Sea of Troubles Box Set

by Peter Tonkin

  ‘He’s every reason to be. Let’s see what the women think of the situation.’

  So the four most experienced experts there followed the two Navy men at an increasing distance. And the two of them were well behind the brightly parka’d, strapping figures which had climbed out of the Kalinin’s Sikorsky and followed the animated Hoyle towards the distant Jamesway through the strange, salmon-coloured opalescent brightness of a high overcast crossing a midnight sun.

  ‘He’s right to be concerned,’ said Kate thoughtfully. ‘Things aboard Erebus are not quite shipshape. Or Bristol fashion. I’ve taken to rinsing my own smalls and frilly bits, for example.’

  ‘But you’ve always done that,’ blurted the surprised Colin, his memory filled with washing facilities in numberless basic encampments festooned with such things.

  ‘Only when the going gets tough, my love. Not on shipboard with perfectly good laundry facilities.’

  ‘Then why now?’ pursued Colin, who had lost the plot here. ‘Why bother aboard Erebus?’

  ‘Because bits and pieces don’t always come back from the ship’s laundry, my darling. There may even, I understand, be a market in items that didn’t get there in the first place. The crew is exclusively male, remember. At least it is at the moment.’

  ‘My God.’ Colin stopped, thunderstruck. Genuinely outraged. ‘Do you mean to say someone’s been stealing and selling your underwear? Someone aboard Erebus? You tell me who’s been doing this and I’ll —’

  ‘You see Pitcairn’s problem?’ said Kate quietly. ‘This is a mature, sensible man, well versed in the problems of closed societies under extreme conditions. And the first answer he can come up with involves grievous bodily harm. What chance have the others got? It’s all right, darling. I’ve retrieved everything important and I wash it all myself now, as I’ve said. I suggest you do the same, Robin. And for Mary too.’

  ‘What?’ bellowed Richard. ‘If I catch one man —’

  ‘Here we go again,’ said Kate.

  The main area of the Jamesway was now illuminated with a couple of Tilley lamps to augment the columns of thick pink light from the windows. Inside the hut it was warm enough for Jaeger to be in his shirtsleeves and somehow he had managed to get the shirt starched and creased to a thoroughly military neatness, in spite of the fact that it bore no badges or insignia. Richard’s party joined Pitcairn and Knowles, as they stripped off the parkas, pullovers and cold-weather suits they had worn for the journey hither. As is often the case, the groups turned their backs on each other as though the removal of coats and boots was something too intimate to be observed by strangers. Thus it was that, turning all at once, they received their first impressions of Captain Ogre and her senior advisers at the same time.

  There was no mistaking the captain. She wore full uniform and was tucking her peaked hat under her arm, the gold braid on its front lost against the gold braid hanging from her golden epaulette. In spite of the Antarctic clime she wore tropical whites, every bit as starched as Colonel Jaeger’s shirt. The whites might almost have fitted Richard or Colin. If anything, the legs of the trousers might have been too long for them, for the captain’s waist was as high as it was lissom, given her overall stature. The flare of her hips was no more concealed by the cut of her jacket than the depth of her bosom was disguised by its double breast. On the considerable slope of a snow-white shirt lay a conservative black tie. Above the perfectly executed Windsor knot rose a pale throat and strong neck which in turn supported a broad, determined chin. The wide mouth turned up, at the corners, matching a faint crinkling at the edge of the eyes, which made the face seem just on the verge of a smile. Though, thought Robin uncharitably, dyspepsia and myopia could easily combine into the same impression. Robin’s uncharacteristic lack of feminine solidarity arose out of a combination of the shade of the captain’s perfect red-gold hair, the fathomless depths of her limpid blue-green eyes, and the expressions on the faces of her dumbstruck husband and associates.

  ‘I wonder who guards her underwear aboard Kalinin,’ she breathed into Kate’s ear.

  Kate gestured with her chin.

