Powerdown (Richard Mariner Series)

by Peter Tonkin

  Later, Richard showed them the big British Admiralty Antarctic Ocean charts and explained to them where they were. Mary traced the long coastline of the Antarctic Peninsula, also known as Graham Land. Even at her young age she was familiar with the conventions of sand-coloured land, aquamarine shallows, paler shelves and white depths with patterns of soundings.

  ‘What’s this purple?’ demanded William who, past the end of his attention span, had pulled out another chart — that of the whole Antarctic.

  ‘The purple is the permanent ice shelf,’ said Richard, and turned back to Mary, who was still entranced.

  ‘The islands have such funny names,’ she observed dreamily. ‘Lavoisier, Renaud, Anvers, Brabant. So romantic.’

  ‘Named for men, ships, explorers, monarchs, benefactors and dreams.’

  ‘Nightmares, more like,’ said William. ‘There’s one here called Desolation Island.’

  ‘And one here called Deception,’ said Mary. ‘That sounds bad.’

  ‘Actually, that’s good, dear.’ Robin took up the explanations as Richard was called into the radio room by news from Colin and Kate. ‘It’s called Deception because from the sea it looks solid. Big black hills like the arms of the bay just beside us here, reaching right up into the sky — not that you can usually see all that much because of the bad weather. Looks like a massive great place. Home to a range of penguins, all sorts of wildlife. A solid island like all the rest. But appearances are deceptive. Deception Island, see? In fact the whole island is the top of a sunken volcano. Its central area, its caldera, is flooded. There’s a tiny entrance —’

  ‘Neptune’s Bellows,’ interposed Richard, popping out of the radio room in a lull between transmissions.

  ‘Yes, Neptune’s Bellows. And if you can get in through Neptune’s Bellows then you’re in Port Foster, the safest anchorage in the Southern Ocean. Great black cliffs all around you, face on to the wind, no matter what quarter it’s blowing from. Nice and calm and peaceful.’

  ‘As long as the volcano doesn’t get restless,’ added Richard dramatically, like a pantomime villain. ‘It’s still active, you see …’

  *

  Colin and Kate came back just after Richard came down off duty having made the acquaintance of Andrew’s self-effacing second officer. What with the boyish third Richard had met earlier, it was no wonder Andrew felt as though he had to run the whole show on his own. As soon as the Westland hove into view, Richard sent a nice reviving cup of tea to the commander’s cabin and retired to the officers’ wardroom which doubled as ops centre for briefings. Here he pinned up a range of charts culled off the bridge, ready for Colin’s report, occasional scraps of which had come in over the radio.

  By the time the Rosses arrived, the room was already quite full. Andrew and his quiet lieutenants were there. The chief engineer had been called to add his thoughts about power and speed to the more general deliberations. The two remaining beards, known to the crew as Pinky and Perky, were present. Robin and the twins were there too and nobody seemed to mind. The twins’ wide-eyed thirst for knowledge was endearing them to officers and crew alike. Jolene DaCosta was the last to arrive and after quick introductions and brief explanations, the main business got under way.

  ‘Kalinin’s report looks to be pretty accurate,’ said Colin. ‘There is a big berg drifting this way. Nothing special about it. Plain, tabular. Not even particularly huge, as these things go. Maybe three kilometres wide and two deep. It’s pushing an apron of thick brash liberally peppered by some big bergy bits and smaller bergs in front of it. All in all, then, you’re looking at an ice front maybe five kilometres wide. When it arrives it’s going to close the bay here. Tight.’ Colin strode to the map on the wall.

  ‘What’s happened is this. The perpetual west-wind drift has slipped a little south this season. Not by much. It happens. The result, for the time being at least, is that this side of the peninsula is a lee shore to the prevailing wind. God alone knows what’s going to be blown in. We’ll have to watch out — for the time being at least.’

  ‘And give ourselves some sea room,’ mused Richard.

  ‘Can you estimate the speed of drift?’ asked Andrew. ‘How long have we got before the ice closes the bay here?’

  Colin shrugged, glanced at Kate.

  ‘Twenty-four hours,’ Kate said, decisively.

  The seamen glanced at each other speculatively.

