The Killing Ship

by Simon Beaufort

  ‘Don’t mock it,’ said Sarah. ‘It’s better than doing nothing.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Mortimer, unconvinced. ‘But—’

  They were interrupted by Graham, who flung down the fork he had been using and stepped towards them.

  ‘You have to tell us if you know anything,’ he said sulkily. ‘We’ve got a right to know.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Sarah coolly, thinking perhaps he should be told what his treachery had brought about. ‘Freddy’s dead. I found his body.’

  ‘I bet you didn’t find Dan’s, though,’ muttered Graham. ‘Oh, no. Of course you didn’t.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ she demanded.

  ‘Just what I say. Dan’s out there somewhere, doing what he’s always done – pleasing himself. He’s never been one of us, and I don’t know why Andrew brought him along in the first place. He flouts all the rules, and goes where he likes, when he likes.’

  She stared at him. Could he be right? It would explain why they had found no sign of Dan – because he had been collected by his criminal accomplices, and was relaxing happily somewhere else on Lena. Or was Graham merely trying to shift the blame away from himself? She leaned back on the bed, no longer sure what to think.

  ‘Get out of my way,’ ordered Maria, after Drecki had stepped in front of Berrister a second time to prevent her shooting him. ‘You’re wasting time with this nonsense.’

  Drecki regarded her coolly for a moment, then did as he was told. Berrister cringed as her finger tightened on the trigger.

  ‘However,’ the old man said coldly, ‘bear in mind that I will report his murder to the authorities, both on the base and in Poland.’

  ‘Oh, screw it,’ Maria spat in exasperation, throwing the gun in front of him. ‘He’s all yours then. You can make sure he doesn’t turn on us. Tadek, start up the boat. We’ve got to get back to Arctowski and tell them what’s happened here.’

  The pair began to sprint down the beach, where the two inflatables undulated in the surf.

  ‘But Arctowski is more than a hundred and fifty kilometres away,’ Drecki shouted after them. ‘We’ll never make it.’

  ‘Not in our boat,’ Tadek called back. ‘But we will in theirs. Come on, Professor – hurry!’

  ‘They’ll blow us out of the water,’ argued Drecki, although he put on a decent spurt of speed to join them. ‘You saw what they did to Jacek.’

  ‘We’ll be a smaller target and moving very fast,’ replied Tadek grimly. ‘They won’t catch us, believe me. Not the way I drive.’

  Berrister could only stand and watch as Tadek and Maria pushed the larger craft into the waves and leapt in. But Drecki still had some way to go when another Zodiac suddenly appeared from behind the ship. It carried four men, all armed. Tadek turned his boat around, while Maria screamed for Drecki to run.

  The new boat powered towards them, and Tadek, evidently deciding that Drecki wouldn’t make it in time, gunned the engine and roared directly towards the whalers, on a collision course. Maria was flung backwards as the boat accelerated.

  It was the gunmen who blinked. At the last second, they veered away, leaving Tadek to fly past them and aim for the open sea. The whalers turned to follow, but Tadek had a good lead and was the better driver. He began to pull away. Silently, Berrister urged them on.

  ‘You! Quick!’

  It took a moment for Berrister to realise that Drecki was speaking to him.

  ‘We’ll take the other boat and slip away while their attention is elsewhere. Well, don’t just stand there, man – move!’

  Berrister forced his stiff legs into action, and hobbled down the beach, expecting at any moment to see a second enemy boat racing towards them. Drecki clambered into a little inflatable that had definitely seen better days, while Berrister shoved it into the surf. He didn’t think his feet could be any colder, but the seawater chilled him to the bone, making him gasp with the shock of it. He climbed in awkwardly and looked for the ignition button. The engine was so ancient that it didn’t have one – just a pull-cord, like an old-fashioned lawnmower. He hauled at it with all his strength. Nothing happened.

  ‘Again!’ hissed Drecki. ‘Harder!’

  Berrister did, and the antiquated motor chugged briefly before clattering into silence. He glanced up, expecting to see gun-toting killers racing towards them, and yanked the cord again. This time, the engine caught, so he jammed it in gear and aimed for deeper water.

