ANTARCTIC FIRE: A Harry Crook Thriller - Conspiracy in the Antarctic

by Chris Geater

  At this time of year, a nice day in Antarctica was considered a natural disaster on the mainland. I took consolation that my luggage, disguised as tools of the Work Health and Safety trade consisted of my trusty .45 calibre Baby Desert Eagle, many components of which were manufactured from polymer, less affected by the cold. It was accompanied by lots of ammo, and a few other nice little comforters and devices that avoided detection at Hobart’s International Airport, thanks once again to Smurf’s contacts.

  My face itched from the five day growth, a beard was recommended for the climate and as one who enjoyed a close shave, the whiskers and roughness irritated me. Suck it up Harry, getting soft in your old age.

  The touchdown at Wilkins, the only Australian base in Queen Elizabeth Land felt smoother than most landings on tarmac, the reversing thrust covered the aircraft in a cloud of ice and snow. The time was just before 1400, the strip white and bright in the strong polar sun, ambient temperature according to the pilot was minus 21°C. We spent the last few minutes of the flight dressing in the necessary clothes in preparation for the onslaught of freezing temperature accompanied by a twenty knot wind.

  One of the scientists left for the Casey Station in a Hägglunds almost immediately, the rest of us boarded a standing-by Twin Otter fitted with skis beneath the now obsolete wheels, engines running to keep warm. A sense of alacrity due to the weather window, apparently they close quickly and with little warning. These early spring flights were only attempted a few years previously, even now there was a high element of risk. We took off to the West, settled in for another three hours in the air, stripped off some layers but ready to put them all back on when we landed at Davis. The mechanic, John he mumbled when he introduced himself, sat alone again. Not a very friendly bloke but then again a machine is impersonal, why shouldn't those who interact be such. Most engineers or mechanical types I had encountered over the years had the personality of a brick.

  Down into the dying day, a glimmer of lights out my window as we turned to the right over the Vestfold Hills and bumped our way onto the ice at Davis. Friendly well wrapped crew from the station bundled us and our luggage into a Hägglunds and delivered us to the accommodation. After locating our quarters we underwent a basic induction for Davis and then off to the cafeteria for much needed sustenance and less needed introductions.

  Steve Broadbent, Davis Leader was a quietly spoken man with large hands and an even larger beard. He welcomed Allan, one of the two scientists on the original flight from Hobart, John and myself to the station and insisted that he make us a coffee. The dining room where we sat was spacious and warm. Eight seater tables neatly spaced around the room, a bain-marie separated a large commercial kitchen in full swing prepping for dinner with quite acceptable aromas emanating as a result of the two cooks within.

  Sharp colourful photos and paintings hung on the walls, an eclectic mix of icebergs, penguins and tropical islands. The “Coffee Station” sat in one corner, the automatic cappuccino machine ground and whirred as Steve pressed the buttons producing a passable coffee, not bad given the 68°S latitude at which we were currently sitting. Alongside the machine sat a softdrink dispenser and a glass-front refrigerator full of various pastries, probably vegan.

  Steve introduced us to the rest of the crew who were already sitting at our table in the mess. He was a touch ambiguous regarding our fellow traveller Allan and I would bet he was here to approach the whole incident from a slightly different perspective other than pure science. John our effervescent mechanic sat by himself near the television as it blared the nightly news, he stared at his coffee cup seemingly unmoved by the latest rise in interest rates.

  Roger, second in charge of the base, younger than Steve by ten years, tattoos peering out of his jacket at the neck.

  “Harry, nice to meet you, nice to have you onboard,” he shook my hand, limp and moist, carp-like. “Terrible situation, young Michael, hadn't been here all that long, terrible, nice bloke.”

  Everybody nodded in unison, “Yes nice bloke.”

  “This is Peter,” continued Steve. “He’s Australian Federal Police. Here to carry out an investigation on, well, you know, sort of why you're here only a police type of investigation rather than Safety orientated.”

