Then, quite suddenly, a grotesque face materialized on the other side of the window, scant centimeters from Pitts eyes.

He unconsciously stepped back. The sudden appearance of a woman with a cut over one eye and blood flowing over half the features, all distorted by the hairline cracks running through the window, startled Pitt momentarily.

He quickly shook off the shock and studied the unblemished side of the face. The high cheekbones, the long dark hair, and one olive-brown eye was enough to suggest a very beautiful woman, Pitt thought charitably.

He leaned close to the window and yelled, "Can you open an emergency exit hatch?"

The plucked eyebrow raised a fraction, but the eye looked blank.

"Do you hear me?"

At that instant, Simon's men fired up the auxiliary power unit, and a stand of floodlights flashed on, illuminating the aircraft in a glare as bright as daylight. They quickly connected the heater unit and Simon began dragging the flexible hose across the ice.

"Over here, on the wing," Pitt waved. "And bring something to cut through a window."

The damage-control team had been trained for emergency ship repair, and they went about their trade, competent and without wasted movement, as if rescuing trapped passengers from a downed airplane was an everyday exercise.

When Pitt turned back, the woman's face was gone.

Simon and one of his team scrambled up on the twisted wing, struggling to keep their footing while tugging the widemouthed heater hose behind.

Pitt felt a blast of hot air and was amazed that the heating unit required so little time to warm UP

"We'll need a fire ax to break through," said Pitt.

Simon feigned a haughty look. "Give the U.S. Navy credit for a touch of finesse. We've advanced far beyond crude chopping methods." He removed a compact battery-powered tool from his coat pocket. He pushed the switch and a small abrasive wheel on one end began to spin. "Goes through aluminum and Plexiglas like butter."

"Do your stuff," Pitt said dryly, moving back out of the way.

Simon was as good as his word; the little cutting device sliced through the thick exterior window in less than two minutes. The sheet inside took only seconds.

Pitt hunched down and extended his arm inside and beamed a flashlight. There was no sign of the woman. The cold water of the fjord glittered under the light's ray. The water lapped at the edge of empty, nearby seats.

Simon and Pitt inserted the end of the heater hose through the window and then hurried around to the forward section of the aircraft. The navy men had reached under the water and released the latch to the main exit door, but, as expected, it was jammed. They rapidly drilled holes and screwed in stainless-steel hooks which were attached to cables leading to the snowmobile.

The driver engaged the clutch and the snowmobile slowly inched ahead until the slack was taken up. Then he revved the engine, the metal spikes of the treads dug in, and the little snowmobile strained forward.

for a few seconds nothing seemed to happen. There was only the growl of the exhaust and the crunching noise of the treads as they chiseled their way into the ice.

After an anxious wait, a new sound broke the cold-an unearthly screeching of protesting metal, and then the lower edge of the cabin door raised out of the water. The cables were unhooked and the entire rescue crew crouched down, set their shoulders against the door and heaved upward until it creaked almost to a full open position.

The inside of the plane was dark and ominous.

Pitt leaned across the narrow stretch of open water and stared into the unknown, his stomach churning with morbid curiosity. His figure threw a shadow over the water in the aisle of the main cabin, and at first he saw nothing but the gleam from the walls of the galley.

It was strangely quiet and there was no sign of human remains.

Pitt hesitated and looked back. Doc Gale and his medical team were standing behind him, staring in grim anticipation, while Simon's men were unreeling cable from the power unit to light the plane's interior.

"Going in," Pitt said.

He jumped across the opening into the plane. He landed on the deck in water that splashed over his knees. His legs felt like they had been suddenly stabbed by a thousand needles. He waded around the bulkhead and into the aisle separating the seats of the passenger cabin. The eerie silence was unnerving; the only sound came from the sloshing of his movement.

Then he froze in shock, his worst fears unfolding like the petals of a poisonous flower.

Pitt found himself exchanging blank looks with a sea of ghostly white faces. None moved, none blinked, none spoke. They just sat strapped in their seats and stared at him with the sightless expression of the dead.

A chill colder than the freezing air spread over the back of Pitts neck.

The light from outside filtered through the windows, casting eerie shadows on the walls. He looked from seat to seat as if expecting one of the passengers to wave a greeting or say something, but they sat as still as mummies in a tomb.

He leaned over a man with slicked-back red-blond hair precisely parted down the middle of the skull, who sat in an aisle seat. There was no expression of agony on the face. The eyes were half open as if they were about to close in sleep, the lips met natumfly, the jaw slightly loose.

Pitt lifted a limp hand and placed his fingertips just below the base of the thumb and pressed against the artery running beneath the skin on the inner side of the wrist. His touch felt no pulsations-the heart had stopped.

"Anything?" asked Doc Gale, wading past him and examining another passenger.

"He's gone," replied Pin.

"So's this one."

"from what cause?"

"Can't tell yet. No apparent injuries. Dead only a short time. No indication of intense pain or struggle. Skin coloring doesn't suggest asphyxiation."

"if he last fits," said Pitt. "The oxygen masks are still in the overhead panels."

Gale quickly moved from body to body. "I'll know better after a more thorough examination."

He paused as Simon finished mounting a light unit above the doorway and safely above the water. The naval officer motioned outside, and suddenly the interior of the passenger cabin was flooded with light.

Pitt surveyed the cabin. The only noticeable damage was a slight distortion in the ceiling. All seats were in an upright position and the seat belts buckled.

"Impossible to believe they just sat here half immersed in ice water and died from hypothermia without making any movement," he said while checking an elderly brown-haired woman for life signs. There was no hint of suffering in her face. She looked as if she had simply fallen asleep. A small rosary hung loosely from her fingers.

"Obviously all were dead before the plane struck the ice," offered Gale.

"A valid answer," Pitt murmured, rapidly scanning the seat rows as if searching for someone.

"Death probably came from toxic fumes."

"Smell anything?"

"No

"Neither do I."

"What does that leave us?"

"Digested poison."

Gale stared at Pitt a long, hard moment. "You're talking mass murder."

"We appear to be headed in that direction."

"Might help if we had a witness."

"We do."

Gale stiffened and hurriedly looked over the white faces. "You spot someone still breathing? Point him out."