Beneath the Ice

by Patrick Woodhead

  ‘I look forward to receiving it then.’

  With that, he turned away from her, leaving Bear staring at the impeccably combed hair on the back of his head.

  ‘Shit,’ she whispered. As she spoke her hand traced across the upper part of her shoulder to the long, trailing burn mark hidden beneath her shirt. How dare du Val mention Chile after all this time?

  Five years ago she had been inspecting a coal-seam gas mine outside the Torres del Paine when there had been an explosion. The onsite security detail earned little more than minimum wage and were not about to risk their lives for the seven men who had been trapped underground. On impulse Bear had suited up and gone down alone, eventually rescuing four of the seven miners before a secondary explosion closed down the entire site. She had been lucky to make it out alive and only later, once the adrenalin had died down, did she realise she had left open a thin, rectangular gap in her heat suit. It was not a mistake she would ever make again.

  After Chile, her reputation as a fearless, if slightly reckless, mining investigator was all but secured. Soon afterwards du Val had appeared on the scene, offering her an enviable salary and her pick of assignments. During the course of the following year Bear had worked for him on four separate projects, proving beyond doubt that her tenacity and ability to react to danger were not one-off traits.

  But as she watched du Val retreat through the ranks of partitioned desks towards his own office, she realised that he was right. She had been appallingly indecisive over the last couple of weeks and the sudden discovery of her pregnancy had only served to exacerbate the feeling. It was as if a cloud had descended over her, making it impossible for her to think about anything else.

  Bear’s eyes narrowed. She tried to recall whether she had felt the same with her first child, Nathan. But then she remembered. She had worked up until only a few days before the birth, and then only five months later, the whole Chilean escapade had occurred. Far from making her more risk-averse, having a child had barely impacted on her working life. Somehow she had been able to compartmentalise the two. Despite the love she felt for her newborn son, she was still able to take risks that other mothers would have considered unconscionable.

  It was something her friends in the West never really understood. Growing up in Africa had imbued in her a different attitude towards life and children. There was an unyielding fatalism in her home country; the very antithesis to the mollycoddled children she saw in Parisian playgrounds, with their cashmere jumpers and over-protective parents.

  So much had changed since Chile, and du Val was right. What had happened to her? Why did she feel so crippled by uncertainty? It left her spinning from one thing to the next, never committing to anything properly, never seeing it through.

  Bear could feel sweat begin to prickle on her lower back and suddenly her office felt stifling. Christ, she hated these office blocks with their constantly recycled air. Shaking her head, she grabbed a Biro from her desk and used it to twist and pin up her hair. She glanced down at her stomach under the charcoal grey skirt she was wearing. It was fitted across her hips and, as she tilted her head to one side, she was suddenly aware that there was the slightest bump visible through the fabric.

  Pregnant. How could she have been so stupid as to let herself get pregnant? She wasn’t some naïve twenty-year-old, for Christ’s sake.

  All last night she had thought about getting a termination and even looked online for a nearby clinic. But as she had waited for dawn, watching the sun rise across the Parisian rooftops, she had been wracked by the need to tell Luca. Whatever had happened between them, this wasn’t her decision alone. She had to speak to him about it and organise a time to meet up. This was something that had to be discussed face to face.

  Digging into the side pocket of her handbag, Bear retrieved her mobile phone. She began dialling Luca’s number while silently mouthing the beginning of a speech she had prepared late last night, though already the words felt flat and misplaced. But then she noticed a voicemail message. Thankful for the distraction, she connected through. Luca’s voice. The message was short and perfunctory, informing her that he was off to Antarctica and an old friend called Bates was her point of contact in case of emergency.

  Antarctica? What the hell was Luca up to now? As if the oil rig weren’t escape enough, he had suddenly set off for the last damn continent on earth! Bear shook her head as her gaze blurred on some distant spot outside the window. This was just what she needed right now – Luca upping sticks and heading off to Antarctica!

