by Giles Milton
‘Of course.’
She told them to find a seat in the reading room then continued speaking, half to herself, half to the room. ‘Ferris Clark. Yeah, Ferris Clark’s the one that interested them most. But we only had one file.’
She checked the catalogue references for him and his comrades then noted them down on individual request sheets. Then she stamped each one in turn.
‘Give me fifteen, twenty minutes. And here, take a look at this. Never know, might be useful.’
She reached up for a slim hardback on the shelf behind the desk. ‘I found this after they were gone. Timing’s never been my strong point. Knew it was here but didn’t think of it ’til it was too late. Even looked through it myself. Things you discover about the war!’
She handed the book to Jack. His eyes went straight to the title. Wartime Operations in Greenland by D. G. Wengel.
‘We’ll be just over there -’ He pointed to a bank of unoccupied desks.
She nodded. ‘Give me twenty.’
The book fell open at the chapter entitled Sirius Sledge Patrol. He placed it between them and they both read.
The unit known as the Sirius Sledge Patrol, also known as the Greenland Army, was formed in the autumn of 1941 with the aim of preventing German landings on the east coast of Greenland. It was notable for being the smallest independent army of the Second World War. There were ten native Greenlanders and two Danish leaders, Captain Knut Emetssen and Captain Ejnar Thorsen.
The chapter recounted how the Germans were anxious to establish weather stations along the coast of Greenland in order to collect meteorological date that would assist their U-boat campaign in the North Atlantic.
‘Well that we know already,’ said Jack.
The job of the Sirius Sledge Patrol was to locate these German bases and destroy them. Anyone who has ever visited the eastern seaboard of Greenland will understand that this was no easy task. The entire coastline is extremely gruelling terrain, even for those familiar and experienced with Arctic conditions.
He turned back to the map at the beginning of the book. It was at least 1,000 miles from Camp Eggen to Weather Station Linden, if taken as a straight line. But the coast was contorted into thousands of deserted islands, frozen bays, promontories and inlets, all choked with sea-ice. You could search that coast for years and not find a thing.
‘The Sirius Sledge Patrol was joined on a number of occasions by US army officers based at Camp Eggen.’
‘Huh - !’
Tammy looked at Jack wide-eyed.
‘Might just be getting somewhere.’
In the late summer of 1943, Sirius was alerted to the existence of a weather station on the north-east coast of Greenland at approximately latitude 74. Its discovery is believed to have been a result of deciphered signals from Bletchley Park in England.
Jack tapped his finger on the page.
Captain Knut Emetssen led a five-man mission to Weather Station Linden and successfully destroyed the place. Two Wehrmacht officers and two German meteorologists were killed.
Summer, 1943. He made a note of the date. It meant that by the time Ferris Clark arrived in Greenland, the only German weather station still operational was Edelweiss, ironically much closer to the Sirius base at Eskimoness.
He read through to the end of the chapter, hoping for some mention of Ferris Clark. But there was nothing except tables listing tonnages of shipping and air-freight that had passed through Greenland.
‘Still, starting to make some sort of sense.’
He flicked through the pages until he came to a section on Camp Eggen. There was information on the role of the base, the supplies, the equipment stored there. And then he saw the two words he’d been looking for all along. Ferris Clark.
In March, 1944, a six-strong relief team arrived at the base. Serving under the auspices of the US Army Corps of Engineers, North Atlantic Division, they were posted there for the so-called summer shift, March to November. The names of these men were Mike Davison, Sam Hucknell, Ferris Clark, Jon B. McGuire, Rob Towler and Dick Waller.
Tammy clicked her fingers. ‘Found him!’ Then she looked up from the page, turned to face Jack.
‘Know what, until now I couldn’t quite get my head round the fact that he existed. I’ve seen his body every day for a month but he never seemed real. There he was in his glass box, a corpse, a name, yet the two never quite added up. But now -’
Jack agreed. He’d had no trouble imagining Camp Eggen. He’d even been able to picture the men at the base. Yet Ferris Clark himself had never seemed real. But now, he and his comrades had names and identities. They were a team. His mates were Mike, Sam, Jon, Rob and Dick.
