The Bomb Ship

by Peter Tonkin

  It was at that point that the walkie-talkie buzzed urgently. Ann handed it up to her automatically and Robin thumbed the receive button.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Hogg, Captain. The communications console just lit up. The whole shooting match. We’re back in business again, even got a fax.’

  ‘I’m on my —’

  ‘Captain?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘This is Stone. I’ve got a queue of people on the radio for you.’

  ‘Patch the first one through to me here. I’ll talk to them while I’m on my way up.’ She caught Ann’s eye and jerked her head.

  Ann was up and in action at once, only to collide with Robin who had stopped in her tracks as though she had been stunned.

  ‘Richard! Darling, where are you?’

  Ann was close enough to hear the reply relayed by the black handset. ‘Fifty-two degrees, six minutes west; fifty-nine degrees north.’

  ‘Halfway between Hope and Desolation,’ whispered Robin, awed. As she spoke, she swung round and the two women’s gazes locked while the walkie-talkie relayed Richard’s voice.

  ‘What? Oh yes, I see what you mean. Hopedale and Kap Desolation. That’s right. Exactly. I’m on Clotho with Nico and the rest. We’re less than ten miles south of you.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE - Day Ten

  Friday, 28 May 12:00

  Sir William Heritage sat in the operations room of Heritage House with Helen Dufour on his right and Magdalena DaSilva on his left. The world map towered imposingly up the wall behind them. Beyond the dashing, dazzling Maggie, the bookcases stood, solid, reliable, traditional. Beyond coutured, business-chic Helen, the wall of screens and displays glowed, high-tech, efficient, impressive. In front of them, beyond the solid table hastily borrowed from the boardroom downstairs, in place of the chesterfields and the antique coffee table, stood the local representatives of the world’s press.

  ‘If I may begin by reading a statement,’ Sir William said firmly. ‘Then we can answer individual questions later.’

  Silence fell, except for the quiet conversations of the people in charge of the communications boards beyond Helen. An occasional flash exploded as photographers tried to catch the ambiance ofthis carefully selected location. Tape machines whirred as though whispering to themselves. Pencils poised, dagger-sharp. Sir William cleared his throat and began.

  ‘The two nuclear waste transporters Atropos and Clotho are at present in the Labrador Sea, exactly at the points you see marked on the map behind us. Atropos is fully laden with nuclear waste from the north American subcontinent on its way for reprocessing at the Sellafield nuclear reprocessing plant in Cumbria. She is currently moored to an ice barrier and is perfectly safe. There is no damage to her hull and no question of any damage to her cargo. She has on board not only a scientific officer specially trained in the observation and maintenance of such cargoes, but a member of the Greenpeace organisation with free access to all areas of the ship. And, of course, both ships have a full range of specially designed safety equipment as well as handpicked officers and crew. Atropos has been very slightly damaged and currently cannot make her way home unaided. She is under the command of my daughter Captain Robin Mariner who, as I am sure you are all aware, is one of Heritage Mariner’s most senior and respected captains. Clotho is within ten miles of her and we confidently expect that a tow will be offered within the next few hours and certainly before the end of the day. Clotho is unladen and, although also damaged herself, is well able to offer assistance. She was in fact towing Atropos perfectly adequately until the line parted thirty-six hours ago in a storm. Clotho is currently under the command of Captain Richard Mariner, whose reputation will be well known to all of you.

  ‘We do not at this time envisage any particular problems, especially as the weather in the Labrador Sea is calm and clear with every prospect of remaining so for the next few days. We have not, therefore, requested any help from ships or agencies outside Heritage Mariner itself, and do not envisage doing so unless there is a major change in the circumstances. Heritage Mariner would like to go on record as stating categorically that we believe the situation to be of little seriousness. We believe it will be satisfactorily resolved within twenty-four hours and we see no reason at all for concern.’

  Sir William laid the paper on the gleaming mahogany before him and sat up straight. His hands, clasped on the paper, shook very slightly but at his age it could have been incipient Parkinsonism. His shoulders were square, his blue gaze clear and level. He looked every inch the commercial elder statesman that he was, with his perfectly barbered, carefully parted silver hair and his militarily clipped white moustache. No one would have suspected that he felt he was lying through his teeth.