  ‘Head for the iceberg,’ shouted Drecki, pointing at a great blue-white monster that had grounded in the bay. It was a good idea – the iceberg lay between the cove and the ship, so would shield them from view for a while. They began bouncing across the waves towards it, spray flying into their faces. A wave caught them head on and the bows jerked into the air. Drecki moved forward in an effort to weight them down, although he was too light to make much difference.

  Meanwhile, the other two craft had already travelled some distance. Tadek was still well in the lead and Berrister felt his hopes rise. Maybe they would reach Arctowski and raise the alarm, and he and his friends might be saved yet.

  Then there was a vivid flash and a dull thump. Galtieri was firing at them, as she had done at Jacek. The gunmen’s driver swerved away fast – wisely so, as the missile had landed closer to him than to Maria and Tadek. Clearly, someone on Galtieri was more interested in stopping the Poles than in the safety of his own men.

  Berrister cut his speed when he was as near to the berg as he thought was safe – they were notoriously unstable, and anyone getting too close ran the risk of them collapsing or tipping over. As he sat on the pontoon, he silently cursed himself for not having grabbed one of the dead men’s guns from the beach. Hopefully he wouldn’t need it – Galtieri would head for the open sea once they thought no one was left at Villard Point – but it would have been comforting to have one.

  Galtieri was still firing at Tadek. There was another thump, and a fountain of spray appeared off the inflatable’s starboard side. The little craft zigzagged to avoid the seething water, then picked up speed again. The third shot also missed, but sent a huge column of water shooting up directly in front of it. The boat jerked and flipped, landing upside down and hurling its occupants out. The gunmen moved in on them like sharks.

  Sarah prowled restlessly, pausing every so often to watch Joshi scraping at the bolts that sealed the porthole. Mortimer lay on his bed reading Olga’s Lovers, shaking his head from time to time in amused disbelief.

  Earlier, she had hammered on the door, and had demanded – and was provided with – clean clothes. She now wore baggy twill trousers, thick sea socks and a sweatshirt with a leering Donald Duck. Her own clothes had been rinsed and were hanging up to dry. She had also eaten bread, four apples and a lump of the same kind of spicy sausage that Berrister had found in the dead man’s pocket. It came with beer. She took a tiny sip, and concurred with Mortimer that there was definitely something amiss with its flavour. She also did not like the fact that the bottle was open.

  She had been impressed to note that Joshi had started work on the screws that were hidden by the curtains. When their guards came, he simply let the material fall back into place, as if he had been innocently looking out of the window. He had managed to loosen some nuts, and it looked as though he might get the porthole open yet. When his efforts flagged, she took a turn, sawing and poking so vigorously that Mortimer had to raise the volume on the radio lest she was heard. Graham’s spirits had improved since she had arrived, and when she stopped for a respite, he took her place.

  ‘You do know it’s a waste of time,’ whispered Mortimer, so Graham and Joshi wouldn’t hear. ‘Jumping out into the sea would kill us for certain.’

  She nodded. ‘But I’ll go crazy, just sitting here waiting for them to kill us. Besides, you never know – maybe those tourists will sail past, and we can hang an SOS out the window.’

  Mortimer raised sardonic eyebrows. ‘I’ll make one then, shall I?’

 
‘Use one of the sheets,’ said Sarah, taking him at his word. ‘I’ve got a pen somewhere.’

  At that moment, there was an almost imperceptible judder.

  ‘We’re off,’ said Mortimer, cocking his head. ‘That was the bow thrusters starting up.’

  He elbowed Graham away from the window and looked out. The ship was turning, providing a panoramic view of Hannah Point as it went. Their camp, which should have shown up as a bright splash of green and yellow, was gone, and anything that might have been left was smothered under a blanket of snow.

  He saw something dark in the water – the dead whale had been cut loose and was slowly beginning to sink. Gulls wheeled around it, fighting for scraps.

  ‘Now where? King George?’ asked Joshi hopefully.

  ‘That’s east,’ said Mortimer, flatly. ‘We’re heading west.’

  A few minutes later, the door opened and Hasim entered, Yablokov at his heels. Hasim regarded Sarah with interest, while Yablokov stared at Joshi. Mortimer was uneasy. Had the burly first mate guessed what was happening to his porthole?

