The Killing Ship

by Simon Beaufort

  ‘I thought you wanted to reach your friend as soon as possible.’

  ‘I do, but I want to be in a condition to help her when we get there. I couldn’t make her a cup of tea at the moment.’

  Drecki reduced speed, and the Zodiac stopped bouncing like a wild animal. Instead, it rolled up and down in a way that made Berrister feel queasy. He was not sure which was worse.

  They were soon around the end of the Byers Peninsula, passing Rugged Island with its great jagged cliffs. They turned south, to the area of treacherous rocks and stacks called Devil’s Point. And then they hit more trouble. Drecki killed the engine abruptly.

  ‘Two more ships,’ he breathed, appalled. ‘How many of these damned things are there?’

  Once the dead whale had been secured, the grisly business of gathering meat began. The prisoners’ dinner was late, because the crew was busy, and when it arrived, the sight of grey meat and overcooked potatoes made Sarah feel sick.

  ‘I hope this isn’t whale,’ said Joshi, eyeing it in distaste.

  ‘As a biologist,’ said Mortimer drily, ‘you should be able to tell the difference between a whale and a pig, even when dead and served on a plate.’

  ‘There’s another ship!’ whispered Graham from the window suddenly. ‘It’s coming this way.’

  ‘Where?’ demanded Sarah, leaping to her feet and elbowing him away so she could see for herself. ‘Perhaps the krill—’

  She only just stopped herself from blurting out that the krill plan might have worked. She closed her eyes, disgusted with herself for almost betraying them to the people she was sure were monitoring their every word. Mortimer switched on the radio.

  ‘I can’t see it very well,’ Graham said, wiping the window with his sleeve.

  ‘It could be Worsley,’ said Joshi, and looked at Mortimer with such an expression of hope that the glaciologist was unable to meet his eyes.

  ‘Possibly,’ he said briskly. ‘Let’s just wait and see what happens.’

  ‘I hope these whalers don’t …’ began Joshi uncertainly. ‘Worsley isn’t very big …’

  ‘If Lena was going to attack her, she’d have done it by now,’ said Sarah. ‘Besides, eliminating a whole ship is a lot more difficult than getting rid of eight people and a few tents.’

  ‘They could sink it,’ said Joshi fearfully.

  ‘With what?’ asked Graham sneeringly. ‘A harpoon?’

  ‘Enough,’ said Sarah sharply. ‘Here’s a ship and we’re in need of rescue. How can we turn the situation to our advantage?’

  ‘By hanging a sheet saying “HELP” out of the porthole,’ replied Joshi promptly.

  ‘How do we do that?’ asked Sarah. ‘We haven’t got it open yet.’

  ‘Then how about a flashing light?’ suggested Joshi. ‘We could signal SOS in code.’

  ‘Another good idea,’ said Sarah. ‘But we don’t have a torch.’

  ‘I do,’ said Joshi, ‘on my mobile.’

  ‘Wait,’ cautioned Mortimer. ‘Lena’s made no effort to hide her whale, which I suspect she would have done if the new ship was indeed Worsley. Unfortunately, I bet that it’s a sister ship, here for the same nasty purposes.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Sarah. ‘But it’s a chance we’ll have to take. Besides, Worsley will be along sooner or later, and when she is, we want to be ready. From now on, we signal SOS constantly. We’ll take it in turns.’

  ‘The batteries will run out,’ said Graham.

  Sarah gestured to the overhead lights. ‘Then we’ll switch those on and off instead. Well? What are you waiting for?’

  As Drecki hastily eased their boat behind a rock, Berrister looked at the scene ahead in horror. One of the two ships had already caught a blue whale and roped it to her side, while the remainder of the pod circled in confusion. The whale was still alive, because he could see a faint pink plume emerging from its blowhole every so often. And the ship was Lena.

  The second vessel looked very similar, and he supposed it was another old bucket from the northern fishing fleet. As he watched, there was a flurry of activity in the bow, followed by a bang that echoed across the water. He held his breath, willing the missile to go wide, but blood splattered as it exploded in the whale’s body, near the tail.