  “Not like your investigation at all.” Peter shaking my hand firmly, looking down his nose sternly. “My job, this incident is under the Federal Police jurisdiction and as such you must ensure there is no interference.”

  “Do you think there's been some criminal activity Peter?” I asked him with an innocent look on my face.

  Steve interjected, “No crime as far as we can tell, just a nasty accident, unusual certainly, but just an accident.” He seemed pretty keen to make his point.

  “That has yet to be determined.” Peter leaning forward hoping to find something in the woodpile “The incident is unusual enough to warrant a professional investigation, not a ‘Oh look he slipped on the wet floor, lets do an incident report and introduce a new safe work procedure’.”

  Some tension here, unexpected given Steve’s police background. I felt it must be my job to provide relief, ease the tension.

  “At this stage no crime has been committed other than one under the Excise Duty Act for distilling spirits,” I smiled at Peter. “Is that the crime you’re investigating? Seems like a long way to come, I mean is it such a shocking misdemeanour? Surely there are some more serious infractions to sniff out like, say, second hand smoke?”

  He stood up from the table and looked at me, “Don't get in my way mate or you’ll be on a plane to Hobart with an obstruction of justice charge waiting for you.”

  He marched off leaving an awkward silence.

  The woman with short blonde hair and nice teeth leaned forward, “Hi, I’m Natalie Walker, base doctor.” Intelligent look in her eyes, sharp and aware. Not friendly, not hostile.

  I shook her hand. “Harry Crook.” She had carried out the post mortem on the roman candle and got it right, a clever doctor for a small operation. But it was remote and you would want someone above average to be around if you were in a seriously bad way.

  “You carried out the post mortem on the deceased I understand?”

  “Yes, I did.” My knowledge surprised her.

  “Must have been tricky, not much to work with.”

  “Your role should be a walk in the park,” Steve interjected addressing me directly. “Normally we get through with a few of us doubling up as the safety person so you will find it easy. That being said, we can allocate you some extra duties, prevent boredom, keep the peace.”

  Sounds peachy. I think Steve saw me as an agitator and a threat to the happiness of his big family. A small contingent of people thrown together in a remote region with an extreme climate required higher than average cohesion. Tensions and subsequent flash points were a nightmare for a man in his position, but in order for me to gain an accurate picture of the operation and its people I needed to be an agitator, stir the pot, flush out the hidden, cause reactions, it's what I do.

  He seemed a pleasant type of person, intelligent, competent. According to Smurf Steve is an ex Australian Army Infantry Officer who then went to serve in the Victoria Police for ten years before applying for an Antarctic position five years ago. Since then he spent three summers and two winters at Casey and Davis. A bit of a greenie and apparently, completely unaware of the covert goings-on around him.

  Roger sat sipping his coffee, flipping the pages of a very thin newspaper called the ‘Saturday Paper’ headlining, ‘Two men and a possum’ and ‘Unless you bare your arse you’ve no chance’, no tabloids here.

  One of the cooks wandered out of the steamy kitchen towards our table. Tall, red face, ubiquitous cooks chequered pants, sardonic smile, my vintage with a touch more weather, “More mouths to feed I see,” she said leaning on the table palms down.

  “Ahh Kathy,” Steve looking a little intimidated. “Kathy is our assistant cook,” he introduced her pointing to each of us with his h
ead. “She doubles as a utility, wears a couple of hats as we all do.”

  She looked us all up and down then settled her gaze on me. “What hat do you wear Harry?” She asked licking her lips and moving her hips, I empathised with Steve.

  Before I could reply Steve leapt in, I don’t think he trusts what I have to say, “Harry’s here to help us improve the safety of our operation in light of recent events.”

  “That’s good to hear,” she said not taking her eyes off me. “Things are getting dangerous down here, Teresa incinerates enough in the kitchen as it is.” She giggled at the shocked look on some of the faces.