  ‘Charmed to meet you, Dr Henshaw,’ said Hasim with an exaggerated bow. ‘Welcome aboard Lena. Do you have everything you need?’

  ‘No,’ replied Sarah coldly. ‘Because what we need is our freedom.’

  ‘All in good time,’ said Hasim. ‘We’ll be at King George soon, where you’ll be released.’

  ‘Do you know the way?’ asked Mortimer. ‘Because you’re sailing in the wrong direction.’

  ‘Ice,’ replied Hasim blandly. ‘We have to set a course to avoid it. Don’t worry – the captain knows his business.’

  If only that were true, thought Yablokov bitterly.

  ‘So, who are you?’ demanded Sarah. ‘And what do you think you’re doing down here, besides slaughtering endangered species and kidnapping scientists?’

  Hasim perched on the edge of the table and ran a hand through his thick black hair. Now we shall see, thought Yablokov, watching him. If Hasim tells them the truth, they’re dead for certain and the promise of safe passage to a research base was a cruel lie.

  ‘My employers have chartered Lena for a few weeks,’ Hasim replied. ‘We’re an organisation called the Southern Exploring Company.’

  So the scientists were to die, surmised Yablokov. He glanced at Joshi. Holy Mother! The boy was only a child – not much older than his own son. How had he let himself become involved in such a filthy business? Yet again, he wished he’d had the sense to refuse Garik’s invitation to make some quick and easy cash.

  ‘A suitably ambiguous name,’ Mortimer was saying. ‘Explores for whale meat, does it?’

  ‘We don’t really explore very much at all,’ replied Hasim. ‘We’re more in the transport business.’

  ‘And who buys the illegal whale meat you “transport”?’ asked Sarah, eyeing first him and then Yablokov with such disdain that the first mate winced.

  ‘The Far East, mostly,’ replied Hasim, unperturbed by her hostility. ‘Although, as I’ve said, whaling isn’t our sole purpose. Now I’ve a proposition for you. I’d like to know about the krill at Hannah Point. In return for your cooperation, I’m prepared to be a little more … protective.’

  ‘Protective?’ echoed Sarah, suspiciously.

  ‘About your lives. I want to put you ashore near one of the scientific bases, but not everyone thinks this is the right thing to do. I’m afraid the captain wants to kill you.’

  Yablokov stifled a gasp of disbelief. Garik barely knew the scientists were on board, and would certainly not offer an opinion that was in the remotest way contrary to that of his adviser. Hasim shot him a quick warning glance before continuing.

  ‘If you cooperate, I stand a good chance of persuading him to spare you. Of course, if you are obstructive, who can say what’ll happen?’

  ‘I see,’ said Sarah. ‘Well, you can go to hell.’

  Hasim looked at the others. ‘Does she speak for you all? Will you let her stupid obstinacy cost you your lives?’

  No one spoke.

  ‘Why do you want to know about krill?’ asked Mortimer eventually.

  Yablokov was keen to hear the answer to that, too.

  ‘Let’s just say that I’m interested,’ replied Hasim. ‘All I want to know is how many krill are in the area. The figure doesn’t have to be precise – a guess will do. What was the figure this time last week?’

  Mortimer regarded him coldly. ‘The only man who could’ve told you that was Andrew Berrister. Unfortunately, you killed him – your louts chased him down a crevasse.’

  ‘I know about krill,’ said Graham, standing abruptly. ‘I’ll tell you.’

  ‘No, he doesn’t,’ said Sarah quickly. ‘He’s a field hand, not a biologist.’

  ‘I do,’ insisted Graham. ‘I always checked the nets with Andrew. I can tell you what you need to know.’

  Sarah wanted to grab him by his treacherous throat, and prevent him from ever speaking again, but Hasim took Graham’s arm and bundled him outside before she could move. Yablokov hesitated uncertainly for a moment, then followed. The door closed behind them. Mortimer looked stricken at the turn of events, while Joshi gaped his disbelief.

  ‘Thank God you didn’t tell him about Andrew and the Poles,’ murmured Mortimer. ‘I have a bad feeling Hasim would have had it out of him.’

  ‘I’m sure of it,’ said Sarah bitterly. ‘Just as I’m sure that someone has been betraying us all along. You were wrong to claim it was none of you three.’

