The Killing Ship

by Simon Beaufort

  Freddy took aim just as a dark shape appeared in the sea behind him. There was a spurt of movement, and he was suddenly flat on his stomach, feet knocked from under him. The gun skittered from his grasp.

  Startled, he turned to see what was happening, and was rewarded by the sight of a large reptilian head looking back at him. The leopard seal lunged again, teeth closing around one tantalisingly close ankle. Then it pulled and Freddy began to slide towards the water. Terror suffused his face as he clawed at the ice, frantically trying to save himself.

  ‘Help me!’ he screamed. ‘It’s got my leg!’

  ‘Get to the boat!’ shouted Berrister to the others. ‘From under the ice, we all look like penguins.’

  He did not need to remind them that leopard seals ate penguins. Sarah and Joshi raced towards the inflatable, almost capsizing it in their desperation to jump in. They stood, transfixed by the sight of Freddy being dragged inch by relentless inch towards the water.

  ‘Sit down,’ ordered Berrister, following them more sedately. ‘Or it’ll be in here with us.’

  They sat quickly, then looked back at Freddy. At the last moment, the Australian managed to kick free of the seal and crawl back on the floe, where he lay gasping for breath. Berrister could have warned him that he still wasn’t safe. But he didn’t.

  ‘You can’t leave me here!’ Freddy screeched, as Mortimer turned the boat towards the open sea. ‘Come b—’

  His words ended in a scream, as the seal shot out of the water and grabbed his leg again. With a careless flick of its powerful head, it sent him spinning across the floe and into the sea. He vanished with a splash. Moments later, he broke the surface some distance away, howling in pain and fright. He was jerked underwater again, only to emerge spluttering and coughing a second time.

  ‘God!’ said Joshi unsteadily, unable to look away. ‘Should we—’

  ‘No,’ said Mortimer shortly. ‘Now let’s go to Deception.’

  Berrister was awakened from a restless doze by the sound of the motor sputtering into silence. He sat up, every muscle aching from cold and tiredness. The little boat wallowed, made heavy by the ankle-deep water that slopped in the bottom. The waves were larger than they had been earlier, and the wind was getting up. He hoped they were not in for another storm, as they were unlikely to survive it in a Zodiac that had so many bullet-punctured compartments.

  He looked for Drecki before recalling with a pang of grief that the geologist was gone, lost when the ice pinnacle had fallen. Sarah thought he had been shot first, which explained why he had failed to hang on to the safety ropes.

  There were just four of them left now: Mortimer trying to restart the engine; Joshi shaking the fuel tank, refusing to believe it was empty; Sarah setting the oars in the rowlocks; and Berrister.

  ‘Where are we?’ he asked, sitting up and scanning the horizon. He could see nothing but waves in all directions, some topped with white horses.

  ‘Not sure,’ replied Mortimer tersely. ‘Unfortunately, we made poor time because we’re carrying so much water. We’ve been heavy on fuel as well.’

  ‘We won’t sink, will we?’ asked Joshi in a small voice.

  ‘Not if we keep bailing,’ replied Mortimer, not entirely truthfully.

  Berrister looked at the seawater that sloshed back and forth, and wondered how long Mortimer’s boots and their cupped hands would cope if a storm did blow in.

  ‘Not much of a rescue, was it?’ he said apologetically.

  ‘It was lacking in one or two details,’ acknowledged Mortimer. ‘Like a viable escape plan. But better this than what Hasim had in mind. At least he can’t use our bodies to further his nasty plans.’

  ‘He won’t be doing much of anything any more,’ said Berrister. ‘Not if you gave him a whole ampoule of ketamine.’

  ‘Good,’ said Sarah harshly.

  ‘How far from Deception are we?’ Berrister stood cautiously, trying to see over the tops of the waves. There was nothing but sea ahead.

  ‘No idea,’ said Sarah. ‘But I suggest we save our breath for rowing, because we won’t last long out here in a gale. Geoff and Joshi can go first, while you and I bail and watch the compass.’

  They did as she suggested, and for a while no one spoke, concentrating instead on forcing tired muscles to do what was needed. Berrister’s rest had helped him, but his stomach ached from hunger and he couldn’t recall when he had last eaten. The crackers Drecki had shared with him, perhaps, although events were such a blur in his mind that he had no idea when that had been.

