Bear Island

by Alistair MacLean

  To say that there was an air of panic in the saloon would have been exaggeration, albeit a forgivable one, but to say that there was a marked degree of apprehension, concern and uncertainty would have erred on the side of understatement. Otto Gerran, perhaps, was more upset than any other person present, and understandably so, for Otto had a great deal more to lose than any other person present.

  ‘I appreciate the reasons for your anxiety,’ Otto said, ‘and your concern for us all does you the greatest credit. But I think this concern is making you over-cautious. Dr Marlowe says that this— ah—epidemic is definitely over. We are going to look very foolish indeed if we turn and run now and then nothing more happens.’

  Captain Imrie said: ‘I’m too old, Mr Gerran, to care what I look like. If it’s a choice between looking a fool and having another dead man on my hands, then I’d rather look a fool any time.’

  ‘I agree with Mr Gerran,’ Heissman said. He still looked sick and he sounded sick. ‘To throw it all away when we’re so near—just over a day to Bear Island. Drop us off there and then go to Hammerfest—just as in the original plan. That means—well, you’d be in Hammerfest in say sixty hours instead of twenty-four. What’s going to happen in that extra thirty-six hours that’s not going to happen in the next twenty-four? Lose everything for thirty-six hours just because you’re running scared?’

  ‘I am not running scared, as you say.’ There was something impressive about Imrie’s quiet dignity. ‘My first—’

  ‘I wasn’t referring to you personally,’ Heissman said.

  ‘My first concern is for the people under my charge. And they are under my charge. I am the person responsible. I must make the decision.’

  ‘Granted, Captain, granted.’ Goin was his usual imperturbable self, a calm and reasonable man. ‘But one has to strike a balance in these matters, don’t you think. Against what Dr Marlowe now regards as being a very remote possibility of another outbreak of food poisoning occurring, there’s the near certainty—no, I would go further and say that there’s the inevitability—that if we go directly to Hammerfest we’ll be put in quarantine for God knows how long. A week, maybe two weeks, before the port medical authorities give us clearance. And then it’ll be too late, we’d just have to abandon all ideas about making the film at all and go home.’ Less than a couple of hours previously, I recalled, Heissman had been making most disparaging remarks about Otto’s mental capacities, but he’d backed him up against Captain Imrie and now here was Goin doing the same thing: both men knew which side of their bread required butter. ‘The losses to Olympus Productions will be enormous.’

  ‘Don’t be telling me that, Mr Goin,’ Imrie said. ‘What you mean is that the losses to the insurance company—or companies—will be enormous.’

  ‘Wrong,’ Stryker said and from his tone and attitude it was clear that directorial solidarity on the board of Olympus Productions was complete. ‘Severally and personally, all members of the cast and crew are insured. The film project—a guarantee as to its successful conclusion—was uninsurable, at least in terms of the premiums demanded. We, and we alone, bear the loss—and I would add that for Mr Gerran, who is by far and away the biggest shareholder, the effects would be ruinous.’

  ‘I am very sorry about that.’ Captain Imrie seemed genuinely sympathetic but he didn’t for a moment sound like a man who was preparing to abandon his position. ‘But that’s your concern, I’m afraid. And I would remind you, Mr Gerran, of what you yourself said earlier on this evening. “Health,” you said, “is a damned sight more important than any profit we might make from this film.” Wouldn’t you say this is a case in point?’

  ‘That’s nonsense to say that,’ Goin said equably. He had the rare gift of being able to make potentially offensive statements in a quietly rational voice that somehow robbed them of all offence. ‘“Profit”, you say was the word Mr Gerran used. Certainly, Mr Gerran would willingly pass up any potential profit if the need arose, and that need wouldn’t have to be very pressing or demanding. He’s done it before.’ This was at variance with the impression I’d formed of Otto, but then Goin had known him many more years than I had days. ‘Even without profit we could still make our way by breaking even, which is as much as most film companies can hope for these days. But you’re not talking—we’re not talking—about lack of profit, we’re talking about a total and non-recoverable loss, a loss that would run into six figures and break us entirely. We’ve put our collective shirt on this one, Captain Imrie, yet you’re talking airily of liquidating our company, putting dozens of technicians—and their families—on the breadline and damaging, very likely beyond repair, the careers of some very promising actors and actresses. And all of this for what? The remote chance—according to Dr Marlowe, the very remote chance—that someone may fall ill again. Haven’t you got things just a little bit out of proportion, Captain Imrie?’

