The Killing Ship

by Simon Beaufort

  ‘I’m not sure that would work,’ said Joshi. ‘Vince has been the communications officer all season – he’d recognise a different voice.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Graham. ‘He doesn’t know me, you or Lisa, because we tend not to make the nightly broadcasts. But that’s not to say that we never would. It’d be easy to fool him.’

  Sarah continued to frown. ‘Even so, I still don’t see how you telling Hasim about krill has warned Rothera.’

  ‘Think,’ said Mortimer. ‘Andrew sends reports to Noddy Taylor every three days—’

  ‘And that’s why Hasim wants to know about krill,’ finished Graham triumphantly. ‘It’s something he can’t invent without raising eyebrows, so to prolong the pretence, it’s got to be done properly – well enough to satisfy Noddy.’

  ‘And?’ asked Sarah.

  ‘And I gave Hasim figures that are six times higher than they should be,’ said Graham with pride. ‘Noddy will know they’re wrong, and he’ll demand an explanation. When he does, I’ll give him more duff data. He’ll want to talk to Andrew, and when that doesn’t happen …’

  ‘He’ll know something’s wrong and will raise the alarm,’ finished Mortimer.

  Sarah stared at Graham. He seemed sincere, but she had never been more uncertain of anything in her life. Had he really put a clever plan in motion, or simply used the opportunity to share more of their secrets – such as their attempt to prise open the porthole? She gave a stiff smile and nodded at him, deciding to reserve judgement. Of course, even if Graham was genuinely trying to help, it would do no good. Even Rothera would be powerless against men with guns.

  Mortimer clapped Graham on the shoulder. He was hopeful, even if Sarah remained wary.

  ‘We’ll have to keep up a pretence of hostility towards you,’ he said, ‘or Hasim will get suspicious. From now on, you stay at one end of the room, and we’ll take the other. And no helping Joshi at the porthole, in case they burst in and see you together.’

  Graham retreated immediately. The other three looked out of the window, watching Hannah Point disappear as Lena picked up speed. After a while, Joshi and Sarah continued working on the porthole, while Mortimer lost himself in Olga’s Lovers again, grateful for once that he was a slow reader.

  It was not long before the ship began to lurch with sickening irregularity – they were heading out to sea. Lulled by the motion, they fell asleep. They woke when a meal was brought: the obligatory stew, fruit, chocolate, bread and beer, which was treated like all the rest. The gap between the wall and the floor was beginning to stink, and Mortimer hoped what they were doing wouldn’t become too obvious. Afterwards, he went back to sleep. Sarah and Joshi returned to their scratching, and Graham leafed through old issues of National Geographic.

  Suddenly, the ship began to move much faster, waking Mortimer, who looked around in confusion. Everything shook and rattled, and then Lena heeled sharply to starboard.

  ‘We’re turning,’ said Mortimer, staggering from the bed to the window. ‘Although most ships don’t do it at this speed without good reason.’

  ‘They have one,’ said Sarah grimly. ‘Whales.’

  ‘They’re blues,’ cried Joshi.

  ‘Hasim said he’d attached a tracking device to one,’ said Mortimer. ‘Look! There goes the harpoon.’

  They crowded around the window to watch the missile with its cable and exploding head snake across the water. When it missed, they cheered. Minutes later, a second was fired.

  ‘Dive!’ screamed Joshi, as though the whale could hear. ‘Dive!’

  They cheered again when the harpoon went wide. The great whale dipped under the surface and was gone.

  ‘But it’ll come up again,’ said Sarah bitterly, ‘and then they’ll get it.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ countered Joshi hopefully. ‘They keep missing.’

  At that moment, another whale blew close to their window, sending a spume of spray high into the air. There was a sharp bang as the harpoon gun sounded again. The animal was so close that it was impossible to miss, and there was an explosion that splattered red. The whale jerked and showed its back as it dived. It took too long, and a second head exploded in it before it could disappear.

  ‘Go deep,’ urged Mortimer. ‘Break the lines.’

  They could see the rope being played out as the animal swam away, and fancied they could hear winches screaming. Then there was silence. The engines had stopped, and Lena rocked gently from side to side. No one spoke, and the only other sound was water slapping against the sides of the ship.

  ‘Maybe they lost it,’ whispered Joshi. ‘Maybe it escaped.’

