Out of the Ice

by Ann Turner

  I shuddered, wondering if Travis could be part of whatever was going on down here.

  I forced the thought away and went to the bookcase where I had found the T-shirt, and pushed with my full weight.

  ‘What on earth are you doing?’ said Georgia.

  ‘Seeing if this is concealing a way down.’

  The bookcase was on coasters and after a moment’s resistance moved easily. The boards beneath were smooth and unbroken, like everywhere else. ‘There must be an entrance somewhere,’ I muttered as I put Ingerline’s diaries in my backpack. Georgia came over to look, and as the wind moaned outside we spent the next hour covering every square inch – and found nothing. Georgia stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at the room, deep in thought.

  ‘Time to head back,’ she said.

  In the church, we picked up our skis and hoisted ourselves up the pile of ice to the gap in the doorway. The wind had dropped: it was an acceptable gale now rather than a blizzard. We tossed our skis onto the snowdrift and jumped after them. I found the blast of salt air soothing, and there was a great deal more visibility. A wild sea heaved in the bay, and to my left the penguins hunkered, draped in snow, on their rocky nests.

  We put on our skis and whooshed off down to the bay. A glimmer of sky was peeking out, pale blue against the grey. I was warmed at least by the weight of the book and diaries in my backpack. The history of Fredelighavn. Perhaps somewhere I might find a record of tunnels built when the whaling station was operational. Tunnels that were now hiding a boy.

  14

  In clear morning light we set off investigating the village, looking everywhere for an entrance underground, and for more signs of the boy and man. I tried to stay focused, but my mind was full of awful possibilities of what could be happening. What if the man wasn’t his father? Was he abusing him? But why here, on a remote Antarctic island? And if he was from Alliance, what was Connaught’s involvement, if any? And could there be more than one boy down here, and more than one man? The man I’d seen in the orange house, and the one I’d seen in the blubber cookery, had seemed different heights, but I couldn’t be sure.

  Kate had gone off with Rutger, and on Georgia’s instruction wasn’t mentioning either the tunnels or the boy to him, although Kate herself was looking for anything leading down beneath the ice.

  I noted everything on my tablet, in a grid, and filmed the sheds and outbuildings, and the houses with their possessions. The lives of vanished whalers.

  I showed Georgia the cinema, where a drift of snow lay through the doorway and seals were again in residence, sleeping, sprawled on chairs and the floor. The film looked the same, but I didn’t dare go in to make sure. Georgia stared at the screen, and then cast her eyes down to the stage.

  ‘Did you check under the stage? It could hide an entrance.’

  ‘I didn’t.’ I tried to think back. ‘I saw the boy after we’d been in the cinema.’

  ‘Can we go in now?’ asked Georgia.

  The seals were in deep and comfortable slumber. Several were on the small stage, that I now noticed was about two feet off the floor.

  Carefully I took a step inside. And all hell broke loose. The huge bull elephant seal awoke and bellowed, and younger seals leaped to attention. I backed out quickly and headed towards Georgia, who had already shot to the opposite side of the street.

  ‘The seals come and go,’ I said. ‘We can check back tomorrow.’ I was burning to take a thorough look around the stage, but for now I had to settle for taking Georgia to the blubber cookery and showing her where the red T-shirt – I was now certain it had been a T-shirt – was sighted.

  ‘Do you think there might be more than one boy?’ I asked fearfully.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, and turned away, leaving my mind churning at greater speed, with ever darker thoughts. More than one man; more than one boy. What could a group of men do to a group of boys? I couldn’t think of anything that wasn’t deeply traumatic. I wanted to air ideas with Georgia, but she was giving the distinct impression that she didn’t want to talk at the moment.

  The rusty knife was still in my bag, and I was near the wall where it should hang. With Georgia by my side, I felt I no longer needed it, and it had been troubling me to have taken an artefact. Georgia caught me as I put it back, and I explained how I’d picked it up the first day I’d seen the man.

  ‘What were you planning to do – give him tetanus?’ she commented drolly, trying to make light, but neither of us was in the mood.

