The Shackleton Affair (A Raymond Armstrong Novel Book 2)

by Michael Gill

  The Shackleton Affair

  By

  Michael J Gill

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locals is entirely coincidental.

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  Edition

  Copyright © 2015 by Michael J Gill

  ISBN: 978-0-9938475-4-7

  Cover Art Design: Nancy Design

  UK Editor: Jac Designs Etc.

  EBook formatter: Lucinda Campbell

  Dedication

  For my Dad. I could always count on you for inspiration. You touched many hearts far and wide with your kindness. God bless.

  Books by Michael J Gill

  SMITH & CARRINGTON SERIES

  Romance, Sports & Thriller

  Tight Spiral Released in January 2014

  Double Option Released in April 2015

  Also available in Italian

  RAYMOND ARMSTONG NOVELS

  Mystery & Suspense

  The Whisky Affair Released in October 2014

  Praise & Reviews

  Tight Spiral

  Gill’s ability to interweave his experiences as American football coach in England, his life experiences growing up in Yorkshire and a layered romance story bodes well for future endeavours from this passionate novelist.

  Dartmouth Tribune

  “An inspired romantic sports thriller that is sure to have broad appeal.

  Strongly recommended”

  Book Viral

  What to say about this novel except that I devoured it and loved it? I think that a lot of people can like this book, including those which know nothing about this sport!

  Les Chroniques Aléatoires

  The Whisky Affair

  Mike Gill has woven a together an engaging mystery that centers on the international trade that is the whisky industry. As I read the book I was reminded of another author’s whose art of storytelling that I greatly admire - Peter Mayle. If you enjoyed the A Year in Province or The Marseille Caper you will love this. Highly recommended!

  Amazon Reader

  Acknowlegements

  A sincere thanks to all that have helped in the making of my fourth novel.

  Nancy, for the amazing book cover. Jane, my UK editor and Proofreader. You are the best.

  A few special mentions: Linda & Sharron. Two of my dear friends and writers that took time out of their busy schedules to offer support and inspiration.Graham and all the members of the Saint John Whisky Society in New Brunswick.

  As always, a special thanks to my wife, Debra.

  "I think it is no exaggeration to say that the Queen looks as young and beautiful as she did thirty-five years ago, when I saw her first. I didn't say this to her, because I learned long ago never to say an obvious thing, but to leave an obvious thing to commonplace and inexperienced people to say.

  Mark Twain – Queen Alexandra

  "For scientific discovery give me Scott; for speed and efficiency of travel give me Amundsen; but when disaster strikes and all hope is gone, get down on your knees and pray for Shackleton."

  Sir Edmund Hillary

  Part One

  Chapter 1

  Antarctica November 1915

  Chippy McNish grimaced at the constant agonising sounds from two hundred yards away. He peeked out of his tent, looking towards the noise. It was the sound of their ship, the Endurance, in agony. He took in a gulp of cold air and recalled the drawings at school of primitive tribes in prehistoric time hunting a mammoth, where they have captured it, arrows, and ropes, whatever and wait until it topples over. A scrutinising experience that would last for what seemed like eternity, he imagined. Each small arrow piercing into the animal’s tough skin would take it nearer to its fate. The powerful presence deteriorating each minute, while fighting to stay in an upright position. She, the Endurance, their ship, was fighting to do likewise.

  Ernest Shackleton, known simply as “the boss” to all the crew, was devastated, his goal thwarted yet again. He had failed in being the first to reach the South Pole and now the ultimate expedition - to cross the entire continent - looked doomed.

  Chippy recalled the past few weeks. The ship had made no progress, causing the crew to become concerned. The ice slowly trapping them in. One by one the large ice floes would take hold of the ship like a vice on all four sides until finally they had come to a halt. Each day they all squirmed, listening to the groans from her. The pressure applied like a boa constrictor squeezing its prey. Each day more painful until finally today the boss could take no more.

  The ship was going down and the crew would have to get off sharpish. The boss shouted orders for all men to start taking the main provisions off the ship, to one of the ice floes. They had determined it was about seven feet in depth with no chance of cracking at this point. A camp would be set up and while they watched their precious ship sink slowly into the ocean, the boss would work on a plan to get them out of here. In the meantime, they would all go back each day to take everything they could off the ship. It would be dangerous and cold but was necessary to get all the provisions for what could be a long time before land was found.

  A shadow appeared outside Chippy’s tent, bringing him out of his thoughts. The small slit opened allowing the Antarctic wind to blow through his tent, causing him to shiver. A hand appeared with a small cup.

  “Chippy, your ration of whisky. This will help keep you warm,” said the voice.

  “Thanks Andy, I need it tonight.”

