by Peter Tonkin
‘Starting now, Mrs Agran.’
Distantly, a cheer wafted down the line to her. Then, very much closer a hiss of surprise. ‘Mrs Agran! I’m sorry. There is something not right here … I was just … And it died. The whole thing went down before my very —’
Communication was abruptly cut.
Frowning, Vivien Agran called up her overview section of the chief steward’s accommodation records. The screen filled with the accommodation program but there was something awry with the icons. When she put the cursor on one and clicked, the screen simply filled with a storm of strange snow, a mixture of white computer gunk on a black screen sweeping downwards. A cold chill went through her. Her fingers flashed down to her keyboard, pressing CONTROL; ALT; DELETE all at once. The snow died and the familiar blue-backed, ten-sectioned screen jumped up. She clicked on records and her program came up. She breathed a sigh of relief and thought no more of it. If the accommodation program was down, that was just too bad — for the chief steward. It did not occur to her to check the other sections.
And the three men sharing a bottle of truly legendary vodka in the steward’s office also failed to wonder why it was that their computers had gone down while no one else’s had. As yet.
*
Billy Hoyle came out of the doctor’s examination room into the sickbay just after eleven. He was all strapped up and back in pyjamas. He looked bad and felt worse. And not just medically. He glanced around. Time was limited and the stakes were high. As high as his neck. The doctor was only washing up, she’d be out in a second and then he’d be screwed. Washington was off somewhere. More than likely in the john. The Australian bit was out of sight, and her ancient husband was fast asleep. Mendel and Fagan were wrapped up in a chess game as usual. Killigan was lying in bed.
Billy snuck across the ward as fast as he could sneak. ‘Killigan!’ he hissed. ‘Killigan, you got to help me. I’m in deep shit here. That bitch Agran’s a stone killer. She had Ernie Marshall offed like she was swatting a fly. Offed him, broke my arm and took his bag. It’s got the Power Strip in it. I know you’ve got the specs on disk now and don’t need the Strip any more but you shouldn’t let her keep it, you know? You got to deal with her, Killigan. Come on, you owe me. Deal with her and keep my ass out of the sling. What do you say? Killigan? Killigan?’
Killigan made no sign of having heard. And nor did anyone else.
Certainly not Dai Gwyllim, who was awake and had overheard every word.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It didn’t make any sense. Jolene had expected Billy’s first set of notes to reveal obvious errors of procedure, which she assumed would be papered over in subsequent re-writes. But it wasn’t as cut and dried as that at all. The sequence of events established in the earliest set of notes seemed quite clear and unremarkable.
Billy, together with the scientist Mendel, had packed the suit away on Thursday, 23 December at 18.00 hours, as ordered by Major Schwartz and Colonel Jaeger. Camp security was not all that lax, it seemed, for the suit was then placed in secure storage overseen by Sergeant Killigan at 21.00. On the morning of the 24th, the weather closed in and Billy Hoyle’s original notes told of the major suddenly demanding the suit be taken out again so it could be tested in extreme conditions. Billy argued against the idea. Killigan point-blank refused until Colonel Jaeger overruled him at 10.00 hours. Only then did Billy and Killigan return the suit to the area they called the ‘launch pad’ and start kitting the major up. Such was Killigan’s concern over the failure of agreed procedure that when Mendel came in to help with the final testing, the sergeant sent Billy to get written authorisation from the colonel a little after 11.00. Only with this in his hand was Billy allowed to proceed. He and Mendel completed the testing and a John Deere was requisitioned to take the major out at 11.30.
In the second, third and top version of events, however, the record stated that Billy himself had taken the suit to the secure storage and locked it away. And it was Billy who had taken it out again when asked to do so on the 24th. He had tested it with Mendel and Fagan before taking the major out in the John Deere and leaving him at the agreed point to walk in under his own steam between 12.00 and 13.00 hours; a simple test which should have taken little more than an hour, even under those circumstances. There was less detail, the time was more vague and had shifted back, and Killigan’s insistence on written authorisation was omitted, but otherwise the main difference seemed to be that the latest copies included an account of the search for the major, well under way by 14.00 when the first general calls for help had gone out. The search details were pretty accurate, according to the corroborating evidence she had already.
