‘No,’ replied Berrister. ‘But it must be quite big if it’s going to sink a ship in a few minutes.’
‘No – it must be quite small,’ argued Polushin. ‘The one who asked to look around the engine room – he only had a backpack.’
‘And you let him in?’ asked Sarah in disbelief.
‘He was a fellow engineer,’ replied Polushin shortly. ‘Of course I did.’
‘Hey, Ramon!’ yelled Mortimer as they tore past one of the lifeboat stations. ‘Orlando has deserted you, so unless you help us, you’re dead, too. What does the detonator look like?’
The bogus Argentine’s only reply was to dart towards the nearest lifeboat, pushing others out of the way to reach it. He was pale and frightened, but not shocked, suggesting employee loyalty was not one of Orlando’s strong points. The moment he was aboard, he began to hand-winch it over the side, ignoring the protesting cries of the crew. Two of his friends leapt over the rail to join him, but one misjudged the distance and fell shrieking into the water below. His terror transferred to the passengers, who surged forward in alarm. The crew fought to impose order.
‘What’s happening?’ demanded Joshi, appearing from the milling crowd.
‘Get in a lifeboat,’ ordered Berrister. ‘The Coast Guard’s coming – you have to tell them that the Southern Exploring Company did this. Do you understand? You can’t fail.’
Joshi nodded, so Berrister ran to catch up with the others.
‘Twenty minutes,’ gasped Sarah. ‘By my reckoning.’
‘We’ll search for fifteen,’ said Mortimer. ‘If we don’t find it, we’ll leave together. Agreed?’
They reached the engine room, where Berrister took one look at the complex jumble of pipes, cables, boxes and spare parts, and knew their task was hopeless. He had no idea where to start.
Polushin briefed the four crewmen who hurried towards him, finishing with, ‘It could be anywhere, but near the fuel lines or tanks is a good guess – a small explosion that will lead to a bigger one.’
‘I hope it’s not nuclear,’ muttered Mortimer. ‘Orlando works for regimes and organisations that have them, doesn’t he? Perhaps he bought a couple with him, for occasions such as this.’
It wasn’t a comforting thought. ‘Seventeen minutes,’ said Sarah tersely. ‘We’d better hurry.’
But it was impossible. There were so many places that a small device could be hidden, and the engine room was so huge, that it quickly became obvious that they were wasting their time. They soldiered on anyway, unwilling to give up until they had done all they humanly could.
‘There’s only one thing we can do now,’ said Polushin, when Mortimer shouted that there were only four minutes left. ‘Contain the explosion.’
‘How?’ asked Sarah shakily.
‘Seal the engine room doors and hatches. The blast will destroy it, but it will give us a little more time to evacuate everyone.’
His crew raced to obey a furious flood of orders, while Berrister, Mortimer and Sarah continued to search.
‘Fifteen minutes is up,’ yelled Mortimer. ‘Everybody out.’
‘But there hasn’t been enough time to get everyone off,’ cried Berrister desperately. ‘And this is our fault. If we hadn’t come aboard—’
‘Getting blown up won’t make it right,’ declared Sarah. ‘So out – now!’
The abandon ship signal was deafening, and the passengers were a shoving, terrified mass. Their disorderly panic frightened the crew, some of whom had elected to leave them to it and save themselves instead. They had launched two of the six lifeboats, and although a few enterprising passengers had managed to jump into them, both had gone out mostly empty. Ramon had taken a third, while a fourth had been lowered with about twenty passengers in it, which left two boats for roughly eighty people. It would be a tight squeeze.
‘How much longer?’ asked Mortimer, as they joined the frantic melee.
‘Not sure,’ said Polushin. ‘Maybe a minute.’
The words were no sooner out of his mouth than there was a shuddering explosion, followed almost immediately by a far bigger one. Flames shot from the hull, rising in a great ball of fire, and the whole ship listed to one side. Passengers screamed as they struggled to keep their balance. The fifth lifeboat – which was only half full – swung crazily on its cables before they snapped, plunging it down into the sea. Dense black smoke started to pour from the ship’s shattered side, rising in choking clouds to swirl around them.
