Out of the Ice

by Ann Turner

  ‘Not if it’s been recently charged,’ observed Kate matter-of-factly. ‘Okay, here goes.’

  I slumped into a comfortable chair, ignoring the oily texture and fishy smell as a beautiful, leafy summer’s day blasted onto the screen. It reminded me of where I grew up in Melbourne, although this was set during the Cold War in the 1950s. The childhood games were menacing and by the mock hanging at the end I was glued.

  ‘Why would they be watching this in particular?’ asked Kate.

  ‘How fresh was that popcorn?’

  ‘Very.’

  ‘They’re brazen if they’ve come while I’m doing my report.’

  ‘Unless they thought you wouldn’t be in here again because of the seals.’ Kate stared at me intently. ‘Maybe they spiked your drink so you’d feel scared and wouldn’t look around down here as thoroughly as you might otherwise.’

  A shiver ran through me. ‘Well, they got that wrong.’ I paused, straightening my back, willing myself to stay strong. ‘Let’s go into some more houses. There might be something else you can eat.’ I sounded more upbeat than I felt. My nerves were jangling. I took one last photo of the projector and the battery. The film was an odd choice for a group of men – I would have expected Hollywood fare, not a dark film about childhood.

  The sun seared my eyes as we emerged back into the street. I quickly put on my dark glasses and again had the sensation of being watched. I turned abruptly and looked everywhere.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Kate followed my gaze.

  ‘I get the feeling someone’s watching us.’

  ‘That’s funny – me too. I thought I was just being paranoid. Do you think the man’s here?’ Kate shuddered.

  ‘If Connaught’s given permission . . .’

  ‘But why would he? It’s obvious when we take the Hägglunds, there’s all that paperwork. They could just wait till we’re not here and do whatever they want.’

  I walked over to the building opposite, which was brick with a tin roof, and stared up under its eaves. ‘Or they could have cameras here and are watching us from Alliance.’ I realised, perhaps too late, that if I was right, it wasn’t wise for me to be talking about it. ‘Then again I doubt very much that’s the case.’ I opened the door of the building and peered inside.

  ‘I don’t know. Sounds plausible to me,’ said Kate.

  I shrugged and kept quiet. I’d be saying more to her once we were away from Fredelighavn. I shone my torch around the interior, filled with large old brick ovens and stacks of wire racks piled on top of each other.

  ‘Wow,’ said Kate. ‘A bakery.’

  We investigated, finding sacks of flour at the back behind the ovens. There were stainless-steel basins where the bread must have been mixed, and sinks and stools. A large marble bench still sported wooden rolling pins, laid neatly in a row. I took photos and added to the growing folder of notes on my tablet. As I named it Bakery – Well-preserved, I thought again of Pompeii, a town that bristled with the ruins of tiny bakeries.

  We left and marched up a street that swung back towards Alliance Point. I kept looking up, trying to find cameras, questions rushing through my mind. Why would there be cameras? Why had the man been here the other day, for that matter, and come back and picked up that piece of red fabric? And what about the film in the cinema – was it just scientists letting off steam, excited by the forbidden, or could it be more?

  The buildings creaked and groaned in the cold as Kate voiced my next thought.

  ‘I still feel like I’m being watched,’ she said.

  ‘Do you?’ I said, trying to sound light.

  ‘If you’re not worried, then I’m not,’ she replied.

  I stopped by a much smaller brick structure sitting between tin-clad sheds. It was different from anything I’d seen. I opened the door and whistled: it was full of shiny banks of electrical meters and three giant generators. A power station. I poked my head back out and looked along the street. Up the hill, a distance away, was a cluster of round oil tanks. There must be underground pipes for the oil to feed the generators, which in turn would have distributed the electricity around the plant. It made sense that the powerlines were also underground, out of the wind and ice.

  I photographed everything, then went back outside. We were in what seemed like an industrial area. I walked to the nearest shed. The doors were closed; Kate stood back, rubbing her arms. ‘I don’t like the vibe of this one,’ she said.

  Kate took another step away.

  ‘Feels okay to me.’ I tried to open the doors. They were stuck. ‘It’s locked,’ I said, surprised.