  Sarah shook her head. ‘It’s gone deep. Frightened, probably.’

  ‘And injured,’ added Mortimer. ‘Exploding grenades are supposed to kill more humanely – meaning in minutes, rather than hours. Of course, that’s if you have an experienced gunner. I’m not sure this tosser knows what he’s doing.’

  It was almost half an hour before the whale blew again. There were shouts from the deck and the thud of running footsteps. The engines started up and winches took up the slack on the lines. Another crack signalled the firing of the harpoon. There was a fountain of red, and the whale rolled before diving again. This time it surfaced after a few minutes, and there was blood in its blow.

  ‘This is awful,’ said Joshi shakily. ‘The bastards!’

  ‘Why do they need another one anyway?’ asked Mortimer, unable to watch any more and turning away. ‘They didn’t finish chopping up the first. It’s completely unnecessary. Graham – get away from the window. You’re supposed to be in disgrace, remember?’

  Sarah went to sit next to Mortimer on the bed, although Joshi continued to gaze out of the porthole, wiping the glass with his sleeve when his breath fogged it. Graham retreated to a chair near the door.

  ‘Hasim keeps talking about “other business” that’s more important than whaling,’ said Mortimer in a low voice. ‘What can it be, do you think?’

  ‘God knows,’ muttered Sarah. ‘Minerals? The Antarctic’s supposed to be rich in them.’

  ‘Yes, but no one knows for sure. Besides, they’re all under the ice sheet, and thus out of reach.’

  ‘Transport,’ mused Sarah. ‘Hasim said transport. Maybe he means those barrels they’re dumping. But what could be in them to merit such a long and dangerous journey? If they just want rid of them, what’s wrong with dropping them in the middle of the Atlantic?’

  ‘We shouldn’t put too much store in what Hasim says. Remember how much whale meat costs? That would be incentive enough.’

  Outside, the whale surfaced again, spurting blood. There was a rattle as the winches tightened the cables, and then nothing but the hollow rasp of the whale struggling to breathe.

  On deck, Yablokov wrested the harpoon gun away from Garik before he hurt himself with it. He had suspected that the quick kill in South Bay had been more luck than skill, and was appalled by the length of time it had taken to secure the second animal. Garik was jubilant, though, and strutted around seeking the adulation of his crew.

  ‘This’ll put a few coins in our pockets,’ he crowed. ‘We’ll be rich!’

  Hasim agreed gleefully, and leaned over the side to watch the dying whale thrash. He started backwards when a flick of its tail sent a deluge of water over him, and Yablokov was sure he was not the only one who wished it had washed him overboard.

  ‘I thought exploding heads were supposed to kill quickly,’ muttered Nikos. He was no longer under arrest – Lena could not manage long without a chief engineer.

  ‘Only if the harpooner knows what he’s doing,’ replied Yablokov. ‘And if he’s sober.’

  He went to dismantle the gun, hoping they would not have to use it again. The kill had appalled him, not because of the animal’s suffering – he was a fisherman, after all, and so used to seeing creatures flailing around trying to breathe – but because the frantic battle had put the crew at risk. A Swede had been badly burned by a hot win
ch, and an Estonian had almost been dragged overboard when his foot caught in poorly coiled rope.

  ‘You’d better go aft,’ said Nikos. ‘Hasim’s trying to direct the tethering operation himself.’

  It was true, and as Hasim had no idea how it was done, the result was chaos. Even the usually deadpan Zurin was exasperated. Yablokov hurried to take over, struggling to undo the harm Hasim had done with crossed and tangled lines. He had the situation under control eventually, but then realised that Garik had neglected to drop anchor, so they had drifted dangerously close to the shore.

  ‘Mr Hasim told us not to bother,’ explained one of the Norwegians when Yablokov demanded to know why one of them hadn’t used his common sense. ‘In case we need to leave in a hurry.’

  ‘And what did the captain say?’ asked Yablokov, sure that even Garik would have pointed out the folly of that asinine instruction.

  ‘He’s … not here,’ replied the officer, which Yablokov interpreted to mean that Garik was probably insensible in his quarters.

  ‘And Hasim?’

  ‘He went to lie down for a while as well. I don’t think he appreciated you showing him up when he was trying to help.’