‘We won’t all fit in the last boat,’ whispered Sarah, appalled. ‘There’re too many of us.’
‘We can get the remaining passengers off,’ said Polushin, looking around and doing some hasty calculations. ‘That will leave some crew, including us. So we’d better hope we don’t sink before the Americans arrive.’
A groan from below suggested that was unlikely.
‘We’ll use the Zodiacs,’ determined Berrister. ‘How many do you have?’
‘Four, but two have been packed away. The others are on the afterdeck, along with yours.’ Polushin turned to the young, white-faced third officer. ‘Get the passengers on the last lifeboat and go with them. Hurry!’
‘Will everybody else fit in three inflatables?’ asked Mortimer doubtfully.
‘Just,’ replied Polushin. ‘There are also four crew on the bridge – we’ll need to leave room for them as well.’
He ran quickly to where the three boats were lashed, Berrister, Sarah and Mortimer pounding behind him along the now seriously listing deck. Getting the inflatables into the sea wasn’t going to be easy – the explosion had knocked out the electrical winches, so they would have to be lifted over the railings by hand. Moreover, it had started to snow heavily, making it difficult to see and turning every surface slick.
‘Those bastards didn’t mess around,’ muttered Polushin. ‘If we hadn’t managed to seal the engine room, we’d have been feeding the fishes by now. Thank God you warned us.’
‘How much longer can we stay afloat?’ asked Berrister, brushing flakes out of his eyes.
‘Not long enough for South Star. You’ll need these.’
He shoved life jackets at them. They all donned them except Mortimer, who claimed it would get in his way. His face was grim, and it occurred to Berrister that he had made a decision – that if they failed to get the boats off in time, he would rather drown quickly than die of hypothermia in the freezing water.
It took the combined strength of everyone to get the first inflatable over the side. It landed stern first and there was an agonizing moment when they thought it was going to flip. By some miracle it didn’t, and a crewman quickly clambered down a rope ladder towards it. He leapt in and held it steady while his workmates followed.
‘That’s enough,’ shouted Berrister, aware that it was becoming dangerously overloaded. ‘Cast off.’
Three more crew managed to cram themselves on board before someone started the engine and drove it away.
Minutes ticked past as they fought to cut the lashings on the second boat. The snow was coming down harder, and Berrister could not stop shivering – there had been no time to grab a coat and the wind was bitter. The knife he was using slipped from his frozen fingers, and he struggled to pick it up again.
‘Hurry,’ yelled Sarah, as smoke drifted across the deck. ‘If we don’t get away before she sinks, she’ll suck us down with her.’
Terrified, one of the crew grabbed a fire axe and began hacking at the straps before anyone could stop him. The blade bit through ropes and rubber hull alike. There was a sharp hiss.
‘Stop!’ yelled Berrister, but the man was too frightened to listen, and shoved him away with a strength born of terror. They wasted more valuable seconds wrestling the axe away from him.
‘Now get her in the water – quickly!’ howled Mortimer when the last strap was gone. ‘We’re going down fast.’
The sharp angle on the deck helped them this time. The boat slithered down it, fetched up against the rail, and pit
ched overboard of its own accord. It landed beautifully, and Polushin used a long hook to draw it under the ladders.
‘Sarah, go,’ ordered Berrister, bundling her towards it. ‘And Geoff, put the damn life jacket on!’
But there was a vicious scrum as the remaining crew fought to be first off, and Sarah was knocked to the deck by a flailing elbow. Then the third officer arrived – he had launched the last lifeboat, but said there had been no room for him on it. In his wake were several more crew, and once again, there were too many people for the remaining craft.
‘Tell the bridge officers to come down now,’ shouted Polushin. ‘They can’t do any more up there.’
Even as he spoke, there was a roar and more flames exploded from the hull. Novosibirsk listed even more violently, and there was a scream as one of the crew fell from the ladder.
‘Third Zodiac!’ shouted Mortimer.