  If he had, Captain Imrie wasn’t saying so. He wasn’t saying anything. He didn’t exactly have the look of a man who was thinking and thinking hard.

  ‘Mr Goin puts it very succinctly,’ Otto said. ‘Very succinctly indeed. And there’s a major point that seems to have escaped you, Captain Imrie. You have reminded me of something I said earlier. May I remind you of something you said earlier. May I remind you—’

  ‘And may I interrupt, Mr Gerran,’ I said. I knew damn well what he was going to say and the last thing I wanted was to hear him say it. ‘Please. A peace formula, if you wish. You want to continue. So does Mr Goin, so does Mr Heissman. So do I— if only because my reputation as a doctor seems to depend on it. Tadeusz?’

  ‘No question,’ said the Count. ‘Bear Island.’

  ‘And, of course, it would be unfair to ask either Mr Smith or Mr Stokes. So I propose—’

  ‘This isn’t Parliament, Dr Marlowe,’ Imrie said. ‘Not even a local town council. Decisions aboard a vessel at sea are not arrived at by popular vote.’

  ‘I’ve no intention that they should be. I suggest we draw up a document. I suggest we note Captain Imrie’s proposals and considered opinions. I suggest if more illness occurs we run immediately for Hammerfest, even although we are at the time only one hour distant from Bear Island. I suggest it be recorded that Captain Imrie be protected and absolved from any accusation of hazarding the health of his crew and passengers in light of the medical officer’s affidavit—which I will write out and sign—that no such hazard exists: the only charge the captain has to worry about at any time is the physical hazarding of his vessel and that doesn’t exist here. Then we will state that the captain is absolved from all blame and responsibility for any consequences arising from our decision: the navigation and handling of the vessel remain, of course, his sole responsibility. Then all five of us sign it. Captain Imrie?’

  ‘Agreed.’ There is a time to be prompt and Captain Imrie clearly regarded this as such a time. At best, the proposal was a lame compromise, but one he was glad to accept. ‘Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me. I have to be up betimes—4 a.m. to be precise.’ I wondered when he had last risen at that unearthly hour—not, probably, since his fishing days had ended: but the illness of mate and bo’sun made for exceptional circumstances. He looked at me. ‘I will have that document at breakfast?’

  ‘At breakfast. I wonder, Captain, if on your way to bed you could ask Haggerty to come to see me. I’d ask him personally, but he’s a bit touchy about civilians like myself.’

  ‘A lifetime in the Royal Navy is not forgotten overnight. Now?’

  ‘Say ten minutes? In the galley.’

  ‘Still pursuing your inquiries, is that it? It’s not your fault, Dr Marlowe.’

  If it wasn’t my fault, I thought, I wished they’d all stop making me feel it was. Instead I thanked him and said good night and he said good night to us and left accompanied by Smithy and Mr Stokes. Otto steepled his fingers and regarded me in his best chairman of the board fashion.

  ‘We owe you our thanks, Dr Marlowe. That was well done, an excell
ent face-saving proposal.’ He smiled. ‘I am not accustomed to suffering interruption lightly but in this case it was justified.’

  ‘If I hadn’t interrupted we’d all be on our way to Hammerfest now. You were about to remind him of that part of your contract with him which states that he will obey all your orders other than those that actually endanger the vessel. You were about to point out that, as no such physical danger exists, he was technically in breach of contract and so would be legally liable to the forfeiture of the entire contract fee, which would certainly have ruined him. But for a man like that money ranks a long, long way behind pride and Captain Imrie is a very proud man. He’d have told you to go to hell and turned his ship for Hammerfest.’

  ‘I’d say that our worthy physician’s assessment is a hundred per cent accurate.’ The Count had found some brandy and now helped himself freely. ‘You came close there, Otto, my boy.’

