High Stand

by Hammond Innes

  ‘We’ll see what your son thinks about it,’ I said.

  ‘Brian?’ He laughed and the sound of it was again that snorting neigh. ‘Brian is a son of embodiment of the Old Man’s curse, isn’t he? That picture you showed me — Man of the Trees, Greenpeace — our friends of the forest killed in action. Self-dramatizing, He sees himself as a sort of Don Quixote.’ His voice shook, but whether with anger or despair I wasn’t quite sure. And he went on, ‘Brian’s no use. Trees, whales, seals, the rain forests - that’s what he believes in, not people. Me, his mother, Miriam, anybody, we mean n-nothing to him, nothing at all.’

  It was at that point that the ship began to tremble, faint shouts and the beat of the engines increasing. Feet sounded on the deck, the thud of a heavy rope against the hull, the blare of a siren. ‘The last leg,’ he muttered. ‘In the morning we’ll be at Prince Rupert with Bella Bella only hours away. I’ve got to make up my mind.’

  The anguish in his voice was so real I wished I was out of the stuffy, sick atmosphere of the cabin, out on deck in the cool of the night air watching the Alaska shoreline and the dark of the spruce slide by under the moon, the lights of Ketchikan fading astern. What the hell could I say to the man, what advice could I possibly give him? If he’d read it right, if all that he had said was true — but it couldn’t be, surely. Surely what he had been saying of his son was true of himself. He was blowing the whole situation up out of all proportion, dramatizing it so that I would sympathize, so that Brian, when we met up with him, would sympathize. He wanted us to feel sorry for him, to take notice of him… He was the little boy Miriam had described, not Peter Pan, but an immature male desperately needing to hold the centre of the stage. Attention, affection, self-importance … And then the juddering of the engines caused the cuttings to slip off the rucksack and I was leaning down to pick them up, we were both leaning down, and because they were spread out across the floor we found ourselves staring down at a sort of montage of headlines, and all of them screamed the dreadful toll taken on kids who were becoming hooked, the terrible things they would do to get hold of the money to buy their fixes.

  ‘I don’t think you understand,’ he said wearily, and began picking them up and stuffing them into the old suitcase he had slung on the rack.

  Perhaps he was right. Outside, in the passageway, I could hear people moving about, the sound of voices against the background hum of the engines and the faint murmur of water slipping along the hull. We had increased to passage speed and the normality of it all made Tom’s situation seem utterly incongruous, locked in on himself in that stuffy little cabin, a man with a problem no one could solve for him, feeling isolated, utterly alone.

  I left him then and went up on deck. Lopez had been standing at the end of the passageway. He had smiled at me, a quick flash of tobacco-browned teeth below the drooping moustache. ‘Your friend all right?’ And I had nodded, pushing past him and moving quickly, in a hurry to get out into the clean, wholesome air. Just the South American watching, not doing anything, and the gun under his arm without ammunition, and yet it scared me, the present manifestation of a looming menace that was growing larger and larger in my imagination. I was thinking of Miriam, against the background of those newspaper cuttings — the money and the violence - and wondering where she was.

  I suppose I got some sleep, but it didn’t feel like it as I stumbled out of my bunk at the sound of the ship docking. It was 05.45 hours. Prince Rupert, and we were on time. I shaved and dressed, then went on deck where the glare of arc lights was paling to the first silvery glimmer of dawn.

  The BC Ferries vessel was already there with cars waiting on the dock to go aboard. It was scheduled to leave at nine, so we had almost three hours to get through the formalities of re-entering Canada and settle in for a daylight passage that would get us to Bella Bella at eight in the evening. I hoped Brian Halliday would be there to meet us. I desperately needed somebody other than Tom to discuss things with, even though he was probably not the sort of person who would have anything helpful to contribute.

  The day dawned sunless and with a low cloud base, so that all but the base of the mountains that rose beyond the flats on which the town was built was obscured. Seaward the port was almost totally locked in by the offshore island of Digby. I don’t know why, but I didn’t wait for Tom. Just after seven I got my bags and transferred to the other ship. By eight I was breakfasting in the cafeteria, having left my things on a seat up for’ard where I would have the best view of the Inside Passage as we steamed down the BC coast, provided, of course, the clouds lifted.

