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Carved into a moving island of ice twice the size of the United States, Ice Station Grendel has been abandoned for more than seventy years. The twisted brainchild of the finest minds of the former Soviet Union, it was designed to be inaccessible and virtually invisible. But an American undersea research vessel has inadvertently pulled too close—and something has been sighted moving inside the allegedly deserted facility, something whose survival defies every natural law. And now, as scientists, soldiers, intelligence operatives, and unsuspecting civilians are drawn into Grendel's lethal vortex, the most extreme measures possible will be undertaken to protect its dark mysteries—because the terrible truths locked behind submerged walls of ice and steel could end human life on Earth.
James Rollins is the New York Times bestseller of thrillers translated into forty languages. His Sigma series has been lauded as one of the "top crowd pleasers" (New York Times) and one of the "hottest summer reads" (People Magazine). Acclaimed for his originality, Rollins unveils unseen worlds, scientific breakthroughs, and historical secrets—and he does it all at breakneck speed.
Rebecca Cantrell's Hannah Vogel mystery novels have won the Bruce Alexander and Macavity awards and been nominated for the Barry and Romantic Times Reviewers Choice awards; her critically-acclaimed novel, iDrakula, was nominated for the APPY award and listed on Booklist's Top 10 Horror Fiction for Youth. She and her husband and son just left Hawaii's sunny shores for adventures in Berlin.
Author biography courtesy of HarperCollins.
"I often get asked if I still practice veterinary medicine. While I don't practice full-time, I still do volunteer. I work with a group that traps stray cats, brings them to the shelter, where I spend a day spaying and neutering them. It's basically eight hours of removing genitalia. It's a hobby."
"I am a TV junkie. I have two Tivos and they are constantly full."
"My first job was to flip pizzas. I once got a pie spinning that was ten feet across. I had to spin it on my back to keep it going. Yet, I still love pizza."
"Two hobbies I love -- caving and scuba diving -- are also essential research for my novels. Case in point:
I've always been an avid cave explorer, from the vast systems in Missouri to the lava tubes of Hawaii to the tighter squeezes of the California foothills. But one of my most frightening episodes also allowed me to better describe claustrophobia in my novels. While climbing out of the fairly technical wild cavern, involving lots of rope work, I managed to jam myself midway up a narrow vertical chute. Hung up on my ascending gear midway up the chute, I found myself unable to move up or down. My chest was squeezed between two walls, my left knee turned the wrong way. I could not maneuver, and there was not enough room to get a rescue climber to me. I was trapped. I remember the team leader, leaning down from above, shining his helmet lamp at me. ‘You either find a way to un-jam yourself, or you stay there forever.'
So over the course of a long hour -- wriggling, sweating, cursing, and clawing -- I managed to creep a millimeter at a time out of the jam. After this event, I had a better understanding for panic and the determination born of pure desperation, essential ingredients for to writing thrilling fiction.
But spelunking through caves was not my only ‘research' lesson. Two decades ago, I also took up scuba diving and went on dive trips all around the world: Monterey Bay, Hawaii, South Pacific, Australia. I particularly remember one trip to the Great Barrier Reef in Australia. I was informed by the dive master to beware of the many hazards found in the region. ‘On land, Australia has seven of the ten deadliest snakes. The seas are worse. Box jellyfish can kill in minutes. Local sea snakes are some of the most toxic. But worst of all is the stone fish. It looks like a stone, but its spines are loaded with paralytic poison. So be careful what you touch.'
And down we all went, buddied up in pairs, enthusiastic and excited. I dropped toward the reef and adjust my buoyancy until I'm floating just above the reef. All around spread amazing sights: giant clams, a flurry of colored fish, an astounding variety of coral. But I miscalculated my buoyancy, my weight shifted, and I planted a hand into the sand to stabilize my tumble, careful of the razor-sharp coral. Inches from my thumb, a jagged rock suddenly sprouted fins and swam away. I met the gaze of my buddy diver. His wide eyes firmed up the identification. The deadly stone fish. And I had almost slapped my hand on its back. As the fish scurried away, I understood at that exact moment how little Nature cared about the life of a scuba-diving novelist. Down here, Nature ruled. We were only visitors.
