by Kim Ekemar
Both the captain and Ernesto let out a shout of relief.
“We made it!” the captain confirmed, shouting into the bridge’s telephone. “Vicente, go forward at eight knots.”
“I’m not sure that’s wise, captain”, Vicente’s alarmed voice reported back. “We’re taking in water in sector three.”
“Then keep the speed at three knots”, the captain replied. “Put the bilge pumps at work and check the other sectors for damage. If sector three is an isolated case, we should be able to make it to Ushuaia. Also, give me an estimate for how much water we’re taking in.”
Ricardo didn’t pay attention to the exchange. Instead, he kept concentrating on his close study of the blood splattered across the broken window. The cold air entering through the hole in the glass made his warm breath turn into vapour. He awkwardly leaned across the dead body to inspect the blood splattered irregularly on the pane up close. In the process, he happened to breathe on the part of the glass where the blood had run in a different pattern. Beneath the stains, his breath caused the print made by a hand appear. Ricardo studied the jagged edges of the broken glass closely before turning around to face the opposite wall. Then he looked at the ceiling and noticed a large dent in one of the plastic panels above. Next, he studied the console beneath the windows with its clutter of instruments and monitors. Ricardo picked up the heavy-duty flashlight encased in rubber lying near one of the phones. He turned it on and, because of his injured foot, with some difficulty got down on his knees. He began to carefully search the floor, including underneath the furniture, until he found a cartridge case. Using a pencil, he collected it and carefully placed it in his breast pocket.
“What about the passengers we’ve left behind?” Ernesto, troubled, asked the captain.
“We won’t be able to pick them up after it gets dark – we’ll have to wait until morning”, the captain replied. “Besides, there’s nothing we can do for them as long as we’re beyond their radio range. If the damage to the hull is limited, we should be able to allow them on board tomorrow at dawn and then make it to Ushuaia by noon.”
“What shall we do with Ari’s body? We can’t leave him here”, Ernesto asked.
Captain Abasolo turned to Ricardo, who now had risen from the floor and was leaning over the table, where a map of the region with a corner torn off was spread out. The hand that held the flashlight suddenly hurt and made Ricardo inspect it. Some microscopic shards of glass had pierced his palm. Tiny drops of blood appeared.
“What do you suggest, Inspector?” the captain asked. ”You’re the one who’s investigating this disastrous event.”
“I have a couple of questions for you”, Ricardo calmly said, ignoring the captain’s comment. “I see that there are three doors with access to the bridge. What about these two doors leading outside to the flying bridge … when you entered, were they locked, too?”
“Yes, they were”, Ernesto replied and went over to a table with charts. “As you can see, we had to smash the window to the one on the port side to let ourselves in.”
“Didn’t you have a key to open one of them?”
“There are no keys. When closed, these doors can only be opened or locked from inside the bridge. A security measure, I’m sure you understand, as the sea can become quite brutal.”
Ricardo was thinking hard to assimilate the information while comparing it with what he had learnt so far.
“It seems obvious that Ari decided to lock himself up inside the bridge before taking his own life”, Captain Abasolo concluded, exhaling a sad sigh.
“And on purpose put us and the rest of the crew and passengers in danger”, Ernesto accused in a grim voice.
Ahead of them, there was only black, impenetrable darkness, where the storm clouds and the sleet now had become one with the open ocean.
CHAPTER 6
Abandoned on the Glacier
After Stella Australis had disappeared beyond the cliffs, the mood among the stranded passengers got nastier when the lights from it no longer could be seen. Warming themselves by the crackling fires, upset and angry voices mixed with the thunder of the ice that broke off the glacier and crashed into the sea.
“The ship isn’t coming back, is it?” the shrill voice of an older woman shouted close to Mateo’s ear. “We’re going to be left here to freeze to death.”
With great insistence, someone on his other side tugged his sleeve.
“What really happened? Why have we been left behind?”
“Where did the ship go?”
A little boy started to weep.
“Mommy, I’m hungry!”
Another child followed suit. The crying made people talk louder, as if to drown out the children’s sense of misery.
“We’re all getting hungry, as it is”, an elderly gentleman complained to one of the guides. “Anyway, even if the ship does return, how are we going to cross the bay in these rubber dinghies when it soon gets dark?”
“We won’t make it back with all the ice obstacles and the wind that’s picking up”, a man in his thirties pointed out; falling snowflakes sticking to his hair.
“What an irresponsible act by this cowardly captain”, the voice of an unknown lady, whose face stayed anonymous in the crowd, snarled accusingly.
Mateo took a deep breath and tried his best to collect himself. The passengers were getting more worked up by the minute. He climbed up on a rock from where everyone could see him.
“Hold it! Hold it, everyone!” he shouted.
The noise died down to a murmur.
“As I’ve told you before, the captain did get in contact with me to explain that there was a minor problem with the anchor winch”, he lied. “I’m expecting his radio communication as soon as it has been fixed and they’ll be able to turn the ship around and –”
“That doesn’t sound right to me”, a bearded man in his late fifties called out. “The fact that the ship is speeding away has nothing to do with impaired anchor workings.”