  ‘I’ll only need a couple of hours’ notice,’ said the chief. ‘I’ve had to keep everything fired up below to stop it freezing.’

  ‘Twenty-four hours,’ said Andrew, eyes narrow.

  ‘That going to fit with you?’ Richard asked Jolene.

  ‘Well —’ she began.

  ‘It’ll have to, I’m afraid,’ said Andrew with unaccustomed rudeness. ‘I’m not getting trapped in here for God knows how long. Even when the wind shifts back to a full easterly, the berg is likely to stay wedged across the mouth of the bay. With the mountains up above Armstrong as a wind break, it’ll stay grounded until it melts.’

  ‘Hey, look,’ said Jolene quietly. ‘You’ve been doing us a favour. Armstrong base, NASA, yours truly. If you can hang on until the Feds pitch up, fine. If not, no sweat. Like I keep saying to tell Richard here, I’m a big girl. I punch my weight, believe you me. I can have the likes of Jaeger for breakfast and still have room for coffee and grits. You can drop me back and high-tail it right now if you’d like.’

  Andrew looked at Richard, eyebrows raised; perhaps read in that bland expression the faintest shake of the head. ‘No,’ he said decisively. ‘We’ll wait. I’ve got to talk to Cambridge, warn Faraday and Rothera, and make some arrangements about poor Tony Tho —’

  ‘Kate,’ cut in Robin, ‘did you see any interesting wildlife out there?’

  ‘Well, yes. Just round the corner of the headland there’s a wide shelf and a long beach, invisible from this side but actually quite close by. And there’s a penguin colony there. I’ve never seen so many Adeles in all my life.’

  ‘Oh, how exciting,’ said Robin, catching Richard’s eye. ‘We should see that. What do you say, darling?’

  ‘Can we borrow a Zodiac?’ Richard asked Andrew. ‘If we’re staying here for another twenty-four hours we should have time to take a look.’

  ‘Well, yes, of course,’ answered Andrew, somewhat taken aback by the sudden request.

  ‘Come on then, darlings,’ said Robin. ‘Just think. Penguins. Let’s get kitted up at once, shall we?’

  With overwhelming energy she swept them out of the wardroom. But even so, the last thing Richard heard as he lingered to apologise and explain was Mary’s plaintive question, ‘Mummy, what’s the matter with Tony Thompson?’

  *

  The penguin colony was a great success. This was fortunate for the news about Tony Thompson depressed the twins, even when presented with the softest of kid gloves. They took a Zodiac. Colin and Kate came with them and Jolene tagged along. Although Jolene was the only adult there not expert with a Zodiac, Andrew insisted that a couple of his own men go with them. The Zodiac held them easily — it would have held sixteen. They climbed down the companionway over the side of the ship down to a small landing at sea level, and then took an easy step over into the rubber-sided boat. Down here the water, which looked black from above, seemed utterly clear. ‘You should be able to see the bottom at any depth,’ said Jolene with simple awe. ‘It’s clear as glass.’

  They sat on the sides with their legs in the central well, looking eagerly forwards as the Zodiac skimmed across clear water between the port side of Erebus and the point of the bay’s black southern arm. It soon became obvious that the cliff of the bay did not quite reach to the point. A ledge curled back on this side to form a secure little bay. Here the Zodiac was tethered after a brief ride and they all scrambled easily ashore and followed the ledge round the point. The ledge looked narrow and tiny compared with the cliffs above it but in fact, even at its beginning within the bay, it was as wide as
a roadway and where it went round the headland itself it broadened as the cliff face leaned backwards. Almost as soon as they had walked round the point they found themselves on an expanse of level shore which degenerated into a rubble of shiny black stones on one side and reached steeply up to the heights on the other. And up those slopes, across the ledge — now as wide as a motorway — and down to the jumble of the water’s edge stretched the penguin rookery.

  The noise was indescribable. Even out here, still some distance from the outskirts of the throng, it was nearly impossible for the humans to communicate over the cacophony of the birds. Richard and Robin stayed within easy reach of the enchanted children. Jolene, Colin and Kate stayed close to them.

  The smell came next, borne on the icy edge of the wind. It was like breathing airborne acid. Richard and Robin looked down at their fastidious offspring but, again, they had underestimated how much discomfort the youngsters would suffer in the pursuit of excitement and adventure. They waded into the throng utterly captivated and overcome.