  Andrew was one of the scientists on the crew and now with their dilemma, everybody was an equal, mucking in and doing any chore given by the boss. The boss mucked in too but then again he should. After all it was his mess!

  He took a sip of the harsh whisky, knowing it should really be knocked back in one gulp. He wanted to savour the moment, the warm glow spreading through his body.

  It wasn’t one of those fancy whiskies that had aged for years that all those rich bastards in London were drinking. I bet the boss has fine whisky hidden somewhere in his tent, thought Chippy.

  The boss was known for his love of whisky, with a daily ration provided for all his crew.

  He had to believe the Boss would get them out of this mess. After all, his last trip to these parts a few years back had resulted in them being only ninety seven miles from being the first to the South Pole. They had had to turn around, their provisions gone, starving to death. Somehow they made it back. Soon after, a Norwegian had found the South Pole. This was probably Shackleton’s last expedition and he was motivated to be the first across Antarctica.

  His cat suddenly came up from under the blankets, rubbing his head on his chin, purring like the sound of a Rover 6 automobile engine.

  “Don’t know what I would do without you for company.”

  He stroked the cat
hard on his head while he thought back more to what got them here.

  They had set sail on August the first, on a mission to be the first men to travel across Antarctica. The plan was to get there before the hard winter fell on the continent. South of the equator meant their winter was summer time in Great Britain. The winter came too early, the ship had to plow its way through an ocean full of floating ice. Then, it was impossible, the ship was crammed in by three ice floes packed tightly making it scream, the timber creaking constantly for days on end. They tried everything to break through the ice to no avail. They had seen land weeks ago and the skipper asked the boss if they could make camp there, wait out the unusual weather conditions. What had the Norwegian whalers said in the station that night? This is the worst ever, you will never get that boat through the ice. However, the boss wouldn’t listen. We can make it he had said on several occasions. Most of the crew were having bets that they would be back in South Georgia in two weeks and give up on the expedition or at least wait for a weather change. Not Chippy. He sensed the boss could not afford to turn round.

  He finished off the raw whisky, slapped his lips and at least for a few more minutes, felt warm inside. The tent flap opened again.

  “Andy. What’s up now lad? Have you brought me more whisky?

  “All of the crew are to meet right now in the big tent, he has a new idea.”

  ***

  Chippy got back to his tent after the boss had gone through their options, after coming up with a new plan. It certainly made him and the men feel better, their spirits raised. They would have parties go west with the sled dogs, looking for a route to the nearest island, while others continued to return to the Endurance, take what they could while they had the chance. She was only a few days at best before disappearing to the ocean bed. The boss got tough with rations and personal items, allowing each crew member only two pounds in weight. He also ordered Tom to shoot the puppies.

  They would never survive and the crew understood he had made a difficult decision in the best interests of the crew. Shackleton had survived extreme conditions in Antarctica more than once in the past.

  They loved those dogs but realized they had to be careful with food rations. Chippy stroked the cat, giving him comfort. The thought of Tom having to do that first thing in the morning was unbearable.

  “Well, first off we thought you were a girl,” he said, looking into the cat’s large green eyes.

  The cat gave him a soft head butt on his cheek. He had been found with the ship’s steward after leaving Buenos Aires. At first the boss and most of the crew weren’t happy to have him on board until they saw him each day in the store room area with a mouse or rat in his mouth. He soon became loved and one calm and sunny day he decided to take a dip, falling right into the ocean. Orders were to rescue him at all costs.

  From that moment, the cat followed him wherever he went throughout the ship. The crew named him Mrs Chippy.

  Chippy gave him some meat and a few biscuits he had put in his pocket, which he devoured in seconds. At that he looked at the tent flap and gave a large meow.

  “Go do your stuff, but get right back. It’s bitter cold out there.”

  “Here we go talking to the cat like he understands. Well, I would sooner talk to him than this lot in the camp.”

  Chippy smiled, watching the cat make a run for the storage hut. He slid across the ice, until reaching the hut which provided a buffer. A quick shake and he vanished through a crack in the door of the storage hut.

  ***

  Chippy woke the next morning shivering to death, the sleeping bag only marginally keeping the warmth in. The cat was nowhere to be seen in his tent. He peeked out of the tent, sensing the camp was eerie quiet. He found water boiling on the fire, made some tea and made his way to one of the three small boats that was in need of his expertise. It had huge holes in one side, needing extensive repairs quickly. We might get a break and need to leave this floating ice raft rather hastily, he thought.

  Young McLeod came by, picked up a hammer and some nails, giving Chippy a pat on the shoulder. “Are you all right there Chippy?”

  “Aye lad, why do you ask?”

  “Mrs. Chippy, it must be hard but it had to be done.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You don’t know? Hell. The men found him freezing cold in a hut. Ah, so he’s all right then. Have you fed him?”