  ‘Bastards!’ he snarled, jumping to his feet. ‘They’ve hit a calf! We’ve got to stop them or they’ll slaughter the whole pod.’

  ‘How?’ asked Drecki quietly. ‘They’ve got guns and torpedoes.’

  ‘Get between them and the whales. Or drive the whales away – ram them, maybe.’

  ‘When Greenpeace did it, they had the world’s press looking on,’ said Drecki in the same calmly reasonable voice. ‘Here, there’s nothing to stop those pirates from harpooning you. There’s no way they’ll let us get between them and their fortune, and if we try, we’re going to get ourselves killed. And how will that help anyone?’

  Berrister wanted to argue, but he knew the Pole was right. He felt despair wash over him. He had spent his whole adult life working to conserve marine mammals, and to watch precious blue whales slaughtered before his eyes was very hard to bear. Worse, the hunt meant that Mortimer, Graham and Joshi were almost certainly dead, because he was sure they wouldn’t be permitted to witness such a spectacle.

  He stared at Lena, wishing her to the bottom of the sea. Something winked from one of the windows, probably a malfunctioning light – which was no surprise from such a tub. He looked at the injured calf. She lay on her side, flipper waving pathetically, while the other whales rallied around her. She tried to dive, but surfaced within seconds, spouting blood through her blowhole.

  Berrister turned away. Over the hiss and gurgle of water around the Zodiac, he could hear the distant shouts of men and the shallow puffing of the calf as she died. There was another deep, echoing thud as the next grenade was fired. Berrister only hoped it had put the hapless animal out of her misery.

  Drecki was watching through his field glasses. ‘There’s a tracking device on the bigger animal – I can see it glinting in the light from the decks.’

  ‘They probably attached it when they made their first kill,’ said Berrister dully. ‘So they’d know where to find the rest of the pod when they were ready. Evil sods!’

  He and Drecki sat side by side with their backs to the grisly scene. Drecki produced a packet of crushed crackers and divided them in half – the last of their supplies. Berrister might have enjoyed them more if he had not been so thirsty.

  ‘Do you think blue whales will survive as a species?’ asked Drecki eventually, more to take his mind off their predicament than for information.

  Berrister shook his head. ‘It’s too late: the ecological balance has already shifted, and the niche once occupied by them is now the domain of penguins and seals. Unfortunately, I suspect the blues are doomed.’

  Drecki raised his eyebrows. ‘Even though they’re protected?’

  ‘And we can see how helpful that is,’ said Berrister in disgust. ‘Besides, it’s not enough just to stop killing them – we need to protect the areas where they feed and breed as well. There’s no point in banning hunting if we’re just going to pump crap into the seas and vacuum up all their food.’

  When Drecki did not reply, Berrister twisted round to look at the two ships again. The faulty light was still winking on Lena, and both whales seemed to be dead, although it was difficult to tell, as not only was it getting dark, but a mist was rolling in from the sea. Livingston was prone to fog, and he wondered if they might be able to use it to creep past the ships, and head for Sarah at Hannah Point. He suggested it to Drecki, who shrugged to say it was as good an idea as any.

  They secured the boat to a rock so it wouldn’t drift, and tried to rest. It wasn’t easy. It was cold on the water, and their breath plumed in the icy air. They sat close together for warmth, huddled under a survival sheet, hoping they would not have to wait too long.

  TEN

  Even Zurin broke his usual impassivity to gape at
Garik’s order to drop the starboard anchor. He looked at Yablokov for confirmation. Yablokov shook his head, so the taciturn helmsman silently turned his attention back to his duties at the radar screen.

  ‘Is there a problem?’ asked Hasim, puzzled and irritated by the refusal to comply.

  ‘The port hook’s already down,’ replied Yablokov shortly.

  He turned away, thinking no other explanation was necessary, and even drunken Garik had the grace to blush when he realised what had almost happened.

  ‘So?’ asked Hasim, still bemused. ‘We’re drifting in a current – a second anchor will stabilise us, and allow us to deal with the cargo more efficiently.’

  So, it had been Hasim’s idea, thought Yablokov in disgust. Well, at least the captain had not entirely taken leave of his senses. He sincerely wished they would both leave him to run the ship before they did some serious harm.

