The Killing Ship

by Simon Beaufort

  ‘I wonder …’ Berrister faltered, but then pressed on. ‘Freddy mentioned that the Southern Exploring Company has agents all over the world …’

  Sarah’s eyes widened in alarm, and she lowered her voice. ‘You mean someone here might be in their pay?’

  ‘Or Vince. It would explain why all Freddy’s broadcasts were accepted so readily.’

  Sarah gazed at him in despair. ‘What are we going to do, Andrew? We can’t just sit here.’

  Berrister shrugged. ‘If Rothera won’t believe us, one of the other bases will. I assume the captain plans to drop us off on King George soon.’

  ‘Yes, at Arctowski with the Poles, but not until the day after tomorrow. In the interim, we’re to be their guests, pissing about with touristy things. We’re at Yankee Harbour now, looking at pretty rocks. By the time we reach King George, the Southern Exploring Company will be long gone.’

  ‘Then contact Arctowski – they’ll believe us when we explain why they’ve lost contact with Jacek.’

  ‘We did, but they say Jacek would never visit Byers without a permit, and insist on continuing the search for her on the other side of Greenwich Island. This is so frustrating! I don’t know what to do. Poor Geoff nearly went apoplectic trying to convince Vince. When he saw he was wasting his time, he took himself off to the bar in disgust.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘Still there – people keep buying him drinks. Joshi’s with him.’

  Berrister looked around at the cabin. It was basic and functional, although spotlessly clean. Two life jackets lay on the bed opposite, unfastened and ready to wear.

  ‘Did you pull those out?’ he asked.

  She nodded. ‘I keep thinking we might need them. Galtieri blew Jacek up. What’s to stop them from attacking Novosibirsk as well?’

  ‘Jacek was a tiny ship that had lied about her location. Novosibirsk is much bigger, and has a company tracking her progress. Nothing else will happen to us, Sarah.’

  ‘I’m not so sure. I have an awful feeling that they’re out there biding their time.’

  Berrister took her hands in his. ‘They can’t, not now we’ve told our story – if they do, they’ll effectively prove us right. And when we get home … well, we won’t rest until they pay for what they’ve done.’

  They were silent for a while, then she said, ‘I’m sorry I doubted you – about walking across the island, I mean. It’s just that after your accident … well, I thought you’d lost your edge.’

  Berrister looked uncomfortable. ‘It’s not something I like discussing.’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. It must have been terrible.’

  Berrister winced. ‘It wasn’t actually, although I know that’s what everyone thinks. The reason I don’t talk about it is because it’s embarrassing.’

  ‘Embarrassing?’

  ‘I went out alone without a radio and fell down a tiny crevasse. I didn’t hurt myself, but its walls were so slippery that I couldn’t get out. It was so stupid – like drowning in a cup of tea or bleeding to death from a paper cut. After three days, Dan chanced by. He gave me his hand and that was all I needed to escape.’

  ‘He kept your secret well. Even Geoff couldn’t prise it out of him.’

  ‘He was a good man. I’m glad Freddy didn’t live to profit from his murder.’

  ‘Is that why you didn’t warn Freddy about the leopard seal?’

  Berrister didn’t reply.

  Although it was late, Sarah insisted on using the radio again, and was so belligerent about it that the captain hastily acceded to her ‘request’. Vince greeted her coolly, and when she asked for Noddy Taylor, he reported tersely that the biologist had left for home.

  Not sure whether to believe him, she tried the Americans at Palmer, but was informed that they never interfered with other bases’ personnel. Finally, she managed to raise Arctowski, where the communications officer pretended not to speak English. Berrister used his idiosyncratic Polish, but the station commander came on air and ordered him to stop wasting their time.

  ‘Vince got to them,’ said Sarah bitterly. ‘He must have told them that we’ve been at the mercury.’

  At midnight, they were joined by Mortimer and Joshi, both of whom stank of alcohol. Joshi wore a silly grin on his face, but Mortimer’s mood was dark.

  ‘Noddy Taylor hasn’t left Rothera,’ he said bitterly. ‘Vince is lying.’

  Sarah lowered her voice. ‘Or in the pay of the Southern Exploring Company.’