  The questions began as quickly as he had feared and soon took the line he had most dreaded.

  ‘Andrew Pierce, Shipping. How badly damaged are the ships?’

  ‘One has a bent propeller, the other has some weakness to her bows. But the hulls of both ships have been strengthened for icy conditions.’

  ‘And how thick is the ice they are involved with at the moment?’

  ‘I understand it is first-year sea ice. As such it is probably less than six feet thick.’

  ‘Is that likely to do the ships any damage?’

  ‘Highly unlikely, and of course we carry full insurance.’

  ‘Who insures the world against the cargo?’ demanded a new voice.

  ‘Mr Stonor, would you please observe the proprieties. The cargo is sealed in containers which are guaranteed to withstand any extreme.’

  ‘Utterly unbreakable.’ Stonor’s voice was a sneer of disbelief.

  ‘Even stronger than the ones British Nuclear Fuel crashed a locomotive train into in that famous advertisement ...’

  ‘Andrew Pierce again. To what extent is it true that these ships have been designed and indeed financed with the expectation of transporting this nuclear waste in and out of the near arctic ports of Russia?’

  ‘That is our hope, certainly, Mr Pierce. In fact Miss Dufour here has just returned from Moscow where —’

  ‘Ms Dufour, have you completed an agreement with the Russians?’

  ‘As you know, Mr Pierce, since the disintegration of the old Soviet empire, it has become impossible to make one agreement with all the republics involved, but the people in Moscow —’

  ‘But these ships were financed on the expectation of the Russian deal ...’

  ‘Mr Stonor.’

  ‘... so any slowing down of the process will add to Heritage Mariner’s financial problems?’

  ‘No, Mr Stonor, that is not true,’ Helen Dufour told him. ‘They were not so financed. And the agreement of one or two republics would in theory be sufficient. Effectively we are only talking about the ports of Murmansk and Archangel, though there is some possibility of the authorities opening St Petersburg to this traffic eventually. And, of course, Heritage Mariner’s finances are absolutely sound.’

  ‘Sam Duncan, International Press. Sir William, we hear from our Canadian associates that your partners in this enterprise, Sept Isles Shipping who actually own Atropos, are also on the verge of financial collapse.’

  ‘Since the death of Dan Williams in the terrorist outrage at our launching ceremony three months ago, the company has been undergoing some restructuring but they are financially sound.’

  ‘And word is that Heritage Mariner has every spare penny tied up in these two ships.’

  ‘Heritage Mariner is a broad-based company with substantial interests in oil shipping and leisure boating ...’

  ‘Both shrinking markets, going from bad to worse.’

  ‘... of established and longstanding reputation.’

  ‘John Stonor, of the Sketch.’ The piercing voice was heavy with ironic innocence.

  ‘Yes, Mr Stonor.’

  ‘Isn’t it true that the insurance on these two ships, all of which your company is bearing —’

  ‘As agreed with our Cana
dian associates.’

  ‘All of which you are bearing is beginning to cripple you financially ...’

  ‘No, Mr Stonor, that is absolutely —’

  ‘... to such an extent that if these ships go down, then Heritage Mariner goes down with them?’

  ‘I have answered that already. Yes, Miss —’

  ‘And, furthermore, that is the real reason you have sent Clotho after Atropos in spite of the fact that she is badly damaged and conditions in the Labrador Sea are so dangerous. Even the salvage cost of bringing in help from outside will put Heritage Mariner at risk. Isn’t that so?’

  ‘No. These allegations are absolutely untrue. You are speculating wildly. As you were with the question of the cargo.’

  ‘How many people have been killed so far?’ Stonor chucked the question in out of nowhere and it was so unexpected that Sir William flinched in spite of himself.

  ‘Miss Silver —’

  ‘Rachel Silverberg, Economic Review Isn’t it the case that the judgment outstanding against Captain Richard Mariner over the loss of the Napoli leaves your company wide open to further litigation, especially in America? Litigation which could destroy the financial base of your company?’

