by John Yunker
Robert stepped outside to the wing deck. Above him, the clouds looked like galvanized steel. Captain Zamora was not nearly as reckless as Aeneas, and the Roca was now traveling in slow motion, tiptoeing around the white giants, careful not to disturb them, lest one of them might awaken and roll over. Mother Nature was in charge now.
Lynda stood next to him. “Now I know why they painted their ship white,” she said.
“We’ll find them.”
“Zamora wants to radio them.”
“Tell him no.”
“I told him. But he’s going to call eventually.”
“Aeneas won’t respond.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I was with him when the Norwegian coast guard was on his tail. He never responded to them either. If you pretend your radio is broken, you can’t be accused of not pulling over when ordered.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Aeneas knows we’re here, but he doesn’t know if we’re a tourist vessel, a fishing trawler, or what. He can’t be sure until he sees us, or until Zamora gets on that radio and removes all doubt.”
He could feel Lynda watching him, but he looked past her as he surveyed the horizon.
“Noa was Darwin, wasn’t she?”
He raised his binoculars, as if he had seen something, but Lynda didn’t take the bait.
“You heard me, so I’ll just keep talking. Noa, the woman in that photo, the one you had your arm around, was Darwin, the suspect you had gone undercover to catch. And who, judging by the scant information you’ve provided, you did catch. Except, there’s no record of it, nobody in prison—no body at all, in fact.”
Robert looked at her finally. “What the hell are you getting at?”
“I’m trying to get at the truth. That’s what I do, Bobby. And I don’t appreciate being lied to, especially by my partner. That girl in the photo was Darwin. Right?”
Robert tried to convey a look of disinterest, but it was too late. She knew, and this little interplay was only to let him know that she knew.
“You still don’t trust me, do you?” she said. “What sad little world do you live in?”
“This doesn’t concern you.”
“You think you’re the first person in law enforcement history to boink a suspect?”
“I was a government agent.”
“You were a man trapped on a boat with a woman. It’s okay. I’ve seen her picture. She’s hot, in a Woodstock sort of way. These things happen.”
The satellite phone rang, and Lynda held it out to him. “It’s for you,” she said.
Robert looked at her. “Have you and Gordon been talking about this?”
“Jesus, Bobby, what would I have told him? I’m the last to know anything around here.”
He took the phone and waited until she returned to the bridge.
“Where have you been?” Gordon asked.
“Under the weather.”
“I thought you were immune to the ocean,” Gordon said.
“I used to be.”
“You have a visual yet?”
“No. But we’re close. I’m not sure if we should be chasing him through this ice field.”
“What does your partner say?”
“She thinks we should wait him out, until the ships get back into open water.”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t think we’re going to see much open water. And Aeneas would welcome the extra time. He would love to have a military vessel in tow when he meets up with the Japanese; it might give the whalers the impression that the Argentines are after them.”
“I think you’re right. And you should know that Greenpeace already has a ship shadowing the whalers right now, which means video cameras, blogs, you name it. If you’re going to arrest him, best to take care of business now, before we become the stars of an anti-whaling documentary.”
“Exactly how badly do you want us to catch Aeneas?”
“He says he’s willing to martyr himself for the cause. If you happen to turn him into one, so be it.”
After hanging up, Robert picked up his binoculars, focusing again on the horizon. He was beginning to think that Aeneas had outsmarted him yet again, and then he saw it—movement between two icebergs. He looked again and noticed the faint blur of smoke rising from behind the ice. His heart jumped, and he returned to the bridge to find Lynda standing next to Zamora, who had the radio in his hand.
“What are you doing?” Robert asked. Zamora gave him a dismissive look.
“I warned him, Bobby, but it’s his ship.”
Robert felt the urge to grab the radio out of Zamora’s hands. “What did he say?” he asked Lynda.
“He told Aeneas to silence his engines.”
“Did Aeneas respond?”
“Nope.”
“Figures.”
“I bet he’d respond to you,” Lynda said. She said something to Zamora, who held out the handset to Robert. After a lengthy pause, he accepted it.
“Aeneas, pick up the mic,” Robert said into the speaker. No response. “Aeneas, I am offering you a chance to save your crew and your mission. If you surrender, they’ll be free to continue on to find the Japanese. But if I have to come get you myself, I will take you all in, boat included.”
The speaker crackled to life with a familiar voice, a sound that was as comforting as it was painful.
“Hello, Jake.”
“It’s Robert now.”
“What brings you to these parts?”
“A warrant with your name on it.”
“U.S. warrant?”
“That’s right, and Argentina has one as well. They say you’re a pirate.”
“Pirate, eh?” Aeneas let out a mock laugh. “Well, shiver me timbers.”
“You think this is funny?”
“No. I think it’s shameful. You should be helping us, not chasing us. And you, Robert, of all people should know that.”
“I have a job to do.”
“So do I.”
“You shouldn’t have killed that girl,” Robert said.
“A boatful of poachers killed that girl. Why don’t you arrest them?”
