Phoenix

14. The White Desert

​September 4, 8:00 A.M.

​Jin didn't stir until the weight of the morning sun pressed against his eyelids, seeping through the scratched acrylic of the cabin window.
Both he and Arya had reached their absolute limits during yesterday’s frantic escape. The moment they had boarded the cargo plane and buckled in, they had surrendered to exhaustion, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

They weren't alone; the few other passengers—mostly rugged contract workers—were also out cold.

​The long night was over. During the flight, they had purposely avoided making eye contact or conversation. Neither of them had the energy to "live" their new characters yet.

Their fake identities had been forged in a feverish rush just hours before takeoff.

​Arya’s digital gamble had paid off.
While sitting in a cramped, neon-lit cybercafé, she had forged a digital shackle for the CIA’s mainframe.

The virus she planted would effectively paralyze any database query related to Dr. Donnen, granting them a head start of at least twenty-four hours.

Unless the CIA had a physical source on the ground—someone as well-connected as Jong-il—they would be searching in the dark.

​They had spent the previous evening lying low, communicating with Jong-il via payphones. At 8:00 P.M., the branch head had met them in a shadows-heavy parking lot to deliver the essentials: forged identity cards, Brighton Technologies contracts, and a heavy disguise for Arya, who was listed as a male laborer in her documentation.

​Disguised as Chinese migrant workers, they had arrived at Brighton’s regional supply unit precisely on time.
Waiting for them on the airstrip was a weathered DC-3 cargo aircraft, its belly waiting to be filled with logistics and supplies for the north.

The real workers had been paid handsomely to disappear for a few days, and with their papers in order, no one spared Jin and Arya a second glance as they joined the loading crew.

​Now, as the plane droned over the frozen waste, Jin watched the light play across Arya’s face as she finally woke. She shivered, rubbing her arms.

​"It’s freezing," she muttered, seeing Jin watching her.

​"Welcome to the Arctic Circle," Jin nodded, unbuckling and reaching for the overhead bin. He pulled down their gear and handed Arya the extra insulated jacket he’d been using as a pillow.

Brighton had provided the standard survival kit: heavy jackets, wool caps, nylon over-trousers, thermal gloves, and thick moon boots.

​"Go to the washroom and freshen up before the others wake," Jin advised.
"The cold is manageable now, but once we land, it will bite. This is your last chance for a bit of comfort."

​Arya nodded and stood up. As she moved toward the rear of the plane, Jin slid into the window seat and stared out at the world below.

​They were cruising at thirty thousand feet, the roar of the twin engines a deafening, rhythmic thrum. Below them, a vast sea of cotton-white clouds obscured the earth.

Occasionally, the clouds would tear open, revealing glimpses of the sapphire-blue Arctic Ocean dotted with shimmering icebergs. The peaks of the ice floes glittered like diamonds scattered across a dark velvet canopy.

Jin checked his watch; they had crossed the Alaskan coastline two hours ago. They were roughly sixty minutes from the target.

​The DC-3 plane was a relic, slow and heavy with cargo, but it was reliable. A few minutes later, Arya returned, her face pale from the cold water.