  On one side of the captain stood a square, thickset man, with a weightlifter’s body and a boxer’s face. His first officer’s whites did not fit him as well as his elegant commander’s fitted her. They bulged here and there — at calf, thigh, shoulder, chest and bicep. Behind his collar lay not waves of red-gold perfection but short dark stubble on a roll of neck muscles; stubble which reached featurelessly over his bullet cranium to low on his overhanging forehead. There seemed nothing to his face but jut. The jut of beetling brows, of nose under crushed bridge, of square, spade-grey chin. Eyes and mouth were not immediately obvious. The hand in which he held his hat was slightly larger than the braided headgear.

  On Captain Ogre’s other side stood a slight, almost girlish figure. No uniform here; rather a simple green dress clinging modestly to a slender, upright figure. Solid, comfortable shoes which nevertheless contrived to be stylish. Long, slim legs. No great flare of hip or bosom, but a long neck rising from square shoulders. An open, well-scrubbed face with clear, girlish skin. Wide, intelligent blue eyes and a shock of auburn hair.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, please,’ called Colonel Jaeger hospitably. ‘Pour yourselves some coffee and let’s get down to business. We need to be out of here in an hour to let my folks prepare for midnight Mass. Shall we start with introductions? I am Eugene Jaeger, commander of Armstrong base.’

  ‘I am Irene Ogre, captain of Kalinin.’ Her voice was soft and deep, the purr of a Siberian tiger. Robin was beginning to hate her on principle. ‘This is my first officer Vasily Varnek, and this is my entertainment officer Vivien Agran.’

  For reasons which he did not understand immediately, Richard ended up introducing their little group, though to Robin’s eyes it was clear that Andrew Pitcairn’s reticence was a direct result of Irene Ogre’s impact. Then they all sat round the table, each with a steaming mug of Jaeger’s fragrant coffee in front of them.

  It was Captain Ogre who opened the discussion with a forthrightness verging on the brutal: ‘We have a big problem here. For you it is worse than for me but I think we must plan to meet it head on or it will go out of our control too fast.’

  Jaeger took a long pull at his coffee, his brown eyes measuring the striking woman. ‘I agree, Captain,’ he said after a moment. ‘I think everyone here has at least thought through the situation during the last few hours. Some of us have already discussed our thoughts. But I think we would all be grateful for your analysis.’

  ‘OK. I will speak plain. No beating about the bush, OK? You are all professional people. Many of your senior staff are military, some of your commands are also and those that are not are scientist volunteers with serious job of work. Yes?’

  Heads nodded in agreement.

  ‘Your people have much in common then. They play by the same rules. Even those of different gender are part of the same system. There are no big problems if you all mix together.’

  Again, the sage nods of agreement. The captain had clearly not earned her command simply through good looks.

  ‘Then we are, what you say, the cat among your penguins. Yes? We have on board fifty tourists. Extreme tourists. They have paid fortune in passage and insurance to come here for two weeks and play. There is little they will not do or risk for fun and excitement. They take no orders and listen to little advice except from each other. They are not in my control, neither the men nor the women. My job and the job of all my people aboard is to help them have fun, not to advise or control — except where my ship’s safety is concerned. You have met Mr Maddrell. There are twenty-five men like him aged between twenty and seventy. They climb, snowboard, bungee jump. They hang-glide, parascend, Base jump. They ride snow scooters, and they ski. All of this, and more besides, they do with fierce competition. Some of them, it sometimes seems, have no desire to see the twenty-first century arrive next week. They are not sane, balanced or reasonabl
e. They are, I say again, not in control. As well as these, and nearly as bad, I have twenty-five women aged between twenty and forty. They are partners, consorts, rivals, friends, enemies. It varies. They are all mad, strong-willed and predatory. And available, if I make myself clear. All here for good time. Yes? And in my command also I have deck officers and engineers who do not like these people already. I have stewards, chefs and galley staff who do not like these people very much. I have entertainment staff, under Mrs Agran here, who are paid to like these people but who are not paid enough. We have no experts on ice, penguins or the breeding of seals. It is not that sort of cruise, you understand. But for the fifty passengers I have sixty crew. Forty men. Twenty women. Many also available on the look-out for romance and adventure. They wish to begin the new millennium with a new relationship. These I can keep aboard if I have to and out of your hair. Mr Maddrell and his friends, I cannot. And I think they will mix in here like nitro mixes with glycerin. Yes?’