“That’s what the captain informed me, and I’m convinced that he knows what he’s talking about. Now, please excuse me, everyone, I need to discuss some details with my crew.”
Discouraged by the scared crowd’s hostility, Mateo jumped down and abruptly edged away from the protesting passengers. He called out to his crew, asking them to join him.
“What are we going to do, Mateo?” one of the guides asked him, when they were out of earshot from the passengers. “They’re right, you know. Even if the ship does return now, it would be both irresponsible and dangerous to return in the Zodiacs in this weather, and besides, it won’t be long before it gets pitch dark.”
Mateo looked out in the direction of the bay. Only a blur of ice floes near the shore could be seen in the choppy waters.
“Even if Stella Australis for some reason wouldn’t be able to return for us”, Mateo replied, “surely Captain Abasolo will contact the authorities in Ushuaia for a rescue party to pick us up. Still, you’re right. It would be too risky to cross the bay in the present circumstances.”
“Meanwhile, then, we should accustom everyone to the idea of no food and a cold, uncomfortable night”, another of the guides added, as he pulled the hood of his anorak over his head.
They returned to the fires, where the expectant passengers waited for Mateo to speak. He got up on the rock again.
“Let’s all help to gather firewood that will last us a few more hours”, he spoke with authority.
“What about food?” someone shouted.
“I don’t have a solution for that – yet. Since it would be too risky for us to travel in the Zodiacs when the ship returns, I’m sure the captain will send food in one of the lifeboats, if he thinks that this should be possible. Meanwhile, everyone, please prepare for a prolonged stay here.”
Those among the crew who carried flashlights used them to find more firewood to stack next to the five bonfires that sent unpredictable bursts of sparks up against the impenetrable night sky. Th
ey were helped by a dozen or so passengers, who used their mobiles to light their way. The light snowfall became increasingly abundant.
Mateo had felt despair growing, since he didn’t perceive himself to be the right person to lead this kind of emergency, which he was completely unprepared for. Someone stopped next to him. When he looked up, Mateo saw the bearded man – the same man who in an authoritarian way had questioned him when he had announced that the ship was sailing away – study him with worry in his eyes.
“My name is Alfredo Carbonara”, he said. “I have a medical issue in the family that I need to deal with should we be forced to stay here for an extended period. If there’s anything I can be useful for, don’t hesitate to let me know.”
*
Alfredo Carbonara had been born fifty-eight years earlier on the very same Argentinian estancia that he was now overseeing. His father had met his mother there, on the immense property that counted 250,000 heads of cattle and a history of 300 years in the hands of the same family.
Alfredo, who at the age of four was more proficient at riding a horse than walking, had grown up to be a gaucho. In his thirties, after his father had passed away, he was offered by the head of the owner family to take over part of the duties at the estancia. Ten years later, the patriarch was satisfied that he had made the right choice and appointed Alfredo to oversee the family business in its entirety and, along with his blessings, gave him free reins to do so.
Alfredo was more astute than his father in that he understood that the business relied on the demand on the livestock exchange, dominated by the one in Chicago. He began learning English, which he studied by correspondence. Over the years, it gave him an enormous advantage, because it allowed him to go to Chicago to negotiate prices and volumes in person and not through some self-interested middleman.
Naturally, the owner family members were more than pleased about the increasing profits when compared to previous decades. Gradually, they introduced incentives to Alfredo for further profit-seeking, which he, however, didn’t care much about. Vacations in Hawaii … why would he need that, when all he cared about could be found in Mendoza? New Year’s Eve in Las Vegas with shows and dinners paid for? Again, he couldn’t see himself fitting in at such a place after watching a report about Sin City on television. He was first and foremost an Argentinian gaucho, proud of his skills, heritage and family.
A year before boarding Stella Australis, his wife had died from cancer. Alfredo, and their two sons – both in their thirties – had grieved her death like everybody else on the estancia, because she had been a much-liked person. The grief her immediate family felt did result in a negative effect on the management of the estancia, so the patriarch announced to his owner siblings that, after due consideration, he thought it wise to send their mourning overseer on a vacation to clear his head. Since Alfredo Carbonara had no interest in travelling to faraway places but preferred to stay in Argentina, one of his sons suggested that he could go on a trip around Tierra del Fuego, and that he should do so in the company of his sons and his daughters-in-law.
CHAPTER 7
Blood on the Second Bridge
Captain Abasolo switched the channel on his portable radio to the one he used when he contacted the doctor on board, Hugo Bautista.
“Doctor, I need your immediate presence on the bridge.” The urgency in the captain’s voice was palpable.
Moments later, there was a knock on the door. Ernesto let the doctor in. He pointed at the body on the floor after locking the door behind him. The medic, who seemed stunned at the sight, looked at Captain Abasolo inquisitively.
“A suicide, Hugo”, the captain explained in a weary voice. “Ari Cohen chose the wrong place and moment to end his life.” He pointed at Ricardo, as if to reassure him of the legitimacy of his words. “This is Detective Inspector Arriaga with the Buenos Aires police department. Tell me, what can we do with the body without raising unnecessary concerns among the passengers and crew still on board? As a result of Ari’s death, we’re now out at open sea. I’m hard-pressed to bring in all remaining crew to operate and turn around the ship in the briefest possible time. There’s a leak in the hull. On top of that, I have a hundred desperate people left at the Pia Glacier that I need to get back on board.”
