Beneath the Ice

by Patrick Woodhead

  The Russian stared between them both, having only partially understood what was being said.

  ‘Slowly, slowly,’ he said, trying to reassure them. ‘We collect other man. No problem.’

  ‘Now!’ Katz shouted, gesticulating wildly towards the cliff. ‘Another man is after us. He has a rifle.’ He then mimed firing a gun with his spare hand.

  The Russian’s eyes narrowed in confusion.

  ‘OK, OK,’ he said, more to try and placate them than with any real understanding. His eyes switched across to the ice cliff, searching for any sign of danger, but there were only the three containers they had already unloaded that morning, with the remaining Englishman standing nearby.

  ‘We send crane now. Pick up other man,’ Nicolai added, smiling good-naturedly. He then signalled up to Andrey once more and they all watched as the mighty crane arm swung back across the divide. Just as it was in position over the ice and Luca started moving towards it, there was the crack of gunfire. The noise echoed out across the open area, making everyone jump. Then Andrey’s body came crashing down from the crane cabin, hitting the ship’s deck face-first only a few feet away from them. The weight of the impact snapped his head back and he lay bunched unnaturally to one side. Beneath him, blood slowly fanned out in a semi-circle across the deck.

  ‘Mother of God,’ Nicolai breathed.

  There was another shot and this time Joel spun round as the bullet passed through his left shoulder blade. His whole frame pivoted as though caught by some unseen wire and he collapsed on to the deck, screaming wildly.

  ‘Run!’ Katz shouted, sprinting full tilt across the deck with his back arched and the Pelican case swinging wildly in his grasp. A few seconds later he reached the first of the steel turrets lining the control bridge and dived for cover, bruising the entire left side of his body as he smashed on to the ground.

  Out on the open deck, Nicolai finally jerked into action. Joel was crawling helplessly across the ground, his vision so blurred he couldn’t tell which way to go. His right arm was raised, pressing down on the wound, while his mouth was wide in a constant scream. As Nicolai ran past, he grabbed hold of the wounded man and shunted him forward towards the shelter of the ship’s bridge.

  Nicolai ran with his head down, expecting the next bullet to strike at any moment. But the sea takes care of her own and, as if on cue, the ship slowly rolled in the opposite direction causing Stang’s next bullet to miss by a few inches. They reached the cover of the steel doors just as the other member of the crew, Balakin, crashed down next to them.

  ‘What’s happening, Captain?’ he cried out, stuttering from fear.

  Nicolai looked across to the big man for an answer, but he was staring up at the cabin of the crane, grey sky now visible through its open side. After a moment, his gaze switched back towards the Russians.

  ‘If we don’t pull back the crane arm,’ he said, ‘Stang will be able to climb across and get on to the boat. You can’t allow that to happen.’

  Nicolai followed his gaze, his mind racing. He was an old navy man who many years ago had seen some action in the Baltic Sea. Now, he tried to steady his nerves and, instead of panic, do what was right for his crew and his ship. He had no idea who Stang was, but knew enough to fear the accuracy of his rifle. ‘Nyet,’ he said. ‘Too dangerous to go back up to cabin and operate the crane arm. We drive boat away, retract crane later.’

  Joel stared up at them both. He was still clutching his shoulder, desperately trying to stem the flow of blood trickling through his fingers.

  ‘But Luca?’ he pleaded. ‘You can’t just leave him.’

  Katz’s gaze settled on Joel for a moment, then he looked away.

  ‘We can’t help him now,’ he said flatly. ‘He’s just going to have to take his chances.’

  Chapter 35

  LUCA STARED IN horror as the deck of the Akademia Federov emptied under a hail of gunfire. He had been standing directly behind the row of containers when the first shot rang out. Stang was close; so close that Luca could even hear the sharp metallic click of the bolt-action rifle reloading with merciless repetition.

  As it finally fell silent, Luca stared out towards the metal hook on the end of the crane. It swung idly in the breeze, no more than ten feet away. But as close as it was, he knew that if he broke cover and tried to reach it, Stang would simply gun him down.

