by Kim Ekemar
“Don’t do anything until I return”, he ordered, turning to Ari. “I need to go down below to see for myself what that rascal Segundo is up to, since he should be on duty. I won’t be long.”
Using the main door, he left the bridge to go downstairs.
Ernesto didn’t notice that someone was observing him with a keen eye from the Sky Lounge as he closed the door to the bridge and disappeared downstairs towards the decks, where the quarters of the crew were located.
*
Resting on the bed in his cabin, Ricardo happened to look at his watch the very instant the single shot rang out. It indicated 3:12 p.m. The report was noisy and impossible to mistake for anything but a gun being fired.
He got up, pulled open the curtains and looked out to see that the ship was now moving. He assumed that the captain had decided to make the short trip across the bay to avoid the ice floes that the wind had begun to accumulate at their previous mooring. It’s a logical step, he thought, in order to facilitate the return of those who went ashore. He wondered what the gunshot had been about. Ricardo crossed the cabin with his ankle hurting each time he tried to support his body weight on it.
Leaning on the crutches the ship’s doctor had lent him, he staggered out into the corridor. His cabin on the Tierra del Fuego deck was located immediately below the bridge. In the distance, he heard muted voices that sounded as if they were concerned about what had happened. Ricardo hobbled down the corridor until he reached the staircase closest to the bow. That same instant, Captain Abasolo came rushing up the stairs from the deck below.
“Captain, what has happened? I heard a gunshot.”
The captain merely glared at him briefly before he continued up the stairs towards the upper decks.
“I’m a detective inspector with the Buenos Aires police department. If I can be of any assistance to you, please let me know”, Ricardo called out after him.
The captain hesitated, stopped halfway up the staircase and turned around to take a closer look at Ricardo and his crutches.
“Then, if it’s not too difficult for you to make your way up to the bridge, I think it’ll be a good idea if you come with me.”
Without waiting for a reply, the captain hurried up the rest of the staircase. When he reached the Cabo de Hornos deck, he glanced to his left and could affirm that the corridor was empty. On his right, he found Ernesto and Miguel standing outside the door leading to the bridge.
Ricardo hobbled after him up the stairs as fast as the crutches and his injured ankle would permit. He found the captain standing next to the ship’s bartender and a ship official who was banging hard on the bridge’s door.
“Is this where the shot came from?”, Ricardo asked as he joined the captain.
“That’s what my officer here, Ernesto Paniagua, confirms”, the captain said, sounding out of breath. “He’s the one who reported the shot to me over the radio. Ernesto, this is a detective inspector with the Buenos Aires police department.”
“When we arrived here, we could hear a pounding sound from the bridge”, the bartender cut in. “It stopped just before the captain arrived.”
“How long have you been here, Officer Paniagua?” Ricardo asked.
“I was returning from a brief visit to the engine room and was halfway up the stairway when the shot was fired. I rushed to this door and tried to open it, but without success.”
“Who did you leave inside when you left?”
“Ari Cohen, our third-in-command.”
“A very competent and experienced sailor”, the captain added.
“No one else?”
“There wasn’t any need for someone else”, Ernesto replied. “I told him to wait for my return before we would begin crossing the bay in accordance with the captain’s order. The idea was to position the ship to make it easier for the Zodiacs to return from the glacier.”
“That much I gathered when I noticed that the ship had begun moving again. By the way, from the vibrations I feel through the floorboards, we assume that the ship is still on the move?” Ricardo asked.
Ernesto looked at the captain with concern. Captain Abasolo picked up his radio.
“Vicente, stop the engine immediately!” he barked. “Francisco, stay put at your station, ready to cast anchor!”
He turned to Ernesto.
“Since we can’t reach the bridge from here, we must try doing so from the outside”, Captain Abasolo remarked, biting his under lip. “That means either climbing a ladder from the lower deck or somehow descending from the deck above us.”
