watched, the stream swept off the edge of the flat mountaintop and slipped effortlessly up into the sky, as if trying to touch the belly of their plane. Here at the edge of Iceland’s southern coast, the harsh ocean winds were strong enough to blow waterfalls vertically into the air. Gravity itself seemed to behave differently in this little island country, one of Iceland’s many unexpected wonders that kept her coming back year after year.

  The plane banked north, turning away from the Atlantic Ocean, and headed toward the Vatnajökull icecap. Gigantic mushroom-shaped mountains lurched up into the sky, standing proudly atop a vista of still pools and rushing streams. While the Ice Age sheets had since faded into the mists of time, they left behind their legacy in the form of these flat-topped mountains and sheer cliffs. As the lava extruded into the glaciers, these table-top mountains, or tuyas, had grown one layer at a time, melting their way up through the ice, and now stood as lonely sentinels of a distant past.