by Linda Harrel
Sarah stood on tiptoe on the first rung of the railing and strained to catch a glimpse of the newcomer who stood directly beneath her, shaking hands with Patrick. Their words did not rise to her, but in the floodlights, the man was clearly visible. This member of the Freeland clan, unlike Tony, was in uniform—the full dress blues with cap and gold trim that identified him as a senior officer.
Sarah frowned as she studied his features, deeply shadowed in the harsh overhead beams. Part of his face was obscured by the peak of his cap, but the strongly defined nose and jaw were striking. A slight brutalness in the features seemed at odds with the refinement of the uniform. This contradiction between face and clothes was vaguely familiar to her. Hadn't she seen that stern profile somewhere else?
Of course! she thought, with a gratifying flash of recognition. In the Herald's file room… the picture of the Freeland executives at the contract signing. He had been the scowler in the back row. Then, too, the ruggedness of the face had seemed at war with the expensively tailored business suit. Sarah extended her lower lip in a thoughtful pout as she studied him. Evidently venomous looks were a permanent characteristic of the man.
Sarah's impractical dinner shoes skidded on the mist-slicked rail. Struggling to keep her balance, she jammed her foot against the bar, and the delicate spike heel snapped, falling to the deck below and clattering to a stop in front of Guy Court.
'Damn!' she said into the startled silence. She held her breath as he stared down at the ridiculous little thing at his feet. Wordlessly, he bent, picked it up, and turned it over in his large hand. Slowly he tilted his head back and saw her. His eyes held hers in a cold and strangely knowing gaze.
Sarah felt her heart thud.
He slipped the heel into his pocket and was gone.
CHAPTER THREE
If Sarah had hoped to find an angle for her story by cornering Guy Court for a quick interview, she was disappointed. The second day out, he did not even present himself in the wardroom for meals. She caught only brief glimpses of his back as he strode down corridors, or a shock of dark hair as he vanished down stairwells.
The rest of the Enterprise's crew were frustratingly inaccessible as well. And you didn't have to be a reporter to figure out that the reasons for their sudden withdrawal and the tension that seemed to grip all of them was Captain Court. Sarah found this intensely irritating. When Tony, the man in charge of the project, was so generous and helpful, how dared this interloper descend on them with his disturbing influence!
Sarah set aside her notebook on the chartroom table. She was impatient with herself for what she had to concede was an over-reaction to a man she had yet to meet. There had been only that one unfortunate look exchanged the day before. That, of course, had chilled her. But it was hardly a sufficient basis on which to form an opinion of the man. Had he assumed she was one of the officers' wives? If that were the case, he had been particularly rude.
She walked across the bridge room to the broad, slanting windows. They had left the main shipping lanes far behind and were running up the west coast of Greenland, in the safest, ice-free route. The sea ahead of them was deserted, sunlit, and intensely blue. The purity of the light was glorious. Sarah stared dreamily out the window and did not hear them until they were directly behind her.
'Sarah—I've been hoping we'd run into you!'
She turned, and was face to face with the two of them. For cousins, they could not have been much more dissimilar. Both were tall, it was true. And they were close in age, although Guy, she judged, was the younger. But while Tony was all polish, refinement, and dark good looks, Guy was a man of barely restrained power and hard, almost brutal lines.
The old saw was quite true, she thought, astonished at the jolt of her own response: a uniform did amazing things for the male body. There was something unsettling about the breadth of navy shoulder, the snow white shirt, the precision and gleam of gold embellishment.
But despite the impeccable grooming, the strongly muscled frame still looked about to burst out of its starched and well-cut confines. He was without cap, and a shock of thick dark hair slipped rebelliously down one side of the broad forehead. The strong nose and broad, high cheekbones bore the permanently ruddy colour of a face more accustomed to the deck than the boardroom. The green-flecked eyes threw a look at Sarah that was shockingly cold.
Tony began the introductions, but was cut off sharply. 'Yes,' said Guy, without a hint of cordiality, 'I know who Miss Grey is—the Canadian reporter you've hired.'
'Not hired, no,' Tony corrected immediately. 'Invited, is more like it. Sarah is strictly in the employ of her newspaper.'