“I’m sure the latter option will be easier”, Ernesto argued.
“Please remain here until we open the door from the other side”, the captain pleaded with Ricardo. “If there’s any foul play, someone may try to make it through this door before we get to the bridge.” He turned to Ernesto. “Unless one of the side doors to the flying bridge is open, we need to prepare ourselves for breaking one of the windscreen windows. It won’t be easy, as you well know – the security glass is manufactured to withstand the roughest weather at sea. What can you think of that can break the glass, just in case?”
“Something sharp and pointy, preferably made of steel”, Ernesto replied. “I’ll see what I can find in the tool room.”
“Meanwhile, I will search for a rope that will allow us to lower ourselves onto the flying bridge.”
“Shouldn’t we drop anchor right away?” Ernesto asked.
“It’s too soon … at the speed we’re moving, it would be senseless – we’d only lose the anchor”, the captain replied, after a moment’s hesitation. “Miguel, I want you to go to the launch pad for the Zodiacs where the life vests are stored and fetch us two. Then, meet us in the Darwin Lounge.”
Ricardo listened to their worried conversation as they hurried towards the stairs, leaving him alone and concerned in front of the locked metal door. He wondered what they would find on the other side. Then his mind wandered to the people about to head back from the Pia Glacier excursion. Between passengers and crew members, he realised that about a hundred people had left the ship to go ashore. They would be unable to return aboard if there wasn’t some way to turn the ship around.
As he felt his unease grow after listening to what the captain and the official had discussed, he wondered if there was anyone in control of the vessel, or if it had in effect become a runaway ship.
Where on earth is the ship headed? he wondered, dreading a looming catastrophe as he stood in front of the closed door to the bridge in the windowless corridor.
CHAPTER 5
The Runaway Ship
“We’ve ended the excursion, and we’re now ready to go back as soon as you give us the go-ahead”, Mateo radioed the bridge.
“Mateo, this is Captain Abasolo”, came the immediate, curt reply. “We have an emergency on board, so stay put until further notice.”
“What’s going on over there?” Mateo asked, incredulous.
“I don’t have time for explanations. Prepare your passengers and your crew to remain where you are for two or three hours, perhaps longer. I’ll give an update as soon as I can. Over and out.”
After the abrupt dismissal, a concerned Mateo signalled to his crew to gather around him. Not including himself, his team consisted of six drivers, six tour guides and two assistants.
“There’s an emergency on board”, he told them in a low voice. “The captain told me that we won’t be able to return for a couple of hours and that we should keep the passengers warm and happy meanwhile. What do you suggest we tell them?”
They all looked towards the ship, with its lights blazing against the ominous black clouds arriving from Antarctica. It had moved past the updated point of pickup and could be seen majestically sailing away from them. More than one among them experienced a sense of panic.
“It’s getting dark in less than two hours or so and then the thermometer will continue to plummet.”
“We need to explain this fast, because I’
m sure some of the passengers must have observed that the ship is leaving us behind.”
“Why don’t we make some bonfires to keep the cold away?” one of the guides suggested. “It will keep everyone busy for awhile.”
“Good idea”, Mateo decided.
He climbed up on a rock near to where the passengers waited in small groups, chatting.
“Please listen up, everyone”, he called out. “Come closer. I want to share some important news with you.”
“Why is the ship sailing away from us?” one passenger cried out in an alarmed voice.
“The intention was to move the ship from the spot where we disembarked because the wind changed. The ice began to stack in that area and made it difficult for the Zodiacs to return –”
“Come on! It hasn’t stopped to pick us up!” another passenger shouted. The remaining passengers muttered among themselves.
“You’re not allowing me to finish! I’ve been informed by the captain that, during the short distance travelled, the ship experienced a minor technical issue which they are working on solving. Meanwhile, he’s asked for us all to remain calm, since it may take them a few hours to fix it.”