  ‘Give it here.’ Kate moved me out of the way and pushed her full weight against the doors. Nothing happened. ‘Well, that’s interesting. First building that’s locked. Or did you see some the other day?’

  I shook my head. ‘This is the only one.’

  Kate peered hard at the space where the doors joined. ‘We need a jemmy bar.’

  ‘Let’s see if we can find one.’ I led the way to the next shed, which had a huge blue timber door. I turned the handle and it flung open. There was rusted equipment: large harpoon heads – which would have been fired from the harpoon guns into the whales – stacked neatly in wooden crates; huge knives, and coils and coils of thick rope. There were also stacks of boxes, some of which we tentatively opened: reams of blank paper, pens, tinned fruit and vegetables. Supplies for everyday life.

  ‘Toilet paper,’ called Kate. ‘Totally preserved.’

  I inspected cans of smoked haddock, or so I thought from the image on the box. The writing was in Norwegian.

  There were huge bags of flour and sugar. They must have divided them up into smaller portions for the residents. It was like a quartermaster’s store.

  Kate pulled out a box containing cartons of cigarettes in silver packaging. There were only a few left. ‘Reckon someone’s been here?’

  I walked over and took a closer look. ‘Hard to tell. Travis and his mates could have taken them,’ I said, annoyed. ‘Or I guess supplies could have just been low.’

  ‘But everything else – there’s so much of it. And why did they leave here, Laura? It’s like a ship had just come in with everything they needed for the whole year.’

  ‘I thought it was because they hunted the whales to near extinction. But I’m not certain.’ I really needed to find this out. Not knowing was starting to gnaw at me.

  • • •

  The next two houses were empty apart from beds stripped down to mattresses, and a couple of old sofas.

  Kate stood frowning. ‘It’s like some people knew they were going, were organised and packed things. While others didn’t.’

  I started to wonder whether the House of the Carvers might be an oddity.

  The third house, a vivid red, took us by surprise. It was full of boxes of cigarettes stacked high in the lounge room and ground-floor bedroom. They were covered in Norwegian writing and sported an image of a slick man puffing away in a suit that looked very much of the 1950s.

  ‘How completely odd,’ said Kate. ‘Why did they leave them?’

  I took photos. ‘Maybe they were selling them illegally and couldn’t take them on the ship back to Norway?’

  It was yet another Fredelighavn mystery. A village that made less sense the more we looked around.

  Upstairs were two more bedrooms, one with two single beds, the other with a sagging double bed, all with exquisite bedspreads of embroidered wildflowers.

  ‘The smuggler had a wife,’ I said.

  ‘I still think it’s strange he left it all.’

  ‘Perhaps it was the wife doing the smuggling and someone clamped down.’ I thought of Ingerline, who had organised the building of the church steeple as well as the cinema. Perhaps she needed extra funds? ‘Or maybe they just quit smoking.’

  We smiled, but neither of us felt like laughing. The place was draining us.

  Downstairs in the kitchen, light streamed through a large window onto a table set for ten p
eople, with beautiful navy and white plates, crystal glasses and silver cutlery. There was a large copper pot on the coal-burning stove, but it was empty.

  ‘This looks set up,’ I said, my neck stiffening as it occurred to me that someone could be playing a game with us.

  ‘Like a dinner party before they started cooking,’ said Kate.

  ‘I mean rigged up. For us. It just seems too weird.’

  ‘It’s no odder than anything else,’ shrugged Kate as she looked into the cupboards, which were neatly stacked with food, beautiful copper cookware and more cigarettes. ‘Perhaps this was the house of a whaling captain?’ she said.

  I photographed the kitchen, with a growing unease that someone could have set it up just for me. Could they have come down and done it while I was passed out after my drink was spiked? But why?

  Next door, the house was painted russet red. Long icicles glinting with rainbows hung off intricate white fretwork around the porch. We headed inside.