  ‘Then what about the communications officers at Palmer, Arctowski, Artigas, Frei, Ferraz and Bellingshausen?’ slurred Joshi. ‘Are they all corrupt, too? Freddy did say the whalers had dozens of operatives all around the world.’

  ‘Well, my ex-wife won’t be one of them,’ said Mortimer. ‘And I emailed her all the details of our adventures a couple of hours ago. She’ll make sure the story gets out. In a contest between this Orlando and her, I’d back her every time. She’ll have him for breakfast.’

  Berrister hoped he’d been more sober then than he was now, or it wouldn’t be just the bases that didn’t believe them. ‘We’re moving,’ he said, feeling the engines start up.

  Mortimer glanced at the clock. ‘Ivanov said we’d be leaving for Half Moon Island about now.’

  ‘There’s an Argentine station on Half Moon,’ said Sarah with sudden hope.

  ‘It won’t be occupied this late in the season,’ said Berrister gloomily.

  Sarah went to the window and stared out into the darkness. ‘I suppose we should be thankful we’re alive – twenty-four hours ago, I’d have been delirious with delight to know that we’d be here. But I can’t stop thinking about Dan and Lisa.’

  ‘And Drecki,’ said Berrister.

  ‘And Graham,’ added Joshi.

  ‘Yes,’ conceded Sarah softly. ‘And Graham.’

  Novosibirsk did not ride well in rough weather. Her rounded hull, which allowed her to break ice, also meant that she had an unpleasant corkscrew motion if there was any kind of swell. In choppy seas, she bucked and twisted like a wild thing. Berrister went back to bed, because it was easier to lie down than try to stay upright, but he hadn’t been asleep long when someone climbed in next to him. It was Sarah. She felt warm, and smelled of clean hair and soap. He slipped his arms around her and fell asleep again, comforted by her closeness.

  They were awoken early the next morning by an urgent hammering on the door. Before they could move, Mortimer burst in. His eyebrows shot up in astonishment when he saw them together.

  ‘It isn’t what you think,’ said Sarah quickly. ‘I was cold.’

  Mortimer waved the feeble explanation away. ‘We were wrong about the Argentines on Half Moon – their field station is still open, and some are on their way here right now.’

  ‘They are?’ asked Sarah, sitting up. ‘Why?’

  ‘Free booze, a hot shower and a change of scenery,’ replied Mortimer briskly. ‘Come on – we need to get to them before someone tells them that we’re all off our rockers. Hurry!’

  He left at a run. Sarah had dressed at some point during the night – probably for the same reason that she had ensured the life jackets were within easy reach – and she jumped out of bed and raced after him. Berrister threw on some clothes and followed, but decided not to interrupt when he saw Sarah, Mortimer and Joshi in the dining room in earnest conversation with two Argentines. He went to the bridge instead, thinking to pester Vince again.

  The door to the bridge was closed. Access was either via inputting a code into a keypad or by buzzing for someone to open the door from inside. Berrister knew the code was 99999, because he had watched Ivanov punch it in the previous day. He was about to do likewise when he heard raised voices within. The captain was arguing with someone. Then there was a loud thump and a cry. Startled, Berrister recoiled, wondering what kind of debates the master permitted on his bridge.

  Seconds later, came the sound of breaking glass. The captain’s voice, raised in a r
oar of outrage, was cut short by a sharp crack. Berrister’s mouth went dry. He had heard enough gunfire during the last few days to recognise it now. Bewildered and panic-stricken, he ducked quickly into a room marked ‘Crew Only’.

  He was just in time. Even as his door closed, the one to the bridge was hauled open, and someone hurtled along the corridor and down the stairs. Peering through the crack, Berrister glimpsed a man wearing a life jacket over a coat that was wet from spray. Clearly, he was one of the Argentines who had made the journey from the station. Moments later, he hurried back.

  ‘It’s alright, Mr Orlando,’ he reported as he pushed open the bridge door. ‘No one’s about. All the passengers are in the dining room being entertained by the others, while the crew are busy with their duties.’

