by Peter Tonkin
Almost as soon as she left the central square of the disbursement area she felt she was being watched. Watched and followed. She strained to hear any sound which would allow her to focus, but all she could make out were the slow thud of the Westland’s idling rotors, the groaning crackle of the restless brash in the bay and the unearthy keening of a wind she had not noticed arriving.
A sudden scream made her jump and look up. A seabird swooped low over her head. A brown skua, though she did not recognise it. That too had arrived, unnoticed, with the wind. Suddenly cold as well as scared, Jolene hurried forward. At last the hut was there before her. She pushed open the door and stopped, her nose crinkling. Twenty-four hours ago she had been warm and safe, winging southwards in the fragrant confines an Air Mexico jet heading for Ushuaia city whence the Ice Pirates would spirit her southward across the terrifying leaden corrugations of the deadly Drake Passage. Then the most offensive smell had been the mouthwatering tapas she was just about to eat. She would frankly rather have been bobbing in a bathtub adrift on the Passage, the stormiest, most dangerous waters on earth, than here now.
‘This is a hell of a way to conquer the final frontier,’ she muttered to herself, not very boldly going where all too few women had gone before.
In the wall a tube opened out into a tiny urinal, a tiny urinal positioned for a very tall man. Beside it, a good deal lower but not a lot bigger, was something that looked more like a bike saddle than a seat and it sat upon a large tub marked a little threateningly, SOLIDS ONLY. Beside it was a pile of chemical-soluble paper. Jolene saw exactly what Richard had been driving at. She turned, took a deep draught of clean, cold air and secured the door. Holding her breath she adjusted her clothing until it was just possible for her to use the pee bottle. She did this quickly, all too well aware of other urgent needs. Then, with her trousers still half down and her bottom coming close to realising that old saying ‘It’ll freeze your ass off’ she shuffled over towards the drum.
There was the slightest stirring outside, almost drowned by the whisper of the wind. Almost but not quite. As she squatted, winded by the cold, Jolene slid her right hand down the inside of her boot, freeing the new Glock from its neat calf holster. She felt physically threatened. At risk because of her position as S&MA inspector. She assumed she was being followed by whoever had been caught up on the wrong side of the mess she was investigating. She expected to be warned off, frightened away, perhaps attacked. Under the cover of nature taking its course, she eased out the powerful little pistol and flicked on the red dot of the laser sight. She did not take the safety off yet. She did not check the number of shells in the magazine. Professional to her fingertips, she knew how many she had loaded and she could tell from the weight that they were still there.
Another scuffling whisper told her the secret watchers were still there too, but she found herself in a quandary. She was ready to finish up here and leave, but could not use the paper, control her clothing and hold the gun at the same time. The instant she put the gun down and reached for the paper, there was an explosion of sound and action seemingly just behind her. She scrabbled up the heavy little weapon and whirled, cleanliness and dignity very much second to survival in her mind. The wall of the soft-sided hut bulged in and then eased out again. There was a crisp impact, which could only have been a blow, followed by the sound of a falling body. ‘Sorry, Jolene,’ came Richard’s grim voice. ‘“Watching your ass” is the phrase, I believe.’
Jolene gave herself a quick wipe, adjusted her clothing and tore open the door. There was her guardian angel standing with the half-conscious, black-eyed Billy Hoyle.
‘I was watching it figuratively. Billy was literally. Sad. I thought better of him. What do you want me to do with him?’
‘I don’t know.’ Jolene was so completely wrong-footed at finding herself the object of prurient rather than psychopathic interest that she was uncharacteristically indecisive. ‘Let the sad scumbag go, I guess. He’ll have nothing more to look at when I’m aboard Erebus.’
‘OK,’ said Richard equably. He let Hoyle go and the scientist fell to the ground.
‘What’s going on here?’ came Jaeger’s bellow almost at once. He and Killigan came round the corner shoulder to shoulder.
‘One of your men peeping into the Ladies,’ said Richard, gesturing. ‘Should have been christened Tom, not Billy.’
