Murder on Vinson Massif
(A Summit Murder Mystery)
by Charles G. Irion
Publisher: Iron Books, LLC
Having failed to acquire the legendary golden Inca idols on Aconcagua in South America, Scott Devlon is hot on their trail. Kira Stern, former wife of Quentin, has murdered to steal them and is now headed to Punta Arenas, Chile where she hopes to sell them to Robert Ainsworth, a crazed international arms dealer. Joined by Quentin, Scott soon finds himself in Antarctica, compelled to join the expedition about to attempt an unprecedented winter climb of Vinson Massif, the highest mountain on the world’s most inhospitable continent. Murder and treachery once again abound as the high tech expedition braves the Antarctic night with temperatures falling below minus 100 degrees Fahrenheit. Old friends and fresh enemies die as Scott seeks the lost idols and in the end all perish save two. This book is the sixth in the exciting Summit Murder Mystery series. While each book stands alone each will provide a deeper connection with the characters and story lines. Every book is set against an exotic backdrop amidst some of the most breathtaking scenery on earth. Be sure to read all seven of the Summit Murder Mysteries: Murder on Everest, Murder on Elbrus, Murder on Mt. McKinley, Murder on Puncak Jaya, Murder on Aconcagua, Murder on Vinson Massif, Murder on Kilimanjaro.
How many were dead already? I didn’t want to think about it. We’d known the risk of winter assault on the highest mountains in Antarctica. We’d been told to trust the technology that made it possible. We’d done that – then died in droves.
Esmeralda resumed, but the climber behind her stood unmoving for a long moment. No one else stirred; then suddenly collapsed onto the snow. I rushed over and rolled him on his back. I turned on my helmet light and reached down to open his visor.
I gasped when I gazed upon the horror before me. The man’s face was hideous, a mask of sores and oozing pustules. Ominous black patches gave the appearance of a skull. He salivated from his bloated lips, and his nose streamed continuously. It was the most repugnant sight I’d ever seen.
Over the whistling of the wind he mumbled something, but I couldn’t hear. How soon would we all come down with what he had, with the plague that was killing him?
I was transfixed by the ghastly specter that was lying gasping in the snow, wondering what my fate was really going to be, thinking that freezing to death might be ore merciful end for me, too.
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