Powerdown (Richard Mariner Series)

by Peter Tonkin

  ‘And you?’

  ‘Shark A had in-house programmers.’

  ‘So. Captain Ogre is trying to run the ship all legal and above board and most of the crew work on her orders straight down the line. But you think behind her back Vasily Varnek is maybe working for someone else. A bigger organisation. Shark A. The Russian owners maybe?’

  ‘If it’s just the owners, why isn’t the captain answerable? Why do they need to spy on her?’

  ‘It’s been known. Who’s your other double agent? Who’s really working for shark B?’

  ‘I can’t be absolutely certain, but I’d say our entertainments officer.’

  ‘Mrs Agran?’

  ‘Mrs Agran,’ agreed T-Shirt. ‘To whom there is more than meets the eye.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘For a start, her nickname is more than just wordplay on her name. So I have been told.’

  ‘Her nickname? What is it?’

  ‘Viagra. It is said that there is nothing she can’t get up, if you follow my drift. And if she can’t do it personally, then she’s bound to know a boy or girl who can.’

  ‘Vice? You think she runs a vice ring aboard?’

  ‘Maybe putting it a bit strong. Maybe she just takes her entertainments duties a bit too seriously. This ship is full of young passionate pleasure-seekers with more than their fair share of death wishes, after all. But then again …’

  ‘Viagra. Well, I’ll be damned.’

  ‘I’ll be damned too. We’ll make it a race, shall we? But you got to allow me time to catch up.’

  ‘That’s your way of saying “end of conference and no more embarrassing thank yous”, is it? But you’ve given me enough to start with.’

  The two men left the library, each bound for a different level of the bridgehouse. A few moments later, a little doorway hidden by the bookcases opened to reveal a well-stocked audio and video library. Out of this sneaked Ernie Marshall and Billy Hoyle. The battered would-be vice merchants stood looking down the empty corridor.

  ‘You understand any of that crap about sharks?’ asked Ernie, scratching his gauze-bound cranium.

  ‘Not one word,’ said Billy. ‘It was worth creeping out and risking the wrath of Dr Fuckov, though, just to get the lowdown on that other stuff. We have a contact, and maybe a market for our wares, my man. It’s time we pooled our resources for the greater good. Fair do’s all round. Let’s run along back to bed tonight and tomorrow we’ll see what this lady called Viagra can get up for us.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  When the sun began its upward swoop from well above the fogbound western horizon to signal the beginning of Thursday, 30 December, it soon lifted clear of the low-lying white and soared into a sky of unbroken blue. The wind had fallen with the departure of the last tails of the Southern Ocean depression during the morning watch and those on Kalinin astir for early breakfast at 08.00, the start of the forenoon watch, found the good ship cruising through an apparently tropical day. As the sun pulled itself up into the royal blue reaches of the morning sky, it threw long golden spears magically defined by the topmost wisps of the distant, settling fog, to glitter and glance off the mountainous section of coastline up which they were sailing. As though the vessel had been transported to the fjords of Norway overnight, sheer rock battlements soared on either side, only the white lines of their ice-crested tops distinguishing their blue-black basalt faces from the indigo zenith of the heavens.

  A low moon hung in the north, dead ahead, tangled in the last late glimmers of the Southern Cross. Below it, as though playing lazily in its pearly track, a pod of right whales broke the surface of the placid ocean and added their breath to the drifting haze.

  Right from the start there was a magic in the air, which, real or imagined, swept them all into its spell as the hours ticked by. It was a special day; a calm between the storms in almost every possible way.

  Richard woke first, coming up out of a deep, refreshing sleep to sit up, glance around and step instantly out of bed. He moved so silently beneath the steady throbbing of Kalinin’s motor that Robin and the twins did not stir. He crossed to the porthole, lifted a corner of heavy curtain, looked out and whistled quietly to himself. In an instant he had pulled the curtains back and let the full power of the glorious morning in. ‘Come on, sleepyheads,’ he called to the twins. ‘It looks like a terrific morning out there.’ No reaction whatsoever.