  He could only presume that Stang thought he was already on board the ship and had been winched across like the others. But that would only last so long. It was simply a matter of time before he rounded the side of the containers and discovered Luca cowering there.

  Seconds passed. Sweat was running the length of Luca’s spine. His mind raced as he tried to think of a way out of the situation, but there was nowhere left to go. He could hurl himself into the water to be picked up later by the others, but the drop looked absolutely terrifying. He doubted whether he would even survive it.

  He turned his gaze up to the roof of the container, wondering if he could hide there instead. Tracing his fingers over the smooth side, he searched for a handhold but there was nothing to grip on to. The only way to get up there would be to leap for the edge and pull himself higher, but at such close range, Stang would be bound to hear.

  So Luca waited. Second followed second, each filled with the gut-wrenching certainty that Stang would suddenly appear around the side of the container. Curling his hands into fists, Luca tried to steel himself for a fight, but already he knew it was pointless. Rifle or not, Stang was a giant of a man and Luca wouldn’t stand a chance in a fistfight. The mere thought of it made his legs go weak and Luca just stood there, feeling physically sick with fear.

  Turning his gaze out towards the ship, he willed someone to notice him. But the decks were deserted. There was only the broken form of the Russian who had fallen from the crane, his body haloed by a dark stain of blood.

  Then Luca heard footsteps. There was a soft crunching of snow and he screwed his eyes shut, feeling terror rise within him. This was it. Another second and Stang would be on him. As he listened, he realised that the footsteps were heading away from him, not towards, and poking his head around the side of the container, he saw the Norwegian shuffling back towards his Ski-Doo parked nearly a hundred metres away. He had his rifle slung across his back and his head bowed low. As Luca watched, he flipped open the saddle of the machine and began digging through the contents stored within. A few seconds later, Stang re-emerged with a rope, snapping the ends together as he tested its strength.

  Luca stared at it, wondering if the rope was somehow meant for him. Did Stang now plan to garrotte him? Then he realised what it was for. The man needed it to secure himself as he climbed across the crane arm and on to the ship.

  Ducking back behind the container, Luca stared across to the ship’s empty deck. He had to get on board or risk being left behind. The generators at GARI were destroyed, meaning no heat, no water and no chance of surviving more than a few days.

  The ship was his only way out.

  Just as he tried to galvanise his legs into action, there was a deep roar from the engines. A dark plume of exhaust belched out and there was the sound of churning water. A second later, a great, foamy spray erupted beneath the hull as the propellers fought against the ship’s mighty inertia to move her backwards.

  Luca stared in disbelief. They were leaving without him! The fear of being abandoned finally triggered him into action and he pushed off against the container, sprinting headlong towards the hanging crane arm.

  As soon as he broke cover, there was a yell of surprise. Stang was still standing by the Ski-Doo, looping the rope over his hands as he considered the best way to attach himself. It took several seconds for him to shake himself free before dropping down on one knee and readying his rifle. In a single, finessed movement, he clicked off the safety and aimed.

  But Luca was moving fast. With his arms pumping at his sides, he reached the metal hook of the crane in just a few strides. Flinging himsel
f up, he grabbed on to the main cable and dragged his body on top of the crane arm. He began shuffling along, legs dangling to each side, while beneath him the ship started moving in earnest. The engines were on full reverse power, finally gaining momentum through the dark, frozen water.

  There was the sound of the rifle once more, and Luca heard a low clang as a bullet smacked into the metal just ahead of him. However, there was only time for one shot. The speed at which the ship was retreating meant Stang didn’t have time to reload. Instead, he gave chase, his mighty thighs powering through the deep snow.

  Luca had managed to get nearly halfway along the crane arm when he suddenly heard another shot. He froze, with his upper body bent so low as to be touching the metal arm of the crane. Reaching behind him, he fumbled in his jacket pocket for a few seconds before grabbing hold of one of the emergency flares they had taken from GARI. He twisted round, searching for any sign of his adversary.

