ICE HUNT By James Rollins

After an Alaskan game warden rescues a man from a crashed plane and saves him from subsequent attack by foreign soldiers, his ex-wife's piloting skills take them all to the man's intended destination, a US base on the Arctic ice, set up following the discovery by advanced sonar of a derelict Russian scientific base buried within a massive iceberg, Ice Station Grendel, where the personnel all died decades earlier. A Russian submarine carrying the son of the station's former commander also approaches, ostensibly for a handover of the bodies found by the Americans. Both sides know that the station contains vastly important scientific secrets, worth fighting for, but neither side knows quite how the other will fight, or how Grendel itself will complicate matters. In an atmosphere of mistrust and fear, the Alaskans, and the scientist overseeing the sonar project, have unexpected roles to play.


From the book

Always respect Mother Nature…especially when she weighs four hundred pounds and is guarding her baby.
Matthew Pike faced the grizzly from fifty yards away. The massive she-bear eyed him back, chuffing into the breeze. Her yearling cub nosed a blackberry briar, but it was too early in the season for berries. The cub was just playing in the brambles, oblivious to the six-foot-two Fish and Game officer standing, sweating, in the afternoon sun. But the youngster had little to fear when watched over by his mother. Her muscled bulk, yellowed teeth, and four-inch claws were protection enough.
Matt‘s moist palm rested on his holstered canister of pepper spray. His other hand slowly shifted to the rifle slung on his shoulder. Don‘t charge, sweetheart…don‘t make this day any worse than it already is. He‘d had enough trouble with his own dogs earlier and had left them tethered back at his campsite.
As he watched, her ears slowly flattened to her skull. Her back legs bunched as she bounced a bit on her front legs. It was clear posturing, a stance meant to chase off any threat.
Matt held back a groan. How he wanted to run, but he knew to do so would only provoke the she-bear to chase him down. He risked taking a single slow step backward, careful to avoid the snap of a twig. He wore an old pair of moosehide boots, hand-sewn by his ex-wife, a skill learned from her Inuit father. Though they were three years divorced, Matt appreciated her skill now. The soft soles allowed him to tread quietly.
He continued his slow retreat.
Normally, when one encountered a bear in the wild, the best defense was loud noises: shouts, catcalls, whistles, anything to warn the normally reclusive predators away. But to stumble upon this sow and cub when topping a rise, running face-to-face into Ursus arctos horribilis, any
sudden movement or noise could trigger the maternal beast to charge. Bear attacks numbered in the thousands each year inAlaska, including hundreds of fatalities. Just two months ago, he and a fellow warden had run a tributary of theYukon Riverin kayaks, searching for two rafters reported late in returning home, only to discover their half-eaten remains.


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