  ‘I’ll shoot you myself if you do something like that again,’ snapped someone, presumably Mr Orlando. His accent was clipped and impossible to identify. ‘We’d have had a mass panic on our hands if you’d been overheard. Next time, use a silencer.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  With a growing sense of horror, Berrister realised he had been wrong – the Southern Exploring Company had not given up on the scientists who were trying to expose them. They had been listening to the radio chatter between them and the bases, and knew the incredible story had not been believed. And they intended to keep it that way. He was sure the smashing sound had been the communications equipment being destroyed. There would be no further contact with anyone, because Novosibirsk was about to have a dreadful accident.

  FIFTEEN

  Muffled voices cut through Berrister’s tumbling thoughts. The room in which he hid – a cupboard for spare equipment – was separated from the bridge only by a thin partition. By pressing his ear to the wall, he could hear very well what was being said within. Fortunately, the language was English.

  ‘It won’t work,’ Ivanov was insisting. A tremor in his voice revealed his fear. ‘If the ship they’re on mysteriously disappears, everyone will know they were telling the truth.’

  ‘Not after Novosibirsk’s final message in which I – a crewman – scream that they entered the engine room in their mad delirium and caused an explosion. You’ll be taking on water fast – too fast for anyone to be rescued.’

  ‘Please, no,’ begged Ivanov. ‘There must be another way.’

  ‘There isn’t,’ said Orlando briskly. ‘Not now your captain and these officers made it necessary for us to shoot them.’

  ‘I’ll say the scientists did it.’ Ivanov sounded desperate. ‘We can send them ashore with you. There’s no need for more violence on the ship.’

  ‘Tempting,’ said Orlando, while Berrister agonised, wondering what to do. Run and warn the others? Listen to more? ‘But no. You’re a witness, you see, and it’s those we’re trying to eradicate.’

  ‘No one will believe that the scientists blew up the engine room,’ shouted Ivanov, beside himself with terror. ‘This is a stupid plan.’

  ‘They will believe it,’ countered Orlando. ‘Because the scientists have been drinking mercury-tainted water, and mercury causes brain damage. They’re not rational any more, as Rothera and the other bases will testify – they all heard their wild claims.’

  Berrister could almost feel Ivanov’s bewilderment. ‘But if everyone knows they’re mad, why are you here? Why not just let them spout tales that no one accepts?’

  ‘Because we’re careful,’ replied Orlando. ‘And because we work for some very dangerous regimes and organisations, which don’t tolerate mistakes that put them at risk. They—’

  He stopped speaking when someone else entered the bridge.

  ‘The detonators are set, sir,’ reported a new voice. ‘The first will blow in … thirty-seven minutes, and this tub will go down so fast that no one will make it to the lifeboats. Shall I warn the men?’

  ‘The four of us are the only ones who will leave, Enrique. The others will give their lives for the cause.’

  ‘Sir?’ asked Enrique. He sounded as startled as Berrister felt.

  ‘Whisking the “Argentines” away suddenly will raise eyebrows, and we want to maintain the illusion that all’s well until the detonators blow. We can’t risk having survivors.’

  ‘Please,’ came Ivanov’s voice. ‘Don’t destroy the ship. I can make sure—’

  There was a dull thud, followed by the sound of a body dropping to the floor. Berrister leaned his head against the wall in despair. What could he – one unarmed man – do against criminals so ruthless that even the lives of their accomplices counted for nothing?

  Moments later, Orlando began speaking on the radio, putting an edge of fear into his voice. It sounded contrived to Berrister, but he suspected all anyone else would hear were the words.

  ‘Mayday! Mayday!’ Orlando screeched. ‘This is Novosibirsk. We’ve had a major explosion in our engine room and we’re taking on water fast. For God’s sake help us!’

  There was a confused crackle as two or three listeners responded at once. One won out over the others.

  ‘This is the US Coast Guard ship South Star. What is your exact location?’

  ‘Half Moon Island!’ howled Orlando. ‘We’re listing to port … we’re rolling over …’

  ‘Our ETA is two hours ten minutes,’ said the Coast Guard officer. ‘Can you hold out until then?’

  ‘Christ,’ said Orlando to his men in his normal voice. ‘That’s close. How come we never picked her up on radar?’

  ‘Must be in a shadow.’ Enrique’s voice was taut. ‘Shit! Our intel said South Star was way out west. What’s she doing here? And how’s it going to look if she tracks us speeding away from a maritime disaster?’

