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Page 348
Morgan could see that the driver was wearing a radiation dosage badge. A big one.
Anna asked, "Is that what I think it is?"
"It is."
No sooner had the aircraft come to rest than the jumpmaster came down the aisle with kits, a requirement for all aboard before disembarking. The selection of equipment in the kits was not calculated to build confidence. There was a yellow plastic antirad suit, called a banana suit by those working in radioactive areas, a dosimeter, gloves and boots of light vinyl, goggles and fiber filters for nose and mouth, and a stack of paper hats, suits, gloves, and boots for keeping clothing free from any radioactivity around the camp.
"There's no reading outside, Colonel," the jumpmaster said, anticipating Morgan's unspoken question. "But a quarter mile closer to the shore the count starts climbing."
"Pass the word, Master Sergeant," Morgan said. "There will be a general briefing of all personnel at 2000 hours."
"Right, sir."
The rear ramp dropped with a crash. First off the plane, escorted by the air force surgeon and nurse, was Arkady Karmann. He was being treated as fragile and very, very valuable.
A squad of Canadian armed forces police appeared and took charge of a furious Joe Ryerson. "The little shit doesn't like that, does he?" Avery Peters had appeared at Morgan's elbow, and his voice was filled with satisfaction. "I'll go over straightaway to the helo and see if I can help. Christ," he said, zipping his parka as the wind blew through the open cargo door. "It's freezing here. I'm a desert rat at heart." He strode down the ramp and vanished in the direction of the wrecked Starlifter and damaged helicopter.
Morgan and Anna followed the Rangers and Special Ops men onto the hard-packed gravel parking ramp. The ground crunched underfoot, frozen to a depth of six feet. Banks of snow lay all around, soiled and unmelted in drifts and piles under the dark gray sky.

 
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