  ‘I thought they’d shot you on that floe,’ said Sarah softly, breaking into his thoughts. ‘When I saw you fall …’

  Berrister had thought the same, and an inspection of his jacket now showed just how narrow an escape he had had – a bullet had passed clean through his pocket, and the watch Sarah had lent him was nothing but a mass of shards.

  ‘Oops,’ he said guiltily, recalling that he’d promised to look after it.

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘But you said someone important gave it to you.’

  He supposed it was a partner, but then realised that he didn’t know if she had one. All his conversations with her tended to revolve around work.

  ‘It was someone important,’ declared Sarah haughtily. ‘I bought it for myself.’

  He was tempted to laugh, but at that point Joshi began to tell him all that had happened since they had parted company. He had already done it once, but Berrister had still been in shock over Drecki’s death, and it was clear that he hadn’t been listening.

  ‘So you were right to think that someone from the camp was involved,’ Berrister said to Sarah when Joshi had finished.

  She nodded, grateful that he didn’t mention that her chief suspect had been Graham. The Scot’s unappealing selfishness was repellent, but he had been innocent of treachery.

  ‘Freddy!’ spat Joshi. ‘Who shared my tent, ate our food, laughed at our jokes and pretended to be our friend.’

  ‘Don’t take it personally,’ said Sarah briskly. ‘He worked with the Poles before us – he’d have betrayed them just as easily.’

  ‘Toxic waste brought down and whale meat carried back,’ said Mortimer, after a brief silence when they all reflected on what Freddy had been to them. ‘That’s the business of the Southern Exploring Company.’

  ‘Most countries have a protocol for getting rid of radioactive by-products,’ said Berrister. ‘They have to account for every gram of the stuff to the international community.’

  ‘Which means it comes from places where nuclear activity isn’t monitored,’ surmised Mortimer. ‘Some rogue state. Or some rogue group – terrorists are getting ever more sophisticated. Regardless, we’ve got to report it as soon as we can, as it means someone dubious might have weapons of mass destruction.’

  ‘Perhaps the Southern Exploring Company is a terrorist organisation,’ suggested Joshi. ‘It makes sense – all those guns and soldier-types.’

  ‘Unfortunately, I think we might soon be in a position to ask them,’ said Berrister softly. ‘Because they’re right behind us.’

  FOURTEEN

  Galtieri steamed steadily towards them, while Berrister, Sarah, Mortimer and Joshi watched with a weary sense of helplessness. Would they be taken on board and poisoned after all, so the Southern Exploring Company could cover its tracks? Or would they just be shot to ensure their silence this time?

  ‘No,’ said Sarah, gritting her teeth. ‘Not now. Row!’

  ‘Why?’ asked Mortimer resignedly. ‘They’ll catch us anyway.’

  ‘We are not sitting back and giving up,’ shouted Sarah. ‘The lives of thousands – maybe millions – might be at risk. We have to keep trying.’

  Mortimer and Joshi exchanged a glance and took up their oars, but with every stroke, Galtieri loomed closer. Mortimer’s face was soon red with effort, while Joshi was tiring, so their boat veered to the left as he failed to match his stronger partner. Sarah knelt in the ste
rn and clamoured encouragement, while Berrister bailed furiously in an effort to lighten the load.

  Figures clustered around Galtieri’s bow, pointing forward. At first, Berrister thought they were gesturing at their quarry, but their attention seemed to be on something further away. He stood unsteadily, expecting to see an expanse of foam-flecked waves again, but there was something else, too: black cliffs with surf surging at their feet.

  ‘Deception!’ he shouted. ‘We’re almost at Deception.’

  ‘So what?’ gasped Mortimer bitterly. ‘We can’t make it there now.’

  He was right: Galtieri was so close that they could see the rust on her hull. But even as Berrister pulled a shard of Sarah’s watch from his pocket – the only thing he had that could be of remote use as a weapon – the warship changed direction, peeling off to the right. At first, he thought he was mistaken, but she was definitely turning.

  ‘They’re giving up,’ he said, bewildered. ‘They’re going away.’