He flicked through the pages that followed but there was no further mention of the summer shift of 1944. Nor were there any more references to Ferris Clark.
‘Strange expression,’ he said. ‘Don’t you think?’
‘What?’
‘Well it says he was serving under the auspices of the US Army Corps of Engineers. That suggests he wasn’t working for them directly, but somehow else.’
Tammy looked back at the page. ‘Good spot. You’re smart. Hadn’t seen that. I guess -’
Betsy arrived as she was still speaking, clutching a small armful of folders.
‘Now then -’
She stooped slightly as she put them down on the desk then brushed the dust off her sleeve.
‘Here we go. These are the ones your friends looked at. And here -’ she pointed to the file at the top – ‘is your Ferris Clark.’
‘Fantastic.’
‘Give a shout if you need help.’
Jack took the files and laid them out on the table. He glanced towards Tammy, and she at him, as he reached for the Ferris Clark folder. It was made of a dark green card, matt, and had ‘Ferris W Clark: 23 CX 571’ printed neatly in the top right-hand corner.
‘More suspense than Hitchcock,’ said Tammy. ‘Open it, for Chrissakes.’
Jack unfolded the file and Tammy emitted a groan. There was a single sheet of paper with no more than six lines of writing. Ferris Walton Clark. Date of Birth: 22 October, 1907. Father: Walton D. Clark. Mother: Madeline Clark, née Kane. Siblings: none recorded. Draft Date: 17 January, 1944. US Army Corps of Engineers, North Atlantic Division (USMOD). Date of Death: 2 June, 1944. Height: 6 foot 1 inch. Weight: 187 pounds. Eye colour: Blue. Distinguishing features: none.
They digested the information in silence then sat back in their chairs.
‘That’s it?’ said Tammy. ‘Three hours’ drive for that. Nothing more than what Tom’s already told us.’
But Jack had seen two things of interest.
‘What’s USMOD?’
She shrugged. ‘Beats me.’
He called over to Betsy who came scurrying over, helpful faced.
‘What’s this?’ he said, pointing to USMOD. ‘D’you know?’
She laughed. ‘And now I really am feeling I’ve been here before. That’s exactly what your friends wanted to know. USMOD. United States Meteorological Observation Department. This Clark person would have been working for them, under the umbrella of the engineering corps.’
‘Of course!’
Jack sat back in his chair and folded his arms. It suddenly made sense.
‘What - ?’
‘Ferris Clark wasn’t a soldier at all. He was a meteorologist. A weatherman. He was there to do forecasts. For the Americans.’
Betsy nodded and pointed at the single sheet in the file. ‘You’re not wrong. That’s why there’s nothing more. Any other information would have gone to USMOD. That’s what I told your friends.’
‘And where’s USMOD?’
‘Ah, that’s in Washington. We don’t keep copies of those files. Not any longer. They were moved in, let me see, the nineteen eighties I guess.’
She left them to look through the other files. Mike Davison, Sam Hucknell, Jon B. McGuire, Rob Towler and Dick Waller. Jack was looking for one thing in particular and he found it in every sing
le file.
Mike Davison: distinguishing features, scar on right thigh. Sam Hucknell: distinguishing features, mole on upper left shoulder. He put the Hucknell file down and picked up the Dick Waller one. Dick Waller: distinguishing features, facial scars from childhood chicken pox.
Then he turned back to Ferris Clark. Distinguishing features, none.
He tapped his pen on the desk. Whoever wrote these reports was meticulous in recording every detail. Moles. Scars. The works. Yet when they came to Ferris Clark they had neglected to mention his birthmark.
He cast his mind back to the autopsy. It was small, that was for sure. And yet it was undoubtedly there. Why hadn’t they recorded it?
He went back through the files looking at something else. All of Ferris Clark’s comrades had families. Mike Davison, Sam Hucknell, Jon B. McGuire, Rob Towler, Dick Waller. They all had brothers, sisters, parents. Sam Hucknell had five brothers. Mike Davison had two sisters and a brother. Rob Towler had a sister. Ferris Clark was the only one with no one.