  And stopped short. It could have been in a current architectural magazine. The floorboards were the colour of rich honey, their wax looked fresh. In the lounge room, the furniture was whitewashed: two wooden, beautifully carved miner’s couches, an antique coffee table, a small white piano. Sunlight filtered in through fine lace curtains. The fireplace had been set with coal. ‘Is this new or old?’ whispered Kate in awe. ‘It’s amazing. Scandinavian chic.’

  I led the way down the passage, which had whitewashed walls that glowed in a pearly hue. There were four bedrooms, two on each side. Everything was white and beautiful; each held a single bed. Paintings of ships hung tastefully. The bed linen was all white and smelled of the sea.

  ‘I could have a beach house like this. Or even a main house,’ said Kate as we entered the kitchen. Light flooded in through two colonial paned windows. A whitewashed wooden table sat in the middle of the room with nothing on it.

  I flung open a cupboard, eager to see what was inside. And screamed.

  There was a dead Adélie penguin.

  ‘How did it get in there?’ said Kate, concerned. The penguin was lying with its eyes shut like it was asleep. There was no sign of deterioration, and when I moved closer it smelled oily and salty and fishy like an average Adélie penguin.

  I took copious photos.

  ‘This is fresh,’ I said.

  Kate came up close. ‘Someone’s killed it and put it here,’ she said fiercely as she went to touch it. I pulled her arm away and led us both into the middle of the kitchen. ‘Jasper said they’re researching viruses up at Alliance. What if they’re doing something with the penguins? God knows what this poor fellow died of,’ I warned, a wave of horror rippling through me.

  ‘If they’re capable of doing that, they’re capable of doing anything.’ Kate’s face pinched up.

  ‘And don’t care about the law.’ I could barely contain my anger.

  ‘But they knew you were coming. Wouldn’t they have removed anything that could implicate them?’ Kate pointed out.

  ‘Maybe they’re so arrogant they didn’t want to disturb their experiment.’

  ‘We couldn’t catch anything from it, could we?’ Kate wrapped her scarf around her nose and mouth. ‘I’m terrified of viruses,’ she said in a muffled voice.

  I stepped forward tentatively and opened all the cupboards along the wall, and stopped, surprised. There was a gaping hole to the exterior up one end. And no partitions internally between cupboards. A sick penguin could have made its way in and died of natural causes.

  ‘Oh,’ said Kate, seeing what I’d just discovered and pulling down her scarf. ‘I guess it mightn’t be that odd.’

  I took more photos. ‘Let’s explore all possibilities. I’ll request a response kit and a lab to carry out tests.’

  We knew the drill: if there was ever any uncertainty about a wildlife death in Antarctica, there were strict protocols to follow. We went outside, scooped up snow and cleaned our boots. Then we went straight back to the Hägglunds. We could walk nowhere else today at Fredelighavn. If the penguin had died of disease, we couldn’t risk spreading germs to any further wildlife.

  • • •

  Kate slept as I drove back through the icy terrain. Normally the landscape would be exhilarating, its blue–white vista opening my soul with its space and beauty, but now I felt only a low-level dread at things being amiss and what that might mean. What had caused a penguin to end up dead in a cupboard? Was it part of an illegal experiment? Or were the scientists at Alliance targeting me, knowing I was aware of their virus research? Perhaps it was another thing they’d deliberately placed here when I was sleeping off my spiked drink to intimidate me. But it could also be merely death by natural causes.

  I pondered whether my Spanish compatriots, the Argentines and Chileans, could have come in and rearranged the houses at Fredelighavn, perhaps to evoke a feeling of mystery that might excite a scientist carrying out an Environmental Impact Assessment. After all, they had the most to gain in opening up the area – getting tourists near the secretive Alliance Station and annoying the British, a plan they would love. It would be a relief if that’s all it was. Games and politics. Although not if they’d upset the wildlife. Could the red cloth have had Spanish writing on it that would have given them away?

  It was conceivable they could have come by boat to Fredelighavn at this time of year, just as the whalers and supply ships had done for decades. And they were expecting the report; they were the ones who’d asked for it. There was a plausibility to it that reminded me that, as with any scientific investigation, I must keep an open mind.

  The more I chewed on it, the more possible it seemed. I sighed loudly, and Kate woke. I told her my latest theory.

