Sam tip-toed his way towards a corridor that led to the sleeping quarters. As he approached the doorway, his heel landed on a Perspex DVD case and the sound of splintering plastic echoed around the accommodation hut.
Sam and Cantara froze. A few seconds later they heard muffled voices coming from the sleeping quarters. They continued towards the closed door. Cantara readied her rifle as Sam tried the door handle. But the door was locked shut. Cantara pointed to the key in the door and whispered to Sam, ‘Why is the key on the outside?’
Sam shrugged. In one swift movement, he turned the key and barged the door open. He swung his rifle towards the four occupants and readied himself to open fire.
‘Hold it, Sam!’ Cantara said in alarm. ‘This is the drilling crew.’
Sam stared at the four men cowering in the corner of the sleeping quarters. They were hefty men, but each one had their hands tied behind their backs and it was clear they had been battered.
‘Who did this to you?’ Sam asked a large man with an Abraham Lincoln-style beard.
‘Crawford’s henchmen,’ the man replied. ‘They were planning to kill us but then they heard the plane crash. They locked us in here and went out to investigate, but they’ll be back soon.’
Cantara pulled the evil-looking machete from her belt and approached the bear of a man.
‘What the hell?’ he said, backing away from Cantara.
‘She’s just going to free your wrists. What’s your name?’ Sam asked, to calm the man down. He watched as Cantara sliced through each of the ropes that restrained the four oil workers.
‘Gus Graham. I’m the rig manager, although we’re out here on maintenance duties. It was supposed to be an easy fifty grand for six weeks’ work. Next thing we know, we’ve been threatened with machine guns and trussed up like turkeys by a gang of middle eastern thugs.’
‘How many of them are there?’
‘Four including the guy who was supposed to detonate the warhead. But he’s pretty sick.’
‘They’ve got a small four-seater plane in storage shed number seven,’ said the third oil worker. He was known as Driller and had a gap in his front teeth and a scar running from his mouth to his ear. Sam wondered if it was from a prior rig accident. ‘It arrived with the supplies last week and they’ve been building an airstrip ever since.’
‘So what’s Crawford got to do with this?’ Sam asked the foreman.
‘Me and the boys were threatening to go to the authorities about the ice dam. We reckon it’s going to burst any minute. But Crawford said these ice dams happen all the time in Greenland.’
‘I called bullshit,’ said Driller. ‘We told Crawford we were going to head to Greenland’s capital, Nuuk, to meet with the authorities. Next thing, he’s telling us to shut our mouths or we’d find ourselves at the bottom of the rig.’
‘Then we hear the middle eastern guys talking to Crawford,’ said Graham.
‘What did they say?’ Cantara asked.
‘They suggested destroying the iceberg to release the water. They said it was going to collapse anyway, so they might as well flood the whole Upernavik rig site so that no-one would ever know it was our fracking activities that started the meltwater lake.’
‘And Crawford believed them?’ Sam said.
‘He loved the idea. But I said me and the boys wanted nothing to do with his crazy plan,’ said Graham. ‘That’s when Jamal and his gang pulled out their rifles.’
‘They’ve got a rocket launcher and a mortar in shed number four. I’ve seen ’em,’ said Driller.
‘Anyway, Crawford skipped town two days ago, to make sure he had an alibi when the middle eastern gang nuked the ice dam,’ replied Graham.
‘Actually, he’s now back in town,’ Sam replied. ‘He heard we were flying here to film the meltwater lake and clearly he wanted to make sure his little operation never made prime-time television.’
They were interrupted by the clatter of small arms fire shattering the windows of the main living area. Seconds later, a grenade exploded at the far end of the building and the sound of a door crashing off its hinges reverberated throughout the accommodation hut. The four oil rig workers retreated to the corner of the room and took what shelter they could behind a metal-framed bunk bed. Sam knelt behind a single bed and aimed his Heckler & Koch at the door. He signalled Cantara to do the same on the opposite side of the room. Sam’s heart pounded as he waited for Jamal’s team to rush the door or for a grenade to be lobbed through the high window in the corner of the room.