  I was sitting having a cigarette with my second cup of coffee, wondering whether I shouldn’t have gone along to Tom’s cabin to check that he was awake, and idly watching the trickle of people in the coffee queue, a mixture that I don’t think you would see anywhere but in this change-over port between Alaska and British Columbia, when my eyes became fixed on the back of a big, heavily-built man in an olive-khaki shirt and trousers. It was the fact that he was standing with his tray at the cash desk with a little Eskimo woman in front of him and what looked like a Japanese couple behind, though they may have been Filipinos or even from somewhere further south in Asia. He looked so huge by comparison, and something about the way he held his head, the set of his shoulders … Then he turned and I called to him.

  It was Jim Edmundson. He came over, his tray gripped in his large hands, a brown briefcase under his arm. ‘Well, well — how was the mine, eh?’ I forgot about Tom then, so glad was I to have somebody to talk to, even if I couldn’t tell him the whole story.

  ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Most interesting.’ And then, as he put his tray down, and the briefcase, and lowered himself into the chair opposite me, I asked him what he was doing, here on a ferry that only went as far as Port Hardy at the northern rip of Vancouver Island. ‘You weren’t on the American boat.’

  ‘No, I drove down.’ He looked so relaxed, so normal, as he tucked hungrily into his breakfast, and in my mind I was comparing him with Tom and the South Americans, the whole background of unreality I had lived with these past few days. •Road conditions not bad, nor weather, considering the time of year.’ His mouth was already full, his jaws working, and he held his fork fisted in his right hand. ‘Dumped the car in the parking lot here. From Bella Bella I was expecting to get one of the floatplanes, but now -‘

  ‘Where are you going?’ I was thinking that perhaps I could hitch a ride if he was headed up the long fjord arms that run into the Rockies in that part of BC. ‘Funny thing,’ he went on, ‘meeting you here. I bin borrowed by the forestry people.’ He gulped some coffee, fisted more food into his mouth, the plateful of sausages, eggs and fried potatoes disappearing at a rate of knots. They’ve done it before … ‘count of the book, I s’pose. I told you, didn’t !?…! was trained in forestry.’

  ‘Jean said you’d worked for the Forestry Service.’

  That’s right.’ He nodded, swallowing hard. ‘Well, the guy who should investigate anything in that region… he’s had si ;-m

  an accident… went in with a helicopter fighting a fire over beyond that copper mine inshore of Hardy… What’s odd, meeting you, is that it’s the Halliday property. Didn’t you tell me something about his son doing a Greenpeace act before the cameras on a bargeful of logs going down to Seattle?’

  I nodded. ‘And that’s why you’re here? You mean you’re actually going to the Halliday Arm to investigate timber felling in the Cascades?’

  He was nodding his head all the time I was putting the question. ‘That’s what’s odd, meeting you here.’

  Odd it certainly was, the country so vast. And yet I suppose it wasn’t so odd really. BC, the Yukon, Alaska - it was only vast when you were travelling the country. When you wanted something done, though communications were fast and efficient, the people to do the job were desperately thin on the ground; one regional forestry officer injured and who was there close at hand to take over from him?

  ‘They want a full
report. Something the media will accept. Just because I had a book published…’ He shrugged. ‘Christ!’ he said, ‘that was ten years ago. But my bosses agreed… . So!’ He laughed, and I remembered how the sound of his laughter had boomed in that wet, snowy drive from Whitehorse across to Haines Junction, how his teeth had shown white against the black of the forest streaming by. ‘Jean’s hopping mad. I’d be nursemaid to the children if she had her way, and she don’t like sleeping alone.’ He grinned, and at that moment Tom came in looking vague, his eyes flicking quickly over the tables. Then he saw me and his face lit up, as though he’d been scared he’d lost me.

