North Star

by Hammond Innes

  ‘They can’t arrest me out there,’ I said. ‘They can’t board my ship in international waters –’

  ‘You’re employed by us,’ he said sharply. ‘And we would facilitate any action the police might decide to take.’ He got abruptly to his feet. ‘Leave it with me now, Randall. I’ll have a talk with Mr Villiers and we’ll see where we go from there. All right?’

  I didn’t argue. There was no point.

  ‘Come back after lunch,’ he said, opening the door for me. ‘I’ll let you have our decision then.’ The door closed and I went down the bare wooden stairs. The drizzle had lifted, the sun glimmering through. I crossed the road and walked to the pier where a couple of purse-seine fishing boats were unloading their catch. Gulls wheeled screaming and the water calm. I lit my pipe, leaning against the rail and letting the peace of it soak into me, that deep instinctive feeling that this was where I belonged. All that had happened was of no importance then, obliterated by the sense of familiarity, the feeling of contentment.

  And then I heard the fishermen talking and reality broke in again. They were talking about their rights in the fishing grounds. ‘Chased off like that … What right have they got, any more than us? Just because they’re a bluidy oil company … Aye, we should have told the bastards to go to hell.’ And the skipper, leaning on the bulwarks and saying, ‘What d’you expect me to do – risk a collision?’ He was a broad, big-bellied man in a Shetland jersey with a brown beret on his head. ‘She’s bigger than us. I’ll report it, but I doubt if the Council can do much. It’s the Government in London. They want oil.’

  ‘They don’t depend on fish for their living.’

  A bitter laugh, the slam of a box and a voice saying, ‘Aye, that they don’t. And now they’re drilling off this side of Shetland. Soon we’ll be ringed by oil rigs, fenced in like a lot of puir peerie sheep. Time the Council took note of us.’

  The skipper nodded. ‘There’s a meeting tomorrow and I’ll be there. So will a lot of others. We’re not the only boat …’

  I turned away, my peace of mind shattered. Politics! Couldn’t I ever get away from politics? I went in search of some food, knowing that it could only have been my own trawler they had been cursing.

  Shortly after two I was back in Fuller’s office. He had spoken to Villiers and had orders to get me back on board the Duchess. ‘Don’t ask me why.’ He sounded annoyed. ‘I tell you frankly, it was against my advice. But he’s got troubles of his own, so maybe he doesn’t want to be bothered by a little matter like you and your trawler.’ The London papers had arrived and he had the Daily Telegraph in front of him, open at the City page. ‘All right then.’ He was looking down at the paper, not at me, and I had the impression that his mind was on other things. ‘The taxi will be here shortly to take you to Sumburgh. There’s a helicopter flight leaving about four o’clock.’

  ‘You passed on what I told you?’

  ‘For what it’s worth, yes.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  He looked at me then. ‘What did you expect him to say – with this hanging over him?’ And he slapped the paper. ‘Shetland is a long way away and what seems important to you will be looking a lot less important viewed from an office in the City with the pack in full cry. But just remember this, any trouble on the location and you’re out. I’ll get replacement guard boats on my own responsibility. And if the police decide to arrest you, don’t try and rely on the fact that you’re in international waters. I won’t stand for that. I’ve enough trouble dealing with fishermen’s complaints without getting involved with the police. We come under the law. Is that understood?’

  ‘You may accept that you come under the law,’ I said. ‘But others don’t. I’ll wait for the taxi downstairs.’ And I turned and walked out of his office, the anger and bitterness back. Why the hell couldn’t somebody, just for once, let me get on with the job of running a trawler and making her pay? I was seething all the way to Sumburgh, my mind turned inwards so that I no longer saw the peace of the hills, no longer felt I had come home again. And then, in the little airport building at Sumburgh, I bought a copy of the Daily Telegraph and saw the mess Villiers was in.

