by Laline Paull
Sean stared. There was the beach and the grey oblongs of the whaling buildings. But, as they had always planned, the rest of it disappeared into the contours of the mountains and the moraine. He repressed the urge to point out the architectural brilliance.
He felt the force of eyes pushing at him like a tide. His hearing, always good, had become acute. The rattle of keyboards. The sound of clothing rustling. Someone eating – he could smell the mints.
‘Mr Cawson.’ The coroner leaned forward. ‘Please go on.’
‘Do you think you could ask the press bench not to type as I talk? It’s very distracting.’
‘Press bench,’ said the coroner, ‘please be aware of the witness’s preference, at your discretion. Go on, Mr Cawson.’
‘After the eclipse we went to the ice-cave on skidoos. It was on the other side of the ridge – you can see it behind me. It had been checked the day before, and passed as safe. People have gone there every season.’
‘I believe that’s not now possible, though, is it?’ said the coroner. ‘Because the demesne of your property goes to the water’s edge, blocking access – if you choose?’
‘It’s remote and it’s always been private property,’ said Sean. ‘But the Pedersen family pretty much abandoned it, and so there were no regulations enforced.
‘Two of my experienced and trusted staff visited it the day before and went all the way down to the chamber known as the Great Hall …’ He waited for the typing at the press bench to keep up. ‘And these very experienced men found it safe.’
There was silence, and he knew he’d given them that already, but he was mindful of Sawbridge’s advice: The heart of your testimony is due diligence, personal responsibility of each party, and your blamelessness.
‘So we had checked it the day before. We went in good light with a good weather report. We posted bear watch overlooking access to the cave and the snowmobiles parked near the mouth. We were half a kilometre from the Lodge. We had planned to be in the cave for a maximum of thirty minutes. We could not have been more careful. No one’ – and now Sean did look at the press bench, and out at the courtroom, at Angela Harding, at Ruth Mott, at Ursula Osman and her black hooded gaze – ‘no one could have predicted the collapse.’
Directly after the eclipse, Tom disappeared. He was not in his room nor any of the public areas. Then Sean saw him, rifle on his back – he had helped himself from the gun safe, he must have seen Terry Bjornsen key it open – walking across the beach. He should have asked Sean, he was behaving like he owned the place as well. And now – Sean and Kingsmith watched from the chapel window – he was heading to the boat hangar.
Sean ran down to the beach, calling to Danny Long – currently sitting in the Dauphin with a coffee, on bear watch – then he went down after Tom.
‘Hey!’ he followed him into the cavern of the boat hangar. ‘You should have said – I could have showed you round.’
‘No time like the present.’ Tom emerged between the two stacks of Zodiacs. He wasn’t smiling. ‘Lot of boat here. How many people are we planning to host?’
‘Varies.’ Sean kicked himself for not mentally rehearsing this. ‘We had the space. And search and rescue – we just proved our community credentials.’
‘Right. Search and rescue for the Sysselmann.’ Tom looked around the hangar. ‘Where’s the manpower, right now?’ Without asking Sean, he went up the three steps and opened the door at the top.
‘That’s the dorm,’ Sean said, as casually as he could. He could see the room Tom was looking into: an insulated and ventilated space with stacked bunks. Tom climbed up a ladder beside one set of bunks, and received the view down the fjord. He looked back at Sean.
‘A barrack lookout. Where are they right now?’
‘On leave, after yesterday.’ Sean followed him out.
‘I thought the retreats would bring in their own people. That’s what it said in the proposal.’
‘We’re trialling a new idea, I’ll tell you about it later, or we’ll miss the light—’
‘What’s that?’ Tom pointed his powerful pencil-torch beam at the keypad on another door in the rock.
‘That’s the strong room.’ Kingsmith stood silhouetted in the doorway.
‘Strong room?’
Sean walked past Tom and tapped in the code. ‘I want to tell him.’
Kingsmith shrugged. Sean pulled the big steel door open, activating the light inside a smaller cave. Tom looked at the stacked arsenal.