The glass shattered above him as a large chunk of rock smashed through the high window and landed on the bed. Seconds later, the severed head of Jim the co-pilot bounced off the bed in front of Sam and fell to the floor before coming to rest in front of the door. Its sightless eyes stared at Sam and Cantara.
There was a loud knock on the sleeping quarters door. Sam and Cantara looked at each other from opposite sides of the room. Their automatic rifles pointed towards the door.
‘Hey Sam, it’s Chuck Crawford,’ came the voice from behind the closed door. ‘I need a quick word with you before I head back home with my security staff in the Cessna.’
‘You can tell us what you need to say from behind the door,’ Sam replied.
‘Relax, Sam. I have no intention of killing you. The ice dam will do that anyway. I wanted to warn you not to interfere with my plans to fly out of here.’
‘And why would we let you do that?’
‘Because we have the charming Miss Charlotte Shaw strapped to the back seat with a knife at her throat. One false move by you or that gang of roughnecks in there and we start hacking away at her extremities. My security executive Jamal tells me you have stolen his favourite machete and he is going to have to use a blunt table knife. Miss Shaw is not going to enjoy her next pedicure.’
‘You can come in,’ Sam said.
Cantara looked at Sam and raised an eyebrow. The door swung upon and Crawford limped in. He was clutching his ribs with his right arm and his breathing was laboured.
‘Cornered like rats in a trap,’ Crawford said. He looked at the four oil rig workers cowering in the corner and tried to laugh but the sharp pain in his ribs took away his humour. ‘I should ask my security officers to finish you off. A few rounds with the rocket launcher should do it.’
‘But you won’t do that because you know Jack will bring down your Cessna with his sniper rifle if any harm comes to me or Miss Sharif.’
‘I want you to call off your sharpshooter. I will release you and your treacherous new friends if he hands over his rifle.’ He glowered at the oilmen, who had come out from the corner and were mumbling threats at Crawford. ‘I will even spare that miserable, preening queen of fake news her worthless life,’ Crawford said.
Sam raised the palm of his hand towards the oil workers to stop them from advancing on Crawford.
‘It seems we have a stalemate,’ Sam replied. ‘Let’s see who blinks first.’
Crawford stole a look at his wristwatch.
‘Running late for a hot date with Miss Shaw, Mr Crawford? Please don’t keep her waiting on my behalf.’
‘Look, I don’t have time for this nonsense. I’m warning you not to interfere with the Cessna. That’s all. There’s an icebreaker ship coming in five days and enough food to support you till then as long as you don’t mind living off dried biscuits and egg powder. My security staff have disabled the radios and communication devices so you will have plenty of time to get to know each other.’
‘Bring Miss Shaw here unharmed and you have my word we will not stop the Cessna.’
Crawford blinked in surprise at Sam’s readiness to concede. ‘I’m warning you, Jardine. Any funny business and we hack off her fingers and toes one by one. Then we start on her head.’
‘Jack’s not going to bring the Cessna down unless you give him cause.’
‘Let me put a bullet through his skull,’ Cantara said. ‘He’s up to something.’
Crawford con
sidered Sam’s deal and nodded. ‘I’m locking the door on my way out but I’ll leave the key in the lock. Miss Shaw will return to free you in ten minutes.’ He limped out of the room and closed the door, locking it behind him as he went.
‘I must say, Jardine,’ said Crawford’s muffled voice from behind the door. ‘You are not the negotiator I thought. You might have killed my munitions consultant Rashid, but you didn’t think we would be stupid enough not to have a back-up plan, did you? We’ve activated a remote timer on the warhead and it’s due to go off in twenty-five minutes. Enjoy your last few moments on this earth.’
CHAPTER 36
The clatter of the Cessna Skyhawk’s turboprop engine shattered the silence of the Upernavik Icefjord rig site. Sam and Cantara listened from within the locked sleeping quarters of the accommodation hut as the aircraft taxied towards the end of the makeshift runway. The throbbing of its engine settled and then increased in pitch as it prepared to take off.
‘Why did you let him go, Sam? He should have stayed here and died with the rest of us,’ Cantara said.
They listened to the Cessna as it thundered down the runway and then roared over their heads as it cleared the hut and headed out towards the Greenland Sea. The sound of the turboprop engine diminished and then disappeared as the plane went on its way to Canada.