  At first Stang was not visible. Then, as the ship rolled to one side, Luca suddenly saw him, dangling from the end of the crane winch. His military boots were clamped either side of the metal cable and he was staring fixedly ahead, right into Luca’s eyes. It was the first time Luca had seen him in the full light of day and the sight of his blackened skin with red welts laced across his face was almost mesmeric. Luca stared back into Stang’s pallid eyes and saw a look of absolute hatred. It was pathological, like a predator incensed by the lucky escape of its kill.

  There was a sudden whoosh of light as the flare rocketed along the length of the crane. Luca stared after it through the clouds of red smoke, coughing violently as he tried to see whether it had struck its target. But a moment later he caught sight of Stang’s outline. He was still there, gripping on to the end of the winch cable.

  Turning back once more, Luca dragged his body hand over fist along the crane arm. A few feet further on he passed the threshold of the ship’s rail below. Now, at least if he fell, he would land on deck instead of falling all the way to the water.

  Behind him, Stang heaved his body up. He managed to get his barrel chest over the edge of the crane arm, then jerking his legs back and forth, wormed the rest of his body on top. Now astride the metal beam, he steadied his aim with the rifle. This time, he would not miss.

  ‘Hold on!’

  The shout came from somewhere directly beneath Luca and he saw a figure standing on the main deck. The captain was there, holding a fire axe above his head. In a single movement he severed one of the rubber pipes feeding into the crane’s main controls. There was a loud hiss of escaping air as the hydraulic pressure suddenly drained from the system, sending a jolt through the entire crane and spoiling Stang’s aim. Then the massive crane arm came pitching down, accelerating under its own weight. It smashed into the side of the ship, crumpling the side rail like a twig and sending a huge reverberation across the ship’s metal hull.

  Luca slipped, but managed to grab on to one of the running cables to break his fall. He tumbled down on the deck and lay in a heap until a second later he felt a pair of hands grab his shoulders as Nicolai wrenched him clear of the destruction.

  On the opposite end of the crane, Stang was ripped from his perch and sent spinning off into the void. He fell nearly sixty feet down the side of the ship, with his body striking the surface of the water at an angle and immediately snapping his right knee joint. On he went, tunnelling deeper and deeper into the icy depths, as clouds of bubbles blinded him.

  Finally resurfacing, Stang gasped for air. The force of the fall had winded him and he bobbed up and down in the swirling current, using his one good leg to try to keep afloat. All the while, he stared up at the towering expanse of the ship’s hull just in front. The helmsman had killed the engines and now the ship lay stationary in the water only a few feet away. He wondered if he could climb on board somehow, but the hull’s sheer sides looked utterly unassailable.

  Swivelling round in the water, he stared across at the ice cliff directly behind, hoping it would offer a better chance of escape. But he couldn’t see a single handhold in the glistening wall of ice, let alone a route up to the top. As he turned slowly in the current, he could feel water lap over his cheeks and mouth, while the cold seemed to wrap around his body, robbing him of every last ounce of his heat. Turning full circle once more, he frantically searched for some means of escape, but there was nowhere left to go.

  Seawater washed over his head and Stang gulped as he sank beneath the surface. By the time he came up for air once again, he was shivering uncontrollably. His teeth were chattering and his back muscles were rigid from hypothermia. Already the cold was starting to confuse his mind, while the constant ebb and flow of the water was making him feel sick and disorientated.

  Staring up towards the ship’s rail, Stang suddenly spotted a figure gazing down at him. Its face was blurred by distance and he squinted harder, trying to make out the features. The figure on the boat moved a little to one side, causing him to cry out in recognition. He was convinced that the rough features of the Russian captain were, in fact, Richard Pearl’s.

  ‘Richard!’ Stang cried, raising his hand. But there was no reply. The figure only stared down at him impassively. ‘Please,’ Stang begged, spluttering mouthfuls of icy water. ‘Richard!’