  The details are not important, though I had plenty of time to study them as the helicopter rattled noisily north-westward out to the rig. Tailor-made to our purpose, Stevens had said, and now I could see it for myself. The man was being accused of asset-stripping for his own personal gain and the full glare of publicity was being focused upon him, all of it adverse. He had acquired Star-Trion through an investment company managed by VFI. Star-Trion had then been broken up and the assets sold off. These sales, with one exception, had been to companies unconnected with himself. The exception was the oil assets, consisting chiefly of the North Star rig and the licences to drill in Blocks 206/17 and 18. These had been acquired by a nominee company controlled by VFI and the price had been fixed by Villiers himself. ‘Rigged’ was the word used by a solicitor acting for one of the investment company’s major shareholders.

  Villiers had issued a statement to the effect that the price had been based on an independent assessment of the break-up value of North Star, that his decision to operate the rig on the Star-Trion licences had been taken ‘in the country’s best interests’, and that it was being financed by his own company and was a total gamble. He was quoted as saying, ‘To commit the funds of an investment company managed by VFI to such a gamble would have been most improper. In the circumstances, no value can attach to the licences west of Shetland and I consider the break-up value of such an old rig the only real basis for disposal.’

  It was a specious argument, or seemed so to me as the helicopter slanted down to land on the rig, for there it was, not in the breaker’s yard, but out in the Atlantic, a hive of activity with the drawworks roaring and the drill biting steadily into the sedimentary rock deep under the sea.

  As I ducked under the turning blades, I caught a glimpse of the Duchess out to the north-east, standing guard like a sheepdog between the anchor buoys and three Shetland boats. She was rolling gently in the swell, the bridge windows intermittently reflecting the late afternoon sun. Then I was in the shelter of the toolpusher’s office and a thick Dutch voice was saying, ‘Ach zo, you ’ave com back, eh?’ Van Dam’s hand gripped my elbow. ‘I am glad.’ He told me Alfredo was waiting for me with the divers’ inflatable and he added, ‘That young woman, she is not tough enough. It needs a man like you out there. Those Shetland boats are a dam’ nuisance. They ’ave no business fishing zo close.’

  ‘The Shetlanders don’t see it that way,’ I said. ‘They claim they’ve a right to fish where they like.’

  ‘Not inside the buoys. Too dangerous. You get them out of ’ere. Okay?’

  It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that there would be trouble if we got too tough, but his relief had arrived and he was being called to board the helicopter. I waited until it had taken off and then went down the iron stairway to the waiting boat. With the sea calm, it didn’t take long to reach the Duchess. Nobody greeted me as I climbed on board. No sign of Gertrude, and Johan staring at me from the bridge windows like a bear in his den. I yelled for the cook, tossed him my bag and told him to get me a mug of tea. I was in a filthy mood as I went through the gangway and pushed open the door to the bridge. ‘Where’s Gertrude?’

  Johan stared at me as though I were a stranger. He didn’t reply, and Lars at the helm looking straight ahead, both of them wooden-faced. ‘Can’t you answer when you’re spoken to?’

  ‘She is in there.’ He jerked his head towards the rear of the bridge.

  ‘Then fetch her out.’ I saw him hesitate, but the habit of shipboard obedience was strong and he turned towards the companionway. ‘Don’t bother. I’ll go myself.’ I had control of myself then and, conscious of the mood on board and who must have caused it, I didn’t want to face Gertrude there in the bridge in front of the crew.

  She had taken over my cabin, her things strewn about, and she herself l
ying stretched out on my bunk, her eyes closed. But she wasn’t asleep. I was sure of that. There was a tenseness about her, a feeling of hostility in the air. I stood there, looking at her, not saying anything and the anger building.

  ‘Who’s there?’ she said at last.

  ‘You know damn well.’

  She opened her eyes then, but she didn’t look at me. She lay there, staring up at the steel plating over the bunk, and I knew she was holding herself in.

  ‘I’ve seen Fuller,’ I said.

  ‘Then why are you here?’ She sat up, swinging her long legs off the bunk. She was dressed in sweater and slacks, her hair a mess and her eyes red-rimmed. ‘I was expecting somebody else.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I don’t know. He said he’d find somebody for me.’

  ‘A replacement skipper?’