  Robin stirred. ‘Too bright,’ she mumbled, and he laughed. Leaving the curtain wide to awaken his sleepy family in their own good time, he slipped into the bathroom, showered and shaved. As he pulled his razor over the square jut of his chin, he planned the first part of his day. He had to talk to Captain Ogre. For a start, where was she proposing to take them? Kalinin had accepted them aboard in an emergency. Did Captain Ogre intend to depart from her schedule and drop them somewhere whence they could be sent to their various homes? Or would they have to wait, fitting in with the ship’s routine, until a moment convenient to her passengers and crew? From what Robin had said, the fifty or so passengers had collectively paid the better part of half a million dollars to be here. How much would they have to pay? And when? The insurers would have a field day with this.

  Then there were the sick and wounded. They needed checking, in spite of the fearsome Dr Fuckov. They needed talking to, checking with. Their families might need contacting. Their superiors, at Armstrong, aboard Erebus, needed checking with. Andrew Pitcairn ought to be contacted in any case to see if he had his power back. Jolene needed to find her place in this. It was just possible, he supposed, that the FBI team had got through the weather yesterday to set up their investigation at Armstrong but it was far more likely they had been delayed and would be arriving there today. Even if they thought very quickly indeed and tried to extend the scope of their inquiry to fit in with Jolene’s, there was little chance of them getting aboard here before the weather closed down again. And that meant that Jolene would be pushing her inquiry forward alone as the people she needed to talk to recovered. But her legal position aboard was so questionable, unless Irene Ogre was willing to back her. And, from his conversation with T-Shirt last night, even if Irene was willing to back her, God alone knew what cans of worms she might open if she went ferreting around aboard Kalinin.

  Then there was the time. Not just the time of the year, though that was bad enough in terms of getting decisions made and things done, but the time of the decade, the century, the millennium. If they didn’t get sorted out today, then they were stuck aboard for the foreseeable future. Nobody much would be working tomorrow, New Year’s Eve, and Saturday and Sunday were write-offs for all but the most important of emergency services.

  The weather was another worry, he thought as he rinsed off the shaving foam. He was not fooled by the smiling tiger outside. He had seen the weather system which killed Major Schwartz, how it had grown, where it was headed. He suspected that half the people aboard Kalinin tomorrow would be preparing for the party of the year. The rest would be preparing for the storm of the century.

  He was reaching for a fluffy white towel on the convenient, warmed towel rail when Robin slopped round the door, barefoot in a massive old T-shirt with Nelson on the front, which she was using as a nightie. ‘You look thoughtful,’ she yawned. ‘Worried about something?’

  Richard gave her his widest grin. ‘Now what could there possibly be to worry about on a beautiful day like this?’

  *

  Irene Ogre sat behind her desk wearing a frown which Richard recognised from his own shaving mirror. Without her uniform jacket and gold braid, her hair seemed to gleam more brightly, though that might have been the sunlight falling across it. She wore a plain white short-sleeved shirt, open at the collar, perfectly starched and laundered. No jewellery, rings or badges of rank. Her watch was simple, its digital face clear and functional. She looked at it as she held the phone to her ear. Richard could read it also as he listened to the faint ringing tone. It was 09.00 here, 11.00 in St P
etersburg, Russia, 07.00 in St Petersburg, USA. Irene told him she was calling her Russian head office, though she warned him that final rulings would have to wait a couple of hours until someone senior arrived at the office in Florida.

  The ringing stopped, a deep voice answered. Irene launched into a flood of Russian. Richard crossed to the porthole and looked out. The captain’s office overlooked the foredeck and here there was a gathering bustle of activity as the passengers gathered in preparation for today’s expedition. Some would be going ashore in Zodiacs, walking, climbing, exploring. Others would be going ashore in the helicopter tethered on the helipad aft. Richard hadn’t talked to Jolene and T-Shirt yet today, hadn’t talked to anyone except Robin. Hadn’t even had breakfast yet, so he knew nothing of the Base and bungee jumping plans. He saw T-Shirt’s blond shock and Max’s black head beside him at the heart of the excited crowd. They seemed to be talking to a tall older man with a moustache and long grey hair pulled tight back into a pony tail.