Berrister chopped frantically at the straps, cursing whoever had been so thorough. Snow spat into his eyes, and his hands were beyond sensation. Finally, it was free, and they manoeuvred it down the deck, over the rail and into the water – which was decidedly closer than it had been. The little boat was far too small to hold the remaining fifteen or so people safely, and he hoped their weight wouldn’t capsize it. He looked over the side – a number of heads bobbed in the water, some calling for help, but most not.
‘Geoff!’ he snapped. ‘Put your life jacket on.’
‘No point,’ said Mortimer softly. ‘Look.’
Galtieri had appeared during the chaos. She had launched her boats, and four of them were speeding towards the floundering Novosibirsk. Berrister didn’t need binoculars to tell him that they would be bringing men with guns.
SIXTEEN
There was another boom, and Novosibirsk rolled farther onto her starboard side. The passengers on the lifeboats were screaming at the officers to take them to a safe distance. The officers refused, and continued to pluck survivors from the sea, although everyone knew they were too close to the stricken ship, and thus in danger of being dragged under when she went down. Already there were terrible creaks and groans emanating from Novosibirsk as she underwent stresses her structure was never designed to take.
The whalers were closer now. The dying ship gave another tearing shudder, and her deck tilted yet more crazily. A greasy black pall of smoke belched towards the shore, and patches of oil burned on the water. Absently, Berrister wondered how much would wash up on the beaches, to foul birds and seals. He felt a sudden spurt of rage towards the men who had brought it about – and who would commit more horrors in the future unless someone survived to tell the truth.
The remaining officers and crew were skidding down the slick deck to clamber aboard the last inflatable. It was already overloaded, but there were still another seven people to go. Polushin was keeping a dogged grip on the hook that held it to the ship’s side, but those aboard were trying to knock it away, knowing the little craft would be swamped if everyone got on it.
When Novosibirsk lurched again, Mortimer lost his footing. He managed to grab a hatch and hung there, only the tips of his fingers preventing him from slithering into the sea. He was still not wearing his life jacket. As fast as he could, Berrister grabbed one of the severed straps. Wrapping one end around a stanchion, he threw the other towards the dangling glaciologist. Mortimer snatched at it, but the desperate movement displaced his tenuous hold. With a howl, he tumbled down the deck and hit the water with a splash.
‘No!’ cried Berrister in horror, when Mortimer did not reappear.
He tossed the life jacket to where his friend had fallen, willing him to rise to the surface and take hold of it, but nothing happened. Then there was another ear-splitting groan from the ship, and she listed further still. Berrister lost his own balance, and was only prevented from following Mortimer into the water by seizing the strap himself.
At the same time, he heard the rattle of gunfire as Galtieri’s people reached the first of the lifeboats. Agonised screams drifted across the waves, audible even over Novosibirsk’s death throes. It was the boat that Ramon and his cronies had hijacked.
Berrister looked at Sarah, who was clutching a railing nearby. He stretched out his free arm and wrapped it around her, to hold her close. She let go of the railing and hugged him hard. Their combined weight was too much for him, and he felt his hand slide down the strap.
He was about to let go, so they would fall together into the churning waves, when there was a deep, powerful blast from a ship’s horn. At first, he thought it was someone on the bridge, performing some strange maritime ritual as Novosibirsk gave up the ghost, but it sounded further away. He looked across the water. There, steaming towards them, was a smart red and white vessel with the Stars and Stripes flapping on her bow.
‘South Star!’ he gasped, struggling to keep his grip as she sounded her horn again. Galtieri’s men were already racing away in the opposite direction, and he could hear Joshi cheering insanely from one of the lifeboats.
Even as they felt their hopes rise, Berrister’s frozen fingers slipped down the last of the strap. Sarah flailed frantically as they slithered seaward, and managed to clutch a rail with one hand and the sleeve of Berrister’s sweater with the other. Novosibirsk tipped further.
‘Let me go,’ he shouted. ‘I’ll swim to the closest boat.’
‘No,’ hissed Sarah through gritted teeth as she struggled to keep hold of him. ‘You won’t make it.’