‘What is that?’ shouted Colonel Jaeger suddenly, unaccountably.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Richard could not immediately see what the colonel was shouting about.
‘That.’ He pointed at the still stunned Jolene. ‘That gun.’
Jolene raised her hand, only now registering that she still held her pistol.
‘You can’t bring armaments onto my camp without my permission,’ snarled Jaeger, clearly glad at last to have got one up over the inspector. ‘Sergeant Killigan, impound that weapon.’
‘Aw, now, Colonel.’
‘Direct order, Killigan.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake Colonel. We’re taking it straight out to Erebus.’
Jaeger paid no attention to Richard. He had seen the shock and simple hurt in the wide, clear-water eyes in front of him. So he pressed his mean advantage with all the power of a schoolyard bully. ‘The gun, Killigan,’ he snarled. ‘Take it or you’re straight on a charge.’
‘I’m sorry, miss …’ said the sergeant softly. He clearly meant it. That, if anything, made her back down and hand it over. She squared her chin and stepped forward.
Richard, fuming, fell in beside her and the two of them walked across to the waiting chopper, leaving the three representatives of the NASA base Armstrong silently watching them go.
Chapter Eight
Richard spent much of the rest of Boxing Day in most unseasonal activities. Between eleven and midday he helped unload Hugo Knowles and get him safely below, then he found himself helping Jolene DaCosta settle into a spare cabin. This was not a hard task: Erebus was supplying Farraday and Rothera with equipment — not personnel — and her own scientific contingent was as sparse as Armstrong’s. Andrew put her on the scientists’ near-deserted B deck corridor, in a room between the Mariners and the Rosses. The first thing she asked to do was to take a shower and Richard could not see any reason why she should not. Then, just after noon, he went along to his own cabin and, finding it empty, went off in search of either his errant family or the captain.
Richard intended to offer himself as watchkeeper in Hugo Knowles’s place tonight at the very least, and for some of this afternoon if Andrew would have him. He was well qualified, and probably able to fit into the Navy way — for a harbour watch certainly. The alternative was for the exhausted commanding officer to stand the watch himself, as he was currently doing now until 16.00, according to the youthful third lieutenant Richard met as he left the B deck corridor.
As Richard made his way upwards towards the command bridge at about twelve thirty, he heard his name distantly called from below. He peered over the edge of the companion way and saw Robin looking up. He turned and descended to the less-than-contented captain of his heart. ‘Where are the twins?’ he asked, planting a kiss upon her cheek.
‘First lunch. I popped out as soon as I heard Andrew was up on the bridge; figured you’d be free. At last. What are we going to tell them about poor Tony Thompson?’
‘I don’t know, darling. They’re too young for the truth to mean much. And this was supposed to be a happy holiday. I’m so sorry.’
‘Don’t be silly, it’s not your fault. All you’ve done so far is to try to pull other people’s fat out of the fire.’
‘Story of my life. Our life …’
‘You must be pretty tired or you wouldn’t be worrying like this.’
‘Well, I am tired. And I am worried. We’re nowhere near the end of this affair. And we’ll not get free of it as easily as Irene Ogre in Kalinin either.’ Walking slowly down to the ship’s dining facilities, he explained to Robin what Jolene DaCosta ha
d done. And, indeed, where Jolene DaCosta was.
Colin, a trencherman when he could get away with it, and Kate were there, sharing the table — and many of the sausages, bacon, chicken, chops and chips — with the twins. When he saw — smelt — what they were up to, Richard suddenly realised that he needed sustenance far more than he needed sleep. ‘Three of my favourite Cs,’ he said. ‘Coffee, chops and chips.’
‘Daddy, Daddy,’ chorused the twins.
‘Two of my favourite Ds,’ he said, sitting down and reaching for a cup.
A steward appeared at his elbow with a steaming pot. He did not have to overtax his memory with Richard’s brunch order. Or with Robin’s either.
Much to Robin’s grudging admiration, Richard managed to lighten the atmosphere simply with his presence and his expansive mood. He could darken it as quickly, though, if he was preoccupied or angry.
