by Peter Tonkin
Jolene’s watch alarm went off, interrupting him. ‘It’s midnight,’ she said, and distant cheering echoed up from below.
‘Cool,’ said T-Shirt. ‘Welcome to the new millennium …’
And everything went off. Lights, monitors, engines, everything.
*
‘Speak to me, Chief,’ said Irene Ogre, her face like a mask of ice. The only light on the silent bridge was coming out of the whirling heart of the storm, dull as pewter. ‘You promised me that this was not going to happen. Speak to me!’
Richard was at her side, his large hand on the helmsman’s shoulder, steadying the solid seaman as he fought to hold the ship on course while she still had steerageway.
‘It’s midnight, Mr Varnek,’ said Richard.
‘A moment more,’ said Varnek. ‘The last weather map was so clear. It can only be a moment …’
Under the straining silence of his uncompleted sentence, the engines suddenly rumbled back to life. Richard felt the kick of steerage slam up from the wheel into the helmsman’s shoulder. He raised his VHF to his lips. ‘Colin?’ he said. ‘Mr Yazov. Any minute now. And remember, the seas will still be running high and there are no safety lines out there.’
As he spoke, a flaw in the wind snatched the whirling ice away and he shouted, as though kicked in the stomach with brutal force. Just for an instant, there was Deception. Just where Yazov said it was. Just as Varnek said it was. A black cliff nearly five kilometres long, six hundred metres high, less than four kilometres dead ahead, coming towards them at all of fifteen knots.
Then the mad swirl was back again and he couldn’t see the forecastle head, let alone four kilometres. The lights flickered back on then as the alternators kicked in.
‘Mr Varnek,’ said Richard. ‘What is your computer saying?’
‘Rest in peace, perhaps. Nothing else. It is dead.’
‘The whole thing? You can’t even access Mrs Agran’s systems?’
‘I tell you, Captain, I’d see more if I was looking up a dodo’s ass.’
‘Very colourful, Mr Varnek,’ spat Captain Ogre. But whatever sharp words were spilling onto her lips were snatched away with the storm wall as they plunged into the eye, just as he had predicted. And, as Richard had already seen, there was Deception, a black wall seemingly immediately ahead of them, grinding down upon them. What made it particularly terrifying, other than its solidity and shocking proximity, was the fact that Neptune’s Bellows was invisible, indistinguishable from the unremitting bulk of it. And such was their speed as they plunged towards it, that even if Richard hit the emergency turn button again, they would ram themselves with massive force onto some black, ice-bound part of it.
‘OK, Colin,’ said Richard into his VHF. ‘You’re on.’
*
Colin Ross was used to the cold. He did most of his work on the ice at the Poles. He had man-sledded across the Big White when Ranulph Fiennes was still a lad. He made no great song and dance about it, but his left hand was prosthetic, the real one lost to frostbite a quarter of a century since. But he had never felt cold like this. Out on Kalinin’s foredeck, everything was thick and slick with ice; ice that seemed ambitious of attaining absolute zero on its own. The wild physics of the storm were still being worked out here as molecules of pure and salt water intermingled at temperatures far below zero, still in the grip of the awful forces which had been whirling around them until a moment or two ago. There was a frost fog in the unnatural calm, something born of the wild wish of the ice to be closer still to interstellar temperatures, to attain the blue perfection of glacier hearts where even light begins to freeze.
Nothing on Kalinin s foredeck was flat or sharp or thin. Everything was coated in the crackling weirdness of this living ice, in transition to something worse. Colin regretted they had no crampons. Just to walk on this stuff while the ship was still rolling over the great storm swell was almost impossible. Almost, but not quite. On his first sure step, Colin saw the black cliffs of Deception bearing down on them like an obsidian avalanche, and he knew where he and Yazov had to be, no matter how hard it was to get there.
It suddenly occurred to him that he had shared no last words with Kate and he had a moment of poignant regret. But then he thought to himself, ‘No, that’s good. Now I have to make sure I get back alive to share them with her.’
At no time did it occur to him that Kate might not be alive to hear them when he got there.
*
Killigan exploded through the door into the Mariners’ stateroom just before the lights came back on. It wasn’t hard to do; the door was not locked. The red dot of the dock’s laser sight flashed around the little room, picking out the startled faces of the two women there. Kate Ross stood up at once, frowning in outrage. Robin, however, had used a dock with a red-dot sight. She knew at once what they were up against here — in terms of armaments if nothing else — and pulled her friend back down.
‘Yeah,’ said Killigan. ‘Yeah, this is good. You two broads will do. You two and the kids.’