'Of course,' amended Guy. 'My mistake.'
But his apology, Sarah sensed, was laced with sarcasm. She felt her body tense instinctively and self-protectively. With an effort, she forced herself to smile evenly and look unblinkingly into the uncomfortably clear green eyes.
'Your arrival has created some excitement on board, Captain Court,' she said with unfelt brightness. 'I know you're busy, but I'm hoping you'll be able to find time to answer a few questions.'
'On or off the record?' he replied, his voice very near a sneer.
'Why… on, of course,' she managed to say, thrown completely off balance by his baffling sarcasm.
Tony was suddenly edgy and his eyes darted from one to the other. 'Guy should have lots of free time very soon,' he said quickly. 'So far he's found everything running beautifully—up to or exceeding Freeland's standards. Isn't that right, Guy?'
'Yes,' he conceded shortly.
Sarah began to feel profoundly irritated by this sour man.
'Guy will be far too modest to tell you himself, Sarah,' Tony continued smoothly, 'so I'm forced to do his bragging for him. As you know, an ice-breaking L.N.G. carrier is a new creature on the seas. The Enterprise was conceived by Guy and built largely from his own original designs.'
'Oh?' said Sarah lightly. 'That is impressive.' Darn, she fumed silently. She was impressed, but part of her didn't want to let Guy Court know. Still, her voice had been much chillier than she had meant it to be. Better sit on those feelings! she told herself sternly. To return to antagonism emanating from him would be cutting off her nose to spite her face.
She felt her admiration for Tony growing steadily. A lesser man might begrudge giving up any of the glory associated with the Enterprise. His graciousness was particularly winning since his cousin hadn't even had the courtesy to tell him he was planning to accompany them.
The duty officer popped his head out of the chartroom and beckoned to Tony. Dismayed, Sarah found herself alone with Guy… and an appalling silence. She had to fight back the urge to walk out on him.
What she really needed to do, she thought, was to retrieve her position with him by saying something terribly intelligent and technical, something that would shatter this man's smug sense of superiority. Maddeningly, nothing but inane generalities came to mind. And to make things worse, she felt he was watching her, somehow understanding her dilemma. She could summon nothing but a tiny, twisted smile.
Guy Court lounged lazily against the window, his head cocked to one side, a self-satisfied smile turning up one corner of his mouth.
'So,' he drawled, 'Tony's girl reporter is off on an adventure and wants to spin tales of life on the high seas. I'll bet I can guess your lead: the size of this vessel staggers the imagination… stood on end, it would be taller than the Empire State Building… and you'll close with rave reviews of the chef's marvellous menus. Really, Miss Grey—you didn't have to go to these extremes to get your story. Titbits like that are readily available from Freeland's public relations department.'
Sarah winced, having made just such notes in her cabin that morning. It was like a slap in the face, and for a moment she was stunned into silence, the sharp retort she wanted to deliver choked off in her throat. Perhaps it was just as well, she thought grimly. The brisk, efficient bridge was hardly the place for the tirade bubbling impotently inside her.
Recovering, she replied as calmly as her thud-ding heart would allow. 'If details like that help my readers visualise life on the Enterprise, I won't hesitate to use them. But I respect the public's intelligence too much to give them nothing but trivia. I'm a science reporter, not a travel adviser. So I repeat: I would still very much appreciate the chance to interview you on the safety aspects of L.N.G. carriers.'
'Oh, I'm all for that,' he replied sardonically. 'We could begin by advising against the women on board wearing silly spike heels.'
Sarah felt an unwelcome flush spread across her cheeks. 'I'm sorry about that,' she said. 'I'd just come from the Master's first night dinner. As you can see,' she added gamely, looking down at her sensible walking shoes, 'I'm better equipped now.'
His eyes travelled down her slowly, from the trim, beige cashmere turtleneck to the smooth leg of her brown tweed pants. Acutely uncomfortable, Sarah rushed on, 'Do you think we could set up a time now?'
He hesitated, then shrugged carelessly. 'I'm on my way now to meet the senior officers. I don't know how much of it you'll understand and frankly, I don't have the time to explain it to you. But if you'd like to sit in, you may.'