Had she missed something? She doggedly began to re-read the twenty-four A4 single-spaced sheets.
*
‘I’m not trying to shift responsibility for them,’ said Robin. ‘If need be we can sit down here and read The Famous Five cover to cover, followed by the collected works of Roald Dahl —’
‘We could if we’d brought them.’
‘But the fact is there has to be something aboard for them to do, to keep them safely out of the way and out of trouble. They’re eight, for heaven’s sake. They can’t be expected to amuse themselves all the time. And they’ve shown they don’t have enough good sense to be left to their own devices.’
‘They thought they were doing the right thing.’
‘Of course they did. Both times. But they’re out of their depth here. A little frightened, I think. And not without reason.’
A fist of wind seemed to close around the ship, deadening all sound as it lifted and tilted the vessel. The pencils on the table where the twins were drawing with silent concentration began to roll. A glass of water, tinted aquamarine with watercoloured paint, slid grumbling across the teak veneer until William stopped it.
Richard and Robin had had a good twenty minutes of very forthright discussion with the twins. But they could not keep their offspring cooped up in here today of all days. They needed entertainment.
‘The only person who could possibly help is Mrs Agran,’ said Robin. ‘I must say I’m by no means one hundred per cent confident in her but she’s worth a try. Why don’t you wait here with these two and I’ll go and ask her.’
‘You sure? You don’t want me to go?’
Robin thought with wry amusement of the impact the paintings and assorted statuary in Mrs Agran’s office might have on her straight-laced husband. ‘No, it’s all right,’ she said. ‘I’ve been down to see her before. I’ll be happy to pop down again. With a bit of luck we can call on that Gretchen girl who found them the first time. She at least seemed to know what she was doing.’
‘Just as you like. Give her a ring first. Make sure she’s there and knows why you’re coming. She might even be able to check her records there and then.’
‘Good idea, darling.’
*
Richard and Robin were not the only pair discussing Mrs Agran after half past eleven that morning. In the sickbay, Dai Gwyllim had limped off, supported by the solicitous Jilly. Washington, shy but by no means unpopular, had been seduced aloft to join in the party. Even Fagan and Mendel had gone off to check out the action up on Bellingshausen-Peary Deck. Billy Hoyle and Killigan were alone.
‘This woman had this guy Marshall killed? Just like that? You really expect me to believe this?’
‘Not herself. She called that thug Varnek and he laid him out with some kind of club. Honest. Looked like a blackjack. Used the same thing to smash my shoulder but I think he was aiming for my head. As for Ernie, I dunno if they killed him or not. They may have him stashed somewhere. All I’m saying is, I ain’t seen him since. And I do believe she’ll come after me. She’s a strange broad, Killigan, you got to believe me. You should have seen the stuff she has in that room of hers. It’s like something out of The Godfather, you know?’
‘You telling me she’s connected? She’s a wiseguy? A goodfella? I ain’t never heard of no broad running stuff for the
Firm, Billy. You got to be dreaming. Or popping your own happy pills. Hey! You been using your own stock, Billy boy?’
‘Naw, Killigan. I swear to you, she’s got stuff down there like you wouldn’t believe. Books, mags, videos, gear, the lot. Even these, what do you call them? Virtual headsets. Programmed like you’ve never seen. And she’s got Ernie’s duffel bag, with all his stuff in it and all my stuff in it. So she’s got the Power Strip.’
‘The Power Strip should have gone back to the major after Mendel had finished with it. Mendel or the major should have it. That was the deal.’
‘Mendel gave it to me to put back. I was about to do it when you gave me all that grief about the hut being off limits.’
‘Because you had a couple of snot-nosed limey kids all over your ass, you dumb son of a bitch.’