  He went over to the service counter then and I watched as he got a tray and joined the queue. When he came over to the table all he had on the tray was a glass of orange juice and coffee. I half stood up, uncertain what to do. This is Jim Edmundson,’ I said. ‘You remember I told you how helpful he was after I got to Whitehorse, and then his wife driving me…’

  Tom Halliday.’ He had set his tray down and was holding out his hand to Edmundson. It surprised me, the first indication that he might now be willing to talk to the Canadian authorities.

  Tom - Halliday?’ Jim Edmundson was lumbering awkwardly to his feet, his mouth fallen half open with surprise. The Halliday that owns Ice Cold, right?’ He gripped Tom’s hand as though he were a long-lost friend he’d known all his life. There’s some people thought you were dead.’

  ‘Well, there’s times I’m not sure that wouldn’t be a good idea.’ Tom managed some sort of a smile and the two of them sat down, Jim Edmundson explaining again why he was on the boat, and Tom staring at him as though fascinated by the way he was being carried along.

  ‘You mean tomorrow y-you’ll be f-flying into the Halliday Arm.’ The stutter was suddenly quite marked. ‘An official visit, as f-forestry adviser - to inspect, then write a report. An of-ficial report?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Tom leaned back, his eyes closed. He might have been praying, but I thought it more likely he was on the verge of passing out. It must have come as a shock. And then, suddenly, his eyes flicked open. ‘I’m going there myself. Philip and I are going there, and Brian — my son — is meeting us at Bella Bella. Can you give us a lift in your plane? No, of course - three is too many probably. But me. I must get there. It’s my wife, you see…’ And then his voice stuttered into incomprehensibility as he saw the other shake his head.

  ‘I won’t be flying in,’ Edmundson said. ‘Not unless the cutter’s gone off on a search and rescue.’ And he added by way of explanation, They’re having a Coastguard cutter meet me at Bella Bella.’

  ‘A ship — well, that’s better …’

  But again the big Canadian was shaking his head. ‘They don’t take passengers, not normally. I guess they’re a bit like a navy ship. You’ll need to charter one of the floatplanes.’

  The engines started up under our feet, a sudden murmur that had the deck, the whole ship, our coffee cups vibrating. Everywhere in the cafeteria people were draining their glasses or their cups, gathering up their things and moving towards the stairs or the glassed-in front of the big saloon to watch our departure. It was one minute to nine and the thump of the first warp coming on board was followed by an increase in the revs and the swish of swirling water as the thrusters came into operation.

  ‘Sometime in the course of the voyage I’d like to put a few questions to you, Mr Halliday, if I may.’ Jim Edmundson’s voice sounded suddenly remote and impersonal, his formal mode of address very different from the easy sliding into Christian names that was his customary approach to other men. ‘Could we have a drink before the midday meal, say about noon. Okay?’

  Tom nodded, his eyes flickering uneasily from Jim to me and back to Jim Edmundson. ‘What do you want to know?’

  Edmundson laughed. ‘Don’t know yet, do I? Heard so much about you, I’m only just recovering from the surprise of running into you like this. Small world.’ He nodded to himself as though he had said something profound. ‘Very small world. But that’s Canada, eh? Korea. Were you in Korea?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Last time I was on the Inside Passage run there was a fellow on board — came from a little place up the coast from Ketchikan. An American -Alaskan rather. They like to be called Alaskan. His name was Moses Jallopi. Odd name; odd little guy, too. But there he was and I hadn’t seen him since we shared a muddy little slit trench that was more of a shell crater than anything else. We were there two nights, one whole day, not another of our buddies anywhere in sight and the North Koreans, or the Chinese, I never knew which, not fifty metres away, guns banging and shells landing.’ He smiled and shrugged. ‘Seems like another world now. It’s like I say, a small world once you start using our transportation system.’ He smiled again, gathering up his briefcase, and at that moment the PA system broke in, loud and metallic. It was a call for passenger James Robert Edmundson to go to the Purser’s office and he got to his feet. ‘See you in the bar then, around noon.’

