The Ice

by Laline Paull

  The businessman was Joe Kingsmith, and the Union was packed with students eager to see this exotic American animal, the maverick entrepreneur who preached something called globalisation, and avoided paying tax by living in the air or out at sea on a yacht – or so rumour had it. Sitting at the back, Sean craned to see him.

  Tall and heavy in the shoulders, his ridged bronze dome of a head giving him a gladiatorial look, Kingsmith offset his air of danger with an easy manner and elegant low-key clothes. Shunning the small platform at the front, he welcomed the audience from the floor of the Union, as if it were his own space, then spoke of the need to remove all trade borders and regulations and release the energy of free enterprise. He mused on the family fortunes built on colonial exploitation, and how expansion and investment must now happen in a more just way, as he practised it. Security was essential, but so was a genuine profit for the less technologically sophisticated partner: it was only good business.

  Kingsmith had no qualms about enumerating his own achievements – his work in Chad, his mines near N’Djamena, how he was bringing health and prosperity to the whole country. He told the audience not to be timidly nationalistic but think boldly and globally, to mistrust terms like government, and coup, belligerent or insurgent. Take Burkina Faso, for instance, where the most recent coup had been celebrated by the people.

  The chamber was silent in astonishment. Kingsmith smiled. ‘Oh, it’s quite true,’ he told them. Power was security, and security was power. They shouldn’t feel squeamish to hear it said, or guilty for wanting it. Just for a second the American caught Sean’s eye – and he felt a jolt of energy.

  Kingsmith moved on, talking about catastrophe bonds and how they were going to be the big financial news of the future, but Sean was more interested in his dominance of the space, how people at the ends of the rows moved their legs out of his way as he strode towards them, the avid expressions on their faces as they looked at him. He felt the same expression shaping his own face.

  And then suddenly Kingsmith was thanking them for the invitation, they were lucky kids to be here, he hoped they knew that – and he must leave for a meeting. The pink-cheeked president of the Union stood up, astonished. Awkwardly he explained that they’d booked him to speak for an hour and he was sure the audience had many questions to put to him, but it had only been fifteen minutes. Kingsmith looked at him kindly.

  ‘Kid, you’ve misunderstood. I was curious to see this place. A lot of friends of mine have spoken here. I’ve said what I wanted, so good evening to you.’ He walked out, raising his hand to salute the few timid boos that grew louder when he was safely out of the chamber.

  Sean was on his feet at once, pulling Tom with him. They ran out in time to see Kingsmith fold himself into a cab, which they chased on foot as far as the Randolph Hotel, where he got out. Panting, they followed him into the lobby and begged him for five more minutes, they had a question. He laughed and told them to wait in the bar.

  Sean and Tom collapsed at a table. A waiter arrived to tell them Mr Kingsmith invited them to order whatever they would like. Daringly, they ordered bottled foreign lager, the taste of adventure and sophistication. Sean looked around the Randolph Hotel. There were people who lived like this always. He wanted to be one of them.

  ‘He must be a multi-millionaire.’ Sean tried not to sound too admiring.

  ‘At least.’ Tom was excited as well. They had scooped a meeting with a big beast, and now they mustn’t blow it. They practised what they were going to say when Kingsmith returned – which was sooner than they expected. Sean felt his heart pounding as Kingsmith came in and spotted them. They both stood up in automatic respect, and he grinned and motioned them back down.

  ‘Nice of you to run so fast,’ he said. ‘You don’t look like assassins, but I could still be wrong. What do you want?’

  ‘Sponsorship to go to Greenland,’ Sean said straight away. ‘Not charity.’

  Kingsmith laughed. He waved away their compliments and they got to the point: the Lost Explorers’ Society, and the fees. He looked at Tom, then at Sean.

  ‘But only you need it. Right?’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘You’re wearing your best clothes.’

  Sean felt humiliated. It was true. ‘How can you tell?’

  ‘You were dressed smarter than everyone else in your row, and you paid attention to everything I said. Don’t worry, kid, I read a room fast. A lot can depend on it. And I like it when someone shows respect.’ He looked at Tom, in jeans. ‘Right?’

  ‘I always wear jeans.’ Tom looked confused. ‘Unless it says black tie.’

  Kingsmith turned back to Sean. ‘You got black tie? They love it here.’

  ‘I’ve never needed it.’ Sean heard himself, defiant and upset.