‘If Crawford suspected Jack was at the ice dam trying to defuse the warhead and not outside guarding the accommodation hut, he would have finished us off with his rocket launchers.’
‘So you bought us twenty minutes till the warhead explodes,’ said the giant oil worker, Gus Graham. ‘Big deal. You should’ve let me rip his throat out.’
‘For once in my life, I had to trust that my brother Jack would do the right thing. If he’s managed to defuse the bomb, we live to fight another day.’
They were interrupted by the turning of the key in the door. A dishevelled and teary-eyed Charlotte Shaw hobbled into the room on her damaged ankle, her cheeks streaked with rivulets of black mascara. Jack followed two paces behind, his PSL rifle still hanging from his shoulder.
Shaw ran towards Cantara and threw herself into her arms. ‘Those bastards!’ she sobbed. ‘The one called Jamal called me an apostate whore. He said they could find a use for me in Syria.’
‘What happened?’ Cantara said, patting the television reporter on the back.
‘Crawford said there wasn’t enough room in the plane for me and no time to slit my throat with a blunt knife, so they threw me out. The kid,’ she pointed at Jack, ‘found me by the side of the runway and brought me here.’
Sam took Jack by the shoulder and steered him out of the bedroom and towards the living quarters. ‘Did you find the warhead?’ he asked his brother.
‘Uh huh.’
‘Were you able to diffuse it?’
Jack shook his head. ‘Sorry Sam. It were too ’ard. There were so many different-coloured wires and I didn’t want to cut the wrong ’un. And I think Rashid had booby-trapped the wires.’
Sam attempted to hide his crushing disappointment. His negotiation with Crawford had backfired. It was all he could do not to yell out in frustration.
‘Did I do the wrong thing, Sam? Should I have guessed?’
Sam put his arm around Jack’s shoulder. ‘I would have done the same thing, Jack. I know I’ve not been the best brother to you at times. But I want you to know I care about you. I couldn’t be prouder to call you my brother.’
Jack’s face lit with pride and he gripped Sam in a bear hug before self-consciousness got the better of him.
‘Let’s go outside,’ said Cantara, who had joined the two brothers in the living room. ‘I want to be able to see the stars when the warhead explodes.’
‘I’d like that too,’ Sam said. ‘And I want to look into your eyes when it happens.’
Cantara and Sam walked out of the front door hand in hand, and sat on the wooden veranda facing the mountainous ice dam that loomed over the drilling site. The night air was freezing and their breath formed clouds around their faces. Sam put his arm around Cantara and pulled her close. He kissed her on the lips and he felt her passion as she returned his kiss and explored his mouth with her tongue. They turned as they heard the front door open and saw Jack come out. Sam and Cantara pulled apart like shy teenagers. Jack grinned at them, then sat a respectable distance away.
‘Was there a remote-controlled timer on the warhead?’ Sam asked Jack.
‘Aye. Rashid were always trying to learn how to build one of them.’
‘Well it looks like he finally figured it out,’ said Sam bitterly. ‘When is it due to explode?’
‘Six thirty.’
Sam looked at his watch. ‘It’s six twenty-nine.’
Sam moved towards Cantara so they touched from shoulder to knee.
‘I love you, Sam.’ Cantara leaned over and kissed him once more. ‘You can be stubborn and infuriating at times, but you’re a good man.’
Sam squeezed her hand. ‘I love you too, Cantara. I haven’t taken the time to tell you how much you mean to me, but from now on I promise to do whatever it takes to make you happy.’
‘That shouldn’t be too hard considering you only have a few seconds to make good on your promise.’ Cantara smiled and draped her arm around Sam’s shoulder. She looked up at the stars in the night sky. ‘Look, there’s Ursa Major, the Great Bear!’
Cantara was silent for a moment as she searched for other constellations. ‘Do you think the warhead really will go off?’ she added.
‘When I read the Sapientus manuscript I had the exact same vision as I’m having now except there was a massive mushroom cloud spreading over the ice dam.’ Sam looked away from the massive iceberg and into her eyes for what he thought might be the last time.