This mix of respect and terror is brought to life in my latest novel, The Judas Strain."
April 6, 2:56 P.M. Brooks Range, Alaska
Always respect Mother Nature ... especially when she weighs four hundred pounds and is guarding her baby.
Matthew Pike faced the grizzly from fifty yards away. The massive she-bear eyed him back, chuffing into the breeze. Her yearling cub nosed a blackberry briar, but it was too early in the season for berries. The cub was just playing in the brambles, oblivious to the six-foot-two Fish and Game officer standing, sweating, in the afternoon sun. But the youngster had little to fear when watched over by his mother. Her muscled bulk, yellowed teeth, and four-inch claws were protection enough.
Matt's moist palm rested on his holstered canister of pepper spray. His other hand slowly shifted to the rifle slung on his shoulder. Don't charge, sweetheart ... don't make this day any worse than it already is. He'd had enough trouble with his own dogs earlier and had left them tethered back at his campsite.
As he watched, her ears slowly flattened to her skull. Her back legs bunched as she bounced a bit on her front legs. It was clear posturing, a stance meant to chase off any threat.
Matt held back a groan. How he wanted to run, but he knew to do so would only provoke the she-bear tochase him down. He risked taking a single slow step backward, careful to avoid the snap of a twig. He wore an old pair of moosehide boots, hand-sewn by his ex-wife, a skill learned from her Inuit father. Though they were three years divorced, Matt appreciated her skill now. The soft soles allowed him to tread quietly.
He continued his slow retreat.
Normally, when one encountered a bear in the wild, the best defense was loud noises: shouts, catcalls, whistles, anything to warn the normally reclusive predators away. But to stumble upon this sow and cub when topping a rise, running face-to-face into Ursus arctos horribilis, any sudden movement or noise could trigger the maternal beast to charge. Bear attacks numbered in the thousands each year in Alaska, including hundreds of fatalities. Just two months ago, he and a fellow warden had run a tributary of the Yukon River in kayaks, searching for two rafters reported late in returning home, only to discover their half-eaten remains.
So Matt knew bears. He knew to watch for fresh bear signs whenever hiking: unsettled dung, torn-up sod, clawed trunks of trees. He carried a bear whistle around his neck and pepper spray at his belt. And no one with any wits entered the Alaskan backcountry without a rifle. But as Matt had learned during his ten-year stint among the parks and lands of Alaska, out here the unexpected was commonplace. In a state bigger than Texas, with most of its lands accessible only by floatplane, the wildernesses of Alaska made the wild places of the lower states seem like nothing more than Disney theme parks: domesticated, crowded, commercialized. But here nature ruled in all its stark and brutal majesty.
Of course, right now, Matt was hoping for a break on the brutal part. He continued his cautious retreat. The she-bear kept her post. Then the small male cub - if you could call a a hundred-and-fifty-pound ball of fur and muscle small - finally noticed the stranger nearby. It rose on its hind legs, looking at him. It shimmied and tossed its head about, male aggression made almost comical. Then it did the one thing Matt prayed it wouldn't do. It dropped on all fours and loped toward him, more in play and curiosity than with any aggressive intent. But it was a deadly move nonetheless.
While Matt did not fear the yearling cub - a blast of pepper spray would surely stop it in its tracks - its mother's response was a different matter. The pepper spray would be no more than a tenderizing seasoning when her pile-driver strength pounded down on him. And forget about a head shot, even with his Marlin sport rifle. The bear's thick skull would only deflect the bullet. Not even a shot square through the heart was a safe bet. It would take ten minutes for such a shot to kill a bear, and the shooter would be bear scat by then. The only real way to kill a grizzly was to aim for the legs, bring her bulk down, then keep on shooting.
And despite the personal danger, Matt was loath to do this. The grizzlies were his personal totem. They were the symbol of this country. With their numbers dwindling to less than twenty-five thousand, he could not bring himself to kill even one of them. In fact, he had come to Brooks Range on his own personal time to help in the cataloging and DNA mapping of the parkland's population of awakening grizzlies, fresh out of winter's blanket. He had been up here collecting samples from hair traps stationed throughout the remote areas of the park and freshening their foul-smelling scent lures when he found himself in this predicament.