  ‘Ja. It was either that or scrap the contract.’ She stared at me. ‘Why did you do it? Risking lives, burning a man’s house why? I thought at one time all you wanted was a trawler, something to work for. But it isn’t that, is it? It’s politics, disruption, anarchy, nothing else … It’s all you care about – destroying things.’ The words poured out of her in a sobbing breath.

  ‘Who sent you that newspaper?’ My voice sounded cold, and I felt cold, cold with anger that she should believe it of me. ‘Somebody sent it to you. Who?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  I started to tell her what had happened in court. I wanted her to understand. But she brushed my explanations aside. ‘What do I care – about what happen in that court? It’s all there in the newspaper report. And that girl, Fiona – I don’t believe what she tell me. I don’t want to believe. But now … Now I know what sort of a man you are.’ She gave an angry shrug. ‘And she is your wife. You don’t tell me you have a wife.’

  So that was it. ‘My God!’ I said. ‘Do I have to share my private life with you?’

  ‘She is your wife. You live together for four years. Now, when you want to be rid of her …’

  I was across the cabin then, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her. ‘You stupid little fool!’ I was beside myself with anger. She’d infected the whole ship, the crew, everybody against me. ‘Get your things packed,’ I told her. ‘I want you off this ship – now, this evening.’

  She stared up at me, her body rigid, her eyes wide with disbelief. ‘Is my ship.’

  ‘And mine,’ I reminded her. I was bending down, staring her in the face, my hands gripped on her shoulders. ‘I can’t run this ship with you on board. Not unless I have your confidence. Understand?’

  Slowly her gaze dropped. ‘Well …’ She hesitated. I don’t think she wanted a row. She wasn’t an aggressive person. Emotional, yes – but she was also very practical and this had the effect of concealing her emotions. ‘If Mr Fuller has confidence in you still …’

  ‘It was Villiers, not Fuller. Fuller is like you. He believes what they want him to believe. Now, get packed and I’ll have the boat lowered.’ I let her go then, taking my hands from her shoulders and turning abruptly for the door.

  ‘Just a minute, please.’ Her voice sounded troubled. ‘You asked me who sent that newspaper. Mr Fuller also received a copy.’

  ‘The rig probably has one, too.’

  ‘I don’t know who sent it. Your wife perhaps?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  She got up slowly and came towards me. She wasn’t crying, but there were tears in her eyes. ‘You are in trouble.’

  I stared at her, not answering, not willing to admit it even to myself now that I was back in command.

  ‘Your evidence in court …’ She was standing quite close to me, the lips of that too-big mouth of hers parted, her eyes enormous. ‘Will you swear to me that it was the truth. If you swear –’

  ‘Oh, go to hell!’ I said and slammed out of the cabin. I heard her call after me, but what did she take me for? What difference would it make, swearing that I had told her the truth? If I were the sort of man she believed … The engine-room telegraph interrupted my thoughts. I was in the bridge then, Johan’s voice calling for port wheel and the deck trembling to the increased revs. A fishing boat’s mast, framed in the starboard window, slid astern and Johan rang for slow again, pushing his cap back on his head and turning to me with a grim smile. ‘They play silly buggers like that too many times and somebody get hurt.’

  I leaned my head out of the window, watching the little black-painted vessel swinging in our wake. It was a Hamnavoe fishing boat, the white lettering clear on its bows. ‘Been having trouble, I hear.’

  Johan nodded. ‘Ja. Last night is very bad. More than a dozen I think, and some shooting inside the buoys, their seine nets close in to the rig.’

  The bloody fools, I thought, risking their nets inside the circle of the anchor buoys. ‘Did you threaten to use the hose on them?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Why not? I told you …’

  ‘If we use the hose there will be trouble.’ He reached for the mug standing on the chart table and passed it to me. ‘Your tea.’

  ‘There’ll be trouble anyway,’ I told him. ‘So use it.’ The tea was half cold. It seemed to typify the general state of the ship. ‘Any boats shooting nets inside the anchor buoys get the hose turned on them after a warning through the loudhailer. Is that understood?’ He stared dumbly straight ahead. ‘I said, is that understood?’

  ‘Ja.’

  ‘How many were seine net fishing inside the buoys?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Ask Gertrude.’