‘And Sapientus never made a prediction that didn’t happen,’ Cantara said.
As if in response, a blinding flash of light lit the night sky like a massive bolt of lightning. It was followed by a yellow glow and a deep rumble of thunder. The glow flared in the sky like a false dawn for about twenty seconds before it dropped like a stone towards the horizon and then disappeared forever into the Greenland Sea.
Sam and Cantara stared at each other in a state of confusion and then looked towards Jack.
‘I didn’t think I’d be able to carry the warhead all the way t’ plane, Sam. It were right heavy and me arms were killing me,’ Jack said. ‘But I managed to sneak it past Ibrahim the pilot and into the luggage compartment right before they took off.’
* * *
Five days later
‘Ready to commence the frack on relief valve number one. Awaiting your orders, Mr Jardine,’ said the rig manager Gus Graham from his temperature-controlled cabin. He had to shout above the noise of Muse’s ‘Plug in Baby’ that reverberated from the stereo bolted to the wall. The oil workers had worked day and night for seventy-two hours, adding three more kilometres to the existing pipeline.
Sam stared into the computer screen that displayed a diagrammatic representation of the pipeline that ran under the ice dam and through the mountain on the far side of the fjord. The frack would blast a four-metre diameter hole in the mountain that would allow millions of tonnes of meltwater to escape into the sea every hour. Sam hoped the outflow would relieve the immediate pressure on the ice plug that was calving mini ice blocks into the lower fjord. The mountainous iceberg was being squeezed through the gap between the two sides of the fjord like a cork through a champagne bottle at an accelerating rate.
‘Any luck with the radio or computer communications?’ Sam asked Cantara, seated in a large grey swivel chair next to him in the control room. Cantara tried once more to contact the outside world.
‘Sorry, Sam. Jamal’s team did a thorough job of disabling our communications. We’re on our own.’
Sam contemplated the enormity of what he was about to do. They were planning to blast four enormous relief valves into the side of the far mountain. Huge volumes of freezing meltwater
would thunder into the Labrador Sea, disrupting one of the most sensitive ecological systems on the planet. If too much fresh, icy water diluted the salt-laden Labrador current, then it would overpower the delicate mixing action and stop the chimneys that drove the entire Thermohaline Circulation.
What was certain was the large influx of freezing meltwater would hammer into the northern arm of the Gulf Stream and force it southwards, creating a succession of long, harsh winters in Northern Europe, Canada and the northern states of America. Sam and Cantara hoped this short-term devastation would refreeze the Canadian tundra and reverse the melting of the Greenland ice shelf.
‘Are you sure we can plug the pipes if the outflow pressure becomes too great, Gus?’
‘We have ten thousand tonnes of concrete at the ready,’ confirmed the rig manager.
Sam took a deep breath. ‘Commence fracking operations, Mr Graham.’
‘Acknowledged. And five... four... three... two... one. Commencing frack. And Lord help us if we fuck this up.’
CHAPTER 37
Jinja, Uganda
The Oracle dipped her ancient water gauge into the White Nile and then examined the waterline against its notches. She nodded in satisfaction. The White Nile had already risen a cubit in the days since she had arrived at the river’s source, which foreshadowed a robust year ahead for the mighty river. Sienna felt a large drop of rain on her forehead and looked at anvil-shaped cumulonimbus clouds that were saturated with water. She retreated under a deep rocky overhang that was hidden from view by matted grasses and thorn bushes. An old Nile monitor lizard hissed in alarm and thrashed its powerful tail before scuttling into the pouring rain. The Ugandans had feared and avoided the grotto for fifty generations. They believed it was a place where in ancient times, enchantresses from the north had concocted spells and issued curses too powerful for the local witch doctors to counter. Sienna sat cross-legged on her grass bed and cleared her mind of all earthly distractions while she contemplated her broken relationship with the goddess Sekhmet and her reconciliation with the Islamic religion. She was saddened that she would be the last in a long line of oracles that stretched back to the dawn of civilisation. The ceremony she was about to perform would be her final act on behalf of the old religion.
The Last Oracle: A Climate Fiction Thriller (Sam Jardine Crime Thrillers Book 3) Page 28