But now Matt was faced with the choice of kill or be killed. The cub bounded merrily in his direction. His mother growled in warning - but Matt was not sure if she was talking to him or her cub. Either way, his retreat sped up, one foot fumbling behind the other. He shrugged his rifle into one hand and unholstered his pepper spray.
As he struggled with the spray's flip top, a fierce growl rose behind him. Matt glanced over his shoulder. On the trail behind him, a dark shape raced at him, tail flagging in the air.
Matt's eyes grew wide with recognition. "Bane! No!" The black dog pounded up the slope, hackles raised, a continual growl flowing from his throat ...
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Ice Hunt by James Rollins
Copyright © 2003 by James Rollins
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
April 6, 2:56 P.M.
Brooks Range, Alaska
Always respect Mother Nature ... especially when she weighs four hundred pounds and is guarding her baby.
Matthew Pike faced the grizzly from fifty yards away. The massive she-bear eyed him back, chuffing into the breeze. Her yearling cub nosed a blackberry briar, but it was too early in the season for berries. The cub was just playing in the brambles, oblivious to the six-foot-two Fish and Game officer standing, sweating, in the afternoon sun. But the youngster had little to fear when watched over by his mother. Her muscled bulk, yellowed teeth, and four-inch claws were protection enough.
Matt's moist palm rested on his holstered canister of pepper spray. His other hand slowly shifted to the rifle slung on his shoulder. Don't charge, sweetheart ... don't make this day any worse than it already is. He'd had enough trouble with his own dogs earlier and had left them tethered back at his campsite.
As he watched, her ears slowly flattened to her skull. Her back legs bunched as she bounced a bit on her front legs. It was clear posturing, a stance meant to chase off any threat.
Matt held back a groan. How he wanted to run, but he knew to do so would only provoke the she-bear to chase him down. He risked taking a single slow step backward, careful to avoid the snap of a twig. He wore an old pair of moosehide boots, hand-sewn by his ex-wife, a skill learned from her Inuit father. Though they were three years divorced, Matt appreciated her skill now. The soft soles allowed him to tread quietly.
He continued his slow retreat.
Normally, when one encountered a bear in the wild, the best defense was loud noises: shouts, catcalls, whistles, anything to warn the normally reclusive predators away. But to stumble upon this sow and cub when topping a rise, running face-to-face into Ursus arctos horribilis, any sudden movement or noise could trigger the maternal beast to charge. Bear attacks numbered in the thousands each year in Alaska, including hundreds of fatalities. Just two months ago, he and a fellow warden had run a tributary of the Yukon River in kayaks, searching for two rafters reported late in returning home, only to discover their half-eaten remains.
So Matt knew bears. He knew to watch for fresh bear signs whenever hiking: unsettled dung, torn-up sod, clawed trunks of trees. He carried a bear whistle around his neck and pepper spray at his belt. And no one with any wits entered the Alaskan backcountry without a rifle. But as Matt had learned during his ten-year stint among the parks and lands of Alaska, out here the unexpected was commonplace. In a state bigger than Texas, with most of its lands accessible only by floatplane, the wildernesses of Alaska made the wild places of the lower states seem like nothing more than Disney theme parks: domesticated, crowded, commercialized. But here nature ruled in all its stark and brutal majesty.
Of course, right now, Matt was hoping for a break on the brutal part. He continued his cautious retreat. The she-bear kept her post. Then the small male cub -- if you could call a a hundred-and-fifty-pound ball of fur and muscle small -- finally noticed the stranger nearby. It rose on its hind legs, looking at him. It shimmied and tossed its head about, male aggression made almost comical. Then it did the one thing Matt prayed it wouldn't do. It dropped on all fours and loped toward him, more in play and curiosity than with any aggressive intent. But it was a deadly move nonetheless.