  ‘The chains will get tangled up with each other,’ he explained curtly. ‘And once they do, we won’t be able to sail, so our only option will be to cut them loose. Will the Southern Exploring Company buy us some new ones? Because we couldn’t sail again without them.’

  ‘And anchors are expensive,’ added Nikos. ‘Not to mention the fact that it would be dangerous to be down here without one.’

  ‘I was merely trying to improve efficiency,’ said Hasim, equally taut. ‘We’re taking far too long. Volga finished offloading her cargo ages ago, and it’s making us look bad.’

  ‘We’d be a lot further ahead if he didn’t meddle,’ muttered Nikos to Yablokov. ‘If we’d remained in South Bay, working on the whale we had, instead of charging over here to get a new one, the cargo would be gone, and our holds would be full of meat.’

  Hasim came to look at the chart, although Yablokov knew he was just trying to eavesdrop.

  ‘But Volga has a smaller whale than us,’ Yablokov told him. ‘She’ll need to catch another if she doesn’t want to go home half empty. We’re ahead of her on that front.’

  Hasim sniffed, unappeased. ‘When will we finish unloading?’

  Nikos raised his hands in a shrug. ‘It depends on the weather. There’s no easy way to raise the barrels from the hold without a proper crane, and rough seas slow us down.’

  Lena was not equipped with a crane because her catch was usually unloaded in port. It meant the heavy barrels had to be lifted manually, which was a complicated and time-consuming business. It was labour-intensive, too, especially when the sea was choppy.

  ‘So what shall I tell Galtieri?’ pressed Hasim. ‘Mr Orlando wants a timetable.’

  Nikos considered. ‘Two days, maybe. Longer if there’s a storm. We can’t unload when the ship’s bucking like a bronco.’

  ‘That’s too long. We’ll have to dump as we sail north.’

  ‘That would be unwise,’ said Yablokov, suspecting the Arab was stupid enough to try it. ‘It might foul the propeller, and I doubt the other ships would risk giving us a tow, so we’d be stuck down here. Unless you felt like asking the US Coast Guard to help?’

  Hasim glowered. ‘Mr Orlando says the longer we dally, the more likely we are to run into additional scientists. Rather too many have stayed later than they should have done.’

  ‘We noticed,’ said Yablokov drily. ‘But you said everything would be under control once you’d broadcast those krill numbers. Were you wrong about that, too?’

  Hasim flushed with annoyance. ‘I wasn’t “wrong” about anything – the situation is merely more complex than we anticipated. However, it’s not my side of the operation that’s the problem – it’s yours. Mr Orlando is unimpressed by the time you’re taking with the cargo. Rectify the matter or there’ll be consequences.’

  ‘So, the jackal is afraid of the crocodile,’ mused Nikos as Hasim left the bridge. ‘However, the “consequences” had better not mean docked pay. We have an agreement and we’ve done our part. It’s not our fault that the weather down here is terrible.’

  Yablokov had a bad feeling that withheld wages would be the least of their problems.

  ‘I suspect Hasim’s been chatting to Galtieri several times a day all along,’ he said, taking the unofficial log book from a drawer and running his finger down the columns of figures to see how much cargo was still on board. ‘And I think these stupid ideas don’t all come from him – he just jumps when Orlando cracks the whip.’

  ‘I wonder what Orlando will say when he learns that Volga killed the whale with the transmitter,’ said Nikos. ‘What a fuck-up! It will make next year much more difficult – these beasties aren’t exactly plentiful.’

  Yablokov didn’t care. There would be no next year for him, because he was done with the Southern Exploring Company.

  ‘Are you sure it’ll take two days to dump the rest of the phosphorus?’ he asked. ‘There’s less of it left than I thought.’

  Nikos waggled his eyebrows. ‘Hasim will get it in the neck when he tells Orlando what I said, and that’s no bad thing. But we should be done in a day – assuming the weather stays calm. Are you done up here, Evgeny? Then come to the mess with me. Neither of us has eaten much all day.’

  ‘I daren’t,’ said Yablokov, nodding to where Garik slumped in his chair. ‘I’ll come when he’s gone to bed.’

