Graham Brown - Black Sun: A Thriller

PRAISE FOR GRAHAM BROWNS

BLACK
RAIN

Action-packed The fast pace will keep readers forging ahead.

Publishers Weekly

A unique and compelling thriller that will keep your interest start to finish. Black Rain is fast-paced, dangerous adventure at its very best. A sequel is in the works, and I cant wait to read it.

FreshFiction.com

Exotic location, innocents in danger, overwhelming odds against the good guys and the inability to know who they can trustthis enjoyable read is very frightening. A lively read.

Romantic Times

Black Rain is an adventure thats not only a terrific read, but is smart, intelligent, and poised to shake up the whole thriller community. Every copy should come with a bucket of popcorn and a John Williams soundtrack to play in the background. I loved it.

Linwood Barclay, #1 internationally bestselling author of Fear the Worst

Black Rain sizzles with tension and twists that both entertain and magnetize. The plot envelops the reader into a brilliantly conceived world, full of strange and amazing things. Graham Brown is an exciting new talent, a writer were going to be hearing a lot from in the years ahead. I cant wait.

Steve Berry, New York Times bestselling author

ALSO BY GRAHAM BROWN

BLACK RAIN

For those who believe

T o my agent, Barbara Poelle, thanks for the trust and support, and the laughs. I dont know how someone so brilliant can also be so funny. To Marisa Vigilante, my editor, whose ability to see through the mist sharpened the leading edges of this novel more than I can say. To Alison Masciovecchio and Dana Kaye, my in-house and outside publicists, who do the hard work of turning unknown writers into the known. To Evan Camfield and the copy editors at Random House, who put up with my penchant for inventing new words and strange new uses of punctuation. To the sales and promotion staff at Random Housewithout you guys pushing hard every day, all the writing in the world would get us nowhere.

And finally to the readers, who put up their hard-earned cash, trusting that we will entertain them and sweep them away for the four hundred or so pages of each book. Thanks for the faith. I will do all I can to never let you down.

Bering Sea, November 2012

T he fifty-foot trawler Orlovsky Star pushed on through frigid Arctic waters and a lingering fog that seemed to have no end. The sea was unusually calm and the wind nonexistent, but with the outside temperature dipping to fifteen degrees Fahrenheit and the water holding just above the freezing point, the conditions were anything but benign.

Alexander Petrov stood at the wheel inside the darkened pilothouse, a grim air surrounding him. His weathered face, shaved head, and clenched jaw all suggested a burden his broad shoulders were struggling to carry. He stared into the darkness ahead of the boat, listening to the thrum of the engine and the occasional muted thump of ice banging against the hull.

So far the ice had been thin: small, free-floating chunks that his boat could slide through at half speed. But the pack ice formed quickly at this time of year, spreading south like a plague, and just an hour before there had been no ice at all.

Guiding the boat on feel as much as sight, Petrov considered the danger: If the ship didnt reach warmer waters soon, theyd be trapped and the thin hull ground into metal filings long before any rescuer could reach them.

Then again, perhaps they deserved such a fate for what they were attempting to do.

As another impact reverberated through the cabin, a voice spoke from behind him. Its getting thicker. We need to make better speed.

Petrov glanced into the recesses of the darkened pilothouse. A heavyset man gazed back at him. This was Vasili, a Russian of mixed European and Asian descent and the broker of their unholy deal, the keeper of their unusual human cargo.

Despite the cold, Petrov could see a thin sheen of perspiration on Vasilis upper lip. If Petrov was right, Vasilis mind was reeling in a battle between greed and fear, between the possibilities of life-altering wealth just days away and a horrible death in the crushing embrace of the ice.

What are you really worried about, Vasili?

That were lost, he said bluntly, glancing at an exposed circuit board and what had been their navigation system.

The GPS receiver had shorted out eight hours before, the screen flashing and the casing catching fire in a shower of sparks. Petrov had examined it briefly but saw that it was clearly beyond repair. For an hour hed used the stars to guide them, but the fog had thickened and hed been forced to rely on the vessels compass.

I was a fisherman before I joined the navy. I learned to navigate at the hands of my father, Petrov assured him. I know what Im doing,

Vasili stepped closer to him. The crew is worried, he whispered. They say our journey is cursed.

Cursed?

Orcas followed us down the channel, Vasili explained. And weve seen sharks every morning. Far too many for such northern waters.

That had seemed odd, Petrov thought, as if the predators of the sea were shadowing them, waiting for a meal to be delivered into their hungry bellies. But he hoped it was mere coincidence.

Its almost dawn, Petrov said, changing the subject. Well have a few hours of light, nothing more, but it should be enough. The fog will lift and well make better time.

Petrovs statement was designed to ease Vasilis fears, but even as he spoke, they found another mass of ice and a grinding resonance traveled down the starboard side. From the sound alone, they could tell it was thicker and heavier than those they had hit before.

Petrov reduced the speed to five knots. This was the trap hed been hoping to avoid, one hed warned Vasili about: Thicker ice meant slower speed and thus more time for the ice to form in the waters ahead of them.

He switched on the overhead lights, but the fog swallowed the beams and reflected the energy back, blinding him. He shut them off.

We need a spotter, he said.

Before he could call the crew, the boat slammed something head-on. The nose of the boat pitched upward and their momentum died, as if theyd run aground.

Petrov cut the throttle.

In utter silence he waited. Finally the boat began to move, sliding backward a foot at a time and then settling once again. He breathed a sigh of relief. But he dared not touch the throttles.

We cannot stop here, Vasili said.

A crewman popped his head into the control room from the lower deck. Were leaking, Captain, the man said. Starboard, forward.

How bad? Petrov asked him.

I think I can seal it, the crewman said. But we dont want any more of that.

Wake the others, Petrov said. Get them into their survival suits. Then do what you can.

It was a precaution only, and also a bluff meant to calm the fears of the men. But even in their suits, they would not last long in the water.

He turned to Vasili. Give me your key.

I dont think so, the broker replied.

So you will take him, then? Petrov asked. If we have to leave the ship?

Vasili hesitated, then reached under his sweater and pulled out a key that dangled around his neck.

Petrov snatched it and then pushed his way outside.

The fog hung in the air, cutting at his face like shards of suspended glass. Not a breath of wind could be felt, and with the engines shut down the silence was complete.