  Kingsmith smiled. ‘I’m betting you will, and soon. Go on then, your Greenland vacation. What’s in it for me?’

  This, they were ready for. They told him about all the minerals hidden under the ice, the copper and rubies and diamonds and gold, the lithium, the uranium – the centuries-old attempts to find the fabled sea route from Europe, the ancient Chinese beads found on Inuit spears, how Pytheas the fourth-century Greek trader was the first to tell of the frozen seas to the north, how it wasn’t Peary who first set foot on the North Pole but his Negro manservant Matthew Henson—

  Kingsmith held up his hand to stop them. He looked at Tom. ‘Why don’t you lend him the money? Or give it? Isn’t that easier than running after a stranger?’

  ‘He won’t take it.’ Tom shook his head. ‘Sean, come on, he’s just playing with us. Let’s go.’

  ‘If he was going to say no he wouldn’t still be talking to us.’ Sean looked Kingsmith in the eye. ‘Will you or will you not sponsor us to go on the Lost Explorers’ Expedition to Greenland? We’ll give you something in return, but you have to tell us what you want.’

  Kingsmith burst out laughing. ‘The chutzpah! He’s making the deal!’

  ‘I’m not a joke and I don’t want charity.’ Sean didn’t smile. ‘I’m reading Economics, I’m hard-working, I don’t mind getting my hands dirty and I don’t get tired.’

  ‘And what’s the most important thing you’ve learned so far?’

  ‘Seize your chances.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Sean Cawson.’

  ‘And what’s your problem? Lack of money’s only the symptom.’

  Sean suddenly choked up. ‘I just – need – to go to the Arctic.’

  ‘You need to …’ Kingsmith looked at him with deeper interest. ‘Why?’

  For a second Sean was on that landing, looking across the void of stairwell where the light caught the peeling wall, gazing at the painting of the icebergs.

  ‘Why not take charity?’ Kingsmith held him in his gaze, and Sean felt the back of his eyes burning. He pushed the feeling down.

  ‘I’ve had enough of it. I spent time in care. There was a painting of the Arctic there. It was where I went. When I needed to.’ He looked at Kingsmith, defiant again. ‘All right?’

  ‘Good on you,’ Kingsmith said. ‘And good instinct to stay.’ He looked at Tom. ‘You’re worrying about your friend but you don’t need to. He’ll be fine. And I can tell you’re thinking, this guy doesn’t know either of us from Adam, how can he say that—’

  ‘That’s right,’ Tom said. ‘I was.’

  ‘Your friend reminds me of me.’ Kingsmith turned back to Sean. ‘Plus, you got me on a good night, I just had some nice news. So here’s the deal: I don’t know much about your fancy society, but I like how you two operate, so I’ll take a chance. You boys go to Greenland for me, you have a good time, you tell me about it.’

  He sat back and waited for effusive thanks. But Sean frowned.

  ‘What’s in it for you? That’s no kind of deal.’

  ‘Ah, he’s sharp. OK, not much at first. But if what you say’s remotely interesting, I might send you somewhere else you want to go. You love the Arcti
c? I’m pretty interested too. So go have a trip on me, and we’ll take it from there.’

  ‘Is this the give before the take?’ Sean stared at him, and Kingsmith laughed. ‘For sure! Come on, it’s easy: I like to have scouts on a new frontier.’ By some signal, a waiter came to his elbow and Kingsmith glanced up and signed the bill. He turned back to them. ‘One-time offer: take it or leave it.’

  ‘Take it.’ Sean put out his hand. ‘We’ll take it, thank you.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tom, a moment later. ‘Thank you.’

  Kingsmith shook hands with Sean, then Tom, and gave him a business card. ‘Lawyer,’ he said. ‘Call him tomorrow afternoon, he’ll advise.’

  ‘On what?’ Tom looked at the card suspiciously.

  Kingsmith winked at Sean. ‘Where to send the money.’

  At the half-landing on the way up to Court No. 1, Sean passed Mrs Osman, motionless by the window. Over her asymmetric shoulders he saw a black Vauxhall saloon swing into a narrow space in the court car park. Then the welcome shape of Kingsmith unfolded from the driver’s door, dusting imaginary specks off his jacket. He slammed it and looked up, as if he knew he was observed. Sean raised his hand in greeting and went down to him. Mrs Osman continued to the court.