‘What will we do for, Sergeant?’ asked Robin gently, her voice calm, her heart ready to explode.
‘We’re off on a little jaunt ashore, as soon as we reach Deception. And you guys will do as insurance.’
Robin’s mind filled with a whirl of questions, pleas, propositions. Her breath hissed in as she filled her lungs to bursting, trying to calm her mind. Mother-like, she answered automatically, reasonably, ‘But the children are asleep …’
‘Wake them up. Get them out, lady. Time’s a-wasting here and we’ve a shitload to do.’
The lights flickered on again. Robin, ship’s captain to her marrow, noticed a slight hesitation in the engines. Oddly, in the light, Killigan lowered the Glock as though it was something unsuitable to be shown to women or children. But he did not moderate the hard grate of his voice one bit. ‘Come on, lady. You got till I count three then I shoot your friend here. One —’
‘Killigan,’ came Hoyle’s voice from the door. ‘Killigan, we got company. And we got trouble.’
‘Captain Mariner, get over here,’ said Killigan. And Robin obeyed. She knew that the next step would involve the twins, or a shot through some part of Kate. Killigan grabbed her by the arm and pulled her outside the door so that she was half in front of him and half in front of Hoyle.
Half dazzled by the brightness and the abruptness of the action, Robin at first saw only an empty corridor. Then, at the far end of it, she saw a couple of sinister black dots. Gun barrels. She simply could not believe this was happening, let alone happening to her. Everything froze. Then there came a familiar female voice.
‘Killigan. I’m a police-trained shot with a handgun and you know how good Corporal Washington is with a rifle. We could take you now. Both of you.’
‘Then why haven’t you?’ sneered Killigan. ‘Worried about your authority? Scared of what the Feds will say?’
‘Concerned about your hostage there, Sergeant. Why not let her go?’
‘And then what? What then, eh?’
‘Take me instead. Let the women and the kids alone, Killigan. I’d make a better hostage in all sorts of ways. You know it.’
‘That’s true, Killigan,’ began Billy.
‘Shut up, Billy boy, let me think. You instead of the limey broads? Is that the deal? One woman instead of two women and two kids? Not much of a swap, lady.’
‘That’s it, Killigan. It’s the best I can do.’
‘Well, it’s not good enough.’
‘Then we can do better,’ came a new voice. Vivien Agran stepped out into the light, hardly more than a shadow herself.
‘Take me too. Two broads for two broads. Now that is good insurance, Killigan. Hoyle. Because you know Captain Ogre is going to send Vasily Varnek after you when she finds out about this and he will be taking no prisoners tonight. Besides, I believe I have a better market for your merchandise. I could probably get you ten million dollars, maybe more. Remember our little heart to heart, Killigan.’
‘I remember. But where will we be going?’ asked Killigan, hesitating.
‘Ashore,’ answered Jolene, speaking for both. ‘Up to the base on the mountain.’
‘With your disk and access to the Internet,’ added Vivien Agran. ‘And I have that other e-mail address. The address in America where they have no trouble with the Internet and the bug. And ten million dollars, like I said.’
‘You think NASA values an experimental space suit more than a human life?’ demanded Jolene, seeing Killigan waver. ‘Come on, Killigan. You’ve won. Lets walk away from this. Look,’ she added, almost as a desperate afterthought. ‘I’ve got all the record disks too. All the evidence left against you so far.’
‘All right, Inspector, and you, Mrs Agran,’ said Killigan. ‘You’ve got a deal. Both of you come on out here with your hands up and we’ll make the swap.’
‘I’m coming,’ said Jolene easily. ‘But I’m giving the pistol to a Special Forces man and Washington’s still got the rifle. You’re as good as your word or you’re dead. I kid you not.’
Killigan watched the women walk out into the middle of the corridor, then Jolene turned back suddenly. Killigan tensed, then relaxed slightly as he saw her in a clinch with T-Shirt. That guy had been like her shadow recently, he noted. Then she joined Vivien Agran and came on down towards him. Killigan’s mind was coldly busy. He had a market for the information on the disk and he had taken back the Power Strip itself. But the word was that Moscow and St Petersburg were closed to e-mail tonight, so if Agran was telling the truth, her offer was tempting — and he was beginning to feel a little trapped here. If he took one woman maybe he could get a better price and the realistic chance of escape from the bind he was in. If he took the other as well he had the chance of ensuring that all the records which might contain anything incriminating against him were wiped. Then Agran’s offer would really make sense. It looked like a good deal to him, especially as he had one more card up his sleeve — and now was a good time for a little demonstration.