‘What is it?’ asked Tammy, looking at him quizzically. ‘You look like you’ve found something.’
Jack shook his head. ‘Not really.’
Tammy took the Ferris Clark file from his hands and wrote down the Clark’s family address.
‘We’ve got to go there. See if it still exists.’
She paused in thought. ‘Isn’t it weird?’
‘Isn’t what weird?’
‘He lived in Hanford, Nevada. And he ends up back in Hanford, Nevada.’
Jack thought about this for a moment before turning back to the files. ‘Let’s finish off here first. D’you think we can photocopy it?’
He went carefully though each file, noting any detail that was relevant to Ferris Clark. One of the files still had the request slip from when Tom and Hunter had ordered it. He took that as well. Then he photocopied all the relevant documents.
When they finally left the Family Search Center an hour or so later, they did so with a small sheaf of copies taken from both the files and the book. They stepped from the cool interior into the pulsing midday heat and made their way slowly towards the car.
*
Number 2586 Avery Street, Green Diamond was a large ranch-style building set in scrubland a few miles to the south west of Hanford Gap. It had wooden walls, a low sloping roof and a dirt track that led to the door. What struck them most was how unremarkable it was. It looked like any number of extended cabins from the back-ends of Nevada. The yard was filled with trash and there was a parched square of dust as an excuse for a lawn.
Two pick-ups in the yard, both sunbaked with dust, and the wreck of a rowing boat to the right of the driveway. It looked like it had been left adrift by some improbable tsunami.
‘So this little place is where Ferris Walton Clark hung out,’ said Tammy. ‘Not exactly Caesar’s Palace.’
They parked on the road and walked slowly up the driveway. There was no shade. It was scorching. Jack wiped the sweat from his forehead.
‘Hello?’ He called out as they approached the front door.
‘Yeah - ?’
They were greeted by a boiler-sized man in dirty blue overalls. He was clutching a heavy ratchet spanner and his face was smeared with oil. He looked Tammy up and down, undressed her and clearly approved of what he saw for he put the spanner down on a gasoline drum and wiped the oily sweat from his face.
‘You lost?’
Tammy did the talking, inventing a story on the spot. She told him she was researching her family, trying to find a certain Ferris Clark. She said she believed this was where the Clarks used to live.
The man shook his head, noisily cleared his throat then gruffly called to his wife. ‘Ferris Clark,’ he said. ‘Know the name?’
She appeared at the door, as wide as him and with sandals made from tyre rubber. ‘Clark? Why yeah, Larry. I do know that name. But dunno where from.’
‘Please, if you can try and remember.’
‘Didn’t we buy this old home of ours from a Clark?’ she said, looking at her husband. ‘Clark - Clark - or was it - ?’
It was no use. She couldn’t remember, even with Tammy’s eyes begging for more.
‘Well -’ She wrote down her number. ‘Here’s my phone. Call if you remember anything. Anything at all. It’s real important.’
‘Sure,’ said the woman, retreating back into the kitchen. Larry picked up his spanner and banged it on the drum before giving a final glance at Tammy.
‘Good luck girl.’
Jack smiled. Not for the first time, he was invisible in Tammy’s presence. All eyes naturally turned towards her.
Her phone buzzed and she checked the message.
‘Shit.’ She looked panicked.
‘What?’
‘Look,’ she said, passing him the phone. ‘From Tom. Warm-up’s been moved to tomorrow. Shit, shit, shit.’
She cupped her head into her hands. ‘Jack, what d’we do now? They’re starting in less than twenty-four hours. They’re starting everything before we even know who Ferris Clark is.’
THIRTEEN
They were seated in the conference room waiting for Tom to address them. It was eight in the morning, half an hour earlier than usual. It was set to be a long day. One seat was empty, the one next to Tammy.
‘You all know what’s at stake.’ Tom spoke with unusual gravity, lingering over every word. ‘We’re trying something no one’s ever tried before. And we’ve got technology on our side. Plaxon’s developed the best equipment. Best drugs. Best computer system. And there’s a big fucking prize dangling at the end of it all. If it works, we’ll get very, very rich.’