‘Well, I risked it anyway. Kept them busy looking for their dad. I just about had it all cool when Washington came in all gung-ho. I swear to God, the next chance I had was that night when everything went up. I was trying for it again when everything went kaplooie. And the next thing I heard, you and Mendel were injured. And Fagan like to die and that NASA inspector insisting the major’s body should come out of Armstrong altogether. Jesus, Killigan, I did my best. I even hurt myself bad, to cover —’
‘But still you never put it back, or gave it back to Mendel or got rid of it.’
‘Get rid of something worth all that money? I know Mendel put the design details on disk but even so, I wasn’t going to just flush it down the john. I was waiting for you to come round. I couldn’t believe you’d gone and got yourself blown up, you of all people. But there you go. I did my bit. I did good! You’ve got your line out on the Internet, booked in my name with no destination. I knew you’d need a line out, Killigan. That’s at two local time. It’s real busy but I booked a slot as soon as I could. Other than that, and guarding the Strip and watching your ass while you were out of things, I didn’t know what to do for the best. I was planning to ask you what to do, the instant you came round. It was all I could think of to do. But then …’
‘But then, Billy?’ snarled Killigan.
‘By the time you did come round, it was too late. Ernie was out of it and I was hiding and the Agran broad had all our stuff. And the Strip.’
There was silence for a moment. Then Killigan shrugged and said, ‘You’re right. Maybe I’d better go see the lady, huh?’
‘Don’t you underestimate her, Killigan. She really did have Ernie seen to. And I know she’ll do for me if she gets the chance. And she’ll be looking for the chance.’ He looked nervously around the sickbay as though there might be assassins in the bedpans. ‘You better go in tooled up and loaded for bear.’
‘Well, it’s a funny thing, Billy boy, but I got the space inspector’s little red-dot Glock. Slipped it in the major’s coffin and got it out again when you thought I was well out of it, you sorry little amateur. But even a lightweight Glock should just about outgun a blackjack. Whaddya say?’
*
Dai Gwyllim didn’t much care for chairs so he wedged his body into the right angle between the wall and the floor of T-Shirt’s cabin. Max lay on the lower bunk, T-Shirt occupied the little table, and Jilly was on the chair. They, too, were discussing Mrs Agran, or rather what Dai had overheard Billy say about her. Their reactions mirrored Sergeant Killigan’s; they found it difficult to believe she could have murdered the missing man as Billy had alleged. Their conversation wandered over various possibilities, most of them centring on Billy’s sanity, before T-Shirt suddenly sat up.
‘What is it?’ asked Jilly.
‘It’s Killigan. Why Killigan?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Of all the people he could have gone to aboard, why choose Killigan?’
They began to give reasons. The sergeant was head of security, a familiar face among strangers, a colleague, perhaps a friend …
But what was a man like Killigan doing with someone like Billy Hoyle as a friend?
‘Well, there was something else, something I didn’t understand,’ said Dai.
‘What?’
‘Something about a Power Strip. Something like that. And Hoyle said its specifications were on a floppy disk so maybe Killigan didn’t need it any more, but he should get it back anyway.’
T-Shirt hopped off the table. ‘I have to tell Jolene about that right now,’ he said. ‘And she might be interested to hear about Billy and Killigan being such good friends as well.’
‘Yeah,’ said Max. ‘But let’s get this sorted quickly, huh, T-Shirt? There’s a hell of a party building out there and we don’t want to miss it.’
Dai used a long, heaving roll of the ship to slide erect up the wall at his back, which was no longer quite so vertical. ‘Ha,’ he grunted. ‘That’s not the only thing building out there, boy.’
*
Killigan was the first of the supplicants to arrive at Vivien Agran’s door. She called ‘Enter’ at his knock and met him standing, with a slightly puzzled expression.
‘You are very welcome, Sergeant,’ she said coolly, ‘and it is good to see you recovering. But forgive me, I was expecting someone else. Mrs Mariner, in fact. She just called down.’
‘This won’t take long, lady.’ Killigan sat.
‘Very well. She said she’d be down in five minutes. I can give you till twelve. What can I do for you?’
‘I got Billy Hoyle telling me you had Varnek kill his little friend.’
‘I see. Do you believe him?’
‘I could be convinced.’