As they ate, they began to play word games — the ‘My favourite Cs and Ds’ being the signal. After that they played I Spy until William had defeated them all comprehensively, individually and collectively. But then Jolene DaCosta found her way to their table and over ham, eggs and wholewheat toast, she took on the family nonpareil and gave him a close run for his money, earning his admiration and his sister’s ready friendship. Which she was happy to return out of regard for their father, if nothing else.
All too soon, however, Jolene looked at her watch. ‘I have to talk to the captain,’ she announced.
‘So do I,’ said Richard. ‘Look, darling, I plan to offer to take the first officer’s watches for him now and this evening. If I’m not back in twenty minutes, I’ll be up on the bridge. Bring the twins up and I’ll show them around. Make some plans for this afternoon and this evening. Maybe take out the chopper or the Zodiac, look for some local wildlife. What do you say?’
‘Sounds OK. If nothing goes wrong.’
‘Oh, come on, darling,’ said Richard. ‘What on earth could possibly go wrong?’
*
‘I love a man who lives dangerously,’ said Jolene as they plodded up the companionway towards the command bridge.
‘What do you mean?’
‘“What on earth could possibly go wrong?” With those two of yours? With the wind coming up and the sky coming down? Today, the way it’s gone so far.’
‘We’ll keep a weather eye out. And we won’t do anything too dangerous. You want to come?’
‘I thought going to the john would be pretty uneventful. Shows how much I know about the Big White. Still, can’t argue with a confident man …’
Erebus’s bridge was enclosed, weatherproofed and adapted to the rigours of the Southern Ocean. On the port side of the wide central area, level with the island of the chart table, behind the doors back into the radio room and out onto the enclosed bridge wing, there was an easy chair. It was big, scooped, like an old Parker Knoll swivel. On this slumped Andrew, more than half asleep. There was no one else apparent on the bridge. No need for a helmsman; no immediate need for movements officers or weather watchers. The door to the radio room stood ajar and the sound of gentle snoring came from within so Andrew was not entirely bereft.
As Erebus swung gently to anchor, the wide clearview gave a breathtaking view of Armstrong, a collection of tiny huts perched precariously on the edge of a white-skulled monster of black rock, beyond a restless agglomeration stirring brash crust. The sweep of the near arm of the bay reached up, disturbingly close, along the starboard. Jolene walked that way, entranced, as though she could walk onto the bridge wing, reach over, and stroke it as if it was the flank of a beached whale. Richard walked the other way and looked along the long curving line of black water cutting through the brash to where the last trace of Kalinin was vanishing round the northern headland. He watched until she was only a smudge of exhaust smoke, brown against the grey overcast. He took a deep breath, almost, but not quite, a sigh. Turned. Swung back, frowning. The underside of the clouds had suddenly taken on a strange white tone. White light moved across them in a disturbingly Biblical way, showing their inverted ridges and valleys as though some plague out of the Book of Exodus was on the way. Richard knew what that meant. He turned decisively and crossed to Andrew. He took him by the shoulder and shook him gently until he stirred.
‘Oh. Hi, Richard. Must have dozed off. Not the Navy way. What’s up?’
‘I’ve come to relieve you if you’ll allow it, Andrew,’ he said gently. ‘You’re too important to the command to be wasting your energy like this. Especially without a first officer to support you. But first, have a look at this sky, would you?’
Andrew looked blearily at the dramatic sky. Jolene joined them, also struck by the phenomenon.
‘It’s ice,’ began Andrew.
Colin arrived on the bridge. ‘Ice sky,’ he announced. ‘There’s something big out there. Ice sheet or berg and the light’s reflecting upwards off its surface. It’s a warning. Might mean nothing. But on the other hand —’
The radio buzzed urgently and Sparks, the radio officer, jumped awake with a wet sound. ‘Erebus,’ he answered, giving the vessel’s call sign as the four from the bridge wing gathered round.
‘Kalinin here,’ came Irene’s unmistakable voice out of the loudspeaker. ‘Is Captain there please?’
Sparks handed Andrew the old-fashioned hand microphone with its long, coiled snake of flex trailing.