While Matt did not fear the yearling cub -- a blast of pepper spray would surely stop it in its tracks -- its mother's response was a different matter. The pepper spray would be no more than a tenderizing seasoning when her pile-driver strength pounded down on him. And forget about a head shot, even with his Marlin sport rifle. The bear's thick skull would only deflect the bullet. Not even a shot square through the heart was a safe bet. It would take ten minutes for such a shot to kill a bear, and the shooter would be bear scat by then. The only real way to kill a grizzly was to aim for the legs, bring her bulk down, then keep on shooting.
And despite the personal danger, Matt was loath to do this. The grizzlies were his personal totem. They were the symbol of this country. With their numbers dwindling to less than twenty-five thousand, he could not bring himself to kill even one of them. In fact, he had come to Brooks Range on his own personal time to help in the cataloging and DNA mapping of the parkland's population of awakening grizzlies, fresh out of winter's blanket. He had been up here collecting samples from hair traps stationed throughout the remote areas of the park and freshening their foul-smelling scent lures when he found himself in this predicament.
But now Matt was faced with the choice of kill or be killed. The cub bounded merrily in his direction. His mother growled in warning -- but Matt was not sure if she was talking to him or her cub. Either way, his retreat sped up, one foot fumbling behind the other. He shrugged his rifle into one hand and unholstered his pepper spray.
As he struggled with the spray's flip top, a fierce growl rose behind him. Matt glanced over his shoulder. On the trail behind him, a dark shape raced at him, tail flagging in the air.
Matt's eyes grew wide with recognition. "Bane! No!" The black dog pounded up the slope, hackles raised, a continual growl flowing from his throat ...
Ice Hunt. Copyright © by James Rollins. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.This book has sat inconspicuously next to my computer desk on it's shelf for two years and I don't know what exactly propelled me to pick it up but I'm glad I finally did! I tend to collect adventure stories that reach all corners of the Earth, even go between the layers and I especially love all the ice stories such as this one. The good news is that this book is fantastic, it reads like a movie and sometimes goes in opposite direction of reality and belief but it makes for a heck of a read. The bad news, it's long, well only 505 pages but Rollins could use a good editor and chop off about a hundred because he loves to write about ever single step everyone takes, especially when it comes to fighting and explaining how to maneuver submarines, helicopters and all sorts of vehicles. Maybe it's a dude thing, maybe if I was a guy I'd love it little more, not sure, but I am patient and still enjoyed the book because the main idea was excellent. <BR/><BR/>Most of the story revolves around an ice island that has frozen over and over in the Earth's polar ice cap, sharing waters with Alaska, Russia, Finland, Canada and Greenland. Scientists and naval powers haven't seen it in decades but life is being brought back to the island, all because a shape that has moved and caught on the submarine's sonar, all within the abandoned ice station inside, named Ice Station Grendel. Those who read enough and watch fantasy movies will be familiar with the name, but the author has planned more than a cool name for a station, it's not as much of a moniker as a foreshadowing what caused its demise and what will bring terror back into the icy waters. The station looks like an upside down cone, spiraling levels with labs, a cave and even a submarine gate, all encased in clear blue ice, with people running though it once again. I loved reading how the tunnels in an ice island felt like, the eerie cold and quiet one felt when alone, probably the loneliest place to be, deep under water, but not really alone, there's something else down there... <BR/><BR/>There are good guys, bad guys, and those who simply cannot make their minds up as the reader is catapulted into a journey of fighting governments, secret project cover ups and tons of action. My head was spinning from the armaments and mental battles going on and I felt like I was reading a movie, it was an amazing experience, but like I said little lengthy. After reading Ice Hunt I'm ready to tackle more of Rollins, but after my toes unfreeze, I feel as if I have been dipping them in ice water the whole time, because that's all there is. <BR/><BR/>Great ending, lots of twists and turns and some nasty surprises crawling throng those quiet tunnels. Those who love action, science and adventure with a little mystery threw in will enjoy this tremendously. What starts of as a scientific mission turns into a tale that takes a bite out of the reader, a rather good bite too, so enjoy and watch that water...it only appears safe. <BR/><BR/>- Kasia S.