  The penguins, to Richard’s eye, seemed to be mainly Adeles and chinstraps, though one or two flashes of colour hinted at gentoos as well. It was not, he knew from his preparatory research, unusual to see the three common types sharing a rookery. They were all of a size, about 75 centimetres tall. The difference between the adults and their offspring seemed to be that the downy chicks looked larger than their sleek parents. They all seemed slumped, round-shouldered and fat; the chicks grossly so. As they carefully picked their way among the nesting sites and the guano droppings, they seemed to go if not unnoticed then at least unregarded. But as soon as the eager children got within a couple of metres of the little creatures, they began to shuffle away warily.

  A pattern of action, repeated and re-repeated began to emerge out of the apparent chaos. A little penguin would shoot up out of the impossibly clear ocean as though fired from some submarine gun. Over the rocks she would fly, to land and change on the instant from porpoise to pudding all dumpy and fat. She would waddle forward, flapping her wings for balance and waving her beak, calling to her single chick somewhere in the throng. Four or five would descend on her at once, all making urgent, raucous claims. Her own offspring would likely as not be last among them, certain of his mother’s love and sustenance. The interlopers would be screamed at, threatened, clubbed mercilessly with her long beak but would push forward indefatigably, begging for food. At last, apparently giving up, the poor mother would turn and shuffle away. By this time only a couple of chicks would be involved, but still her own would be the last and there would be another round of screeching and beak-batting before the last interloper was seen off and the heir apparent finally got to thrust his beak into his mother’s crop and drink the soup of warm krill there.

  Here and there among the busy throng sat sad and solitary figures, dressed in rags of down. Leaner, lonelier, more sullen and silent than the others, they seemed to be motherless, bereft, forlorn, soon to be victims. William was so overcome by the sight of one such that Kate had to be called in to shout a terse explanation that these were just moulting and would soon be in the water dressed as adults, fit and well.

  But the thought of these jolly little creatures as victims made the adults that much more alert to the grim realities of the place. Eyes probed seaward distances, catching the dark swirls of hunting seals. Colin’s eyes, sharpest of all, focused further out. His hand touched Kate’s shoulder and he gestured. Richard, looking where he pointed, saw a pattern of tall black fins where a pod of killer whales was closing in to capture the hunting seals. And, away beyond them, just heaving brightly over the horizon, came the blue-white wall of the approaching berg. It was time to take the effervescent children back aboard Erebus.

  *

  Conversation over dinner was predictably dominated by the children. Never had they seen anything like the penguin rookery and their constant repetition of favourite moments, incidents and characters was interspersed with the names of school chums to be regaled with the adventure. It was exactly what Richard and Robin had hoped for when they brought the twins south and so they let them have their heads. Colin and Kate were happy to join in too, supplying details which only twenty-five years at the pinnacle of their glaciological profession could allow them to know. Jolene sat with them to begin with but children were not her bag, so she soon allowed herself to be seduced away into the company of the junior officers, navigating and engineering.

  After dinner the twins tucked down and moderated their usual pre-sleep antics because their father also tucked down next door. They were deeply asleep two and a half hours later when he awoke at ten to midnight. He crept out of the top bunk and padded through to the tiny shower room to dress. Then, fondly assured that he had not disturbed Robin, who gave a couple of very convincing snores as he tiptoed out into the corridor, he ran up into the command bridge as though he was off to enjoy a midnight feast.

  ‘All quiet, sir,’ said the third officer signing him onto the log. ‘Not too light. The sun’s behind those mountains there, though well above the horizon. And the cloud is very thick indeed.’

  ‘It averages seven or eight oktas here every month of the year, according to the pilot,’ Richard observed companionably. ‘But I’ll do my own detailed readings of sky and sea. Give me something to pass the time.’

  ‘Right, sir,’ said the third officer and disappeared.

  Richard walked forward to the familiar bank of instruments below the wide clearview. Putting his huge hands on their chill surface he leaned forward, utterly at peace, absolutely at one with his environment, completely contented with his lot.

