MURDER BENEATH THE POLAR ICE
By HAYDEN HOWARD
The Arctic Sea was deadly in
every way—its icy water, crushing
ice, avid beasts. Still something
there was more lethal than these!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1960.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Wavelets of cigarette smoke drifted across the comfortably loungingenlisted men in the air-conditioned compartment of the Fleet BallisticMissile submarine, as they sat watching Barney. Sweat streaming fromhis swollen-veined forehead, hurried and grotesque in his black rubberdiving suit, exploding triumphant curses like underwater demolitioncharges, Barney finished tightening the control cables of whatresembled a torpedo with two open cockpits. "This time the littlegal raises her hydroplanes!"
At this contrast of men, the Murderer had to grin, but carefully inorder not to sweat and ruin the insulating qualities of his threewoolen layers of longjohns. The submariners seemed quiet-talking andcooperative, as well adjusted as sardines in a can. The diver, Barney,was foul-mouthed and fiercely individualistic, a wonderful guy—hisdiving buddy.
A legend in his own time, Barney was reputed to have arisen from themine-strewn waters of the Korean coast at the time of the Wonsan-Inchonlandings to give advice to General MacArthur.
As an Underwater Demolition Team diver, Barney dated clear back intothe Murderer's childhood recollections of World War II, to dim nameslike Kwajalein and Guam, where former Seabees became combat divers towire and blast Japanese underwater obstacles and leave welcoming signsfor the Marines.
Barney was only quiet about two things, his age and his circumference.He still fancied himself a baseball catcher, and his stubby fingersshowed the deleterious effects of grabbing at foul tips with a barehand, but those same fingers could expertly repair a wristwatch and theautomatic transmission of an admiral's car and hock one and "borrow"the other.
Barney had managed to put his homely younger sister through collegeand was now maneuvering to marry her off to a lieutenant commander onthe staff of Admiral Rickover. And he could expertly joke the fears outof his diving buddy.
Winking at his comfortably smoke-filled audience, Barney dumped asack of non-magnetic tools into the forward cockpit of the minisub hepersonally had built, and cocked his head.
"Murderer, here, is hoping the villain is a sea serpent. Don't laugh,you sea horses. The latest scuttlebutt from Alaska has it that everytime a picket buoy goes dead out here under the ice, the last sound itbroadcasts is a sort of toothy crunch."
He pushed the joke a little further. "Turn your periscopes on the bladeMurderer's wearing! John Paul Jones used to issue those for cutlasses!Murderer's hoping to fight the sea serpent hand to hand."
His grin widening with embarrassment, the Murderer felt called upon toretort. "I'll give you a better suspect for stealing our picket buoys.Santa Claus. These are his territorial waters. Are you aware that inthe Middle Ages Santa Claus was the patron saint of thieves?"
"Now, Mr. College Boy," Barney began, "you just want to show us youalso studied history, not just marine biology. This boy will even tellyou a long Latin name for a little something that floats like dandruffin the water." A touch of pride appeared in Barney's voice. "He cantell you it