  This worrying summation of the case caused many a frown of concerned agreement round the table. Every mind there became bent on planning how best to control the simmering mix. Every mind, perhaps, except one. Andrew Pitcairn’s mind was simply and solely on Irene Ogre. He had led a monastic existence during the last few years and had sublimated everything into work and his command. He had hardly thought about sex in a year. That was all over now. He sat, coffee untouched, with just enough nous to frown and nod with the rest but in his mind he was undressing Captain Ogre. As she completed her first statement and looked around for some kind of response, he was mentally unfastening the clasp of her considerable brassiere, a fantasy constructed of straining black lace, warm to the touch and fragrant, held tremblingly by a catch between the overflowing cups. By the time Richard voiced his suggestions, the garment was off, Irene stood gloriously revealed to the young man’s imagination. And from then on, behind every suggestion he agreed to and every decision that he made lay the underlying drive to get her that way in fact.

  Chapter Four

  ‘Silent night,’ they sang, ‘Holy night …

  They all seemed to know the fine old tune. There was some impenetrable Russian equivalent to the words, and anyone uncertain of both Russian and English could settle on the German original, ‘Stille nacht, heilige nacht …’

  Their deliberations had been curtailed not by any agreed conclusion but by midnight Mass as Christmas Eve became Christmas Day. Then, instead of withdrawing to their various responsibilities, they had all decided to stay to celebrate it with the men and women of Armstrong. As the NASA base had no priest, the service was delivered under battlefield conditions by the commanding officer. No Communion would be offered — though some present stood in dire need of it.

  Although all of their voices strove as one to follow the base’s eccentric little electronic organ, very few of their minds were on higher things at all. Richard was preoccupied with the command problems that appeared to be of such little interest to the captain of Erebus. Robin was praying that the twins were asleep and the presents which Santa had left in her keeping for them remained undiscovered and would prove a welcome surprise later this morning; much later. Colin was wrestling more globally with the problem occupying Richard. Mentally, he was scanning the quadrants of the map on Hoyle’s laptop, working up a proposition for Jaeger about allowing Kalinin’s mad and bad passengers access to one distant quadrant alone — one sufficiently full of danger and excitement to keep them all occupied. It was a problem because the valley reaching away inland east of the base was largely denuded of snow. Kate, as she always did at this time of year, regretted their inability to have children and yearned to share Robin’s problems — thoughts she kept secret from Colin, of course, though sometimes she felt her heart would break with longing. What Irene Ogre and her two companions thought was locked deep within them, for they were secretive people. Andrew Pitcairn fondly hoped his thoughts were pretty deeply hidden too. He had contrived to stand immediately behind the object of his abrupt fixation and was continuing to imagine what the view of her would be without the interference of her clothing. And in this endeavour he was unexpectedly aided by Antarctica, for, as the hour itself stole past, the rays of the midnight sun fell through a thickening overcast before streaming ruddily in through the Jamesway’s plastic window, giving to the back of Irene Ogre’s skin-tight whites the warm hue of naked flesh.

  At the end of the service there was little chance for anything except farewells. Not even the forthright Colin could get Jaeger to listen to his plan, and somehow Pitcairn kept getting between him and the Russian captain. The result of Pitcairn’s insistence was revealed in the chopper halfway back to Erebus when the excited commander suddenly announced, ‘I’ve arranged a little drinks party on Erebus at noon sharp. Captain Ogre, her senior people, Colonel Jaeger and his chaps will be there. You’re all invited, of course. Though perhaps the twins might …’

  ‘Richard and I can take turn-about with them,’ said Robin.

  ‘It seemed a good idea. We didn’t come to any conclusion about the situation somehow. Maybe we’ll get more done in a slightly more social atmosphere. Formal, of course. We’ll play it very Navy, Hugo. Full dress. Pink gins and Christmas nibbles. The works.’

  ‘Certainly, Andrew,’ said Hugo Knowles. ‘And hold back the men’s Christmas dinner till smoko?’