“Why don’t they just drop the anchor? It’s as simple as that if you want to stop a ship from leaving its passengers! Which, by the way, is exactly what’s happening!”
“It’s the anchor winch mechanism that has a problem, preventing the crew on board from mooring the ship here in the bay”, Mateo found himself lying. “I repeat, the issue is in the process of being fixed, and meanwhile, we should do our best to make ourselves comfortable. Please, let’s all help out with gathering some firewood.”
There was some subdued mumbling among the passengers as they reluctantly accepted their situation. Mateo silently made a quick count of the passengers and his crew. Ninety-eight in all, not including myself.
“Let’s split up in five groups of twenty or so, with you passengers remaining with the guide you were assigned when we came here. Let’s make it a challenge to see which team is the first to start a fire!”
Reluctantly, they spread out in search of dry firewood. Twenty minutes later, the first flames began leaping. Soon, they were all sitting on rocks or standing around the campfires warming their hands.
Beyond the flames, they watched the last lights of the ship disappear in the strait.
*
Out of breath, having rushed up the stairs from the engine room deck, Ernesto joined Captain Abasolo in the Darwin Lounge seconds after the captain had arrived. They found the lounge empty except for Leila, who was listening to music through her earphones, and the bartender. Miguel handed them their life vests, which the captain and Ernesto hurriedly put on. The same instant, they all felt the slight vibration that permeated the ship cease. The clock on the wall showed 3:26 p.m.
“Francisco – we need to cast anchor as soon as the speed is low enough to permit it!” the captain shouted into his radio. “Get back to me immediately when you can give me an affirmative response.”
“Aye, aye, Captain. Wilco.”
Ernesto had brought a heavy hammer and an ice pick. The captain quickly made evenly spaced knots on the rope he had fetched. When he was ready, the captain signalled to Ernesto that he should follow him as soon as he had reached the flying bridge below. The same moment, the radio crackled.
“Even if we could reduce the speed to under a knot”, Francisco reported, “it will only make things worse if we lower the anchor now, Captain. The bathymeter is showing that the seabed is beyond our anchor’s reach, and besides, despite the engines having been shut down, our speed is far too fast to be able to successfully lower the anchor – we’re presently sailing at three knots.”
Captain Abasolo and Ernesto looked at each other with fear in their eyes. Simultaneously, they felt overwhelmed by the danger they faced aboard a runaway ship that they were unable to control.
“Vicente! Start up both engines and put them in reverse!” the captain yelled into his radio. “Go to two knots to allow you to compensate for the current. We can’t allow the ship to advance further.”
Shielding his eyes, Captain Abasolo peered ahead. Through the sleet and the daylight robbed by the dark clouds surrounding them, he could still just about make out the contours of the rocks and mountains against the fading evening sky. The ship was veering towards the port side of the strait. He quickly calculated that, should the ship keep its course, it would wreck against the surrounding cliffs in less than one mile. One mile that, at the present speed, would give them not more than fifteen minutes to regain control of the ship – if they were able to gain access to the bridge.
“We need to hurry before we have a shipwreck on our hands!” Captain Abasolo shouted to Ernesto.
He quickly secured the rope to the railing and threw it downwards. He climbed over the railing and slid across the sloping bridge’s roof. When he reached the edge, the captain rapidly – using both feet simultaneously – jumped from knot to knot until he reached the deck below. Ernesto threw the tools down onto the flying bridge below and followed the same way.
Hurriedly, Ernesto checked the two side doors that led to the exterior flying bridge and found both of them locked. Meanwhile, Captain Abasolo inspected the shattered glass pane that had blood splattered all over it. The size of the hole in the window was somewhat larger than that of a ping-pong ball, albeit irregular in shape. There were shards of glass scattered on the outside. In the lamplight on the other side, he made out the legs of a body on the floor.
“Let’s break the window of the side door”, Captain Abasolo shouted over the wind, which now had picked up considerably. “Smashing one of the frontal windscreens that faces the sea will only make things worse later on.”
