Max crouched like an animal ready to run, his mind racing to take in what he saw. He was in an ice cave. Specks of frost clung to the walls and roof, so everything shimmered as if some magic spell were being cast. But the creatures’ eyes that stared back at him were unmoving. No light, no glimmer, just the vacant stare of death.
It was a natural history museum of frozen animals, teeth bared, in natural poses. A muscled silverback mountain gorilla glared; a black rhino stood full square, proud, curved horn majestic. A leopard lunged upwards at a very rare Tibetan antelope, startled but, like the others, frozen. Two lions fought, the huge male, his mane dusted with frost, poised over the female, which was twisted in a snarling defensive position. Max could almost sense the African dust rising from their scuffling paws. Orangutan, lynx, all stood as if caught by flash photography. A leatherback turtle, bigger than any Max had seen before, was suspended in an ice block, as if swimming through the ocean. There were animals Max had seen only in photographs, such as a rare snow leopard, its softly mottled coat blending into the snowbank that had been created around it.
He moved slowly among the creatures, in silent wonderment at being so close to the great beasts of the world. Then he realized that this was a very specific collection. They were mostly predators. From the big cats to wolves, hunting dogs to jackals. The jackal gazed down at Max with wise eyes, touching his memory of a jackal’s guidance when he was in Africa. A Bengal tiger, not as big as Aladfar but huge nonetheless, crouched, eyes glaring, claws gripping the ground.
This private museum belonged to the man who smuggled animals, many of them endangered. A bear, about the same size as Max, stood on its hind legs, its front paws held up defensively, as if uncertain what the human being who killed him was about to do. The look of surprise on its face was accentuated by the black circles around its eyes. This was the small South American bear Sophie had mentioned to him when they’d first met. And this was how the poor creature had ended up.
The cold air carpeted the floor with a thin crust of ice, so that Max’s steps crunched. He moved quickly to the other end of the hall, forcing himself not to look over his shoulder-in case the dead came back to life. They all looked ravenous.
A double stainless-steel door barred his exit. There was no sign of a handle, a switch or a code box. Nothing. It had to be a remotely operated door. Farther along the wall a hole gave a brief glimpse of a spurting torrent of water. It was no larger than the ice tunnel he had just slid down, and the water gushed white with the tremendous power of a waterfall before disappearing into the blackness below. The volume of water told Max it came from somewhere higher in the mountain-runoff from melting snow.
He stuck his face closer to the pounding water, pushing his shoulders into the hollow wall. Wasp stings of spray pricked his face; the roaring water deafened him, but there was a different sound in the background. It was barely distinguishable, but it was of water splashing, falling into other water. This was some kind of sluice, a natural underground stream. How far down was it before the water tumbled into deeper water? Was it a lake? A pond? Whatever it was, it was below the level of this ice cave.
It might be the lower-level chamber beneath the air-vent chimney that was too small to crawl down. The water chute was the only way out.
This was extremely dangerous. In fact, “extreme” didn’t quite cover it. But it was a risk he had to take. He opened his backpack, pulled out a garbage bag and began stripping. As each layer came off, the freezing air snared itself around him, barbed-wire sharp. He knew he couldn’t hang around too long or it would freeze him into submission. With all his clothing stuffed into the plastic bag in his backpack, except his boxer shorts and trainers-whose tough soles might help deflect any sharp-edged rocks on the way down the waterfall-he was already relishing the thought of dry clothing at the end of this nightmare plunge. He was shivering violently. You had to know what freezing-cold water would do to you in order to survive it. Cold water strips away body heat twenty-five times faster than cold air does. The moment Max got into that sluice his blood pressure would rise and he would start hyperventilating-and that was dangerous. The sudden shock would stop him from holding his breath. Even strong swimmers have drowned in cold water. Knowing what to expect would help him survive, but not knowing how long he might be in the water was the frightening part. After three minutes his body temperature would drop, hypothermia would set in, his muscles and limbs would be unable to keep him going.
Experts called it sudden cold water death.
Max pulled his backpack on across his chest-this would stop it snagging and also give him a buoyancy aid. He clambered onto the rock sill, tried to stop his teeth chattering and took a deep breath, mentally locking it into his lungs. He needed that air as long as possible.
He pushed into the tongue of water and immediately gasped, losing vital oxygen. Water spilled across his head, his neck felt as though someone had pinioned him with icicles, and his throat constricted with the cold. Control it! CONTROL IT! his mind shouted at him. He suppressed an urgent desire to yell as he felt the water-smooth rocks disappear from below him. He plunged from darkness to dim, glowing light in the space of twenty seconds. His stinging eyes saw the drop-only three or four meters-before he splashed into a pool of water.
It felt as though broken glass pulsed through his veins. The cold was shutting him down-rapidly. He couldn’t function; his arms were useless, his mind unable to grasp the deep sleep that threatened to suffocate him. Images danced across his vision. Snow and ice packed the edges of the pool below, and the remains of something dark and bloody stained the smudged snow. This was the end. He had gambled and lost and now the dark ice would take him. A deep instinct for survival, a small glimmer in his brain, told him there was time for one more gulp of air. And then he went down into the water.
The impact, the resistance of the water and then a floating sensation. Downwards. Out of your depth. Too far down. The cold left him. That meant he was either unaware of the terrible effect the temperature was having on his body and he was slipping into deep unconsciousness, or he had warmth and protection, like a young polar bear.
The pool’s water was marginally warmer, not by much, and its salty content stung his eyes. At first it seemed as though daylight streamed down into the depths, but then his achingly cold mind told him that it couldn’t be. These were artificial lights allowing something to see beneath the water. What something?
A white monster smashed into the water. A mature polar bear, its huge paws, thirty centimeters across, scooped away water. This was the something.
Fear-generated strength gushed through Max. An unusual feeling of clumsiness encumbered his body. He was dogpaddling, pulling water beneath his body, legs kicking awkwardly, bubbles streaming from his nostrils as he peered through the gloom. White turbulence from the surging water came into view as it coursed through the pool and escaped onwards over a lip of rock.
He dared a look behind him. The polar bear was striking up from the deep pool, broad paws swatting away water in an almost lazy fashion, as if in slow motion. It was an illusion. The bear was so strong it made his power seem effortless. The fury and violence if he caught the intruder in his territory would be terrifying.
The watercourse was the escape route. Max didn’t know how he had stayed under the surface for so long, or how his body had coped with the heart-stopping cold, but he went as fast as he could, broke the surface, reached up onto the packed ice on top of the rock ledge and tried to haul himself out of the water. The backpack strapped to his chest made it impossible. The horror of having his legs dangling in the water with the predator less than a couple of meters below spurred the strength back into his limbs. Twisting his body, he levered himself ashore using an elbow and the biceps of one arm.