  The officer’s expression was bland, but Yablokov knew the remark was a direct challenge to his authority. He barked some orders that would keep the man busy for the rest of his watch, then saw Lena safely anchored. When he had finished, he went to find Garik, steaming with anger. It was unconscionable to have left the ship in the hands of such inept officers – another ten minutes would have seen them run aground.

  Garik had not managed to reach his cabin before passing out, and was sprawled on the stairs halfway down. For a moment, Yablokov thought he might be dead, but a tentative poke resulted in blearily opened eyes.

  ‘Things aren’t good, Evgeny,’ Garik whispered hoarsely.

  ‘No,’ agreed Yablokov sourly. ‘They were better when we were in the Arctic.’

  ‘The cargo?’ asked Garik, as Yablokov hauled him to his feet. ‘Is it offloaded yet?’

  ‘The forward hold is clear, but the afterdeck hold is still full – as I told you when you asked two hours ago.’

  ‘You need to be careful with it, Eysha.’

  ‘I know.’ Yablokov struggled to keep Garik upright while he opened the cabin door.

  ‘You’ve no idea what it is, have you?’ said Garik with a laugh that ended in a hiccup.

  ‘Phosphorus,’ replied Yablokov shortly. ‘Hasim told me. A by-product of strong fertilisers, which can’t be dumped anywhere else, because it reacts with warm water – causes algal blooms or something. The Southern Ocean is the only place cold enough to render it inert.’

  Garik sniggered and flung a heavy arm around Yablokov’s shoulders. ‘It’s not phosphorus! Do you think the Southern Exploring Company would pay all this money to bring phosphorus down here? Idiot!’

  ‘Need a hand?’ It was Nikos who asked, on his way to the engine room. He looked amused at the sight of the captain embracing his first mate so fondly.

  ‘Yes, please,’ said Yablokov coolly, seeing nothing to grin about.

  ‘Phosphorus,’ murmured Garik as they manoeuvred him towards his bed. ‘Glows in the dark.’

  So would his few remaining brain cells if he kept up that level of drinking, thought Yablokov acidly, letting him fall face down on the bed and half hoping he would suffocate himself.

  ‘Did I hear him say that the cargo isn’t phosphorus?’ asked Nikos, as they left him snoring wetly into his pillow. ‘Because if he did, he should’ve mentioned it sooner – it might have made a difference to how we stored it.’

  ‘Well, it doesn’t matter now,’ said Yablokov. ‘It’ll all be gone soon.’

  ‘Incidentally, Hasim was on the radio to Galtieri again while you were on deck. I eavesdropped, and learned why he’s so interested in krill.’

  ‘Yes?’ asked Yablokov curtly. He needed to get back to the flensing before there was another accident. The riddles of the Southern Exploring Company could wait.

  ‘So the information can be relayed to Rothera. Apparently, one of the scientists has been measuring the things, and Rothera is demanding to know why the reports have dried up. Hasim doesn’t want their planes or ships coming to nose around.’

  Yablokov regarded Nikos in horror, flensing forgotten. ‘Rothera? You mean there are yet more of these scientists? I thought they were down here alone.’

  ‘No one’s alone down here these days, Evgeny – they all contact each other regularly. If ours miss a certain number of scheduled transmissions, someone will come to check on them. Fortunately for us, Galtieri has been communicating on their behalf. I know you don’t like Galtieri, but her intervention has certainly saved our bacon.’

  ‘Rothera can’t tell the difference between their own scientists and someone from Galtieri?’ asked Yablokov incredulously. ‘That sounds unlikely.’

  ‘It’s worked so far, the only problem being the krill – hence Hasim’s peculiar interest.’

  ‘Then why could he not just tell us so? Why all the secrecy?’

  Nikos shrugged. ‘Knowledge is power. Wasn’t that the motto of your KGB?’

  ‘Hardly! But Hasim’s supposed to be on the same side as us. How can we work together if we can’t trust each other?’

  ‘Presumably because what you don’t know can’t hurt Hasim, should the unthinkable happen and we get caught. However, if we are, I’m not taking the blame for the murders. I’m going to make it clear that he’s the one who put elemental mercury in their beer.’

  Yablokov lowered his voice. ‘They don’t drink the beer – they pour it down the sink. I know because that particular basin leaks, and half of it’s dripping down my cabin wall.’