  We picked our way through the shed at the back of the flensing platform that, on its upper loft, revealed a vast array of rusted saws that would have been used to cut the bones after the whale skeleton – its head and spine – had been winched up. Below lay a double row of vats. The bone cookery.

  The shed behind was a vast space where giant steel driers rose from the floor. After the oil had been separated from the whale blubber, meat and bones, any solid material left was dried, then ground up to make whale meal, or what was called guano, and used for protein in animal food, and as fertiliser. There were still sacks of powdered guano lying around.

  We inspected a laboratory where the whale oil had been graded, the equipment still sitting in rows on bench tops. But there were no T-shirts, or entrances underground.

  On the far side of the village, away from Alliance Point, we found an old bakery that, from its basic equipment, seemed to have been abandoned long before the 1950s. There was a large brick building that had housed pigs, and another building where they had kept chickens. A long, dilapidated shed – a barracks – had two rows of single beds, their mattresses long gone. Two adjacent buildings of communal bathrooms stood beside it, and a timeworn mess hall. A distance away, there was a butcher’s shop with a slaughter room, with all its tools in place, and a little further on a two-storey clapboard building sat alone. The hospital, its beds and equipment untouched, like the staff had just walked out for a break. Were back injuries common among the whalers? I looked at the old 1950s X-ray machine and imagined men lying in pain, and flinched knowing what they’d done to the whales to hurt their own bodies.

  Near the water, there was an area where the whale catcher ships had been repaired. It was a self-sufficient settlement.

  Georgia and I investigated scientifically and forensically but there were no more clues. The trail of T-shirts had ended, and there was no sign of a way underground.

  In the following days the four of us mapped Fredelighavn. What had been mysterious was now being reduced to statistics and facts. The seals didn’t leave the cinema, and so, much to my frustration, we couldn’t search there again.

  In my downtime I read Captain Erling Halvorsen’s book, which gave an insight into the design of the whaling station and the frantic work that had gone into constructing the village each year in the short summer seasons. But there was no mention of tunnels or anything underground.

  Erling spent far too long outlining the whale hunts at sea, casting the murdering whalers as heroes and the whales as prey to conquer. He had complained bitterly when, in 1937, the International Agreement for the Regulation of Whaling had been signed by nine nations, placing a much-reduced quota on the number of whales slaughtered. And then he had crowed valiantly when, in the following year, more whales were killed than ever before, a fact also lauded by his brother Olaf. I could only imagine the celebratory dinner that Ingerline had put on for them.

  Ingerline’s diaries made no sense; I could see nothing more than a pattern of names and dates. I would have to send them to a professional translator as soon as I could.

  With Georgia, I returned to the pink and blue house, where I had seen the ghost of Ingerline in the mirror. The lounge room looked exactly the same, the convex mirror reflecting light on a shining day, but with no ghost in sight. We searched thoroughly around the floors and walls for an entrance into the ice. Had Ingerline been sending me a sign?

  There was nothing. Fredelighavn was making me feel claustrophobic.

 
I took Georgia up to the Adélie rookery. The birds were happy on their nests, and no chicks had yet hatched. As Georgia walked through, she was attacked and was forced back quickly.

  ‘What have they done down here?’ she asked, ashen-faced.

  • • •

  After five days in the field our food supplies were running low, but between our two teams we had covered most of the village. We had found no underground entrance nor further signs of recent human habitation. And the seals were still reclining in the cinema, letting no one in.

  I wanted to stay but Georgia ordered me back to base; she wouldn’t leave anyone down here alone. As my skidoo sped over the blue–white ice, fresh from the recent blizzard, the wind was bitter. It was strange that I now knew so much of the history of Fredelighavn, while its secrets remained buried deep, with the possibility of awful acts going on somewhere under the ice.

  I couldn’t get my mind off Travis. Did he know what was happening? Could he be involved? Try as I might, I couldn’t picture him hurting a young boy. My very worst fear was that there might be a paedophile ring operating at Fredelighavn. I couldn’t imagine Travis having anything to do with that. But was I being naïve?