3 out of 3 people found this review helpful.
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Posted January 18, 2010
James Rollins combination of actual events mixed with imaginaion and science makes for interesting and stimulating reading. Add in a terrific ability to create interesting characters and nonstop challenging situations and you have great reading!
1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.Mathew Pike, an Alaska Fish and Game warden (and much more), Jennifer Aratuk, sheriff for the Nunamiut and Inupiat tribe (and more too), along with Craig Teague, reporter for the Seattle Times (so he tells you).Stumble upon a stunning discovery that was made on the Polar ice cap. A Russian secret laboratory containing discoveries that could change the world. Both the Americans and Russians will literally do anything to get their hands on this discovery, and dispose of those who know about it.
So begins a bang slap story that will be hard to put down. WARNING you must read all the way to the end, there is a final scene that will give you goose bumps.
1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
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Posted September 6, 2004
Rollins weaves a good yarn with plenty of action and interesting creatures, characters, suspense etc. My only complaint is that after 300 pages there isn't much new or different that can happen, you know the good guys are going to save the world and enough people have died, revealed secrets, blah, blah that anything 'new' isn't. I started another book before forcing myself back to the last 80 pages. I'll read more Rollins novels hoping they're not too long.
1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
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Posted May 15, 2013
Guess what"seashanty"?! Im C.C. Im also tired,and angry that wit ALL the high-tech toys that are at the end of these kids wrists,yet they feel the need to 'muck-up' the review board of the nook with gibberish!!!!!!! Dont they have 'SKYPE!FACE BOOK!SKYDRIVE!TWITTER???????'!!!!!! I dnt WANT to know what a snowcat or poodytat or shimmyshooshoobeebopmonkeydoo is either!This is fr avid READERS!!!! AND NO! IMNOT AN OFFICIAL EITHER!!!
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Posted May 11, 2013
RPing is being banned by Banes and Noble. We are sorry to annnouce this but we have had complaints from customers concerning RPing. These acts hinder a customers ability to find reviews that are relevant to the book of their choice.
Just kidding
Go ahead do what ever you want its a free country
Anonymous
Posted April 28, 2013
Where did frodo go? Did she quit or is grounded because i dont know. Frodo was cool.
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Posted May 1, 2013
Lol. He just does. I really want lotr in book form so next time I don't go through withdrawal lol.
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Posted April 14, 2013
?
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Posted April 7, 2013
To Eowyn: I love Frofro. He ish so adorableh! To Cupquake: F.B is...........ME! :3
0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
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Posted April 8, 2013
LOL XD JKJKJKJKJKJK
0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
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Posted April 16, 2013
Likes sam
0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
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Posted May 1, 2013
But nooks are for reading.
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Posted April 30, 2013
Has never been grounded
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Posted November 27, 2012
'Ready?' She asked silently picking up the scent of rabbit. Rustic could tell that Bravetail did to.
0 out of 3 people found this review helpful.
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Posted November 1, 2012
If you love a bit of history, mixed with thriller/si fy/mystery/fiction...you will love James Rollins. It does not matter if you start reading any of his individula novels, such as Ice Hunt or Amazonia or if you prefer to read his Sigma Series...you can't go wrong with James Rollins. He is and will always be one of my very favorites.
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Posted October 6, 2012
Lindsey i got locked out of both go to pretty result one pllzzz
0 out of 3 people found this review helpful.
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Posted September 28, 2012
Very good book, just way too long
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Posted September 25, 2012
"Oh no you don't" he growls at tje evil cat, smacking him over the head and giving him a concussion.
0 out of 2 people found this review helpful.
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Posted September 24, 2012
Kils evilcat 4.
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Overview
Carved into a moving island of ice twice the size of the United States, Ice Station Grendel has been abandoned for more than seventy years. The twisted brainchild of the finest minds of the former Soviet Union, it was designed to be inaccessible and virtually invisible. But an American undersea research vessel has inadvertently pulled too close—and something has been sighted moving inside the allegedly deserted facility, something whose survival defies every natural law. And now, as scientists, soldiers, ...