‘This is Andrew Pitcairn. What can I do for you, Kalinin? Over.’
‘I give you early ice warning, Erebus. Over.’
‘Thank you, Kalinin, we were just discussing the ice sky. Over.’
‘We also. But we see the cause of this as well. Large tabular berg, bearing — do you have a pencil Erebus? Over.’
Andrew signalled to Sparks to write down the bearing as Irene gave it.
‘Got that, Kalinin. Looks as though it’s drifting due east into the mouth of the bay here.’
‘That is our calculation also. I am sending up Sikorsky to check the size and rate of drift but it looks big from here. First calculations suggest it will close the harbour within thirty-six hours unless it grounds far enough out to leave a channel clear, but I strongly suggest you do not rely on this. It is pushing much brash ice and bergy bits ahead of it. Over.’
‘Thank you for your information and your concern Kalinin. May we ask where you are heading, please? Over.’
‘We go in search of snowy slopes and sheer cliffs, Erebus. Extreme conditions for extreme pleasures, yes? Because of the size of the berg to the south, our course will now be to the north. We will not be far away, I think. Kalinin out.’
‘Thank you, Kalinin. Good luck. Stay in contact. Erebus out.’ Andrew signed off and then continued talking, handing the mike back and swinging round. ‘We really need to know about that ice.’
‘I agree,’ said Richard. ‘But it’s not a crisis. Why don’t I take the watch here while you get some rest? In the meantime you can order the Westland up to take a look. Fuel OK?’
‘Yup. Even with all that flapping around at Armstrong. And we’ll get more at Rothera or Faraday. I left dumps there on purpose.’
‘OK. We’ll send Colin and Kate in the chopper. They’re our best ice experts — unless any of your remaining beards is hiding his light under a bushel.’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Right. So we’ll have a briefing at sixteen hundred or so and draw our plans from that.’
‘What about alerting Cambridge?’
‘Apart from routine contacts I wouldn’t make an issue out of this until we know exactly what we’re dealing with.’
‘Yeah. Fair enough.’ The lack of military snap, precision and diction testified to Andrew’s tiredness and he was happy enough to go off to bed.
Colin vanished with barely suppressed excitement to scare up the chopper and go look at some ice. Jolene followed Andrew to get her head down. Richard prowled around the bridge, familiarising himself with the layout of the controls. He had had as little sleep as any but he
felt full of fizz. Being back on a bridge like this simply excited him and even though he was far from being in command here he felt the old power surging through him like pure adrenaline. Let Andrew get a couple of hours now then a decent night’s sleep tonight and he’d be back on his feet. In the meantime, thought Richard, he would attend the briefing when Colin got back, think up some little adventure to enjoy with the twins, fit in a couple of hours’ shut-eye after dinner, keep the midnight watch — always a quiet one, especially at anchor — and catch up with a lie-in tomorrow morning. That would all fit in perfectly with their probable movements if Irene’s observations were right. Erebus would have to pull out of here by the second dogwatch tomorrow afternoon or she would be stuck until November 2001 or so.
The radio cracked and the Westland began to run through basic pre-flight. Colin and Kate hurried down the deck and climbed aboard.
Richard completed his train of thought piously. I hope to God, he thought, that the FBI team get here before we have to pull out. Otherwise we’ll just have to throw Jolene back to the wolves when we go.
Robin and the twins arrived then and Richard spent much of the rest of the watch showing the lively and intelligent youngsters everything he thought might interest them. They were familiar with the bridges of ships and much of the equipment they contained, but were of that age when familiarity breeds security and so greeted the Kelvin Hughes equipment, the Differential Shipmaster, the echo-sounder, the Doppler collision alarm radar, the weather predictors and all the rest like old friends.
Mary peered into the gyro compass. ‘How accurate is this at these latitudes?’ she asked, and Richard began to explain while William took the helm and hurled himself from side to side as though trying to rip the thing loose.
‘Don’t do that, dear,’ said Robin mildly. But William was pretending to be a Formula One racing driver and was lost to reason for the moment.