  ‘Good. They won’t mind, under the circumstances. We’ll need several teams of them preparing, cooking and serving in any case. Better for the galley too; let them fiddle about with their turkeys in the afternoon watch. Oh, and we’d better dispense with sea watches for tomorrow as well.’

  He fell silent after that and left the rest of them prey to silent speculation: Hugo Knowles on how he was going to get all this arranged — and the effect on the men of attempting it; Richard and Colin on the possibility of using the gathering to help get some serious plans laid before it was simply too late; Robin and Kate almost guiltily on what on earth among the kit they had packed for adventures in Antarctica they could possibly find to wear to a formal Navy drinks reception.

  *

  In spite of the red light streaming through the thinly-curtained porthole like a spotlight for Macbeth, the twins were fast asleep. Their exhausted, preoccupied, extremely unChristmassy parents pulled secret Santa presents from all sorts of hiding places — their strange situation making the oranges and nuts almost as valuable down here as the Little Scientist microscope and the Sony Discman — and pushed them silently into stockings. As they prepared for bed in the adjoining cabin, Richard said, ‘What d’you make of all this, darling?’

  ‘It’s a mess growing into a disaster. What on earth Andrew Pitcairn thinks he’s doing I have no idea. Well, of course I have a very good idea. Are you going to get very involved, dear?’

  ‘Don’t want to; may have to. Same as Colin, I think. It’s none of our business really, and it stays that way until it starts to look as though it could take us down as well. Then we’ll have to get involved.’

  ‘It’s a little like being on Titanic.’

  ‘That’s a bit dramatic, darling. Even so, don’t worry. Between us, Colin and I will do a damn sight more than rearrange the deck chairs.’ This last was issued from the top bunk as Richard settled as best he could into its restrictive length.

  ‘I know you will,’ said Robin sleepily from below. ‘Merry Christmas, darling.’ But the only answer she received was a quiet snore.

  *

  At midday on the dot, as punctual as cadets arriving for their first watch, Richard and Colin entered Erebus’s wardroom. They were suitably attired in blazers and flannels. Their wives were still below, swapping bits and pieces by Armani and St Laurent, trying to change a couple of little black New Year’s Eve numbers into something more suited to Christmas lunchtime. Almost as an afterthought they were watching the twins. An edge of black silk scarf under her microscope kept Mary happy. William had yet to discover that it was possible to walk with his Discman, indeed to run with
it, jump with it and do the things he most liked to do with it, so for the moment he was sitting quietly, simply listening to it.

  Andrew Pitcairn, who had placed himself so that he could divide his attention between the door and the aft-facing window, greeted them formally and a little dully. The minute Kalinin’s helicopter touched down on the specially-vacated helipad, however, a frenetic fizz seemed to enter him and by the time Captain Ogre and her party entered, he was positively glowing. The Russian Captain was all business and icy formality, however. She handed over the bottle of vodka she had brought as a gift and accepted a Scotch and water. No sooner had this been sorted out than the chopper from Armstrong heaved into view and Andrew was perforce distracted from his pursuit.

  Colin stepped in. ‘Captain Ogre,’ he began. ‘I was wondering whether you might find it acceptable to send your tourists exclusively to the furthest quadrants at the back of the valley up behind Armstrong. That is where the moraine is located.’

  ‘Where the dead astronaut was found.’

  ‘Quite so. That is the place where the Armstrong people will be least likely to interfere with them. It is also, unless things have changed overnight, where the best conditions for extreme sport can be found. Your Mr Maddrell has already —’

  ‘He is not my Mr Maddrell. But I see your point. This is very clever and may serve well. Vasily …’ The two of them turned to find Vasily Varnek and Vivien Agran deep in conversation with Richard.

  ‘I didn’t realise,’ he said affably as they approached. ‘Mrs Agran is American, not Russian. She tells me that, although most of the officers and crew are Russian, the galley staff, stewards and entertainers are all American.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Vasily Varnek. ‘Kalinin is Gdansk-built and Russian-crewed, but she is owned by a consortium of Russian and American businessmen who refitted her in St Petersburg in nineteen ninety-seven and staffed her to the highest standard.’