  ‘That judgment is under appeal here and we know nothing about further —’

  ‘If I may field this one, Sir William.’ Maggie rose to the fray.

  ‘Certainly, Miss DaSilva.’

  ‘There is no question that our appeal here will fail, Ms Silverberg. And I am in contact with several of the New York law firms who were considering moving on the strength of yesterday’s judgment but they are all as yet undecided.’

  ‘And the United States government is considering making an order against Heritage Mariner, forcing them to retrieve Napoli’s cargo and dispose of it properly!’ that sneering voice accused.

  ‘Mr Stonor, that has nothing to do with the strength of our appeal —’

  ‘It’s got everything to do with the American litigation, though. Half the lawyers in New York are just waiting until the State Department makes up its mind. I have an American lawyer who will stand up and say —’

  ‘When he stands up, we will answer his allegations. Not before.’

  ‘Okay, then tell me how many are dead so far on Clotho and Atropos. Ten, Sir William? Twenty?’

  Sir William’s jaw squared and his lips thinned as he remained in solid silence, staring the reporter down.

  Maggie sat, and the silence persisted for a heartbeat longer.

  ‘Steven Palmer, World News. Could you comment on the terrorist involvement in the recent history of your company?’

  ‘We do much of our work in the Gulf, Mr Palmer. We have dealt with people who also work in the Middle East. We build our ships in Northern Ireland. Terrorism is a fact of life these days, I’m afraid.’

  ‘But your contacts with international terrorism go even further than that, do they not, Sir William?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Isn’t it true that the sister of one of your senior officers is a member of the PLO? Haven’t you actually had an unofficial contact with them for some time now?’

  Only after he had thundered another outraged negative did Sir William notice Maggie’s covert signal begging him to be careful. But he was too enraged to stop now.

  ‘If that was the case, Mr Palmer, do you suppose we would have allowed terrorists to murder and maim at the launching ceremony for Clotho and Atropos? Especially as it was our friends and associates who bore the brunt. My own son-in-law was nearly killed.’

  ‘Now you mention that incident, Sir William, do you think it was wise of you to let your ships sail without a full naval escort? May I remind you that when the Japanese sent just one ship like yours to Europe last year, they sent a fully armed coastguard vessel with her to protect her from terrorists.’

  ‘The Japanese were picking up weapons grade plutonium, Mr Stonor. And even they had nothing to fear from the PLO.’

  ‘Ah, but of course it wasn’t the PLO who bombed your ships in Belfast, Sir William.’

  ‘PLO, IRA, what difference does it make? They were trying to kill the Secretary of State and only used our ceremony by coincidence.’

  ‘It was neither of them, Sir William. And it wasn’t a coincidence.’ Stonor’s voice had lost something of its sneer and he deigned to stand up for the first time as he spoke. ‘What do you know about the LGV, La Guerre Verte?’

  Sir William’s memory was jerked back to the poster Justin Bulwyr-Lytton had shown him yesterday. Trust old Bull to be right on the nail, he thought wearily.

  ‘I heard of them for the first time less than twenty-four hours ago, I don’t see —’

  ‘They are terrorists whose concerns are ecological rather than political. They kill to save the world from people who pollute it, like oil transporters, like traffickers in nuclear waste.’

  ‘This sounds like fantasy to me, Mr Stonor. I have never heard such arrant nonsense in my —’

  ‘And can you tell me if you’ve ever seen this woman before?’ Stonor held up an A3-sized poster of a young, long-haired woman.

  ‘No, I have never seen her.’ He looked from side to side. Both women shrugged. ‘We have never seen her.’

  ‘Her name is Joan Hennessy. She is an American citizen, wanted for murder in the United States and Canada. She is apparently quite a lady. Ex-US Army; highly trained explosives expert. Favours a kind of Bowie knife for close combat, I’m told. She and her husband are among the leading lights of La Guerre Verte.’