  ‘I hardly think … I don’t believe …’ Mortimer trailed off unhappily.

  ‘Of course, it doesn’t make any difference whether he knows about Andrew or not,’ she went on softly. ‘Not when Andrew is almost certainly dead, and the Poles are sailing back to their base in blissful ignorance.’

  Galtieri’s crew circled the upended boat for an age before someone was retrieved from the sea. Even from a distance, Berrister could see the person was either unconscious or dead – the latter, probably, given the amount of time that had passed. The gunmen searched for a while longer, then turned back towards their ship.

  Berrister eased around the ice, careful to stay out of sight as the enemy craft buzzed past. In the bows, Drecki sat with his head in his hands, grieving for his lost friends. When the whalers had gone, Berrister cut the engine, uncertain what to do next. Tadek had had the benefit of a considerably faster boat, but he had still been blown out of the water, so trying to outrun Galtieri in Jacek’s little Zodiac with its puttering motor was clearly out of the question. Unfortunately, Galtieri was still at anchor and showed no indication that she was ready to leave. Thus Berrister and Drecki were trapped in the bay for as long as she stayed.

  He squinted up at the sky. Two storm petrels soared and circled, performing an intricate ballet for each other. To his right, part of the iceberg had melted to form a small platform, and a crabeater seal had hauled out on it, dozing contentedly. The scene was one of such peace and beauty that he found it hard to believe that people had met terrible ends nearby.

  The iceberg itself was magnificent. It was a cathedral-sized lump that had once been a tabular berg – one of the great, flat-topped slabs, some the size of countries, that regularly broke off the Antarctic ice sheet. It had been battered by sea and wind for decades, growing ever smaller as parts broke away or melted, and had finally turned upside down as its weight had shifted. Its top was now a series of jagged pinnacles that stretched down like the columns of a Greek temple, simultaneously beautiful and deadly. Arches and caves in blue, violet and indigo had been carved near the water line.

  ‘They’re coming back,’ he said, hearing the distant roar of an engine. ‘Now what?’

  Drecki raised a tear-stained face. ‘Start the motor,’ he ordered. ‘And hide inside the ice.’

  Berrister blinked. ‘You want me to drive into an iceberg?’

  He didn’t need to tell the Pole that icebergs were treacherously unstable, especially once they were grounded and thus in
their death throes, or that even the vibrations from his engine might cause it to tip or collapse. Drecki would already know.

  ‘Hurry, before they see us,’ urged Drecki.

  Numbly, Berrister yanked the starter cord, glad when the engine caught the first time, and chugged closer to the great blue-white mass until he felt its cold breath on his face.

  ‘There!’ hissed Drecki, pointing to a turquoise-blue fissure near the water line that disappeared into darkness. ‘Go in there.’

  The roar of the other boat was audible over their own now, so Berrister did as he was told quickly. The temperature immediately fell by several degrees.

  ‘Further,’ urged Drecki. ‘Try to get out of sight.’

  The icy walls closed around them, and Berrister cut the engine, afraid of what the throbbing vibrations would do. In the resulting hush, he heard the splatter of trickling water as ice melted within, along with the greedy slurp of waves. He used an oar to propel them further along the tunnel, until Drecki raised his hand, telling him to stop. They waited and listened.

  For a while, there was no sound except waves sucking and slathering, and the tinkle of dripping water. Then they heard the other boat.

  ‘They’re looking for us,’ surmised Drecki. ‘They must’ve noticed our boat gone and guessed what happened.’

  Berrister wished he’d been thinking more clearly, because with hindsight, taking to the sea had been a stupid thing to do.

  ‘We should have stayed ashore,’ he whispered. ‘I know caves where we could have hidden.’

  ‘They’d have found us. They’re not—’

  Drecki stopped speaking when the chug of the other engine was suddenly much louder. He and Berrister exchanged a glance of disbelief: the driver had followed them in! Berrister grabbed an oar and poled them even deeper into the berg, hoping the man would come to his senses before he brought the whole thing down on them all.

  ‘What’s he doing?’ he whispered, frantically struggling to gain purchase on the slick walls. ‘Doesn’t he know it’s dangerous in here?’