But the sweater began to tear from her hand, and even though she fought with every ounce of her strength, she felt it snap from her fingers. Berrister slid feet first into the icy sea and disappeared. She waited for him to bob up again – the life jacket would not let him drown.
‘He needs to inflate it manually,’ called Polushin. ‘So do you. There’s a toggle on the bottom.’
But she had not known that, so why would Berrister? She watched the last Zodiac chug away from Novosibirsk as fast as its little engine would take it. It was dangerously low in the water, and she wondered if it would capsize before South Star reached it. She glanced at Polushin – they were the only two left now. Sobbing, she swung her empty hand up to get a better hold on the rail, and closed her eyes in grief.
Fortunately for Sarah and Polushin, South Star had a helicopter, which soon winched them to safety. At the same time, the overloaded inflatables were relieved of their shivering, terrified occupants, and the lifeboats were escorted to a safe distance. By the time Novosibirsk finally slipped beneath the waves, Sarah was wrapped in a warm blanket on the helicopter, surrounded by efficient but kind Coast Guard personnel. She watched a fountain of water gush up from where the ship had been, but soon even that was gone, leaving behind a greasy slick and a mass of floating debris.
The canteen on South Star had been converted into a makeshift hospital, where survivors were being stripped of wet clothes, and treated for shock and hypothermia. She went to look for Joshi.
‘Are we safe now?’ he asked hoarsely, turning a white, exhausted face towards her. ‘Or will the Southern Exploring Company send an even bigger ship after us?’
‘We’re safe,’ she replied, slumping down next to him. ‘Even they can’t take on the Coast Guard – it would be like declaring war on the United States.’
‘What if these people don’t believe us either?’ he pressed miserably. ‘No one has so far, so why should anyone start now?’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Sarah. ‘They will – I promise.’
She was surprised to find anger beginning to replace the despair that had crippled her since Berrister and Mortimer had gone. She looked around her, taking in the sobs of an elderly couple huddled on a makeshift bed, a man in a wet toupee sitting stoically upright with his arm in a sling, and Polushin, whose head was swathed in a bandage.
It was Rothera’s fault, she thought bitterly. Or rather Vince’s, and she would see he spent the rest of his miserable life regretting it. If he had done his job, the alarm would have been raise
d days ago, Novosibirsk would have been ordered out of the Antarctic, and no one else would have died.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Joshi, as she stood suddenly, all grim resolution.
‘To demand an audience with the captain – get him to order Vince’s arrest before the little shit does any more harm.’
She pushed through the milling mass of people, looking for an officer who would conduct her to the bridge. Then she spotted a familiar face, but not one she had expected to see. It was the krill-obsessed Noddy Taylor. She gaped at him in astonishment.
‘You! But what …’
‘Thank Vince,’ he explained. ‘He knew something was wrong when Freddy started making all your broadcasts – long before poor Graham tried to send a message via the krill data. Unfortunately, it took a while to secure the right kind of help.’
‘But everyone thinks we’re mad from mercury poisoning …’
Noddy regarded her with raised eyebrows. ‘We’re scientists, Sarah – we happen to know that mercury doesn’t work like that. However, we had to pretend that we did think that was what was going on, to give the Coast Guard time to get here.’
‘And the other bases? Palmer, Arctowski and the rest?’
‘Helped with the ruse, yes. The Southern Exploring Company eavesdropped on our radio conversations, but not our emails. We all worked very hard to lull them into a false sense of security – all the bases together.’
‘But you came too late,’ she said, feeling her legs unsteady beneath her. ‘People are dead.’
‘Yes,’ he acknowledged. ‘There were several fatalities on one of the lifeboats, although they were men linked to the Southern Exploring Company and were apparently shot by their own people. And an as yet undetermined number of passengers and crew of Novosibirsk died in the water.’
‘You should’ve ordered Novosibirsk to leave the area completely.’
‘We did. Unfortunately, the second officer was in the pay of the Southern Exploring Company, so the message never got delivered. She was one of the four shot on the bridge at Orlando’s order. So much for the rewards of loyal service.’
The Killing Ship Page 24