  Mortimer and Joshi stopped rowing, and they all watched while Galtieri completed her turn and headed back the way she had come.

  Joshi and Sarah began to laugh, while Mortimer slumped over his oar, grinning in relief. Berrister did not share their relief. He had been through too much over the last few days to have his hopes raised so easily, and there was something about the abrupt abandonment of the chase that did not feel right.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, grabbing Mortimer’s oar and indicating that Sarah was to take Joshi’s.

  ‘In a minute,’ objected Mortimer. ‘Just give us a second for—’

  ‘No, now,’ said Berrister urgently. ‘I don’t like this.’

  ‘But it’s—’ began Joshi.

  ‘We need to make for Neptune’s Bellows,’ interrupted Berrister. ‘It’s where we’ll find the tourist ships – if they’re still there.’

  ‘They will be,’ said Sarah. ‘They have to be.’

  ‘There’s one,’ yelled Joshi, standing unsteadily for a better view.

  They all stood, clinging to each other for balance as the Zodiac tipped and dipped on the waves.

  ‘That’s not a tourist ship!’ cried Mortimer in dismay, his shoulders sagging and his good humour punctured like a balloon. ‘That’s another bloody whaler!’

  ‘So that’s why Galtieri gave up,’ whispered Sarah bitterly, as the new ship ploughed towards them. ‘To let someone else in her fleet deal with us.’

  She slumped in defeat. Berrister put an arm around her shoulders.

  ‘We can row the other way,’ he said when she began to cry. It had been her courage and determination that had kept him going, and her resignation now was difficult to bear.

  ‘We were so close,’ she sobbed. ‘And to fail now, with Deception within swimming distance …’

  It was a good deal further than Berrister could swim, but he kept his thoughts to himself. He took her oar and rowed alone, unwilling to be taken without at least some show of defiance. The others watched, but made no attempt to help. Behind them, the ship loomed closer, her bow rising and falling with the waves, near enough that he could hear the sea swishing along her sides.

  ‘Novosibirsk,’ he muttered, painstakingly deciphering the Cyrillic letters. He stopped rowing and stared. ‘That is a tourist ship! They invited Dan to go with them, to lecture to their passengers. He was seriously considering it as a way to get down here until I offered him a place with us.’

  Sarah’s head jerked up and a slow smile spread across her face. ‘How could we have been so stupid? It doesn’t even look like the whalers. Hey! Hey!’

  She began waving frantically, although it was clear that they had been seen. Novosibirsk gave a short blast on her horn and decreased speed. As Berrister manoeuvred the Zodiac towards her, a hatch opened and two crewmen appeared. Friendly hands reached down to help them aboard.

  Novosibirsk was no comfortable cruise liner, but an old Sorokin-class ice-breaker, one of a fleet once used along the Siberian coast. The Russians had newer, more powerful icebreakers now, so the Sorokin-class ships were leased out to tour operators, spending four months a year ferrying rich westerners to the far south.

  Red-coated tourists came to watch the newcomers arrive, clustering around them and getting in the way as they jostled to take photographs. Most were in their sixties or seventies – energetic, confident people who had made their fortunes and were now ready to spend them.

  Berrister was unnerved by the click and whir of expensive cameras and the babble of questions, and was glad when he and the others were ushered into an office. It was oppressively hot after the chill outside, and smelled of fried food. Two men waited there.

  ‘I’m Leonid Ivanov, the staff captain – that’s second in command in layman’s terms,’ said one in accented but fluent English. He was a tall, angular man with a heavily lined face. He indicated his companion, an overweight Englishman with untidy grey hair and vague eyes. ‘And this is Robin Standwick, the expedition leader. That means he oversees the landings and—’

  ‘We urgently need to send a message to Rothera,’ interrupted Sarah curtly, unwilling to listen to polite introductions when every passing minute worked to the fleeing criminals’ benefit. ‘We’ll explain afterwards.’

  ‘It really is a case of life and death,’ put in Mortimer, aware that needless asperity was unlikely to get them what they wanted.

  Pursing his lips, Ivanov led the way to the bridge, the others trailing behind him.

  ‘Is anyone else out there?’ he asked. ‘If so, we need to pick them up now. There’s a storm blowing in.’