  ‘But did they hurt the Adélies?’

  ‘I don’t know. It could be two different things. I still want to go diving, tracing what Travis and his mates did.’

  To my mind, Travis wasn’t off the hook yet.

  7

  Our room was warm and welcoming, in contrast to the way we were feeling about the scientists at Alliance. Kate and I bagged our boots and clothes. They would have to be sterilised before we could wear them again around wildlife.

  After a hot shower I emailed Connaught, copying in Georgia, to report the incident and request the kit and lab facilities. I also notified him that the Hägglunds would need to be sterilised. Then I went to find Travis.

  He was sitting alone having a pre-dinner drink in the dining hall, and was eager and helpful about the diving gear. Travis was the sort of guy who liked to say yes.

  ‘But you can’t tell anyone. Even Moose.’

  Travis hesitated. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Does that really mean okay?’

  He bit his lips and nodded.

  ‘Travis?’

  ‘I’m not great with secrets.’

  I gazed deep into his eyes. ‘Could you make an exception for me?’

  He visibly melted and I felt a twinge of guilt. And I couldn’t help noticing how black his irises were, and the blue, a rich cobalt, surrounding them. Travis had beautiful eyes. I tried not to get distracted.

  ‘I’d make an exception for you any time, Laura.’

  ‘You’re one in a million, you know that?’

  Travis blushed.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘And now I have to go and get ready for dinner.’ I was getting wafts of a fishy, oily smell that seemed to have sunk into my face. ‘I fear I might still stink of seal.’

  Travis grinned. ‘I didn’t want to tell you.’

  We parted laughing but as soon as I was out in the icy street, all I could think of was whether I’d just done a deal with the enemy – the person who had caused the trouble with the wildlife.

  And somewhere deep inside me was a little voice saying I hoped Travis wasn’t guilty.

  • • •

  Via Skype, Georgia reluctantly agreed to the dive and wanted to hear more about the penguin. She was growing increasingly concerned about Fredelighavn.
/>   ‘Check and triple-check the equipment. I don’t want to see a diving accident tricked up to seem accidental,’ she said firmly.

  ‘Georgia, don’t scare me.’

  ‘If you’d seen the things I’ve seen . . . There’s an element of gangland down there, from what you’re telling me. And that spells trouble.’

  I pretended she wasn’t unnerving me.

  • • •

  In the morning, Kate was huddled close, her red hair sprawled across both our pillows. I chuckled and she sat up with a start.

  ‘Time to go.’ I hauled myself out of bed. Through the window the sun was shining and the sky was deep blue. ‘It’s going to be a perfect day.’

  As we were finishing breakfast, Jasper came over and placed an Unusual Wildlife Death Kit on the table.

  ‘For the penguin. Connaught’s asked me to look after you in my lab. After-hours access. We’ll have to work the graveyard shift.’

  A thrill ran through me: I’d be seeing inside the main building. But why had Connaught chosen Jasper?

  ‘I volunteered for it,’ he said, as if reading my mind. ‘No one else put their hand up. The scientists down here are a pretty selfish lot and not happy about you coming in. So, you’ll have to do exactly what I say. I don’t want to sound bossy, but they’re the rules.’

  ‘No problem,’ I said. ‘We’ll have the poor bird back tonight. Can we go in then?’

  ‘At eleven. There’ll be no one in my lab but us by then.’

  ‘I appreciate it, Jasper.’ I opened the response kit and checked everything was there: a blue body bag for the penguin, disposable overalls, gloves, surgical masks and overshoes, alcohol-based hand wipes and a bottle of bleach.

  Travis approached, hovering nearby.

  ‘Well, a favour given might need to be returned one day,’ said Jasper as he turned and walked away.

  Kate glowered. ‘Since when’s protocol a favour? He’s as bad as the rest of them.’

  Travis plonked down beside us. ‘Everything’s ready,’ he said in a soft voice, his blue eyes bright. His face was so open and honest I couldn’t believe he’d be responsible for anything bad. ‘What’s this for?’ he asked, picking up the body bag. He looked completely innocent when I explained, not like a penguin- tormentor or a person who hid birds in cupboards.