“They’re not on the warrant. You are. I’m sorry.” And as he spoke the words, he realized that he really was sorry, then he glanced over at Lynda, who wore a curious expression. He cleared his throat. “Silence your engines and prepare for boarding.”
“I missed that last message, you’re breaking up. We’re losing you.”
“Aeneas!” He turned to Lynda. “Tell Zamora to floor it.”
Angela
Angela returned to the storage room to find Ethan reclining against the wall beneath the porthole, reading Endurance.
He looked up when she entered the room. “Shackleton had a stowaway on his ship, too,” he said.
“Who are you?” Angela asked him.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Who are you?”
He looked startled. He closed the book and stood. “I told you. Ethan Downes.”
“How come there’s no one on this ship named Annie Miller?”
“I don’t know.”
“Somebody’s lying to me. And I want to know who it is.”
“It isn’t me. I’m telling the truth. She was a volunteer with CDA. She was planning to be on the crew of this ship. I swear.”
“Prove it.”
He paused before reaching into his pants pocket and removing a photograph. “I was wandering around the ship looking for her late last night, and I found this on a bulletin board.” He handed it to her—a picture of a pretty young woman standing on a pier next to the Tern, facing the camera, smiling. And Aeneas, standing next to her, his arm around her shoulders.
“That’s Ann
ie,” he said.
And then Angela understood why Garrett had reacted the way he did: he was covering for Aeneas, and poorly. Ethan’s girlfriend must have been the victim of yet another love affair gone wrong—and, unlike Lauren, she hadn’t stuck around to complete her tour of duty.
Ethan was watching her. “Do you believe me now?”
Angela nodded and handed the photograph back to him. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but Annie’s not on this boat.”
Suddenly, the boat heaved; the floor pushed her forward and into him, and he caught her in both arms. She winced as they slid to the floor, as boxes tumbled onto them, as he leaned over her to shield her. When they both managed to right themselves, she turned away from the look on his face: a sinking disappointment that she was certain mirrored her own.
She stood and brushed off her clothing. “I better go see what happened,” she said.
When she emerged onto the open deck, the wind pushed her back against the ship. They were moving fast, dangerously so, and the icebergs appeared close enough to touch.
In the bridge, Lauren was behind the wheel. The tense, quiet faces of the others signaled something was wrong. Except for Aeneas, who was humming to himself, as if he were out for a Sunday drive.
“What’s going on?” Angela asked.
Aeneas turned. “Where have you been hiding yourself?”
“I’ve just been downstairs.”
“Come over here,” Aeneas said. First the first time since she boarded, she hesitated to join him at his side. She sensed a coarseness in his manner, something she hadn’t detected since Punta Verde, and she wondered again what she’d done, joining him here.
“You’ll enjoy seeing this,” he said, and she relented.
He kissed her on the forehead and handed her his binoculars. “Orcas. Eleven-o’clock.” He pointed, and Angela zoomed in on a pod of seven or eight whales. Yet her mind was not on them but on the man standing next to her, a man whose behaviors and mannerisms she was still cataloguing, still researching.
She’d learned that when he worked the bridge, he tugged at a lock of hair behind his left ear, leaving it sticking out oddly. That when he wasn’t working, he drank his whiskey in large gulps, holding it in his mouth, like mouthwash, for several moments before finally releasing the liquid down his throat. She learned that he talked in private, even in the small cramped quarters of their shared cabin, in the same bellowing voice he used as commander of the ship. And then there was the steady stream of Blow Pops, one of which he held in his hand right now. Long after the candy was consumed, after the flavor had gone out of the gum, he gnawed on the white stick. Like an enormous toothpick, it remained in his mouth for hours, until he suddenly noticed it, flicked it into the trash, and reached into his pocket for another. She knew so much about his behavior but so little about his motives, the machinations occurring beneath that thick head of longish, uncombed hair. And she was beginning to doubt she would ever know.
She remembered the long diagonal scar on his back, which he told her during their first night together was from a ship’s propeller. She believed him at the time—but times had changed. He was a man of heroic gestures, but he was also reckless: with the ship and, apparently, with the truth.
“What do you say, Lauren?” Aeneas said, looking over Angela’s shoulder. “Should we pull over and say hi?”
“I’ll drop you off, but I’m not slowing down,” Lauren said.
Aeneas erupted in laughter. “D. J., what’s the latest?”
“Less than two miles, and hauling ass.”
Angela handed back his binoculars and started for the door, but he pulled her back to him and hugged her from behind. “Where are you going?” he asked.
“I’m going below.” She tried to keep her voice down in the hopes that he would follow along. But Aeneas wasn’t a man of subtlety.
Before she could head downstairs, the door on the other side of the bridge swung open. A man fell inside and onto the floor, followed by Hedley. At first, Angela thought someone had passed out drunk.
“Look what I found,” Hedley said. “In the storage room.”
Angela couldn’t see behind the console, but she knew what was about to happen.
“Get on your feet,” Hedley commanded.
And then Ethan pulled himself up, looking sheepish and awkwardly underdressed in his crew t-shirt.