  Travis had hinted at something the last time I saw him, the night before Georgia arrived. I wanted to interrogate him, to make him aware it was no longer a game. The stakes were high. If he was on my side, he needed to tell me everything.

  Alliance came into view, luminous and perfectly formed. What atrocities was it hiding?

  • • •

  Sweet, skinny Guy greeted me warmly as Kate and I walked into the mess hall. ‘We’ve all missed you.’ He winked. ‘Especially Snow. He’s been asking after you.’

  ‘Really?’ Georgia mustn’t have updated them regarding how long we’d be down at Fredelighavn. Cop behaviour. I was glad she was here. And I was ridiculously pleased that Snow had been asking after me.

  I sat down and ate hungrily. Kate wasn’t talking, furious to not be going back to her penguins – which gave me time to think.

  Snow was older. Not as old as my father, but in that direction. Was that drawing me to him? Or was I impressed with his scientific achievements? There was no doubt I found him fascinating, and his body of research was more significant than that of anyone I’d worked with at my university.

  I didn’t want to accept Georgia’s reasoning that Snow was involved in whatever bad things were happening down here. If he wasn’t in league with Connaught, Snow would be the perfect ally. At that moment he walked into the room and looked around. His fair hair shone, and his powder-blue jacket matched his eyes. When he saw me he made a beeline across.

  ‘You’re back.’ He pulled up a chair and straddled it. ‘What have you been up to?’ He sat so close his aftershave wafted over – it was a different one, lemony and fresh with a tang of salt. My heart skipped, and I glanced to see if he was wearing a wedding ring. He wasn’t.

  Kate stopped eating and stared across sullenly. Snow was so focused on me he didn’t seem to notice she was there. I looked into his sparkling eyes and tried to imagine him leading something terrible – but it just didn’t gel. Connaught, absolutely. But Snow was a very different man. Vibrant, attractive, glitteringly bright. There seemed no darkness within him.

  ‘I’ve been documenting Fredelighavn,’ I said. ‘Well, we all have. Do you know the buildings?’

  ‘Wish I did, but no. I’m not that ancient, Laura.’ He laughed and his face lit up, making him look years younger. ‘It was an Exclusion Zone long before I started coming here. So what’s it like? Do you have photos?’

  ‘I do but I can’t show them to you.’

  ‘Yet,’ he said. ‘Once your report’s in hopefully you can. I’d love to see the place. Tell me about the wildlife? It’s meant to be extraordinary. That’s the whole point, isn’t it, of no one going in?’

  Kate’s eyes flickered, warning me to say nothing. Georgia sat down with us, busily texting on her phone. Images of her son and daughter were flashing up and she was smiling happily, a world away.

  ‘My lips are sealed,’ I said to Snow. I felt someone staring and glanced across to see Travis watching jealously.

  ‘Can I join you all for dinner?’ asked Snow.

  ‘Of course,’ I replied. ‘I’m having seconds.’ I scraped my plate clean. ‘Never thought I’d miss this food but I did.’ As we walked together to the servery I felt eyes following us. Snow’s attention was not going unnoticed and I couldn’t help but be pleased. If I could grow close he might reveal useful things about Connaught. They had, after all, spent many seasons down here together. And I longed to learn more about Snow’s work.

  ‘Do you know my father, Professor Michael Green from Sydney?’ I asked, surprising myself. Snow frowned as he slopped meat and gravy onto his plate.

  ‘Green?’

  ‘Yeah. I have my Mum’s surname. My Dad’s Mike Green. He’s a biomedical researcher.’

  ‘Hmm. Doesn’t ring a bell, but then my memory’s not what it used to be.’ He turned. ‘I’ll give it some thought. Your dad, eh? Then I’d like to know him.’

  I blushed. It was ridiculous of me to even raise it – but I was also taken aback. My father was well known. Sure, predominantly in the Asia-Pacific region, but still.

  ‘I guess you’ve heard of him?’

  Snow held my gaze with his blue eyes. ‘Should I?’