  ‘If we can’t see her, she can’t see us,’ said Orlando decisively. ‘We’ll just hug the coast until we can make a clean run for it.’

  ‘Novosibirsk,’ called the Coast Guard. ‘I repeat: can you hold out until we arrive?’

  ‘Can we, Enrique?’ asked Orlando.

  ‘Not a chance. In an hour, there’ll be nothing here but wreckage.’

  ‘We’re abandoning ship now,’ shrieked Orlando into the handset. ‘The scientists … they killed the captain. One’s got an axe … he’s attacking the lifeboats …’

  There was a thud of bullets, and the transmission ended along with the radio.

  ‘Right, let’s go,’ said Orlando.

  ‘We have thirty-four minutes,’ said Enrique. ‘And ten seconds.’

  The door to the bridge opened and footsteps padded along the corridor outside. Then all was silent. Berrister peered out of the storeroom. The corridor was empty, so he punched the code into the keypad and pushed open the door.

  He was greeted by a scene of carnage. The captain, Ivanov and three others were dead, their blood spattered everywhere. Consoles had been smashed, and something hung drunkenly across the window outside – some part of the communications array, which meant that not only were the radios defunct, but Inmarsat, the satellite communication system, was gone as well.

  A faint buzz drew his attention to the window. Two Zodiacs were speeding away – Orlando and the lucky three he had decided not to leave on the doomed ship.

  Berrister continued to gaze around in stunned horror until the tick of the clock on the wall reminded him that time was passing. He now had exactly thirty minutes to evacuate the ship before it exploded. Blindly, he began to press buttons and flip switches, in the hope that one would sound an alarm, but nothing happened. Then he saw the microphone that allowed messages to be relayed over the ship. Trying to control the panic in his voice, he depressed the ‘speak’ button, relieved beyond measure when he heard the metallic ping that told him it was working.

  ‘All passengers and crew assemble at their muster stations immediately. Officers report to the bridge. This is not a drill.’

  Dropping the microphone, he ran for the stairs. The surviving officers could oversee the evacuation when they arrived – the bodies on the bridge would be explanation enough. Meanwhile
he would try to find the detonator and lob it overboard before it did any harm.

  He had just reached the bottom of the stairs, and was debating which way to go when a door was wrenched open and a tall, bearded man rushed out. Berrister vaguely recalled being introduced to him the previous night – the chief engineer, Arkady Polushin.

  ‘Did you make that announcement?’ he demanded angrily. ‘What do you think you’re playing at? And where’s the captain?’

  ‘Dead,’ replied Berrister tersely. ‘And the “Argentines” are imposters. They’re going to blow up your ship.’

  Polushin regarded him askance. ‘What are you—’

  ‘Look!’ Berrister stabbed his finger towards a window. ‘They’re leaving.’

  ‘No, they’re still in the dining room, talking to the passengers. They—’ Polushin stopped abruptly. ‘What’s she doing here? She’s a warship.’

  ‘She’ was Galtieri, nosing out from behind a headland, although it was not long before she slunk out of sight again. Doubtless, Orlando had ordered her back, lest she alert someone on Novosibirsk to the fact that all was not well.

  But Polushin still hesitated, so Berrister grabbed his arm and hauled him to the bridge, hating the loss of vital moments, but not knowing how else to convince him. Polushin gaped in disbelief at what he saw. Then Sarah and Mortimer arrived.

  ‘God, no!’ breathed Mortimer, grasping the situation at once. ‘They’re here?’

  Berrister nodded. ‘I said the real Argentines would be gone by now. And Novosibirsk’s set to explode in twenty-six minutes – which is two hours before the US Coast Guard arrives. You have to get everyone off. I’ll try to find the detonator.’

  Two more officers appeared, and Berrister felt his stomach churn in despair, anticipating more time wasted in explanations, but Polushin had seen enough. He barked the signal to abandon ship, and ordered his people to ready the lifeboats.

  ‘Come with me,’ he ordered Berrister, Sarah and Mortimer, turning and leading the way at a rapid lick down steep stairwells and functional ‘Crew Only’ hallways.

  ‘D’you know what the detonator looks like?’ panted Mortimer, struggling to keep up.