‘Just how big have the bears got up here? Are we expecting trolls or an aquatic assault from a sea monster?’ He picked up a shoulder holster. ‘These are for RPGs. This is an armoury for guerrilla warfare.’ He took out his phone, but before he could photograph it Sean pushed his arm down.
‘Tom, don’t. I’ll explain it all.’
Tom shook him off. He stood in front of Kingsmith.
‘What exactly are you doing here?’
They were equal height; Tom was younger, but Kingsmith far bigger. They held each other’s stare. Then Kingsmith smiled.
‘So serious! Tom, I’m bankrolling your conservation campaign, I’m investing in the Arctic, and I’m helping Sean boy get his boy scout badge for being neighbourly. My immediate concern? Let’s not miss the window of opportunity – I want to see this Great Hall.’ He turned to go. ‘And, boys, do not leave me alone with Radiance: I’m not sure I can keep up the good daddy routine much longer.’ Kingsmith went back out onto the beach and they heard him exchange pleasantries with Danny Long. They stood in silence as his footsteps receded towards the Lodge. Sean closed the door to the armoury. The locks whirred.
‘Four RIBs,’ Tom said very quietly. ‘Body armour and harnesses for RPGs. Quite a lot of kit for an ethical retreat. So talk. Because my name is on this.’
‘Tom, please trust me. I was asked to do this.’
‘By him?’
‘By Philip Stowe. You know, our Defence Secretary.’
‘Stowe? That crook? You know he’s bloodstained, don’t you – he sells British arms to the highest bidder, he cares fuck-all about human rights – you’re telling me you’re doing something for him, and I’m involved?’
‘Sean!’ Martine called in to them. ‘Danny says we need to go now or we’ll miss it. Are you guys ready?’
‘Just coming!’ Sean turned back to Tom. ‘Long story short, as well as everything that you do know about, we’re also protecting radomes for the Norwegians. Now NATO’s gone, they’re really scared – Tom, think about what could happen if a hostile power knocked out friendly satellites controlled from Svalbard—’
‘Wake up! You’re protecting the means of warfare for Philip fucking Stowe and his business cronies! This isn’t about patriotism, it’s about money—’
‘And you’re so up your own holy arse now you can’t even see that Midgard is helping with the stability of the whole region—’
‘What I see is that Midgard is being used, and so am I. By you.’
Sean couldn’t bear the look in his eyes. ‘I want to explain everything to you, so that you understand. I’m sure, I’m sure, Tom, that you’ll be OK when you do. Everything you want to achieve here – you still can. Everything I said about the business and the retreats is still true. Private security isn’t a crime: you of all people know how it works. How do NGOs do their work? Peace-keeping means having a big stick.’
‘What about that little thing called the Svalbard Treaty? The one that specifically prohibits any warlike purposes—’
‘Everyone ignores it! It’s out of date!’
‘Like our agreement. It’s void. And I’m blowing the whistle on you.’
Before Tom could go, furious with fear, Sean grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back. They stared at each other in the gloom of the strong room. Sean took his hand away. They heard the skidoos starting up, and Radiance cheerfully calling them.
‘Please,’ said Sean. ‘Please, let’s just go to the cave. And then I’ll tell you everything y
ou want to know.’
‘I don’t want that. I want the truth.’
‘I promise.’ Sean said it to Tom’s back. He followed him out.
‘I need to pee,’ Tom yelled, heading for the Lodge. ‘Wait for me.’
The bad news was brought this afternoon that ‘Job’ is dead, torn in pieces by the other dogs. He was found a good way from the ship, ‘Old Suggen’ lying watching the corpse, so that no other dog could get to it. They are wretches, these dogs; no day passes without a fight. In the day-time one of us is generally on hand to stop it, but at night they seldom fail to tear and bite one of their comrades. Poor ‘Barabbas’ is frightened out of his wits. He stays on board now, and dares not venture on the ice, because he knows the other monsters would set on him. There is not a trace of chivalry about these curs. When there is a fight, the whole pack rush like wild beasts on the loser. But is it not, perhaps, the law of nature that the strong, and not the weak, should be protected? Have not we human beings, perhaps, been trying to turn nature topsy-turvy by protecting and doing our best to keep life in all the weak?