Once again Sarah found herself choking on his condescending manner. She was beginning to loathe the man, but the professional in her rallied. 'Yes,' she said, her eyes meeting the challenge in his and refusing to waver, 'I'd like that very much.'
Guy sat at the head of a long boardroom table, piles of charts and graphs and computer printouts before him. There were no preliminaries. He sliced immediately to the business at hand.
Ruefully, Sarah had to admit that he displayed a stunning depth of knowledge that she, even with her string of degrees, was hard pressed to begin to keep up with. His was such a field of extreme specialisation. There could not be more than a few—perhaps even none—who would be his equal in the world.
'A ship this large,' he was saying, 'with a cargo this dangerous, can't help but be difficult to handle. All the mechanical marvels in the world can't make up for a crew which is not trained or sufficiently caring. If we allow ourselves to relax, to become complacent, it won't be long before we have a real disaster on our hands. It could start with something as simple as a man lighting a cigarette in a restricted area, or as complex as the breakdown of a sophisticated piece of equipment.'
His comment rang a bell in Sarah's head. Startled by her own audacity, she waved her pen and caught his eye. He raised an eyebrow.
'A question, Miss Grey?' he asked with exaggerated politeness.
Sarah inhaled deeply. 'Yes. About all this new equipment. Do you have the capability to repair it on board, or would the breakdown on a critical piece incapacitate the ship?'
'Miss Grey has, immediately sniffed out our Achilles heel, gentlemen. This is indeed one of our worst problems. Very few shipyards are qualified to repair super-tankers. And most of the ones that are would probably refuse us entry if we were crippled and fully loaded with L.N.G.'
Tony, who had remained aloof throughout the meeting, suddenly sat upright and cut in impatiently. 'I think you should make it clear to Sarah, Guy, that our technical crew is superbly trained—largely, by you! And we carry most critical components in duplicate for the rare event of a breakdown.'
'Most,' agreed Guy slowly, 'but not all. As you know, Tony, if I had been consulted, I would have recommended a delay in the Enterprise's departure until we'd finished training that would have made us almost entirely self-sufficient.
'There's that "almost" again! No one knows better than you that a guarantee of total safety is simply not possible. We're not gods, Guy, only men who try our damnedest. What do you want of us?'
Unexpectedly, Guy retreated a little. 'Well, it's done, and we're here. And every minute takes us deeper into the Arctic… and into winter. So, if Miss Grey has no further questions, perhaps we can proceed with an outline of the program I have mapped out for us.'
His catalogue of possible catastrophes was spine-chilling,' exceeding anything Sarah had read. So super-cold was the L.N.G. that even the smallest leak from the cryogenic tanks would crack open the steel decks like an egg. Heavier than air, it would flow rapidly across the ship and out over the water, instantly freezing and killing any life it touched. The surface of the sea would freeze and erupt in a violent mixture of ice crystals and noxious vapour.
If the very worst happened and there was an explosion, it would have the force of an atomic bomb, shredding the massive steel hull. Everything for miles would be incinerated in a giant fireball that would create winds of hundreds of miles an hour. Nothing would survive it.
At least, that was one theory. No one knew for sure what would really happen. So far in history, there had never been an explosion of an L.N.G. super-tanker. But the threat was to be a constant companion of everyone on the Enterprise.
'We would be fools,' said Guy, 'to think our luck will last for ever.'
'But, sir,' interjected Patrick, 'it's not really luck at work here, is it? You yourself hand-picked this crew. I think we've left very little to chance!'
Sarah cast a discreet glance down the table to Tony, who was nodding in silent agreement with the First Officer.
'Perhaps you have more faith in men than I do,' Guy offered. 'Men are fallible. Nothing will ever change that.'
'Then what's the answer, sir?'
'There is none. There's only training and drills and above all, discipline. To that end, I will be holding a series of drills to simulate various emergencies we might run into. Some will be announced beforehand, some not. In any event, your men must act as though each exercise is the real thing.'