  Or at least he was until he saw the first great mushroom of fire explode into brightness amid the distant Jamesways of Armstrong base.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ called Jolene DaCosta a little wildly, fighting with the zip on a parka two sizes too big for her. ‘For God’s sake, they’re my people.’

  Richard, half in the Westland, his great body shaking to the throbbing of its whirling rotor, glanced back along the deck towards the bright command bridge window where Andrew stood tousle-haired, wrapped in his dressing gown. This was not Richard’s call, though he would have taken her had he been in charge.

  ‘What does he say?’ he yelled to the pilot.

  ‘If there’s room then OK,’ the pilot bellowed back, relaying Andrew’s decision.

  Richard looked around the crowded cabin. Six aboard already, with himself destined for the jump seat. There wasn’t room really. But what the hell. ‘In the jump seat,’ he directed her, hauling her up out of the slipstream. As she slid down and strapped in, he swung himself into the central aisle between the others’ legs. ‘Go!’ he bellowed to the pilot, then hung on for dear life.

  The Westland hurled up and forwards, tilting its nose to drop immediately over the land-facing bows. The whole of the chopper’s broad windscreen filled with fire. Fire seemed to leap up in bright geysers from tents and the spaces between them. There was fire reflecting off low, light clouds; fire glimmering off mirror-smooth obsidian slopes and cliffs; fire glittering wickedly over carapaces of hard ice; fire striking like lightning off restless brash stirred by the wind of the helicopter’s passage.

  Andrew had sent his chief, his first engineer and his second officer, the three most competent members of his crew. He had sent Colin and the doc. Kate was assistant to one or the other of them — whichever needed her the most. Richard was there to help anyone who needed it. And Jolene was there.

  ‘Keep our priorities clear,’ bellowed Richard, tearing his throat as though battling a hurricane. Which in many ways he was, for he had not closed the Westland’s door. ‘Find Colonel Jaeger. We can’t help effectively till we know what’s going on and what he’s doing. Even you, Doc. Stay with us until we know the priorities of the men on the ground. Understand?’

  ‘Got you,’ they chorused dutifully. Even Colin Ross was happy to take Richard’s orders at this stage. Colin w
as, but Jolene DaCosta had priorities of her own.

  ‘You know what this is about, don’t you?’ she called back, her words coming and going with the vagaries of wind and slipstream. ‘This is part two of the Skiddoo episode. This is where the rest of the missing explosives went, what the other timers were for. This is another fucking cover-up.’

  ‘That it may be,’ yelled Richard. ‘But our first priority is to help, not to detect. Stay with us, please. At least until we get a body count and a butcher’s bill.’

  She knew he meant lists of dead and wounded, and in the face of that her investigator’s job seemed secondary. But there was a fair number of helpers, and only one inspector.

  Richard was well aware of this fact, but he put a different interpretation on it. He considered Jolene to be very much more at risk than any of the rest of them. Particularly if the suspicions they shared about this incident were accurate.

  The Westland leaped up over the shoreward storehouses, huts and labs. Up again over the big familiar Jamesway and into the central square. The helipad and vehicle dispersal square were both dotted with flames and people fighting them, so the pilot skipped the chopper over sideways onto a quiet piece of darkness. As he did so, Richard had a clear view of the pattern of the disaster so far. One explosion, by the look of things, had started a spreading circle of destruction in the vehicle assembly and dispersal area where blazing petrol and exploding machines had yet to be got under control. Petrol flooding out of the damaged tanks was running under the bellies of the nearest vehicles and setting them off in turn. Unless the cycle was broken, they would be ablaze soon. And the fire would be hot enough to spread to the closely clustered Jamesways.

  No sooner did the helicopter’s landing gear settle than they were out and running towards the light and the noise. Richard, first in line and possessed of the Westland’s own canister of foam, was sharply aware of a duality of focus he could ill afford. At the forefront of his mind was the need to find Gene Jaeger and get stuck into protecting whatever was recoverable here and despatching helicopters with wounded and for more help. At the back of his mind, a tiny, persistent unscratchable itch, was the knowledge that Jolene would be slipping away about her business at the earliest possible moment — always assuming she hadn’t gone already. Well, he’d made the global priorities clear to her. If she turned up on the body count or the butcher’s bill, that was something they would have to deal with later. And if necessary he would deal with it. Personally.