  Then there was the mention of Bates. Bear’s eyes narrowed as she tried to picture his face, but it was surprisingly difficult. She could remember that he had stayed with them for a couple of days at their flat in Paris a few years back, but any more than that was a blur. Bates was kind of nondescript; average height, average build, with slightly receding reddish hair. The more she tried to picture him, the harder it became. All she could remember was his unfailing politeness. He was like some kind of ideal English gentleman. He had spoken quite a lot during his stay, but his conversation had been remarkable only by dint of the number of platitudes it contained. How he was suddenly involved in Luca’s snap decision to go to Antarctica was beyond her.

  Bear’s gaze moved back to the phone, as if expecting an answer to have suddenly appeared on the small screen. Antarctica! What the hell was Luca up to?

  Scribbling Bates’ number on the notepad in front of her, she dialled again. There was an international tone, then a pause as the call was re-routed through a separate switchboard.

  ‘Bates,’ said a familiar voice.

  ‘Kieran, it’s Beatrice Makuru. I was . . .’

  ‘Of course! Bear. How on earth are you?’

  She sat forward in her seat, pencil at the ready. ‘Good, thank you.’ She paused, trying to recall whether he had any family she should be asking about. Nothing came to mind. ‘Listen, I just got this message from Luca saying he’s gone to Antarctica. Can you tell me what on earth is going on?’

  ‘Well, you know as well as I do, Bear, Luca’s his own man. But he’ll be back in a few weeks’ time and you needn’t worry. It’s all routine stuff.’

  ‘Routine? Comment est-ce routine? The last I heard he was in the middle of the North Sea!’ Bear forced herself to be calm, jabbing the point of the pencil down so hard on to the page that the lead snapped. ‘Look, is there a satellite number I can reach him on? I need to get hold of him quite urgently.’

  ‘Nothing serious, I hope?’

  ‘It’s just a personal thing,’ Bear replied, trying to keep the edge from her tone that suggested he should mind his own business.

  ‘Thing is, Luca is in the field leading a group of scientists. They don’t have their sat phones turned on during the day as they have to save the batteries. Bit cold down there, you see. We have to wait for them to switch them on each night. They usually do a scheduled call at eighteen hundred hours GMT. Just to check in and all that. Otherwise, if it’s something urgent, we have to wait to hear from them.’

  ‘OK, so I’ll try him tonight. Can I get the number?’

  Bates read out the Iridium prefix of +8816, repeating the rest of the number twice. After a moment’s pause, he added, ‘If you’d prefer, I can pass on a message. Just in case you don’t get through.’

  Bear thought about the message she could send. It wasn’t easy saying that she needed to speak to Luca urgently without giving a reason why.

  ‘Thanks, but I’d rather just do it myself,’ she heard herself saying.

  ‘Of course.’

  After a slight pause, she switched focus.

  ‘Tell me, Kieran, don’t you need permits to get into Antarctica? I thought they took weeks, even months, to secure.’

  ‘Well, normally, yes, but this is all going through the British Foreign Office and they’re the ones who do the issuing. So the whole process was somewhat expedited.’

  ‘And his reason for going?’

  ‘There is this lake
that some scientists need to get to that is surrounded by mountains. The winter is about to shut everything down and we needed someone to get in there and guide them.’

  ‘Luca’s guiding? Is it dangerous?’

  ‘No, not at all. For a climber like him, this is all pedestrian stuff. He’s probably whining right now about how boring it all is. You know how those science types drone on.’

  The attempt at light-heartedness fell flat as Bear immediately switched tack. ‘I remember you saying you worked for the Foreign Office, but when you say “we” – who do you mean exactly?’

  ‘Sorry. Should have explained. I work for the British Polar Unit,’ he replied. ‘Well . . . truth be told, I’m actually in a part of the Foreign Office that bridges into the Polar Unit. I kind of sit between two stools.’