  ‘Mr Stonor, I have never met or knowingly had contact with anyone called Hennessy.’

  ‘I see,’ said John Stonor. He began to fold the poster carefully and precisely, aware that every eye in the room and almost all of the cameras were observing his studied performance. When he spoke again, all of the hectoring sneer had left his voice and his tone was one of genuine, concerned enquiry.

  ‘Would it surprise you to know then, Sir William, that this morning my paper received a fully authenticated communication from this woman? In it she stated that it was she who bombed the launching of your ships and it was the ships which were the target. And the statement concluded that members of her organisation have placed more bombs aboard Clotho and Atropos, and that they will stop at nothing to destroy them both. Would that surprise you, Sir William?’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR - Day Ten

  Friday, 28 May 17:00

  Clotho was still capable of twenty-five knots and her turbines could take her up to full speed within a mile. Sitting high in the water, with the undamaged base of her bow cleaving the near calm at the southern edge of the ice, she raced eastwards, all of her high-tech equipment at the fullest possible alert for a way north through the ice barrier. While she sped towards distant Greenland, Richard and the others sat in the wheelhouse and held a council of war. Sir William’s shocking news had come near to destroying an afternoon of careful, detailed planning between Richard and Robin. The detailed notes he had made from their initial radio phone conversation lay beside the further information which had arrived by fax a little later. The words ‘explosives expert’ and ‘Bowie knife’ had been underlined. Joan Hennessy’s photograph glared at the ceiling, but because she had faced the police camera that had taken the original square on, her eyes followed anyone who moved around the room.

  ‘I’ll stay on watch,’ Richard was saying. ‘Johnny, I’ll need you at the radar, and Bill, you’d better stay at the radio now that it’s working properly again.’

  ‘If you’re going to keep her at these revs, I’d like to stay in the engine room,’ added Andrew.

  ‘That leaves Harry and you, Nico. What do you think?’

  ‘We can’t run the risk that there is anyone aboard. We must look carefully. And if Sir William’s information is accurate, we need to do it soon.’

  ‘And not alone,’ said Harry Piper feelingly, running a freckled hand through the curly shock of his carrot-red hair. ‘I don’t want to blunder into any terrorist
stowaways. If they brought explosives aboard, they could well have brought guns too.’

  ‘I think there might well have been someone aboard,’ added Nico thoughtfully. ‘I’m certain someone was tampering with the stores in the lifeboats. I remember, when we went over after poor Jamie ...’ His voice trailed off. There was nothing more to say. He had noticed something but what with one thing and another he had done nothing and told no one. Until now.

  ‘Take the walkie-talkies and keep in touch,’ said Richard. ‘Sorry I can’t offer you anything more in the way of protection.’

  The two men went out of the wheelhouse and the last thing Richard heard from them was Harry saying, ‘Let’s look in the galley first.’

  ‘You think they’re going to start by making a sandwich?’ asked Johnny Sullivan almost wistfully.

  ‘No. I think they’re going to borrow some of the chefs biggest knives and cleavers. Just in case.’

  *

  On Atropos, Robin was having a very similar conversation; but whereas Richard had nothing but senior officers, Robin had nothing much except crew at her command. As Atropos was still tied up and unlikely to be going anywhere before Richard had finished his exploration of the ice barrier and confirmed whether or not he could get in to help them, Robin had no real need to be on the bridge. She didn’t really trust Timmins to do a thorough job yet, so she left him on watch. Hogg would have liked to remain at his nice warm radar post but there was no real need for radar scanning at the moment, especially as he proved to be no more capable than Robin had been of explaining what it was in the north-western distance which set off the collision alarm at just less than the ten-mile setting. Stone could remain at the radio because now that contact with the world had been restored, it seemed that everyone with access to a radio wanted to talk to them. The radio officer had a list of people Robin wanted to talk to, and he had discretion enough to be trusted with the rest of the calls. Atropos’s engineering officers were still technically convalescent, and Lloyd Swan was keeping an eye on the alternators, just in case. Robin was still fizzing with the excitement and extra energy which had filled her since Richard had got through.