Wednesday, 11 October 1893
Farthest North: The Norwegian Polar Expedition 1893–1896 (1897)
Fridtjof Nansen
25
Five skidoos went up the glacier, the roar of their engines muffled by the deep snow. Up ahead, Tom kept pace with Terry Bjornsen who led the way, then came Sean with Martine pillion, and close behind, Radiance with Kingsmith on the back. Danny Long brought up the rear. The snowmobile trails glittered pale pink and the sky glowed all shades of rose above the sharp violet peaks. Sean had never seen Svalbard so beautiful, but he focused on the immediate problem of Tom’s anger.
He guided his skidoo in Tom’s tracks. Now was not the time to lose his own cool – he must stay focused on the super-objective of Midgard: an inspiring venue in which to promote the reconciliation of business and environmental ethics. And here they were, the two of them, actually living out that conflict, at this very second. He wanted to laugh – of course Tom would see it too. And the solution was to keep talking, arguing if necessary, but always in pursuit of that shared goal. Sean’s heart lifted. As long as Tom did not act rashly, they could get through it. As long as Tom and Kingsmith were not left alone – that would be a recipe for disaster. He knew he and Tom could argue above their solid bedrock of friendship – but Tom and Kingsmith had never clicked.
They came to the first saddle in the ridge between the two tongues of the Midgard glacier and crossed over, leaving the Lodge behind and out of sight. They dipped down onto the other side where the snow shadow was pale blue, Terry Bjornsen leading them around a darker blue track to an easy further ascent. Two small fluorescent orange pennants fluttered ahead like candle flames, marking the entrance to the ice-cave.
They parked the skidoos in a line angled for the descent. The pennant flags were mounted on whippy plastic masts weighted deep in the snow, from which emerged a length of orange nylon rope. One end was hooked halfway up a mast, and the other attached to the cave cover, revealed when Terry Bjornsen kicked away the snow to show them a scarred white plastic slab. Sean knew Tom was avoiding his eye, but that was better than conflict, for now. They were still together.
Radiance, ever the expert traveller, was checking all her equipment, tucking in her own loose straps and then fussing over Kingsmith. He allowed her, rolling his eyes at Sean. Martine called Sean to help with hers. When their heads were touching, she whispered, ‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothing to worry about.’
She nodded, but her eyes went to Tom, standing alone, still as a stone cairn. Sean had a terrible fear that at any second he was going to turn and denounce him. But Tom remained looking back towards Midgard Lodge. Then Danny Long, who had already climbed to a lookout ridge, radioed the first all-clear and Sean put the unpleasant thought of their impending conversation aside. He watched Terry Bjornsen take up his pre-planned spot on the opposite side to Danny. The cave was well positioned for surveillance: this side of the glacier narrowed between the rocks and a bear would easily be spotted. The spotters had flares as well as bullets and would be in constant contact by iridium satellite phone. Sean had two, and had intended to give one to Tom. He changed his mind.
To reach the Great Hall and return would take thirty minutes, max – most likely they’d do it in fifteen. Beneath the plastic slab the entrance to the cave system was a neatly edged circular hole in the ice, a metre wide. A few centimetres below, a wooden ladder had been secured to the ice wall with large and reassuringly new steel clamps and screws. This fed down three metres to the first landing, where weak daylight illuminated the area called the Lobby. Black plastic grids were half-sunk into the hard ground to aid progress and along the wall, new rope fed through steel rings where the tunnel sloped away into darkness.
Sean climbed halfway up the ladder to phone Terry Bjornsen – everything looked good. His crackly laugh came back, saying it bloody should, they’d killed themselves making it pretty. Then they all switched on their head torches and Sean led the way in, followed by Tom, Radiance and Martine, with Kingsmith bringing up the rear.
The sound quality was very different inside the ice. When Sean spoke to make sure they all wanted to go on, he had to project loudly because the frozen density sucked his words away. But they all called out to show they were keen, even Tom, who the others ushered into second place in the line. Radiance went behind him, then Martine, Kingsmith last. They followed Sean down the slope away from the Lobby, along the ice corridor where their torch beams bounced and shone on white curves.