Ernesto started pounding his ice pick against the window of the side door. Ahead, the last precipice that was part of the strait loomed, and beyond it there was nothing but open water crowned with rough waters. The glass broke, and by and by Ernesto widened it until the gap was large enough for him to put his hand through and unlock the door by turning the knob on the inside.
After Ernesto had managed to open the door, the first object he stumbled over was Ari Cohen lying lifeless in a pool of blood still flowing that circled his head. He signalled to Captain Abasolo to follow him after indicating that he should take care not to disturb the area where the body lay. The captain took his point and cautiously entered the bridge. A quick glance at Cohen’s glazed eyes and the bullet wound in the middle of his forehead made them instantly realise that it wouldn’t be meaningful to check for his pulse. Taking the wheel, the captain frantically began to turn the ship starboard to avoid a collision with the looming precipice.
“Vicente”, he barked into one of the bridge’s telephones, “this is an emergency! Immediately take our reverse speed up to five knots!”
“Aye, captain.”
Ernesto hastened over to the door that led to the corridor and unlocked it. He found Ricardo waiting outside.
“We’re trying to take back control of the ship”, Ernesto hurriedly remarked. “There’s a casualty, though. For some reason, this poor man decided to commit suicide here on the bridge, exposing everyone to the shipwreck we’re now facing.”
He stepped aside to let Ricardo in before shutting and locking the door anew to avoid prying eyes.
Ricardo walked over to the body and made mental notes about its position just below the panel containing the instruments and its angle to the shattered, bloodstained window. The victim’s right hand clenched a pistol that looked like a .45. A big gun if you’ve decided to kill yourself, Ricardo thought, decidedly not a common one for a suicide – in fact, I can’t recall ever having seen or heard of someone killing himself with one. He proceeded by snapping pictures with his mobile phone from different angles.
The rumbling vibrations of the ship’s engines reluctantly increasing their reverse speed could be felt acutely through the floorboards. Ricardo glanced at Captain Abasolo, whose f
orehead was covered with droplets of sweat. The captain was leaning heavily on the control board while staring at the forbidding cliffs that kept closing in despite his efforts to stay clear of them. At that very moment, a screeching noise, sounding like fingernails on a chalkboard, ripped through the air – the ship’s hull had touched a rock close to shore.
“I need to alert the authorities to our situation.”
The captain grabbed the microphone to the ship’s radio and shouted into it.
“Mayday, Mayday! This is Captain Carlos Abasolo on Stella Australis. We are moving with the current towards disaster, soon about to shipwreck on the southern side of Gordon Island. Mayday, Mayday!”
When he released the button that allowed him to speak into the ether, no affirmative voices confirmed that they had heard the announced disaster about to happen – the uncooperative radio merely crackled incomprehensible noise. Captain Abasolo made three additional attempts to contact the emergency services in both Chile and Argentina, but without success.
“I need to use the satellite phone!” he called out to no one in particular.
Ricardo realised that he had no choice but to have confidence in the captain’s skill and experience to save the ship, fully aware that there was nothing he, with his lack of experience in navigation, could contribute that would be helpful. Instead, he continued to focus his attention on examining the dead officer, who he now recognised as the man who had attacked another member of the crew in the engine room.
The gun was pushed against the forehead, between the eyebrows about two fingers above them, and the bullet exited at the back of the head. If he were standing up at the time he was shot, the trajectory matches the hole in the windscreen. The body’s position on the floor confirms this. There are severe stains of gunpowder on the forehead. The blood is coming from where the bullet exited. At first glance, the death certainly looks like suicide.
Ricardo inspected the aperture in the blood-splattered windscreen. A wind, carrying sleet and cold enough to be well below zero, blew through the hole. When he stared beyond the glass, nothing but a grey mass could be seen in front of the ship as Stella Australis now encountered itself at open sea, safe from the cliffs of the strait.