  “Teresa is our head chef,” Steve informed us shaking his head to indicate what he thought of Kathy’s statement. “He didn't take the whole thing very well, been a little unsettled since.”

  I didn't ask why Teresa was a he but I’m sure there was a perfectly good explanation.

  “He doesn't like the competition,” Kathy contributed with a smile as she looked at us in general then back to me. “Good to have you here Harry, don’t be a stranger.” She strolled back behind the steamy barrier.

  “Sorry folks, she's somewhat of a wild card but hearts in the right place,” Steve apologised.

  I liked her, inappropriate, laughing at herself and others while all around are acting very serious.

  My new friends at the table seemed to drink a lot of water, maybe to hydrate their glossy beards, mine was certainly less flourishing than theirs.

  The bain-marie overflowed, we filed past helping ourselves to lamb curry with saffron rice, vegan breadfruit casserole with gluten-free rotis, sweet and sour battered tofu and shepherds pie, which Kathy told me had real mince meat. Teresa looked busy in the scullery so I didn't get a chance to meet him. The dining room filled up and Steve informed me that our current complement was eighty two personnel with another thirty five arriving over the next few months.

  “Gets quite busy in here once we are in full Summer swing,” he informed me. “But the dining room and kitchen are open for as long as they need to be so nobody misses out.”

  The sleeping quarters were located alongside the building that housed the kitchen and joined by a handy sealed walkway allowing access to and from without having to rug up. My room was basic but comfortable. Bed, cupboard, desk, bookshelf, cozy. Many of the rooms held two bunks but I was fortunate to hold a new esteemed position so I had the room to myself. The next cabin along the corridor and I shared a small ensuite attached to one side with interlocking doors to prevent embarrassing encounters.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The next morning revealed Antarctic spring at its best. Sun bright as it reflected off the ice and snow, blue sky rich and deceptive in its warm appearance, a light breeze and fresh refrigerated air for our lungs after the stale warm air within.

  I like to start the day with breakfast and the kitchen did a mushroom and bacon omelet proud. Certain items on the menu could be made to order Kathy informed me as we stood facing each other over the steaming servery, even some items that weren’t listed on the menu she elaborated with her wink.

  Teresa made his way towards us as we discussed the ins and outs of omelet ingredients, Kathy introduced us.

  "Harry, this is Teresa. Teresa, Harry.”

  “Harry, how's it goin?” Teresa, subdued, eyes darting around but friendliness in his voice.

  “Teresa, some good vittles coming out of this kitchen, you’re quite a wiz.”

  He brightened up, “Yeh, we do our best.”

  “Speaking of which, I had better get that omelet going for you Harry,” Kathy heading towards the large square hot-plate.

  I helped myself to coffee and sat at the same table as the previous evening. Natalie, the base doctor was hoeing into a plate of what looked like chook food covered in yoghurt.

  “Morning,” she offered spraying a small pile of something onto the table.

  “Natalie. Looks rather nice out, is this a standard spring day or a rare one?”

  “Mmm,” she replied trying to swallow the glutinous mass in her mouth, her oesophagus bobbing overtime with the effort. “These type of days become more frequent as summer approaches, some beautiful days later on, almost warm for this part of the planet.”

  “Have you been here long?” I asked her.

  “Only about six weeks, came down on the first flight post winter, hairy ride I can tell you.”

  “What influenced you to come here, bit different to a normal doctor placement.”

  “This is my third stint, initially came for something different, gain some experience in polar medicine.”

  She didn't sell it very well, sounded rehearsed, lacked conviction. The background information on her provided by Smurf concealed more than it revealed. 'Sketchy' and 'lacking' were words used by Smurf when I enquired about the lack of detail. Her seasons working for the Australian Antarctic Division were documented as were her qualifications along with some information regarding her experience working for the Government in hospitals and emergency response. Our file put her age at thirty six yet the detail since graduating from Melbourne university didn't fill the thirteen years since.