  Richard turned round again and his position by the porthole gave him a clear sight of the captain’s work desk and, upon it, a computer screen. From the back the computer had looked little more than a word-processor. But it was obviously very much more than that. The screen was divided into ten sections in graphic overlay. There were four square sections, one in each corner, and a fifth section in the centre; the four corner sections were split in two by lines running out from the corners of the central area to the corners of the screen itself.

  The central square was also divided in two, but from top to bottom. The effect was oddly like the British Union Jack flag. Within each section there were ranks of icons. The configuration did not look unduly complex or cluttered — quite the reverse, in fact — but the writing was Cyrillic and therefore impenetrable to him. One of the icons on the central screen was lit up and flashing, and when the connection with St Petersburg was broken, its brightness and activity also died.

  ‘Well?’ he asked as she hung up.

  ‘No decision. Their first thought is to make no charge as long as you take no part in expensive activities or indulgences and as long as we do not have to deviate from our course. The next port of call is Ushuaia, the southernmost port on South America. We’re due there next Monday the third.’

  Richard smiled. ‘That’s more or less back on our itinerary. We’re due to fly from there to Buenos Aires on the fourth.’

  ‘Lucky for you,’ she said slowly.

  ‘Less so for the others, I should imagine. And you’ve still got the problem of Dr DaCosta and her investigation. That won’t wait.’

  ‘I knew all about that when I invited you aboard. We’re in it also, remember.’

  ‘But she called in the FBI. There will be no FBI here, will there?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Unless something happens to her, of course. Under the circumstances, if anything happened to Dr DaCosta, you and your head offices would be up to your armpits in FBI.’

  ‘True, unless any accident was explained and proven and anything else which happened was solved so that the investigation was fully completed on her behalf.’

  ‘Not very likely, I’d have thought. She is probably the only person able to close her own investigation to the satisfaction of the authorities. Her or her colleagues from the FBI.’

  ‘I take your point,’ said Captain Ogre. A little silence followed.

  The icon next to the one which had been flashing during the phone call started to blink. Irene did something Richard could not see and her phone buzzed. ‘Incoming radio transmission,’ she said. ‘I’ll have it put through here.’

  The silence lengthened as a distant buzzing passed from the handset into the captain’s ear. ‘Right,’ she said after a few moments, switched into Russian, gave a series of orders and hung up. ‘That was Erebus,’ she said. ‘Good news. They have restored partial power and are heading for Faraday. They should make it by the time the good weather breaks tonight or tomorrow.’

  ‘Partial power?’

  ‘Not much in the way of lighting by the sound of things. Enough for emergency heating and propulsion. With their damaged propeller, they are making five knots and have steerageway. We do not need to worry any more, I think. I have asked that the others in your group be informed at once.’

  ‘In the meantime,’ said Richard, ‘we have to wait for Florida to wake up before we can get any further.’ And, he added mentally, we don’t have to start worrying about Varnek and Agran till then.

  ‘That is so. But there is no need for us to waste that time.’

  ‘I don’t intend to. I want to check on my people in the sickbay.’

  ‘I think not, if you don’t mind. Dr Glazov has a strict morning routine. No one is allowed into her domain before eleven. No. I would like, if I may, to show you my command.’

  ‘I know Robin and the twins —’

  ‘Captain, Mrs Mariner and your charming children will be offered the package tour. As will the Rosses. I wish to show you round myself. Alone.’

  ‘I see,’ he said amenably, although he didn’t really. Was this some sort of professional gesture? Some sort of personal gesture? Desire to show off? Cry for help? After his conversation with T-Shirt, he reckoned it could be just about anything.