“Who the hell are you?” Aeneas bellowed.
“Ethan Downes.” Ethan’s voice trembled slightly, and Angela wondered if she was the only one who noticed. By now, she knew the rhythms of his voice and could tell by the way his eyes darted around the room that he was not as nervous as he may have appeared; he was simply looking for Annie.
Angela took Aeneas’s hand, as if to hold him back, but he wrenched it away and circled the console until he was eye to eye with Ethan. They were the same height, but still Aeneas seemed to tower over him.
“I’m just a stowaway,” Ethan sputtered.
“Just a stowaway?” Aeneas mimicked him. His anger made him cruel, Angela thought. “You expect me to believe that?”
“It’s true,” Angela said.
Aeneas turned to her. “You know him?”
“Yes. He’s harmless. He’s just looking for Annie Miller.” Angela could tell by the way people responded—a mix of silence and slack jaws—that she had touched a nerve. But what nerve exactly, she didn’t know.
Aeneas looked at Angela, then Ethan. “What do you want with Annie?”
“That’s between me and her,” Ethan said.
“You’re lucky I don’t throw you overboard right now.”
“I know. I saw how you treated those fishermen.”
“On second thought—” Aeneas stepped toward Ethan, and Angela stepped in between.
“Stop it!” She held out her arms and pushed them both backwards a step. “Aeneas, Ethan is only looking for Annie. He doesn’t mean any harm.”
“Don’t be so gullible, Angela,” Aeneas said. “He’s no stowaway. He’s a spy.”
“I’m not a spy. I’m looking for Annie. Truly.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. Where did you board our ship?”
“Puerto Madryn.”
“What were you doing there?”
“I was on a cruise ship. Emperor of the Seas.”
“That floating ghetto docked next to us?”
“Yes. I swear.”
Aeneas paused for a long moment, looking from Ethan to Angela and then back again. “Annie Miller is dead.”
Ethan stared back at him. “No. She can’t be.”
“She’s dead, son. That much I do know.” He looked at Angela again, and she knew, with a sick feeling, that he was serious.
“How could she be dead?” Ethan asked.
“She was run over by a fishing trawler four weeks ago up in the North Atlantic. I’m sorry.”
Angela felt her face go numb. Nobody said a word. Ethan stared at Aeneas, then looked out the window. “How?” he asked.
“How what?”
“How did she end up under a fishing trawler?”
“How do you think? She was a volunteer, like the rest of us. She placed her life on the line to protect sea life. She died with valor. She died doing exactly what she wanted to do.”
D. J. spoke up. “Less than a mile.”
Aeneas paused, and he seemed either confused or deep in thought. “Hedley, lock our stowaway here in the storage room.”
“Lock him?” Angela asked.
“It’s where he was hiding. What’s the difference?”
Hedley pulled Ethan outside, and Angela felt the urge to follow, but she was too confused now, doubting her loyalties, doubting herself. The only thing she knew to be true was her sudden anger toward Aeneas, which she tried to suppress to a whisper.
“You’
re too hard on him,” she said.
“He’s a stowaway.”
“You were a stowaway once,” she reminded him. “And I took you in.”
“It’s different.”
“How?”
“He’s not the first. Five years ago we discovered an FBI agent working undercover. You remember the FBI, don’t you? Paid you a visit at Punta Verde, right? Care to speculate who else is on that ship behind us besides Argentineans?” He paused, then jerked his head toward the door through which Hedley had led Ethan back out. “So what else did you tell him?”
“Nothing. We talked about Annie. That’s it.”
“You tell him where we’re headed?”
“How could I? If you told me something once in a while, maybe I would be valuable to him. But, no, I didn’t tell him anything. Ethan’s not an undercover agent.”
“You may be right. But I can’t take that chance. I find it peculiar that we have a ship pursuing us at the same time we discover him. I hope there’s no connection. But the last unwelcome visitor on my ship nearly killed me.”
Right then, Angela was herself feeling unwelcome, and the ship, now churning wildly through the field of icebergs, was feeling more unstable by the minute. A bright orange immersion suit, thrust into her arms by a fast-moving crew member, confirmed that the situation was serious.
Aeneas looked at her and nodded. “Put it on,” he said. “In case we go down.”
“What about Ethan?”
“What about him?”
“If you want me to wear this, you’d better give him one. Even if he is a stowaway, he doesn’t deserve to drown.”
She let the silence build momentum, until he capitulated, called Hedley on the radio. He looked back at Angela and watched her step into the suit and zip it tight. She could tell by the engines, the high-pitched clanging of icebergs, that they had accelerated.
Angela moved to the left side of the bridge and looked out the side door. The other ship was now so close she could see the guns pointed at them, could read the worlds on the hull—AR Roca. Looking ahead, she noticed penguins porpoising out of the water, out of the path of the fast-approaching vessel. She felt her body freeze at the sight of them panicking. To a penguin, the Tern was as much a predator as a leopard seal, and the penguins reverted to their instinctual evasive maneuvers—leaping out of the water, changing direction randomly.