  ‘He’s just . . . a bit of a leader in his field. He’s a microbiologist – and he researches in virology too, like you.’

  Snow smiled warmly. ‘You must be proud of him.’

  My cheeks blazed. The abandoned child boasting about a father she hadn’t seen in years. What had Fredelighavn done to me?

  ‘I’m more interested in you, though,’ said Snow as we walked back to the table with our meals. ‘Your research. I know you can’t talk about the whaling station, but you can talk about whales, surely?’

  Sitting down, I found myself launching into great detail about Lev, the humpbacks’ songs, and all the whales I’d observed in Antarctica over the years. Snow was a good listener.

  ‘You talk about them like they’re your friends,’ he said. Kate watched silently. Georgia was still absorbed in her texting.

  ‘I guess they are. Like family.’ I shrugged.

  He grinned and looked at me so directly I melted.

  ‘It must be a bit boring going through old houses,’ he said.

  ‘Not at all. Different sorts of family. Well, families once lived there. Not on the right side when it comes to whales, but it’s fascinating to see how they managed. And that’s all I can say.’ My tone was light, but underneath I was starting to feel a nagging unease. It was peculiar he hadn’t heard of my father – although Americans could be insular.

  ‘Nothing more appealing than a secret,’ said Snow.

  ‘Speaking of which – I’d love to see your lab. Is there any way you could bend the rules?’

  Georgia glanced up.

  ‘Not if I don’t want to be arrested,’ said Snow. ‘Wish I could. But sadly it’s impossible.’ He pushed his plate away. ‘Dessert?’ he said.

  ‘Not for me, thanks.’

  ‘I hope you’re not watching your weight, you don’t need to.’

  I could feel the scarlet creeping up my face again.

  ‘We could always work out at the gym. Do you do that?’ he asked amiably.

  Kate’s eyes widened. Georgia focused on her text conversation with her kids, but I knew she was listening.

  ‘It’s been a long day,’ I said self-consciously. ‘Another time?’ I stood.

  ‘Good seeing you,’ said Snow.

  ‘You too,’ I said, bidding goodnight to him and Georgia. Kate came with me.

  As soon as we were out in the street, Kate groaned and stuck a gloved finger down her throat. ‘That was absolutely nauseating. What on earth were you trying to do?’

  ‘Get close. We have no other leads.’

  ‘He’s old enough to be your father.
’

  I didn’t point out that might be part of the attraction. ‘He’s nowhere near that old!’ I dissembled. ‘Anyway, I asked him if he knew my dad and he didn’t recognise the name. Don’t you think that’s strange, when they’re both big figures in a similar field?’

  Kate mulled it over. ‘I guess one’s in Australia and one’s in America – they’re a long way away.’

  In our room, Kate fell into bed and was quickly asleep as usual, but I stayed up, thinking about Snow. His strong limbs, warm smile. Height; I liked that he was tall, and there was something reassuring about his maturity. Worried about the boy, I yearned for physical comfort, especially if it helped me bond with a crucial ally. It would be so good to be held by a masculine body, to let go. I’d been on my own for three long years, and I felt the urge for an ice-relationship. Nothing permanent, one that stayed here. Snow was the best-looking man at Alliance – if I excluded Travis, who was fast receding into the background. And I liked that Snow was a leader.

  But what if Georgia was right that Snow was involved in whatever was happening at Fredelighavn? Another voice nagged, too – his not knowing my father was odd. My heart started to race at the thought that perhaps I could phone Dad. Ask him if he knew Snow. A background check might smoke out something, one way or another. I felt woozy with anticipation at the idea of having contact with my father.

  I picked up my phone and dialled Dad’s number. I’d left a few messages over the years, and occasionally he had called back, but he always managed to miss me and just leave another message.

  My blood pounded as I heard my father’s deep, well-spoken voice. ‘This is Mike Green. I’m currently overseas, so please leave your number only if it’s urgent, and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.’ Beep. Disappointed, but not surprised, I asked him to call, knowing it was likely to be a long wait.