  ‘I saw you looking at the monitor while I was on the phone,’ she said quietly. ‘It is a good place to start. Here, let me show you.’ She pressed a button on the keyboard and an invisible line seemed to move down the screen, magically transforming everything from impenetrable Cyrillic to plain English. As the transformation happened, Irene continued speaking quietly. ‘Every system aboard is computer-controlled and every control system computer-monitored. All the information from these monitors feeds back centrally and is displayed here, and at several other monitors in areas useful to myself, the senior navigating officer, the chief and the entertainment officer.’

  ‘Why her?’

  ‘She is also personnel officer, and in overall charge of several important sections. There, the screen is clear. Now you can see.’

  Richard leaned forward. Irene’s fingers were long but businesslike. Her nails square-cut, unvarnished and strong-looking. The index finger of her right hand began at the midday position and traced the eight outer sections of the screen, clockwise. ‘This section is the propulsion monitor. Each icon is to do with the engines, alternators, ancillary equipment. Next we have lading. This includes stores, fuel, the helicopter and so forth. Next we have accommodation. Accommodation of the passengers of course, but also of the crew, the entertainment staff and so forth. Next, we have the galley records. These include the records of food orders at every level from what you want for dinner tonight to what Chef will want in the way of foie gras next time we are supplied. Next, the entertainment monitor. What we have planned, minute by minute, every day and night of the trip. Which passenger is down for what, which member of the crew or staff is involved with them. Who has responsibility. The next section is records. Surprisingly important. Everything we need to know about every member of the crew, the staff and the passengers, including detailed medical records. Confidential, of course. There are more security cut-outs in this section than in any other. Next, environment. Again, this is important. As you no doubt discovered when power went down on Erebus, environmental monitoring is hugely important here, even at this time of year. The ambient temperatures of every area of the ship are monitored and adjusted according to requirement, from the coldest freezer to the hottest sauna. All the crew sections, all the passenger sections, every public area, each private cabin. From the largest space-heaters right down to the individual radiators in each cabin. Finally, on the outer ring, weather. Present, predicted. State of sky and sea, including detailed ice-watch westward and adventure-watch eastward.’

  ‘Adventure-watch?’

  ‘Like the little excursion they are setting up for now. This needs planning. Planning takes time and requires accurate weather predictions. We knew before we picked you up that the weathe
r would moderate to a clear calm today. Marry that up with position and navigation info and there you have it. Jumping.’

  ‘Jumping?’

  Irene explained. Richard tried to keep his eyebrows below his hairline.

  ‘Are they mad?’ he asked.

  ‘Utterly,’ Irene answered. ‘And the madness is contagious, I believe. Dr DaCosta may be joining them.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be damned.’

  ‘For me these two central areas are the most important. That is why I have my screen configured like this. They are communications and navigation. Navigation speaks for itself. Course, heading, speed — engine revolutions, propeller pitch, hazards, neighbours — what do you say, animal, vegetable, mineral. Anything, living, dead, mechanical. Anything that might do us damage or that we in turn might damage. And then communications. We have many levels, as you might expect. We communicate with satellites for a range of purposes. Navigation, GPS, weather, ice-watch. It all comes in here. Satellite TV stations, logged and monitored. They have it tuned to South Atlantic Adult at the moment. They are like children with their dirty movies. We have satellite dish for telephone links such as the one I have just used. You saw the icon flashing. We have Internet access. Again, monitored. We have a services supplier contract and try to keep to that, though some individual systems are so powerful now they can give personal access even down here. And of course we have state-of-the-art radio equipment And this monitors band, wavelength, contact ID.’

  ‘Everything aboard,’ said Richard, shaking his head. ‘That’s pretty amazing, Irene.’

  ‘There is more. Look.’ She rolled her fingers over a little ball set on the right of the keyboard, touched an icon with the cursor that scuttled across the screen at her command. A name and location jumped into clarity. ‘Mrs Agran is in charge of that section, accommodation,’ she said. ‘This tells me where she is. If I click again I will contact her. Every section has a crew member directly responsible for it. They are in overall charge of the individual computer systems that monitor their sections in more detail and are generally responsible for the relevant programming, maintenance and oversight. But this is all just a static display. To show you the systems in action and interaction we must go up onto the bridge. Follow me, please.