  We were under way then and within an hour the sun was burning up the clouds so that the islands and tops of the coast mountains gradually emerged, vistas of tree and rock and water, the sun a luminous glow in the shimmering haze. Noon found us entering the narrowest part of the Grenville Channel, still steaming at something around 18 knots as far as I could guess. I came in from the deck to see Camargo and Lopez sitting three rows back from where I had put my bag. One had a newspaper, the other a magazine. Tom appeared to be asleep, but when I told him it was time we joined Jim Edmundson in the bar his eyes opened slowly, the pupils strangely enlarged, his gaze uncertain.

  ‘You see him.’ His voice was a little slurred.

  ‘But he wants to talk to you. A few questions.’

  ‘Tell him I don’t like drink, an’ I don’t answer, questions. Tell him anything you dam’ well like. I don’t wanta be bothered with it. Unless we can hitch a ride on that cutter that’s meeting him. If we can do that, then okay -‘ His lips were spread in a sly smile as though he thought the decision he had made was a clever one. ‘If he’ll get us all to the Cascades, then I’ll tell him - whatever he wants to know. If he can find Miriam - part’c’ly if he can locate Miriam… You think he carries that much weight, enough to get things moving - well, do you?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  He sighed, his shoulders lifting in a slight shrug, his head drooping, his eyes closing.

  In the end I was on my own when I joined Jim at the bar. He didn’t seem surprised. That man’s on drugs, isn’t he?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ I said guardedly.

  Takes me back.’ He was smiling quietly, his hands still gripped round the beer in front of him. ‘Don’t know where those Yanks were getting it from. I never enquired. But they were sure getting it from somewhere. You ever tried it, Philip?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Me neither. I’m an open air man. It’s city boys mostly take to the stuff. I suppose you need a kick if you live in a concrete ghetto. And in war you need to forget. But a man like Halliday…’ He shrugged. ‘Had everything he wants, I suppose, an’ got bored. Now…’ He opened his briefcase. ‘Maybe it’s a good thing he isn’t here. Much better I show it to his lawyer.’ He pulled out a sheet of flimsy paper and passed it across to me. ‘Radio message. It was waiting for me when I came on board.’

  It announced that the Kelsey had orders to pick up an American tug bound for Seattle towing a barge loaded with logs and stand by while customs officers carried out a routine inspection. You are to proceed on board Kelsey with the utmost speed on arrival Bella Bella. Capt. Cornish will brief you to the extent that it may concern your forestry inspection. I handed it back to him. ‘Well…?’ I was wondering why he had shown me what was a fairly confidential document.

  ‘Obviously this is another load of timber coming down from your client’s Cascades plantation. When the skipper knows you two are landing at Bella Bella with me it’s just possible he may want Halliday or both of you with him when he rendezvous
with the tug- just in case there is any question of the logs themselves being held for examination.’

  ‘Do you know what it’s about?’ I asked.

  ‘No. Could be just a question of the export licence. They aren’t all that easy to get, all timber having to be offered to Canadian pulp and saw mills first. But a customs inspection of an American tug sounds to me more like a narcotics operation. Last night in the hotel there was some talk in the bar about ferries being gone over for drugs, particularly the American ships coming down from Alaska. At any rate, officers of the narcotics division of the FBI, the Federal Drugs Enforcement Administration, had been staying in the hotel for several weeks.’ He lumbered to his feet. ‘What can I get you?’

  I would have liked a straight malt, something with a kick in it that would steady me up, but I didn’t think they’d have a malt. ‘Same as you,’ I said, my nerves tense, and then, as he went to the bar, I sat back, consciously trying to relax. But I couldn’t, my mind overwhelmed by what he had told me, thinking of the tug, which might already have left the Halliday Arm towing that barge piled with felled trees, and wondering when the operation would take place, whether the tug would stop, and if not … Anything seemed possible, remembering that note from Miriam and all that Tom had told me at Ketchikan in that sick little cabin of his. I hadn’t any doubt, you see. None at all. This was the drug route, though how they got the drugs on board the tow I couldn’t guess. But on board either the tug or the barge they would certainly be. That was why Brian Halliday’s protest hadn’t stopped them, why they had nearly run him down.