  “We all said our goodbyes, gave him strokes, he loved all the attention. Then Tom took him with the puppies and shot them.”

  Chippy choked gasping for air, he couldn’t take a breath, the anger inside him trying to escape. He wanted to scream out, cry although he rarely did. He found his composure.

  “Was this due to the severe weather, the fact he might not survive?”

  “No it was orders from the boss. When he said yesterday the puppies had to be shot, since they couldn’t pull their weight, he decided this morning that Mrs. Chippy would have to go too. We leave tonight to head west and the boats go with us. That’s why I came to give you a hand.”

  Chippy went rigid, with only one thought. I will never forgive the boss for this, never!

  Chapter 2

  New Jersey, USA. Present Day

  The tall young woman ran slowly past the house, glancing in all directions, never staring directly at the house. Like a penalty taker that would never give the goalie a clue. Her eyes appearing to be focused on her shoes while her vision was constantly scanning the area, watching for any prying neighbours peeking through curtains. It was late morning, all the kids were in school, parents at work or at least she hoped. She picked up her pace, rounding a right corner taking her to the back of the house and eventually completing a circle to the front of the house. She had checked the rear of the property yesterday which revealed woods and a difficult trek to gain entrance.

  She came back on the road and this time stopped outside the house. She bent down, appearing to tie her shoe laces, admiring her new Nike blue and grey running shoes that made her feel like she was dancing on air. She had a good look this time out of the corner of her eyes, stood slowly and checked her watch, while jogging on the spot. Okay I can do this she decided. She went back to her car which she had parked in the next street. She took a yoga mat from the rear seat which was neatly rolled up and tied with a pink lace. Her holdall was laid on the back seat full of her tools. She grabbed it, locked the car and began to walk back to the house confidently. Any onlookers would assume she was a yoga instructor.

  She walked back towards the house slowly with a smile on her face, looking like she didn’t have a care in the world. Everybody called her Trace, which she’d really liked since high school. There were a ton of Traceys at her school, the name was as common as muck. What she’d never realised was how ironic her name would be. She broke into someone’s house or apartment regularly leaving without a trace.

  Trace was tall, slim with large feet and hands and could easily have been a basketball or volleyball player. She had dirty blonde hair that was always in a ponytail by day, with many hair styles by night. Long and flowing over one shoulder for those flirtatious moments, or up in a bun for the swanky events she attended. Her eyes were blue and yet soft. Her face was angelic without makeup but with it she could transform into a variety of looks and characters. She was very attractive and knew she could have the pick of many handsome guys of all ages. Right now at twenty nine, all she cared about was travel. She was an adventure travel junkie and just couldn’t get enough of it. Men came and went when you were continuously on holiday in some exotic or interesting spot and like most women horny as hell away from home.

  There were only two houses with a view of the front door and she wasn’t taking any chances. She went to each house with a business card and a well-rehearsed story. I was just in the area to see a client. Would you be interested in my professional yoga service? She rang the bell at both houses. Nobody came to the doors.

  She thought how being a Yoga instructor had
its perks, allowing her easy access to so many homes. Yoga had really taken off for men!

  Men don’t like doing Yoga in her studio or anywhere in a public place full of women. They don’t mind the tight asses penetrating through their track suit bottoms or their necklines revealing the most delightful breasts. Men lose focus quickly and to be honest feel uncomfortable.

  However, statistics clearly show that Yoga helps their golf swing and with meditation to release stress, might just keep them alive when older rather than leaving all their money to their wives.

  At their homes they feel secure and the only distraction is Trace who quickly dispenses with any flirtation or ogling with her tough and professional manner.

  Particularly golfers who can’t help bragging about how they shaved seven shots off their handicap last season. She’s terrific Bob, you must book her for lessons. Still, all this sudden interest in Yoga and meditation was never going to see her a millionaire, or keep her to the standard of living she had enjoyed over the past ten years. The clock was ticking at twenty nine. She craved to be independently wealthy at an age she could enjoy it. None of this work hard until you are sixty and then see the world. She would probably be dead by then. She would go out in style no matter what her age, she decided.

  She took out the duplicate key she had made after her encounter with the guy last week, slipped into the lock and entered the pass code to the security. She stood for a moment - all was quiet - then took out a package from her holdall. It was a juicy piece of a prime rib steak which she put down on the ground in the hallway. Whistles never worked, and if he had a trained dog this was the only thing that worked. No dog can resist a steak and if one comes bounding towards her in the next few minutes, she was out of the door. After a few minutes Trace was sure the house was empty of dogs or people and proceeded down the stairs into a large den that actually looked like an intimate restaurant.