He stopped for a moment, looked at them each in turn.
‘If. It’s a big if, of course. Not sure we’ll be able to wake him. Don’t know if he’ll survive without life support. Don’t even know if he’ll have any memory of who he is.’
He looked directly at Doctor Gonzales. You could see the pressure in his eyes.
‘It’s no secret Luke’s had his doubts.’
Luke Gonzales stared back at Tom, not saying a word.
‘But we’ve overcome that now.’
All heads turned towards Gonzales. He was massaging his hands on his brow like he had a migraine.
‘Of course there are concerns,’ continued Tom. ‘It’s science, for Chrissakes. Galileo didn’t have it easy either. We’re heading into uncharted waters. The land of the unknown.’
He clapped his hands together, as if to mark the end of the conversation. Then he abruptly changed subject.
‘The policy of absolute secrecy holds until further notice. And unless that’s not clear to you all, let me say it in the vernacular. No one breathes a fucking word. Girlfriends, husbands, wives. One hundred per cent silence. I don’t want to find myself waking up and seeing ourselves on TV.’
Tammy looked up from her notebook.
‘But why now?’ she said. ‘Why so soon? I just don’t get the hurry. He’s been in the ice for decades. And we can keep him like that for decades more. A few more days or weeks won’t hurt.’
Tom cleared his throat noisily, like he always did when irritated.
‘Why now? Cos Plaxon wants it now. Plaxon’s put up the money. Developed the science. It’s only normal they get to call the shots.’
‘But you’re on the Plaxon board. You could delay it.’
Tom stared at her coldly. ‘Why in hell’s name would I want to delay it?’
Tammy placed her hands flat on the table for a moment, fingers stretched, then clenched them tightly.
‘Cos we don’t know who Ferris Clark is. You’re the one who said he might not have any memory. That he’ll need all the help he can get. And so far, unless I’ve missed something, we know almost nothing about him. What happens if it all goes wrong? That’s what I want to know.’
Tom emitted a heavy sigh.
‘Okay, let me explain so we’re all clear. It’s important that everyone knows. If there’s a hi
tch, if something screws up, if there’s serious brain damage, if his memory’s shot, that’s all been factored in. We’ve cleared it with Perez, with the FBI. Even Governor Jackson knows about it. Hunter and I will jointly take responsibility. And we’ll need to act fast. One, he gets a shot of sodium thiopental. That’ll render him numb. Two, he gets a shot of pancuronium bromide. That’ll shut down his breathing. And three, he gets the final shot, potassium chloride. Stops the heart in seconds.’
He paused.
‘Maybe you now get why secrecy’s vital. Wouldn’t want some snitching bastard trying to get us for murder.’
‘Why not unplug him?’ said Jennifer in her usual blank voice. She was toying with a packet of gum.
Tom slammed his hands down on the table. ‘He could be conscious, for Chrissakes. He might have movement in his limbs. We need something that will kill him in seconds.’
He tapped his pen on the table, took a deep breath and then looked down at the list in front of him.
‘Ah yes, practicalities. Harry Jackson’s driving up here tomorrow night. Jon Perez will be flying in. And we’ll also have Sam Taylor, Jim and the rest of the board. The only one who can’t make it is Roland. He’s off in Hawaii with Hannah, lucky dog.’
They all nodded. It wasn’t often that the governor and the board came to ZAKRON. In fact it hadn’t happened for years.
Tom turned to face Tammy, the trace of a smile on his face.
‘One other thing. Our British friend Jack Raven’s left us. Headed out of town this morning. Gone back to England. I hope no one else is intending to spring any surprises. I don’t like surprises.’
He glanced briefly at Hunter before continuing. ‘Now, anything else?’
They all shook their heads.
‘Good. Then we meet in two hours. Eleven o’clock sharp. We’ll get prepared, then straight into theatre. Step by step. You all know the procedure.’
He’d finished speaking and they slowly filed out of the room, one by one. Tammy was the last to leave.
‘Good dinner with your friend?’ said Tom. ‘You looked quite the couple. But he didn’t even come and say adios.’