  I turned then. He must have seen her reflection in the glass of the window, for she was standing at the head of the companionway right behind me.

  ‘It was very thick last night. Fog.’

  ‘How long before you chased them off?’

  She shrugged. ‘What does it matter? There is no law against purse-seine fishing, and it is their nets they risk.’

  ‘And suppose one of them had had divers on board?’

  ‘With bombs?’ She laughed. ‘Does your mind run on nothing else? I tell you they were just fishermen earning their living, the way we once try to earn ours.’

  ‘How long?’ I repeated.

  It was Johan who answered. ‘The fog came down shortly after midnight. It was about two hours after dawn before the last of the fishing boats made off.’

  ‘Five or six hours then.’ I was thinking what a well-trained frogman could achieve in five or six hours. But it was no good telling Gertrude what was in my mind. She wouldn’t believe it. She wouldn’t believe that there were forces at work planning the destruction of that monster lying motionless off our starboard quarter. I found it difficult to believe myself. ‘Were you both on watch?’ I asked. ‘You and Johan, both of you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘All through the night?’

  ‘Yes, of course. They are shooting their purse nets inside the circle of the buoys, drifting them close by the rig, and in that fog it is very risky. I do not want to steam across the nets. I do not want any trouble with these Shetland fishermen.’

  It explained the tiredness, the edginess, the general air of a ship that was without proper order and authority. ‘Tell Flett to get me some food right away. Hot food, not lukewarm leftovers like this tea.’ I handed her the mug. ‘And call me at dusk. I’ll stay on watch through the night. After that it will be normal routine.’

  I left them and went below to find a vacant bunk, hoping Johan would have the sense to make the most of the night’s rest I was offering him. Flett came in with a tray just as I was getting into the bunk. There was coffee as well as a shepherd’s pie, and both were scalding hot.

  The twilight was darkening in the west when I was called, clouds building up like a ragged mountain range, peaks of cu-nim black against the last dying glow of sunset.

  ‘They have all run for home,’ Gertrude said. ‘I think you have a quiet night.’

  ‘Has Johan turned in?’ Apart from Lars at the helm she was alone
on the bridge.

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Well, check that he has. I don’t want a tired mate, or a tired crew. Those purse-seiners will be back, and unless we’re tough with them, it’s going to be hard to keep the area clear.’

  She went through into the chart recess, entered up the log and then turned and went to the cabin behind the bridge without another word, her silence lingering as that last flicker of the day’s warmth was snuffed out by the growing cloud cover. Soon it had spread right across the sky, the light fading and the movement of the ship increasing as wind and sea rose.

  I circled the rig just inside the buoys, the 3-ton cans difficult to see and not a ship’s light anywhere, only the rig blazing like a factory, the derrick jewelled with rubies. All the long night stretched ahead of me and nothing to do but think about my situation and what it was I had to guard against. For a time I tucked the Duchess close in under the rig, seeing myself as a marauding fishing boat bent on sabotage and trying to work out how they would do it, what method they would employ. But the sheer size of the rig made a nonsense of the exercise. No bomb carried by a diver could possibly do more than superficial damage, and to get at the weakest section of the cross-bracing a frogman would have to climb well above the level of the sea.

  At 23.00 hours I got the financial news. The reference to Villiers came near the end. He had held a press conference and had attacked the directors and shareholders of the old Star-Trion company for letting their assets go to waste. As for the North Star rig and the Shetland licences, what had the Company ever done to establish whether there was oil there or not? They hadn’t dared risk their money, so why attack him for risking his? Perhaps I was biased by the fact that he had ignored Fuller’s advice and supported me, but I couldn’t help a sneaking admiration for a man who fought back so strongly when forced into a corner. Somehow it gave me strength.

  The forecast for inshore areas followed 15 minutes later; the depression deepening with wind westerly Force 6 rising to Gale Force 7. We were already hove-to, our bows pointing just south of west. I switched off, and after that I had nothing but my thoughts for company. At midnight Henrik relieved Lars. For a moment the two of them were there by the wheel whispering and glancing at me. Then Lars went below. He returned a moment later with a steaming mug of cocoa and handed it to me without a word.