By Duncan Kyle
Dr John Edwards, a British medical professional residing and dealing in big apple is drawn into the realm of energy politics and espionage while he by chance gets a plea for support from a defecting Russian scientist. firstly taken care of with suspicion through the CIA, Edwards is reluctantly recruited right into a multi-national crew tasked with the rescue of Professor Komarov and the secrets and techniques he holds on a weather engineering venture that may devastate the Western powers.
The in simple terms challenge is that to rescue the Professor, the workforce has first to traverse 2 hundred miles of the frozen Polar sea after which holiday right into a mystery Soviet deploy – and previous nuclear proving flooring - at the island of Novaya Zemlya contained in the Arctic Circle.
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Extra info for A Cage of Ice
At Princeton. He’s edited several collections of papers …’ I reached for the list again, turned up Princeton and found him. ’ ‘Oh, yes, I—’ she looked at me. ‘Yes, he’s very distinguished, you know. A member of the council. ’ I said, ‘Edwin Ward. ’ ‘Call him? ’ ‘His friends,’ I said savagely. What do they call him? ’ I patted her hand, but only once because she pulled it away sharply the moment my intention became apparent. ’ She was still saying ‘Not at all,’ in a genteel reflex as I went out of the door.
It’s an academic paper, I think,’ she said. ’ She nodded. ’ ‘Who from? ’ ‘Just an exchange of information. ’ ‘Who sent them to him? ’ ‘Geography departments and institutes. ’ 53 I said, ‘This one’s an engineering paper, hydro-electric schemes. ’ She shook her head. ‘No. Not engineering. He’s—’ she corrected herself—‘he was a geographer. Just that. ’ I said urgently. ‘Had he friends in Russia. ’ ‘Not friends. He knew a few people, I think. He’d been to Russia a few times. Conferences. That sort of thing.
I walked across to the counter and a girl came forward, a library girl, big black glasses and hair done up in a bun. Cary Grant always takes off their glasses and tells them to let their hair down, and when they do, they turn out to be Sophia Loren. I’d tried it once, long, long ago, and the girl had looked even more like a long-nosed anteater afterwards than she had before. So I wasn’t tempted. I took the paper out of my pocket. ‘I’d like to identify this paper,’ I said. She looked at it, then at me.