DONNA ROYBAL STOOD on the exact spot where a nuclear submarine sail breached the White Sea surface during her last visit to the Russian naval shipyard.

The environmental engineer scratched the ice with her shoe, looked out over the vast expanse of white, and let out a frozen breath, relieved to be almost finished with the most difficult groundwater cleanup project of her career.

“I never get tired of walking on the White Sea,” she said to Chris Aas, the only other American currently visiting the Zvezdochka Shipyard in Severodvinsk, Russia.

The rotund government auditor pointed to a group of kids jumping cracks in the distance. “They seem to enjoy it.”

“Do you think they ever fall in?” A frigid shiver shook her body.

“On average, four people a year fall through the ice in the Arkhangelsk Oblast.”

“Of course you would know that.”

“Numbers are my business. Bear in mind, the data I saw didn’t distinguish between accidental drownings and those assisted by...” He exaggerated a long look left and right then whispered, “The authorities.” A heavy chuckle followed. “What a way to go. Can you imagine?”

Donna pulled her arms in tight. “Unh-uh.”

2 | J. Jones

They moseyed further out until they too were stepping over cracks just wide enough to swallow a body. Deep, dark water lapped the edges of long, narrow crevices.

“It’ll sure be nice to finish this project.” She gestured to the bundled children, seemingly unaffected by the cold. “Those kids will finally have the clean drinking water every child deserves.”

Tired eyes shifted to the heavy clouds rolling in, smothering the luster of the ice as they billowed down in attack mode. Shades of gray, each more dreary than the next, vastly different from the silvers and whites she had seen on her first trip, back when the project was fresh and everything about northern Russia was new. She recalled a similar sky years ago when thick clouds rose like plumes of smoke over the New Mexico desert at the end of her first professional project—a far cry from the frozen sea on which she now stood.

“Thirteen trips in eighteen months was harder than I thought it would be,” said Donna. “After three bouts of food poisoning, one car crash, and two hangovers, I’m ready to be done.”

Known for accomplishing the impossible, Donna had accepted the aggressive schedule and finished on time by pushing her team relentlessly. Still, the complicated project had taken a toll. If everything went as planned in the morning, and nothing had been left to chance, her first international project would be officially complete. No more travel for at least—

“The surprising number in that set is hangovers,” said Chris, interrupting her thoughts. “Anyone traveling that often to the land of vodka and pelmeni deserves a few more bouts of headaches and nausea.”

“What about you?” she asked, taste buds watering at the thought of a hot plate of pelmeni, her favorite dumpling served with a dollop of smetana, sour cream. “Does your GAO audit end with the project, or are you coming back?”

“Hard to say. The Government Accountability Office lives for detail. I’ll get back, put everything together, then realize I missed something important and have to return. No big deal. I’ve only had three trips to the frigid north, and all were short. One more to finish up wouldn’t be a bother.”

“Speaking of finishing, how much longer will your auditors be at E-Squared? Have they found anything I should know about?” Half her work at the company located just outside Washington, DC, was government funded, making periodic audits common, but the GAO had been digging awfully deep on this one.

“I just handle the shipyard, Dr. Roybal.”

She nudged an elbow into his side. “I’ve told you, I’m not a doctor.”

“My mistake, again. Don’t know why I can’t remember that. Probably because you look so smart. Anyway, management handles the team at your office. They’ll take my data, combine it with the office data, and issue a full report.”

“Come on. Are you telling me there are no rumors? Nothing discussed over beer and crab cakes at Big Louie’s?”

Chris studied the swollen clouds, barely hearing the question. The project was finished, but his work was not done. “Interesting fact about the White Sea. The Murmansk port is a couple hundred miles north of Severodvinsk and open year-round. Just as cold, mind you, but extra salt in the water and a warming influence from the Gulf Stream keep it from freezing over.” He kicked the ice. “Down here, the sea freezes.

Too cold for me, but you seem to like it.”

Typical accountant, avoiding a direct answer. Donna wiped

a gloved hand across her red button nose, two shades brighter than her shoulder-length hair that was tucked under a Nordic- blue tasseled beanie. Red hair from her mother and diminutive height from her father were the only physical characteristics inherited from her parents. Maintaining the one hundred and five pound frame was all on her own.

Crack in the Red Ice | 3

4 | J. Jones

She tossed a half grin, teeth chattering behind trembling lips. “Got in an eighty-minute run today.”

“In this cold?”

“This?” She held out a gloved hand that quickly peppered with ice dust whipped up by a perpetual breeze. “This isn’t bad. There’s still a little daylight, and the temperature is at least—”

Chris interjected drolly, “One.”

“Way off, ese. It’s at least twice that. Colder in the morning. They only get five hours of sunlight a day in January, but you know that. Heck, you probably told me that.” The GAO accountant was known for tossing obscure trivia. “The trick is to keep the wind off your body and keep your face covered. A good jacket liner helps.” She unzipped slightly to reveal a puffed pink polyester liner. “After a half mile or so, I’m sweating underneath, and it’s just like any other run.”

“Any other run on ice. Don’t you fall a lot?”

She scraped her toe across the ice again. “Not when it’s crusty like this. Makes a nice running surface, actually, but mostly I run through town.”

“That’s very considerate of you,” offered Chris. “Allowing the FSB to stay in their car with the heater on.”

“Oh, si. The FSB doesn’t have any interest in a water cleanup project. Leonid even lets me wander around the shipyard without him sometimes. He doesn’t care.”

Her assigned escort within the Zvezdochka Shipyard, Leonid never admitted to being FSB, but he had stuck to her like glue for the first few trips. He seemed to relax as work progressed, likely because he figured out that she really was working on cleaning the water.

“You’re probably right. Anyway, you would never catch me running out here.”

Donna glanced at the gut pushing hard on his jacket.

“Okay.” He chuckled again. “You wouldn’t catch me running anywhere.”

Eight inches taller than Donna’s stretched five-foot-one, the man presented himself as a quintessential government auditor. Underneath the puffy orange jacket and matching beanie was a white button-down shirt and a solid tie. Navy slacks and patent leather loafers covered in yellow silicone overshoes rounded out his standard attire.

“Big day tomorrow,” he said, referring to the Friday morning meeting with the shipyard director. “You nervous?” “Nervous?” She scoffed. “Never.” A confident reply based

on twenty years of experience leading challenging groundwater remediation projects to success. “I’m more than ready. Andy and I arrived eleven days ago and did a complete walkthrough. Our analytical results were so good he was able to go home early, and I’ll let you in on a secret. Boris and I repeated the samples on multiple test wells.” She tossed a chef’s kiss into the air. “Perfecta. If I’ve learned anything on this project, it’s to be fully prepared at all times. Eliminate surprises. Check, double check, then check it again. Trust me. Everything is fine.”

Prolonged silence awakened anxiety the confident reply had attempted to tamp down. Second-guessing accompanied the last day of every major project. Had she dotted every i? Crossed every t? Had she rushed anything? Something she promised herself never to do again.

“What? Do you know something you’re not telling me?” “This is Russia, Donna. You can never be fully prepared.”