‘Then what are you doing here, Sergeant?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Why are you not telling the captain? Asking her to arrest me? Asking her to send for the Special Agents from Armstrong or whatever?’
‘Lady, if you think I’m going to call in the Feds on Billy Hoyle’s say-so, you don’t know me at all.’
‘Well, Sergeant, perhaps I should get to know you better.’
‘I’m an easy guy to know,’ he said.
‘I’m sure you are. And I’m an expert in getting to know people. That’s my job, after all. Getting to know people. Their dreams. Their desires.’
‘Yeah. I bet. Their secrets, their faults, their weaknesses.’
‘Their deepest wishes. And I can fulfil them.’
‘For a price.’
‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘For a price. And what is your price, Sergeant?’
‘Hey, that was pretty quick, lady,’ said Killigan with guarded respect. ‘I came here to proposition you.’
Vivien Agran leaned forward suddenly, her eyes narrow. ‘Really, Sergeant? What proposition did you have for me?’
‘Well,’ said Killigan, ‘it seems to me that you’re living on borrowed time here. Even an outfit like this can’t just lose a British sailor. As soon as the weather clears and the millennium thing calms down, there’ll be an inquiry. And if Billy’s still singing his song then, you and Varnek could find yourselves in a pretty tight frame.’
Mrs Agran said nothing. Her eyes watched Killigan’s face with unnerving concentration. Killigan opened his mouth to speak, but a brisk knock at the door forestalled him.
*
It was obvious to Robin at once that Mrs Agran was preoccupied, but she was courteous and businesslike when Robin inquired about the possibility of help with the twins, to keep them out of mischief. ‘Of course,’ said the entertainment officer. ‘I should have thought of it at once. Just let me consult my records and I’m sure we will come up with someone well qualified to help mind your children during the next couple of days before we drop you at Ushuaia. You may be here by accident but I see no reason why you should not enjoy yourselves as well.’
As she spoke, Mrs Agran leaned across towards her computer. Keen to distract the wise grey eyes of her guest from looking too deeply into the shadowed recess of her bedroom where Killigan was waiting, she swung the face of the computer round so that Robin got a clear view of what she was
doing. The records section of the ten-part screen was in the lower left quadrant. Mrs Agran’s strong fingers moved the mouse to guide the cursor onto it. Just as she clicked, her phone rang. ‘Excuse me,’ she said and picked up the handset as the screen began to fill with the records program.
Robin heard a distant sound of merriment and calls of congratulation over the instrument. ‘Is it?’ said Mrs Agran. ‘Really? Happy New Year, then. But I am busy here. I will call back.’
As Mrs Agran spoke, Robin’s eye glanced up at the clock. Midday. In some part of Russia it was midnight. Somewhere associated with Mrs Agran, by the sound of it.
Robin’s eye came back to the screen. ERROR, it said. CANNOT READ PROGRAM. Two little boxes stood grey against the blue. One said RETRY, the other said QUIT.
Vivien had not noticed the message yet. ‘My first husband was from Irkutsk, originally,’ she said as she put the receiver down. ‘Some of my friends think I should call him there and …’ She stopped talking when she saw the screen. ‘Oh dear,’ she said. ‘Computers! They really are …’ She moved the cursor to RETRY and clicked on it. The screen cleared and they were into the records program. But the coincidence lingered in Robin’s mind. That they should switch it on exactly at midnight and that it should fail at once.
But of course it was midday here. It was midnight far away in Irkutsk.
A few moments later, Vivien phoned her assistant, Gretchen. She would be happy to help out. She had apparently been a First Grade teacher in her home town of Ames, Iowa, before the wanderlust bug had bitten her. It was as though Mrs Agran had read Robin’s mind. Or overheard the conversation she and Richard had had just before she came to the office.
The momentary failure of her computer was the furthest thing from Vivien Agran’s mind as she bid farewell to Robin. All through the interview it had been Killigan who was at the forefront of her thoughts. It seemed so neat that one nuisance should be offering to rid her of another. As long as the big sergeant did not want anything too demanding, they would reach a deal — for the time being, at least.