  Kingsmith gave him his familiar heavy clap on the shoulder. He was as well dressed as ever, a dark linen suit for the hot October weather, light leather brogues and an olive cashmere sweater over one arm. His head was tanned and smoothly shaved. ‘Bearing up?’

  ‘Sure. Thanks for coming.’ Sean smiled the truth away. Kingsmith didn’t like sickness or weakness, never succumbing himself. ‘That’s not the car I thought you’d drive.’

  ‘Now I just drive what my PA books, it’s easier. Come on. Let’s get you through this so we can go have some fun tomorrow.’

  Sean had to think for a moment what he meant. Tomorrow was the benefit dinner, for Tom. Fun was the last thing it would be, but it was good that Joe was upbeat.

  In the courtroom, after a brief introduction to Sawbridge, Kingsmith made straight for Angela Harding and respectfully introduced himself. Sean and Sawbridge watched him take her hand in his two big ones and speak in a low sincere voice. Then he came back to Mrs Osman, who was speaking with her two aides sitting by the aisle. Fascinated, Sawbridge dropped all pretence of not listening.

  ‘Mrs Osman?’ Kingsmith had done some research. ‘It’s an honour to meet the lawyer who ensured justice for the Waterby girls. We heard about that case in the States. Beyond words. But at least you brought peace for their families.’

  Mrs Osman’s eyes were so dark, and the sockets so deep, that if she turned her head a certain way as she now did, she resembled some ancient blind seer.

  ‘Peace? No. Justice, maybe. But it’s poor coin for murder.’

  Sean was surprised, first that Kingsmith knew anything about it, and then that Mrs Osman had anything to do with those young abductees, missing for two agonising years and then unearthed. He watched her move away to talk to Ruth Mott, who sat hunched and had clearly been crying. The lawyer murmured to her, they heard the word ‘bathroom’. She walked out, painfully slow. Her back must hurt, Sean thought. Years of black document cases, and their darker contents. Kingsmith sat down heavily beside him.

  ‘You’ve met Osman.’ Sawbridge leaned forward with a grim smile.

  ‘I heard she also arranged the killer’s cellmate.’ Kingsmith glanced around, but Osman had gone. ‘And that justice was protracted.’

  Sawbridge grimaced. ‘Yes. We do hear that.’

  Kingsmith took in Ruth Mott. ‘And our good biologist?’

  ‘Ah. Quite docile now, I think.’ Sawbridge answered before Sean could.

  As the chairs scraped and the afternoon session began, Sean looked over at Ruth Mott, no longer fierce and bright, but bowed by her broken heart.

  Kingsmith took the Christian oath in his deep and pleasant baritone. He would have made an excellent actor, broad-shouldered and deep-chested, and now in that ageless state that money brings a man who keeps his fitness, dresses well, and whose tan will never fade. The court stared at this exotic animal with his powerful face. He projected the confrontational quality of a man used to the submission of others.

  Kingsmith gave his home address as being in Zurich – Sean recognised the street as the same as one of the banks he used. Perhaps, like so much in Switzerland, the lie was part of a larger and absolving arrangement. He watched his mentor in skilful deferential mode, the coroner at ease at once. Sean felt likewise reassured. The cavalry had arrived, and he would take Ruth out for lunch when this was behind them. It was a shared loss, and he would find a way to support her in rebuilding her life.

  Mr Thornton seemed rather charmed that Mr Kingsmith had made a very long journey to attend his court, and invited him to simply give his account of everything he felt was relevant to the tragic outcome of their trip to the ice-cave. He himself would interject as required, and counsel would please signal – and here Mr Thornton looked severely at Mrs Osman’s late return from her bathroom break – if they wished to ask a pertinent question.

  Kingsmith began. He described in glowing terms his long relationship with both Tom and Sean boy – and went on to sketch out their shared love of the Arctic, placing himself in a line of worthy hard-working miners going back to his father’s humble beginnings. He stressed his own hard-scrabble entrepreneurial journey and glossed the global empire part, before returning to Sean and Tom’s pursuit of him when he spoke at Oxford, back in the Jurassic age.

  Kingsmith’s smile was genuine. To everyone who didn’t know, he wanted to say that those young men, with their dreams of discovery and heroism, were just irresistible. Before he knew it, he’d agreed to underwrite their Lost Explorers’ Society, and that was how he knew them both. Over time, Sean better, Tom, less so.