  ‘Sounds uncomfortable,’ Bear replied distractedly.

  ‘Well, quite.’

  ‘Antarctica sounds fascinating though,’ she offered, prompting him to start talking. Something about the way he had given his job description jarred with her and Bear found herself instinctively pulling up the British Polar Unit’s website on her laptop. Quickly scanning through it, she then clicked open the one for the British Foreign Office and did the same, keyword searching for Bates’ name. Nothing came up.

  On the other end of the line, he was still talking. ‘. . . but really, this is all because Luca kindly agreed to help us out. Routine stuff, of course, and he’ll be home on the last flight out of Antarctica. I’ll get him to call you as soon as he is back on dry land.’

  ‘Routine’ – there it was again. At first Bear had thought he was just trying to reassure her, but using that word for a second time? In all her investigations, when a person said ‘routine’ it usually meant anything but. Bear paused, trying to ignore the fact that something about Bates’ manner was grating within her. But then again, perhaps it was just down to his English eccentricity.

  ‘So whereabouts is Luca exactly? Did he go into Antarctica via South America?’

  ‘No, no. They’re at a new research station called GARI in Droning Maud Land, so they came in via Cape Town. Your old stomping ground, I believe?’

  ‘Used to be,’ Bear whispered, then shut her eyes. This was unbelievable. The two people on the planet whom she most wanted to see would soon be in the same city. Her son would be returning from a stay with his grandparents at the end of the week. Now Luca was passing through there too. After a short silence Bates chipped back in.

  ‘I understand it must be disorientating, having him leave like that, but you know how much Luca loves the mountains. He practically twisted my arm off to get out there, so I’m sure he’s having a good time.’

  Bear went stock-still. ‘Love them? That’s what he said?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Jumped at the chance. I am sure I don’t need to tell you about his passion for getting up into the thin air.’

  After a second more she heard herself say, ‘Thank you, Kieran. Nice to hear Luca has an old friend looking out for him.’

  ‘Not at all. Hope to see you again soon.’

  Cutting the line, Bear gently put the phone down on the desk. The words ‘loves the mountains’ were still ringing in her head. She knew that Luca hadn’t climbed in high mountains for nearly two years. Although the rig work involved climbing, it was always low-level stuff, more rock climbing than doing anything at altitude. The high peaks had been something he’d left behind the moment he came back from Tibet.

  Mountaineering had become something unmentionable to Luca, with him refusing to talk to anyone about it, least of all Bear. He’d put all his climbing gear in storage; the boots, ice axes and carabiners, everything had been packed away in cardboard boxes and it had been all Bear could do to persuade him not to throw the stuff away.

  On several occasions she had tried to coax him into talking about it, but had received little more than monosyllables in response. Only once, after they had got drunk together in a bar in Madrid, had he started to open up. That night she had seen a different side of him, one that had shocked her. It seemed that for him the mountains were filled with the memories of dead friends. Each cliff face had become a tombstone, each peak a memorial he would just as soon forget.

  But despite it all, Bear had become convinced that he still wanted to climb again, if only to dispel the demons. She had booked flights, a hotel, and even rented climbing gear in an effort to surprise him, but when they had reached the airport and she had excitedly revealed their destination, Luca had flown into a rage. It was the only time she had ever been genuinely scared of him.

  That day Bear had vowed never to try and manipulate him again. Hard as it was for her to understand, the simple truth remained: just because Luca had a spectacular talent for doing something, it didn’t necessarily mean he wanted to do it.

  So why had Bates said otherwise? Three years ago was the last time he and Luca had met, so perhaps he was still unaware of the change? Certainly, it was not a subject that Luca would have offered up in any conversation. One thing was for sure – if Luca had decided to go back to the high mountains, it would have been out of fundamental necessity. Love would have had nothing to do with it. Kieran Bates had been mistaken. But the real question was, how could he have got it so wrong?