Angus Dunn, the First Engineer, was frowning and biting on the stem of his pipe. Guy was quick to catch his perplexity. 'A problem, Mr Dunn?'
'Maybe. My men in the engine room are tense enough, trying to get the feel of this new equipment. I'm picking up an atmosphere down there I'm not happy with. I'm wondering—only wondering, mind you—if your constant inspections aren't going to cause some trouble.'
Guy looked around the table. 'How do the rest of you feel about this?'
'I've seen it, too, sir,' said Patrick cautiously. 'Nothing I can pin down, yet. Just a general tenseness.'
Tony's hand suddenly came down on the table with a slap that made Sarah start. 'This is exactly what I was afraid of, Guy. Why couldn't all this have been done while they were on sea trials from Japan to Rotterdam? These scare tactics of yours are demoralising the crew. They're a fine bunch of men, and they deserve better than this!'
Sarah set her pencil down and folded her hands in her lap. If Tony and Guy were going to air some dirty Freeland linen, she didn't want to be caught writing it down.
'That had been my intention, Tony,' said Guy with deceptive calm. 'You know very well that I had no choice but to accept the S.O.S. from that tanker breaking up off South Africa. It threatened to give us the worst oil spill in history. You may recall that before I left I requested a delay in the Enterprise's departure.' Sarah watched the rhythmic tic of a jaw muscle with growing alarm.
Tony jabbed a long finger angrily at the table. 'In the first place, you needn't have gone. You knew we were committed to this sailing date. Freeland Shipping does not go back on its word! Every day that goes by costs us a hundred thousand dollars, whether we're at sea or tied to a dock. Price was satisfied with her seaworthiness. I was not about to delay a multi-million-dollar venture just because you were off playing hero!'
It was far too intimate a baring of emotion between the two men. Sarah studied the faces of the officers. Each was flushed with embarrassment, staring at his pen or nails as if they were the most fascinating object in the world. Only tough old Angus Dunn was openly looking at Tony and Guy, obviously enjoying the set-to immensely.
'What I think is demoralising, Tony,' said Guy, through tightly clenched teeth, 'is facing the unknown. I want to be honest about what may be ahead. If you officers think I'm asking too much of your men, I'm sorry. But I've
only just begun here.'
He gathered his papers, shoved them into his briefcase, and rose, all in one motion. 'Questions, gentlemen?'
The reply was an uneasy silence. He nodded abruptly and vanished.
Not half an hour had passed before the clang-clang-clang of the emergency alarm made Sarah's heart leap. The duty officer's voice broke over the loudspeaker. 'Fire in the engine-room! Fire in the engine-room! Emergency stations!'
Sarah heard the sudden banging of cabin doors and the thudding of dozens of feet in the corridor. Was it a drill, or was it the real thing? She felt the unpleasant surge of adrenalin pumping into her system and was sorry for the crew who had to respond with such absolute calm.
Sarah had heard the officers speculate that there would be at least one prearranged drill before Guy surprised them. She, however, guessed otherwise. If she was wrong, of course, if there really was a fire, she knew she would be breaking a cardinal rule and would, one way or another, be in a great deal of trouble. At the lifeboat drill, it had been stressed that she, Katie, and Emily, on hearing such an alarm, were to don their lifejackets immediately and wait in their rooms for further instructions.
But Sarah was determined to follow her hunches whatever the danger. In a flash, she was out of her room and racing down the steep steel steps to the engine-room.
The atmosphere was almost hellish with the ceaseless pounding of machinery, the steady whoop of alarms, and the flashing of lights. At first, the rush of activity in the windowless room with its banks of control panels told her she had made a fatal mistake: Intense concentration was painfully etched on the sweat-streaked faces of the men. Whatever was going on was being taken with dead seriousness. But there was no smoke, no fumes. And finally she saw Guy and Patrick, standing on a metal grid platform overlooking the scurrying troops. They held the ever-present clipboards and were taking notes.
Sarah exhaled with relief. She had guessed right. Now the problem was to find a safe niche where she could keep from being plowed under in the mad rush. And, she thought, with a tickle of apprehension, keep from being spotted by the formidable conductor of this exercise.