“I’ll find a stretcher, and we can put him in one of the empty passenger cabins”, the doctor muttered. “I’ll ask Berenice for one that’s available. Who can help me carry the body?”
“I’ll do it”, Ricardo offered, well aware that Ernesto and the captain were facing the difficult task of navigating the leaking ship back to safety.
Acknowledging his answer with a nod, Dr Bautista left the bridge to fetch the stretcher.
Ricardo kept snapping pictures of the scene using his mobile phone, including close-ups of the broken window, until Dr Bautista returned. Together, they lifted the body onto the stretcher after Ricardo had pried the pistol from the dead man’s hand. Using a pencil again, careful not to touch the gun, he placed it on the stretcher next to the corpse. Dr Bautista covered the body with a sheet that he had brought.
“Let’s keep what happened here to ourselves for the time being”, Captain Abasolo urged them before they left. “Should anyone ask about what occurred on the bridge, refer him or her to me.”
He turned to his second-in-command.
“Ernesto, find some wet towels and help me clean up the floor before we let anyone else in here. Then call the relay team to assist you as we turn back to pick up the stranded passengers tomorrow at first light. Meanwhile, I have a few urgent things to attend to.”
Dr Bautista and Ricardo, the latter hobbling behind the doctor as best he could on his sprained ankle, carried the stretcher halfway through the corridor, where the medic unlocked the door to cabin 414. There was no one else in the corridor. Once inside the cabin, they put the stretcher down across the double bed. Using his pencil, Ricardo deposited the gun in the drawer of one of the bedside tables along with the cartridge case. On their way out, Dr Bautista gave the key to Ricardo, who then locked the cabin door.
The captain returned to the ample cabin that also served as his office. Employing a satellite phone, he dialled the company’s number to be used in case of an emergency. It was the owner family’s private assistant who took the call. Captain Abasolo quickly informed her about what had taken place: the suicide on the bridge, the near shipwreck, the leak in sector three, the hundred crew and passengers who had been abandoned on the Pia Glacier and his actions so far to save the ship. To this, he added his plan on how to proceed before reaching Ushuaia.
“I’ll see to it that the owners are informed, along with the insurance company”, she promised. “I’ll make sure that the rescue authorities in Ushuaia will be on standby, and later I’ll call you back with instructions. Good luck with your plan.”
Next, the captain activated the ship’s PA system to publicly address those still on board the ship.
“This is a message for everyone on board. We are experiencing an emergency and I ask all of you, passengers as well as ship crew, to immediately assemble in the Darwin Lounge for my full briefing. I repeat: except for the five crew on duty on the bridge and in the engine room, immediately present yourselves in the Darwin Lounge for further information.”
After making a brief visit to the bridge, Captain Abasolo continued to the lounge. Once he reached it, he noted that he was the last to arrive. The captain then motioned everyone to be seated before doing a quick headcount. Not including himself, there were twenty-four persons present: eight passengers and sixteen crew.
“We’ve had an unfortunate accident”, he began, “which has led to a leak in the hull –”
There were anxious voices trying to interrupt him with questions on whether the ship was sinking. Captain Abasolo held out his arms, palms down.
“Please, everyone, the situation is under control. The ship touched on a rock which perforated sector three on the port side. Precisely meant as a precaution in an
event like this, the ship is built in sectors that maintain the ship afloat even if one of these should suffer an accident. The hull is built with exterior and interior walls, and, besides, we now have bilge pumps working to eject the water at the rate it’s entering.”
The captain didn’t know for a fact that his last statement was true, but he wasn’t going to let any doubt about his educated guess worry his audience.
“A series of circumstances – technical issues, really, now solved – prevented us from picking up those who went to the glacier this afternoon. I don’t have the time right now to recount the finer details about why we find ourselves in this situation, because my first duty is to make sure I get everyone safely to Ushuaia. However, please rest assured that you are out of danger and that we’re doing everything we can to get you back on land again at the earliest possible opportunity, which I estimate will be tomorrow around noon.”
Despite the shower of questions that rained on him as he strode out of the lounge, Captain Abasolo ignored them. Ricardo eventually limped after him using his crutches and caught up with the captain just as he was unlocking the door to his cabin.
“May I have a word with you, Captain?”
The grim look on Ricardo’s face made Captain Abasolo study him more closely before he motioned him inside. They sat down opposite each other, separated by a beautiful mahogany desk. The captain looked agitated, Ricardo observed.
“What can I do for you, Detective Inspector?” he challenged Ricardo. “As you well know, I have my hands full trying to solve a whole set of problems, including saving a hundred passengers before they perish from hunger, thirst or the capricious weather.”
“I understand the gravity of the situation perfectly”, Ricardo retorted. “I’m here because, in my opinion, you should be made aware that Ari Cohen’s death was not a suicide – someone very carefully planned and executed his murder.”