  Mrs Osman put her hand up.

  ‘Why was that? Why did you know Tom … less well?’

  Kingsmith nodded thoughtfully, as if grateful for the question.

  ‘Sean liked how I did things, he knew he could learn from me. And he has. Tom had his own ideas – but that’s good too. I’m a maverick myself, so I value independence very highly. But we had philosophical differences. On a grand scale! Everything on the grand scale with Tom. But I’m the same.’

  Sean noted Kingsmith didn’t try his coroner-style charm on Mrs Osman, but was harder-edged. ‘I sent them on a few trips, in return for building up my knowledge. They were my eyes and ears, all over the Arctic. I funded their passion, in return for information. Mostly just background colour. Sean stayed close. That’s all.’

  ‘Where did they go for you?’

  ‘Greenland.’ Kingsmith made sure people saw him look over to Ruth Mott, and nod to her. Sean knew he was signalling that he was ready for whatever she might try. Ruth looked away.

  ‘A remote place of great interest,’ observed Mrs Osman. ‘At that time. When was that exactly? 1988? 1989?’

  ‘I guess round then. But even though the Arctic isn’t remote any more – even though it’s open for business, it’s still dangerous.’ Kingsmith looked out. ‘The people who set up the infrastructure take the biggest risks. The pioneers. That’s me, that’s Sean over there, that was Tom. And that’s what happened at Midgard – the pioneers, taking the risks for everyone else, suffered a terrible loss. It could have been any of us, or all of us, or none of us. It was Tom. And I am so, so sorry.’

  Sean was completely caught up in the performance. Once again, Kingsmith had the room in the palm of his hand. Like Tom had in Claridge’s. What a force he and Kingsmith would have made, on the same side.

  ‘Let me make something very clear,’ Kingsmith went on. ‘And this might be unpopular but I’m used to telling it like it is. I don’t care how many movie stars and popsicles you get pushing a stuffed polar bear round the streets of whichever capital. I don’t care how many idealistic young people chant Save the Arctic and chain themselves to how many corporate towers. Hear this: It’s.
Too. Late.

  ‘Business is already there, making money and doing it safely. It’s not the story that sells but it’s the truth. Change is part of life, and Tom knew this one was unstoppable. But what he also knew was that it’s all about the how. How you ship, to bring down the price of goods. How you extract the commodities that the world needs. How you fish, to feed more people. How you set up your comtech.’

  ‘Comtech.’ Mr Thornton peered at Kingsmith. ‘Satellite technology.’

  ‘Right. And while we’re on it, ask why it’s business gets the beating in the Arctic, not the military or tourism. Naval war games everywhere, cruise ships in the gaps. The place is heaving! So dry your tears, because the new Arctic has just unblocked a load of congestion on our crowded planet.’

  ‘What mendacious and utter bollocks!’ Professor Kelly stood up, turned to the press bench and pointed at Kingsmith. ‘He is a dangerous man and we are sheep to the slaughter if we believe him!’

  ‘Professor Kelly, I regret my decision to allow you to stay,’ called out the coroner.

  ‘Do not believe a word he says! Get your hands off me!’ Professor Kelly beat away the clerk attempting to usher him out. A couple of journalists took the opportunity to photograph the exchange, and Mr Thornton also pointed them out to the clerks he had summoned by discreet means.

  Sean saw Ruth Mott, pale-faced with fury, Osman keeping a light finger on her arm to hold her back. Professor Kelly could still be heard shouting as he was escorted down the stairs. Then there was silence, and Kingsmith took it.

  ‘But about what happened in the ice-cave. I have a confession.’ He gathered the room in his pause.

  ‘I’m not proud to say it, but I was very frightened. I thought I’d be OK, until the ice walls started to get closer together the further in we went. When Sean and Tom went on ahead, I realised I was hanging back with the girls. Then I wasn’t feeling good and, bless her, Radiance got the sense of it and she said we should go back. I’m not used to feeling scared, but that’s what was happening. I started getting these weird flashes. Some kind of panic attack, if you believe in those. She and I started back for the entrance then Martine came right behind us, calling on us to wait. She said Sean and Tom were having a quick look in at the Great Hall and then they’d be right after us. The three of us had just gotten back to near the ladder when we heard this bad sound. We knew it was bad, there was this rumbling, like heavy furniture falling in the room next door.’