  “The crew all look a pretty healthy bunch, must make your life nice and cruisey,” I ventured.

  “What made you choose the Antarctic Harry? Writing non-conformance tickets on errant typists not doing it for you anymore?”

  She looked at me over her piled up spoon, humour in her eyes, a slight smile between her bulging cheeks. I thought sarcasm was my MO.

  “Ah, yes,” I replied. “Policing an office is not what it used to be, everybody is compliant, no slouching rogue receptionists like there was back in the day.”

  She chuckled sending more half set concrete onto the impregnable formica.

  Kathy turned up with my omelet, a sprinkling of parsley and a slice of lemon as garnish.

  “Hope you enjoy it Harry, made with a lot of love,” she informed me with another wink, might be a twitch, sauntered off.

  “Table service, garnish, you’ve made a fan already Harry, shame you couldn't work that charm on Peter, he seems a bit put out.” Natalie smirking again.

  “He’s quite protective of his investigation,” I replied.

  “Fools errand, so send a fool.” She surprised me. “Looking for criminals under rocks, lives in a fantasy land of cops and robbers. Don’t worry Harry, if you’re on the right track you have little chance of crossing his path. But you certainly don’t want to go contaminating his thorough investigation with anything as distasteful as evidence.”

  “I’m just here to improve the operational safety, your friendly safety man here to keep you safe.”

  “Sure you are Harry,” as she stood and took her dirty plate over to the bench.

  The omelet was first class, fluffy, right amount of ingredients, nice subtle flavour of cheese supporting bacon and mushrooms. I must lean over the servery on my way out and let Kathy know how much I enjoyed it. Unnecessary it would appear as she sat herself down in Natalie’s recently vacated seat.

  “Did I pass?” she asked. “Am I up to your usual standard?” I think she was referring to the omelet.

  Natalie heading for the accommodation walked past our table behind Kathy, raised her left eyebrow, a humour filled smile on her face.

  “Perfect Kathy, really good, obvious plenty of love went into making it.”

  “Plenty more where that came from Harry.”

  We sat, I ate, Kathy observed.

  “Teresa and I had a couple of drinks the night before last,” Kathy confessed.

  “That's the spirit,” I encouraged.

  “Got sort of pissed, he let slip something that may interest you.”

  I couldn't imagine any interesting information to which Teresa would be privy, unless he had access to an amazing recipe for beef stroganoff, but intel was intel. I looked up and feigned interest.

  “Reckoned he was with Diesel, on the night.”

  She had my attention.

&
nbsp; “Said that they got stuck into the brew Diesel made and ended up on the ice off their faces. Got lost.”

  She leant forward, “Teresa found some weird object in the ice, it glowed in the dark he said.”

  I leant forward.

  “He handed it to Diesel who put it in his pocket and then the shit hit the fan, reckoned Diesel burst into flames, bright as.”

  “What did Teresa do?” On the edge of my seat.

  “He did what any young pissed bloke would do if his mate became a fireball and melted into the ice. Went to bed.”

  “Is that all he said?”

  “Yeh, freaky wouldn't you say?” she frowned.

  “That's exactly what I’d say,” I replied.

  We met in the common room, billiard table, ping pong, leather lounges, large scenic tinted windows, very comfortable. Steve, Allan, John, Roger and I, us newcomers needed to undergo outside training before we were allowed to venture afield without an escort.

  “You’ve all undergone the training in Hobart,” Steve lead. “But today we’re going on a tour of the base. We will discuss protective equipment and transport as well as weather conditions and the golden rules you’ve already been made aware of, only this time in a more practical way.”

  He took us through the various imperatives required to exist in a deep freeze and what to look for in terms of weather.

  “The weather board,“ he pointed to a large white board on the wall, “gives regularly updated current and forecast conditions in the immediate area. You can obtain more detailed information from Jeff Knox our meteorologist who is contactable on the base phone system or his office in the northern section, we’ll visit there today.”