  ‘Then Hasim hasn’t realised it yet, or he’d put it in something else.’

  Yablokov hesitated, but then plunged on. ‘I’m going to help them escape.’

  Nikos raised his eyebrows. ‘In exchange for what? Clemency when we’re all arrested for hunting endangered species and killing four scientists?’

  ‘Why not? Besides, it’s not four scientists – it’s more. Galtieri killed some Poles on the other side of the island. It’s all getting out of hand, Nikos, and I’ve had enough.’

  ‘Me too, but there’s nothing we can do about it now. My advice is to keep your head down and your mouth closed, and maybe we’ll get out of this alive.’

  ‘The prisoners won’t.’

  ‘No,’ agreed Nikos. ‘They won’t.’

  ‘Just a little further, then we’ll use the engine,’ said Drecki, kneeling in the bow and glancing at Berrister behind him. ‘Are you alright?’

  Berrister nodded; he had no breath for talking. He hauled as hard as he could on the oars, hoping that Drecki’s ‘a little further’ was not too different from his own.

  ‘Stop!’ hissed Drecki suddenly. ‘Don’t move.’

  Berrister froze obediently, sufficiently exhausted to be grateful for the respite. It was the fourth time the Pole had done it. The first had been because he had spotted a leopard seal – large, aggressive animals known to attack and puncture Zodiacs. The second and third were because he thought he could hear engines, although it had only been his imagination.

  They had watched the three ships for some time before finally agreeing on a plan. Unfortunately, hiking away to hide in the interior of the island was not an option, because Galtieri had put a number of people ashore, so their only real choice was to try to escape by sea. It was Drecki who had devised a way to do it. His idea was simple, but had worked so far – to hide behind a screen of ice and row to freedom. Rowing was a good idea for two reasons: it eliminated engine noise, and it meant they would not move quickly enough to be spotted on radar. The downside was that it entailed tying their boat to a lump of ice large enough to conceal them. It was heavy, and it was fortunate that the tide was with them, or the task would have been all but impossible.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ whispered Berrister as time ticked
past and the Pole made no signal for him to resume rowing.

  ‘I saw that leopard seal again,’ replied Drecki. ‘Dangerous things, leopard seals. But I think it’s gone now. Alright – off you go.’

  Berrister began to haul on the oars once more, trying to distract himself from the burning exhaustion in his arms and back by thinking about what he would do when they reached Hannah Point. Drecki had agreed to go there with him, to find Sarah in the ice shelter, but neither had any idea what they would do if they arrived to find Lena still there. Berrister wasn’t sure of the time, but the light was beginning to fade, and it would be dark by the time they got there, which was one thing in their favour.

  ‘They’re lowering a Zodiac,’ whispered Drecki urgently. ‘They must’ve seen us.’

  Berrister stopped in alarm. ‘Then we should cut loose and make a dash to the headland while we have a good lead.’

  At that point, they realised that neither of them had a knife.

  ‘Matches!’ gulped Berrister. ‘We’ll burn the rope through.’

  While Drecki continued to struggle ineffectively with the knots, Berrister frantically rifled through his pockets, hunting for the box he had taken from the bodies. Or had he left them with Sarah back at the ice shelter?

  ‘Oh, it’s alright,’ said Drecki. ‘They’re not coming this way – they’re just using the inflatable to manoeuvre the whales for flensing.’

  Berrister felt sick with relief. He raised a shaking hand to his head, wondering how much more he could stand before he finally snapped from the tension.

  ‘You can start rowing again,’ said Drecki cheerily. ‘We’ll make it easily now all their attention is on the whales.’

  Berrister did as he was told, and there followed a long, hard pull until they eased around a rocky bluff and Galtieri and her consorts were lost from sight.

  Drecki clapped his hands in childlike delight. ‘We did it. We’re home and dry!’

  They were nowhere near anything that could remotely be described as home, and Berrister was certainly not dry. He flopped backward, breathing hard, and felt the little boat vibrate as Drecki started the engine. The sea was fairly calm near the coast, but once in more open waters, it was rough. He climbed into the bow, hoping his weight would hold it down and give them an easier ride, but it made little difference. He was forced to cling on for dear life to avoid being pitched overboard, and it was not long before he grew even more tired. He gestured to Drecki to slow down.