Sean called reassurance as he led the way down rough steps cut with an ice axe, and was relieved to see Tom slipping naturally into an authoritative role, helping Martine, who was grateful. Radiance didn’t need him, and turned to help Kingsmith down. They all waited for him, passing through a smaller landing, then out into a wide passageway where even Tom could stand upright in the centre.
‘Everyone’s fine.’ Tom’s tone was still curt.
‘Thanks.’ Sean was grateful he was helping. He tried not to feel too happy that they were doing their favourite thing together, even if all was not well. Surely Tom was glad he hadn’t sulked and missed it?
They went on.
The rope holds continued, the floor had been graded and black grip-tiles filled gaps or places where the walls were glassy either side. As the passageway continued its descent, they paused to marvel at the changing colours of the ice, from white to a fairytale pale blue. In one place a streak of sulphurous gold matter ran diagonally across the wall and into the ice, and a few metres further on, down another set of ice-axed steps, the passageway became a domed room with a natural porthole in one ice wall.
They crowded around it to look. Their torch beams showed a deep narrow chamber filled with ice stalagmites and stalactites, stretching up and down towards each other and sometimes forming delicate ice columns. Their breath came in clouds, drifting into the cavern and trailing between the frozen forms.
‘Where’s that air coming from?’ Tom had moved closer to Sean, his voice low.
They watched the pale vapour from their lungs move around the stalagmites, then disappear.
‘The air vent from the hatch.’ Sean said it automatically. He watched the five halogen beams from their head torches shifting the shadows and making the ice strobe and gleam with light, as if stirred to life by their observation. Radiance exclaimed in frustration that her micro camera, guaranteed for polar conditions, did not work.
‘So expensive,’ she said. ‘Complete rip-up.’
‘It’s too cold for the battery,’ Tom said. ‘But you don’t need a camera. Use your eyes. This is truly awesome.’
Standing beside him, Sean smiled at the excitement in his voice. Everything was going to be all right.
‘OK, team?’ Sean avoided Tom’s face, but let his beam rest for a moment on Martine, who smiled, Radiance, who gave him a thumbs up, and then Kingsmith, who was looking up at the
roof. He looked back at Sean and nodded.
‘Tom,’ Sean said, ‘go first?’
‘Sure.’ There was no need for explanation; Tom understood Sean’s concern for the others, and immediately moved a few paces into the darkness ahead, waiting.
‘Don’t you worry about me,’ Kingsmith called. ‘I’m doing just fine.’
Sean fell into second place, and was glad to feel Martine squeeze his shoulder. They went on, Tom’s beam showing the way. The passageway continued to descend, its shape changing as they went – sometimes wider around the head area, sometimes narrowing, sometimes with a ledge protruding at waist height that they had to pass by, taking the ice by their mittened hands and feeling it glide as the friction melted it.
They came into a broader section, and again Sean checked their faces. They were all smiling, but he could hear their breathing was faster.
‘Still OK?’
The three of them nodded, then Tom called out softly that the ice was good.
‘I can make out a big arch ahead – that’s got to be the Great Hall. There’s this narrow bit, then a couple of big shelving steps down, it’s right here.’
Sean could hear the excitement in his voice.
‘We’re coming!’
‘No, I don’t think so.’ Kingsmith’s voice came from further back in the tunnel. ‘I’ll see you guys back up top.’
‘Hold up, Tom,’ Sean called ahead. ‘Joe’s not OK.’
‘I’m fine,’ Kingsmith called back irritably, but Radiance and Martine were already with him, and he did not look at all OK to Sean. He was leaning against the ice wall and smiling, but it was more of a grimace. He deflected Sean’s torch beam from his face and started back along the passageway.
‘You take care of things down here, I’ll see you up top.’
‘Hey, old man,’ Radiance said. ‘You need me. Admit it.’
Kingsmith laughed weakly. ‘Radiance, you kill me.’
‘What are you talking about? I save you! I make your life so fun!’ She grinned back at Sean and Martine, her teeth white in the darkness. ‘Martin, come on. I save you too, no fee.’