  ‘No, we’re alone,’ said Mortimer. ‘Have you heard Rothera trying to contact us?’

  ‘We don’t eavesdrop on the bases,’ replied Ivanov. ‘They wouldn’t like it. Is that where you’re from? Rothera? You’re a long way from home.’

  ‘Got lost, I expect,’ said Standwick genially. ‘Easily done. Happened to me once or twice.’

  Ivanov shot him a withering glance. ‘I’m sure it has.’

  Tourists greeted them like old friends as they hurried up staircases and along corridors. Most were North Americans, with a smattering of British, South Africans and Germans. Joshi asked how many people were on board.

  ‘About a hundred, I think,’ replied Standwick. ‘Give or take a couple of dozen.’

  Ivanov corrected him crisply. ‘Eighty-seven passengers and fifty-nine crew.’

  ‘The other ship,’ said Berrister. ‘The whaler. Did you see her?’

  ‘Whaler?’ echoed Standwick, regarding him askance. ‘There isn’t any whaling down here – it’s illegal.’

  ‘There aren’t any other ships in the vicinity,’ added Ivanov. ‘We’re the last of the tourist expeditions this year. The nearest vessel now is Worsley, but she’s still south of the Antarctic Circle.’

  ‘But you must’ve seen Galtieri,’ insisted Joshi. ‘She was right behind us.’

  ‘I assure you, no one else is here,’ replied Ivanov firmly.

  ‘Hasim told us that Lena has unusually powerful radar,’ said Mortimer to no one in particular. ‘Which means her sister ships probably do, too. They must have picked up Novosibirsk, although she didn’t see them.’

  ‘I suppose Deception might create a shadow in which they could hide,’ mused Berrister. ‘It would explain why they abandoned the chase so abruptly.’

  ‘You think a whaler was chasing you?’ Ivanov stopped walking to eye them uneasily. ‘Perhaps our doctor should check you over before we do anything else. It’s—’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with us,’ stated Sarah sharply, indicating that he was to keep going. ‘Now hurry.’

  But the captain, a calm, competent Russian with wavy silver hair, declined to let them loose on the airwaves until he had some inkling of what they intended to say. He invited them to his quarters to tell their tale, but his expression grew more incredulous with every word they spoke. Berrister let the others do the talking, exhaustion overwhelming him now he was safe at last.
He sat on the overstuffed sofa in his filthy, sea-soaked clothes and closed his eyes.

  When Berrister woke, the first thing he saw was Sarah. She was hovering over him agitatedly, and her fraught expression made him sit up in alarm, anticipating bad news.

  ‘Good, you’re awake at last,’ she said, although he was tempted to remark that he wouldn’t be if she hadn’t disturbed him by looming. ‘I was beginning to get worried. You’ve been asleep for hours and I need to talk to you.’

  He sat up, blinking to clear his sluggish wits. ‘Did you contact Rothera?’

  He had a vague memory of being shown to a cabin after their interview with the captain, but he had been too exhausted to register anything other than the bed. He still wore most of his outside clothes, and the meal that had been brought to him sat untouched and congealing on a tray.

  Sarah, by contrast, had showered and was dressed in borrowed clothes – blue jeans and an Armani sweatshirt. Her hair was pulled back into a plait, accentuating her finely shaped face, and he was suddenly aware that she was a very attractive woman. He wondered why he’d never noticed before.

  ‘We did, but they didn’t believe us.’ She stood, and began to pace restlessly. ‘Apparently, Freddy had radioed Vince an hour before, and gabbled about whales, toxic waste and mercury in the water.’

  ‘It couldn’t have been Freddy – he was dead by then. And Vince will know it wasn’t him. He’s not stupid.’

  ‘That’s what we thought, but then the bloody captain put his oar in – said he’d picked us up from the middle of the sea with a tale of being chased by a ship that he hadn’t seen, the implication being that we’re raving mad. There’s a doctor on board, and he had the gall to tell Rothera that we’re delusional!’

  ‘Vince will know we’re not.’

  ‘Apparently, Freddy’s been claiming for days that we’ve been acting weird, and the story we told … well, it does sound too crazy to be true. The Southern Exploring Company is winning, you know. I thought we’d beaten them, but we haven’t.’