Chapter 22 - STATION ALPHA
Station Alpha did not exist on any civilian aviation chart or military survey map. Built forty feet beneath the surface of the Beaufort Sea ice sheet during the height of the Cold War, the facility had been completely erased from federal expenditure logs in 1994, only to be secretly reactivated under Director Cassie Owens's direct command three months prior.
The transport plane’s wheels slammed onto the packed snow runway with a harsh, shuddering roar. The reverse thrusters blew massive clouds of white powder into the freezing Arctic night as the aircraft coasted toward a sunken concrete hangar hatch built into the side of a massive pressure ridge.
As the hydraulic ramp lowered, the biting, razor-sharp polar air rushed into the cabin, instantly freezing the condensation on the bulkheads.
Cassie stepped down the ramp, her heavy boots crunching into the hard-packed ice.
Standing at the base of the ramp, illuminated by the orange glow of industrial work lamps, were two broad-shouldered figures wearing white arctic camouflage gear.
Commander Vance stepped forward, pulling down his face mask to reveal his weathered, scarred face. Beside him, Senior Chief Rhodes stood like an iron pillar, a heavy suppressed carbine slung across his chest.
"Director," Vance barked over the howl of the Arctic wind. "Welcome to the edge of the map."
"Status, Commander?" Cassie asked, her voice cutting clearly through the storm without her needing to raise it.
"The drill team hit a hard barrier twenty minutes ago," Rhodes answered, stepping up to her left flank. "It's not granite and it's not basalt, ma'am. The diamond-head bit wore down to dust in forty seconds flat. Whatever is down there... it's solid, high-density composite metal."
Cassie nodded slowly, her face framed by the dark fur of her hood. "Any external interference?"
"Two long-range reconnaissance drones were picked up on regional radar forty miles east an hour ago," Vance reported grimly. "Unmarked, long-endurance platforms operating out of a civilian icebreaker registered to a Panamanian shell company."
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"Prometheus residual networks," Pendelton remarked, stepping off the ramp behind Cassie while carrying a reinforced hardware briefcase. "They followed the seismic ping."
"They followed a shadow," Cassie corrected him, walking toward the heavy blast doors of the subterranean facility. "Let's make sure they don't leave the ice to report what they found."