  Kicking off her shoes beneath the desk, Bear turned towards the window. From the fifteenth floor of the office block she could see the twin towers of Notre Dame rising above the morning mist. For nine years she had led investigations that uncovered the truth behind mining incidents all over the world. If there was one thing she was good at, it was telling when someone was holding back.

  She checked her watch. Another eight hours before the scheduled call time and a chance to speak to Luca directly. In the meantime, she wanted some more answers.

  Opening the door, she called to her assistant.

  ‘Please ask Louis to come in. I’ve got some digging for him to do.’

  Chapter 7

  KIERAN BATES LEANT back in his chair and let his mind linger on an image of Bear. He had anticipated that she might call, and hoped that the affable, ‘English gent’ routine he had affected had been enough to assuage any doubts she might have had. The last thing they needed was a professional investigator getting curious.

  His eyes then passed across the features of his Whitehall office. The décor was tired and monotone, in direct contrast to the elegantly dressed woman sitting opposite him. She had her head tilted down, reading an open file on her lap, causing long strands of silver hair to fall across her face. After a moment more, Eleanor Page looked up and let her quick green eyes settle on him.

  At fifty-nine years old, Eleanor still retained something of the attractiveness of her youth, and what age had diminished she had mostly compensated for with classic styling and impeccable tailoring. Her hair, although no longer dark brown, was thick and luxuriant, while the lines on her face had been carefully softened by a plethora of expensive moisturisers and even a few laser treatments. Perched on top of her head like a tiara was a pair of tortoiseshell-framed glasses.

  For the last sixteen years, Eleanor Page had been chief adviser to the Director General of the FBI. In all that time she had witnessed a succession of new administrations come and go, and with each, had viewed their passing with unshakeable equanimity. Long ago she had realised that such events were mere blips in the course of history and that, for as long as the underlying factors remained constant, life would continue largely as is. It was this perspective alone that had kept her diastolic 80 under 120.

  But in the last six months all that had changed. There had been a fundamental shift that would affect all US interests, both foreign and domestic. So far only four people in the US administration had seen the same report, with the Director General specifically labelling it a ‘game changer’. The document had concluded with the warning that they would be able to keep the status quo for precisely eighteen months, after which time the full horror of their country’s predicament would be laid bare on the wo
rld stage.

  Eleanor had been personally tasked with finding a solution, and after a chance report had hit the desk of one of her contacts at the FBI, she felt she had one. It was a complicated plan, involving a number of third parties and big geo-political plays – all of which made her feel very uncomfortable. She would have preferred to keep this firmly within her own sphere of influence, but unfortunately that just wasn’t an option. Instead she needed the British, and they in turn had assigned her Kieran Bates.

  Staring across the desk at him, Eleanor brightened her expression into a smile, carefully masking the doubts she had about this man. Was Bates really up to the task? Then again, Parker himself had put him forward for the job.

  When she had initially made contact with the head of MI6, Fabian Parker had told her that he had just the man for her. He had first pointed to Bates’ aptitude tests, before going through his list of previous assignments. They had been impressive, with only one notable exception in the Yemen where one of his field operatives had been killed. But no career was perfect. If one seemed to be, there was usually something missing from the file.

  But more than Bates’ list of achievements was the fact that he had been physically absent from MI6 for the last three years. Continuous tours of Afghanistan and, prior to that, the Yemen had made him all but a stranger to his own department. It was exactly what Eleanor Page was looking for. She needed someone detached from the normal remit of MI6, but who could ensure that the British kept their end of the bargain.

  With so much at stake, it was vital that as few people as possible knew of the plan’s existence. Parker had even decided that the British Prime Minster need not be fully informed. Instead, a desultory report had been sent upriver that was as vague as he could make it without piquing the interest of the oversight committee.

  Adjusting the glasses on top of her head, Eleanor’s smile widened a fraction. It was a knowing look, as though she and Bates had been friends for years.