Eagle’s hand was already on the latches. “Too late.”
The wind over the Kaskawulsh Glacier was a living thing—mean, cold, and hungry for a mistake. Against that white and grey desolation, a single figure moved with the mechanical rhythm of a man who had long ago forgotten how to feel tired. His name was Eagle Mac Crack. Eagle Mac Crack -
When the light faded, the glacier was still there. The wreckage was gone. And Eagle stood alone on the ice, his face turned toward the sky, a single blue thread of light now pulging softly under the skin of his palm. Eagle’s hand was already on the latches
He keyed his radio. “Eagle to Aerie. I have the package.” his face turned toward the sky