  If the company chairman felt annoyance at being thus familiarly addressed by his cameraman, he showed no evidence of it. He said: ‘I agree. We are in your debt, Dr Marlowe.’

  ‘A free seat at the première,’ I said, ‘and all debts discharged.’ I left the board to its deliberations and weaved my unsteady way down to the passenger accommodation. Allen and Mary darling were still in the same place in the lounge, only now she had her head on his shoulder and seemed to be asleep. I gave him a casually acknowledging wave of my hand and he answered in kind: he seemed to be becoming accustomed to my peripatetic presence.

  I entered the Duke’s cabin without knocking, lest there was someone there asleep. There was. Eddie, the electrician, was very sound indeed and snoring heavily, the sight of his cabin mate’s close brush with the reaper hadn’t unnerved him any that I could see. Cecil Golightly was awake and looking understandably very pale and drawn but not noticeably suffering, largely, it seemed very likely, because Mary Stuart, who was just as pale as he was, was sitting by his bedside and holding his far from reluctant hand. I was beginning to think that perhaps she had more friends than either she or I thought she had.

  ‘Good lord!’ I said. ‘You still here?’

  ‘Didn’t you expect me to be? You asked me to stay and keep an eye on him. Or had you forgotten?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ I lied. ‘Didn’t expect you to remain so long, that’s all. You’ve been very kind.’ I looked down upon the recumbent Duke. ‘Feeling a bit better?’

  ‘Lots, Doctor. Lots better.’ With his voice not much more than a strained whisper he didn’t sound it, but then, after what he’d been through in the past hour I didn’t expect him to.

  ‘I’d like to have a little talk with you,’ I said. ‘Just a couple of minutes. Feel up to it?’

  He nodded. Mary dear said: ‘I’ll leave you then,’ and made to rise but I put a restraining hand on her shoulder.

  ‘No need. The Duke and I share no secrets.’ I gave him what I hoped would be translated as a thoughtful look. ‘It’s just possible, though, that the Duke might be concealing a secret from me.’

  ‘Me? A—a secret?’ Cecil was genuinely puzzled.

  ‘Tell me. When did the pains start?’

  ‘The pains? Half-past nine. Ten. Something like that, I can’t be sure.’ Temporarily bereft of his quick wit and chirpy humour, the Duke was a very woebegone Cockney sparrow indeed. ‘When this thing hit me I wasn’t feeling much like looking at watches.’

  ‘I’m sure you weren’t,’ I said sympathetically. ‘And dinner was the last bite you had tonight?’

  ‘The last bite.’ His voice even sounded firm.

  ‘Not even another teeny-weeny snack? You see, Cecil, I’m puzzled. Miss Stuart has told you that others have been ill, too?’ He nodded. ‘Well, the odd thing is that the others began to be ill almost at once after eating. But it took well over an hour in your case. I find it very strange. You’re absolutely sure? You’d nothing?’

  ‘Doctor!’ He wheezed a bit. ‘You know me.’

  ‘Yes. That’s why I’m asking.’ Mary dear was looking at me with coolly appraising and rather reproachful brown eyes, any moment now she was going to say didn’t I know Cecil was a sick man. ‘You see, I know that the others who were sick were suffering from some kind of food poisoning that they picked up at dinner and I know how to treat them. But your illness must have had another cause. I’ve no idea what it was or how to treat it and until I can make some sort of diagnosis I can’t afford to take chances. You’re going to be very hungry tomorrow morning and for some time after that but I have to give your system time to settle down: I don’t want you to eat anything that might provoke a reaction so violent that I mightn’t be able to cope with it this time. Time will give the all clear.’

  ‘I don’t understand, Doctor.’

  ‘Tea and toast for the next three days.’

  The Duke didn’t turn any paler than he was because that was impossible: he just looked stricken.

  ‘Tea and toast?’ His voice was a weak croak. ‘For three days!’

  ‘For your own good, Cecil.’ I patted him sympathetically on the shoulder and straightened, preparing to leave. ‘We just want to see you on your feet again.’

  ‘I was feeling peckish, like,’ the Duke explained with some pathos.

  ‘When?’

  ‘Just before nine.’

  ‘Just before—half an hour after dinner?’