  ‘Gone for a drink, you mean,’ said Nikos, eyeing the captain with unveiled disgust. ‘Did you know he had this problem when you signed up?’

  Yablokov shook his head. ‘He’s always liked a drink, but it’s never interfered with his work before. Maybe it’s dealing with Hasim that’s driven him to the bottle.’

  Zurin caught his eye, and jerked a thumb towards the window. A mist was rolling in, thick and white. Yablokov made a note in the log and reached for his cigarettes, but found only an empty carton.

  ‘Stay here and keep an eye on things, will you, Nikos?’ He tossed the box into the waste bin. ‘Back in a minute.’

  His quarters were two floors below, and to reach them he had to walk past the prisoners’ cabin. Hasim was in the hallway outside it, talking to Graham. Yablokov gave the red-haired Scot a disgusted look as he passed: he did not approve of men who betrayed their comrades. As usual, music blared from the cabin, and Yablokov pitied the mess crew who berthed next door. No wonder the ship’s food was becoming progressively less palatable.

  Anxiety meant he was smoking more than usual, and all he found in his cabin was another empty box. He removed some dollars from his sea chest and went to find the purser. It felt odd to be using American money, but it was the currency the Southern Exploring Company paid him in. He fingered the crisp green notes suspiciously. They lacked the greasy familiarity of rubles, and he did not like the fact that all the denominations were the same colour and size.

  The purser, Mikhail Romanov, was not in his office. Like most of the crew, Romanov had been assigned extra duties, and his were to supervise the men in the hold. Conditions down there were grim – damp, cold, slippery and smelly. When the phosphorus had first been loaded, Yablokov had been astonished that such fine new containers should be used for something that was just going to be thrown into the sea. He could not imagine such wanton wastage in Russia. But the Southern Exploring Company was not an organisation that encouraged questions, so he had given it no further thought.

  He considered it now, however, as he watched two crewmen struggle to manoeuvre a barrel into a sling, ready to be hauled up on deck. None of the canisters had escaped the journey unscathed: all were dented and many had cracked seals. He found one with a loose lid and peered inside.

  In his mind, phosphorus glowed in the dark, but all he saw was a kind of grainy concrete. Perhaps water had seeped in and changed its consistency. But it didn’t matter, given that it would all soon be at the bottom of the sea. He glanced towards the cargo hatch, where the whale meat was coming aboard, to be stacked in the place the barrels had vacated. That was likely to be battered by the journey, too, but it was delivered in such crudely hacked hunks that he supposed it did not really matter. It jus
t went against his natural sailor’s inclination for neatness.

  ‘I’ve been wanting a word with you,’ said Romanov as Yablokov approached. ‘A couple of the men are sick.’

  Romanov was the only man aboard with a qualification in first aid, so had been designated Lena’s medical officer.

  ‘What’s wrong with them?’

  ‘Vomiting, tiredness, headaches. Sort of thing that’s a bit difficult to pin down. They’ve had enough of this lark, I suspect, and fancy a couple of days in bed.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Nothing. A nip of the captain’s vodka and a good night’s sleep should set them right. Lazy buggers.’

  ‘Alright, if you’re sure.’

  Romanov nodded. ‘I only mentioned it so you could leave them off the duty rosters tonight. Now, what was it you wanted? Other than a dose of rat poison for the rodent on the bridge.’

  ‘Garik?’

  ‘Hasim.’ The purser pulled Yablokov aside and lowered his voice. ‘Should you decide to take this ship home a bit sooner than scheduled, the regular crew would be happy to go with you. The hired hands might be a bit difficult, but I think we can handle them.’

  Yablokov gazed at him. ‘Mutiny?’

  ‘More like a decision to survive. Garik’s a liability and no one likes Hasim. Did you hear that he wanted to take all the fire axes and use them for flensing? I know we sometimes have a casual approach to Health and Safety, but that was beyond the pale.’

  ‘It’s almost over,’ said Yablokov. He had never liked the purser, who could be Hasim’s spy for all he knew, sent to test his loyalty. ‘Another three days and we’ll be heading north.’