  He dipped below the surface and this time stayed under, sinking lower and lower into the depths. As his vision blurred, he held the image of Pearl in his mind, bewildered as to why he hadn’t done anything to help, or even uttered a single word. Sinking further now, Stang could feel the weight of the water pressing on his skull. The pressure grew and grew, with each atmosphere building on top of the next, until finally he screamed. As his mouth opened in panic, the water rushed in, surging down his throat and filling his lungs, until at last everything went black.

  Chapter 36

  A WEEK LATER, the helmsman of the Akademia Federov sighted land.

  The four-thousand-kilometre journey from Antarctica to Cape Town had been a frustrating period of enforced inactivity. Luca had spent most evenings alone in his tiny cabin, just staring at the ceiling and thinking, while the soporific noise of the engines droned on and on. He knew he needed time to make sense of all that had happened. To make matters worse, he had broken three ribs falling from the ship’s crane and, whenever he moved too quickly, a spike of pain shot through his abdomen. The constant discomfort put him in a foul mood, while the frustration of trying to track Bear down only made things worse.

  During the day, he spent hours on the ship’s satellite phone trying to garner the slightest information as to where she might be, but it seemed as though she had simply fallen off the planet. All he had managed to find out was that her last known location was in the Nyanga Township on the Cape Flats. After that, she had simply disappeared. Luca’s repeated calls to Kieran Bates at the British Foreign Office always ended with assurances from a secretary that his friend would get back to him, but nothing happened. As the silence continued, his frustration mounted. Soon, he was willing the days to pass, desperate to reach land and the chance to actually do something.

  When not in his cabin or pressing the satellite phone to his ear, Luca found himself drinking coffee with Nicolai. The Russian captain was a quiet and steady companion, and helped to calm Luca’s mercurial mood. Silence punctuated their conversations as they stared out at the uninterrupted view of the Southern Ocean and discussed all that had happened.

  But this contemplative calm only lasted so long. Three days into the voyage, a flood of news bulletins appeared on the ship’s computers as they came close enough to land for their internet systems to connect properly. Every few minutes, another bulletin would ping across the screen as the situation played out in the world’s media. All eyes were on Antarctica and events there were unfolding fast.

  Already the Russian Duma had insisted that a joint task force be used to clean up the disaster, and not just the American fleet as previously agreed. Although the full extent of the Americans’ involvement had yet to be es
tablished, the Russians had tabled a motion that the Antarctic Treaty should be held in effect until such time as a full investigation was completed. It was passed the next day.

  With the Treaty now back in force, the situation was fast turning against the Americans. Newsfeed followed newsfeed, and with each one their position seemed to weaken further. Soon even the most patriotic US newspapers had conceded that ‘an American citizen had been involved in the environmental disaster down south’.

  Richard Pearl quickly came under the spotlight, with WikiLeaks churning out a plethora of information about how he researched and financed the production of the seed. Although none of this evidence directly linked Pearl to the US administration, it did lift the stain of suspicion from the Russians, who then acted quickly to regain the moral high ground. While they forced themselves centre-stage, the Americans, by contrast, were in full damage-control mode. Already, they were confining themselves to the occasional press conference where they emphatically denied any link to Pearl, despite his status as a US senator, and gave repeated calls for ‘calm and the chance for a full and proper investigation’.

  As Luca and Nicolai scanned each headline, the vilification of Richard Pearl became ever more complete. Someone in the American government was doing everything they could to serve him up on a plate and paint him as the Lee Harvey Oswald of his generation – the lone gunman responsible for the whole tragedy. Reports poured on to the news screens, documenting everything from Pearl’s early childhood to discrepancies in the official report filed on the submarine incident all those years ago.

  The reversal of Pearl’s fortunes was extraordinary for both its speed and its scope. Arrest warrants were issued in the US and almost every other signatory of the Antarctic Treaty followed suit. By virtue of the fact that so many countries were involved, Pearl was left with almost nowhere to run.

  But for now he had disappeared. His Bombardier jet had altered course en route for America and that had been the last anyone had heard of him. While the news channels featured his image on a near-hourly basis, for now one of the world’s greatest manhunts continued.