  ‘That’s when I feel the most peckish. I nipped up into the galley, see, and there was this casserole on a hot plate but I’d only time for one spoonful when I heard two people coming so I jumped into the cool room.’

  ‘And waited?’

  ‘I had to wait.’ The Duke sounded almost virtuous. ‘If I’d opened the door even a crack they’d have seen me.’

  ‘So they didn’t see you. Which means they left. Then?’

  ‘They’d scoffed the bleedin’ lot,’ the Duke said bitterly.

  ‘Lucky you.’

  ‘Lucky?’

  ‘Moxen and Scott, wasn’t it? The stewards?’

  ‘How—how did you know?’

  ‘They saved your life, Duke.’

  ‘They what?’

  ‘They ate what you were going to eat So you’re alive. They’re both dead.’

  Allen and Mary darling had obviously given up their midnight vigil for the lounge was deserted. I’d five minutes before I met Haggerty in the galley, five minutes in which to collect my thoughts: the trouble was that I had to find them first before I could collect them. And then I realized I was not even going to have the time to find them for there were footsteps on the companionway. Trying with very little success to cope with the wild staggering of the Morning Rose, Mary Stuart made her unsteady way towards an armchair opposite me and collapsed into rather than sat in it. Insofar as it was possible for such an extraordinarily good-looking young woman to look haggard, then she looked haggard: her face was grey. I should have felt annoyed with her for interrupting my train of thought, assuming, that was, that I ever managed to get the train under way, but I could feel no such emotion: I was beginning to realize, though only vaguely, that I was incapable of entertaining towards this Latvian girl any feeling that remotely bordered on the hostile. Besides, she had clearly come to talk to me, and if she did she wanted some help, or reassuring or understanding and it would come very hardly indeed for so proud, so remote, so aloof a girl to ask for any of those. In all conscience, I couldn’t make things difficult for her.

  ‘Been sick?’ I asked. As a conversational gambit it lacked something but doctors aren’t supposed to have manners. She nodded. She was clasping her hands so tightly that I could see the faint ivory gleam of knuckles.

  ‘I thought you were a good sailor?’ The light touch.

  ‘It is not the sea that makes me ill.’

  I abandoned the light touch. ‘Mary dear, why don’t you lie down and try to sleep?’

  ‘I see. You tell me that two more men have been poisoned and died and then I am supposed to drop off to sleep and have happy dreams. Is that it?’
I said nothing and she went on wryly: ‘You’re not very good at breaking bad news, are you?’

  ‘Professional callousness. You didn’t come here just to reproach me with my tactlessness. What is it, Mary dear?’

  ‘Why do you call me “Mary dear”?’

  ‘It offends you?’

  ‘Oh, no. Not when you say it.’ From any other woman the words would have carried coquettish overtones, but there were none such here. It was meant as a statement of fact, no more.

  ‘Very well, then.’ I don’t know what I meant by ‘Very well, then,’ it just made me feel obscurely clever. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I’m afraid,’ she said simply.

  So she was afraid. She was tired, overwrought, she’d tended four very, very sick men who’d been poisoned, she’d learnt that three others whom she knew had died of poison and the violence of the Arctic gale raging outside was sufficient to give pause to even the most intrepid. But I said none of those things to her.

  ‘We’re all afraid at times, Mary.’

  ‘You too?’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘Are you afraid now?’

  ‘No. What’s there to be afraid of?’

  ‘Death. Sickness and death.’

  ‘I have to live with death, Mary. I detest it, of course I do, but I don’t fear it. If I did, I’d be no good as a doctor. Would I now?’

  ‘I do not express myself well. Death I can accept. But not when it strikes out blindly and you know that it is not blind. As it is here. It strikes out carelessly, recklessly, without cause or reason, but you know there is cause and reason. Do you—do you know what I mean?’

  I knew perfectly well what she meant. I said: ‘Even at my brightest and best, metaphysics are hardly my forte. Maybe the old man with the scythe does show discrimination in his indiscrimination, but I’m too tired—’

  ‘I’m not talking about metaphysics.’ She made an almost angry little gesture with her clasped hands. ‘There’s something terribly far wrong aboard this ship, Dr Marlowe.’