When the women reached him, Killigan pushed Robin back in through the door of the stateroom and caught Jolene by the shoulder. Hoyle grabbed Vivien. Using the women as shields, Killigan and Hoyle backed down the corridor. When they got to the head of the companionway, Killigan made a sign and Billy threw something solid and silver up the passage. It skidded along the floor and came to rest outside Jolene’s cabin door. It lay there for five seconds, then it exploded, blowing the door into the empty cabin, hollowing the walls and denting the floor. ‘Timers,’ bellowed Killigan over the blast, the noise, the smoke, and the rain of glass from the shattered ceiling light. ‘Bet you didn’t know I still had them either. Major Schwartz brought them over with the Glock. Good as grenades, I warn you.’ He grinned. That would give them something to think about. Slow down any pursuit into the bargain.
*
‘What was that?’ demanded Captain Ogre. ‘It sounded like an explosion. Varnek, go and check. Captain Mariner and I will watch things here.’
Varnek went at once and Irene joined Richard at the helmsman’s side.
‘Are you there, Colin?’ Richard said into his VHF.
‘Here.’
‘Good. What can you and Yazov see?’
‘We see the entrance to the Bellows dead ahead. Can you come north a little?’
‘Starboard a point,’ said Yazov.
Irene tapped the helmsman on the shoulder and he adjusted the wheel by eye.
‘As I said,’ said Richard quietly but forcefully, ‘it’s important we take the north channel through the Bellows. It’s extremely narrow. At this speed we need to be accurate and certain.’
‘Then we must reduce speed.’
‘Indeed, but it is a fine balance. If we reduce too much, these big seas will make it impossible to hold any line at all. And we must bear in mind that there is likely to be a vicious cross-wind running south to north across the Bellows itself, with a potential headwind cutting across that from inside the crater, blowing straight into our faces at the worst possible moment. The more impetus we have at the critical time, the better — assuming we’ve taken the correct line and aren’t about to run bodily onto the rocks. That’s why Colin and Mr Yazov are out there. They can see the state of the sea pretty well and feel the wind — smell it, even — better than we can.’
‘We can until our noses freeze,’ observed Colin over the VHF. ‘Don’t worry, Colin, you won’t be out there long,’ promised Richard.
‘I see what you mean,’ said Colin. ‘The Bellows is opening like those rocks that nearly ate Jason and the Argo in the legends.’
‘Just as long as they don’t close as quickly on us,’ said Richard easily. ‘We don’t have a Medea to help us along. And the only kids aboard to sacrifice are mine.’
The bridge phone buzzed urgently. Irene crossed and answered it, her eyes, like Richard’s, never leaving the bulk of Deception which seemed to rear over them ever more threateningly as Kalinin sped towards the still scarcely visible northern passage.
‘Richard,’ said Irene after an instant. ‘It’s Robin. For you.’
Richard answered with his eyes still fixed firmly ahead and his mind on calculations far too complex to allow his full attention to the phone.
‘Richard,’ said Robin tersely. ‘Killigan and Hoyle were just here!’
‘Really, darling?’
‘They threatened us, tried to kidnap us and have taken away Jolene and Vivien Agran instead. They’re armed and dangerous. They have grenades and a handgun. It’s a Glock.’
He did not say, ‘That’s nice, dear,’ but it was a close-run thing. Then the penny dropped. He looked away from the deadly loom of the cliff. ‘What? What did you say?’
Robin went over the details again.
‘But they’ve gone now?’
‘With Jolene and Vivien Agran. Yes.’
‘Are you and the twins all right?’
‘Yes. So’s Kate. But you’ve got a bad problem. T-Shirt and Washington have gone after them. It’s like the OK Corral down here. Well, more like World War Three.’
Richard looked across at Irene. What had she said? No gunfights? Fat chance. And she had just sent Varnek down to check up on things.
Abruptly, Irene’s VHF buzzed. ‘Captain,’ came Varnek’s voice, and a babble of Russian ensued. Richard could guess well enough what was being said.
Such was his concentration on the new situation and its implications, that when his own VHF buzzed he scarcely paid it any attention. It buzzed again. ‘Yes?’
‘Richard! What’s going on there? Have you lost the plot or what?’
‘Colin! You have no idea. What?’
‘You have to cut your speed. We’ll be into the Bellows’ mouth in less than five minutes and I can’t see the line.’
Richard simply dropped the phone. Robin and the twins were OK. The next danger that might harm them was this one if he got it wrong now. ‘I don’t want to cut speed, Colin,’ he said into the VHF. ‘There’ll be a vicious side wind any minute and like as not a catabatic headwind pushing straight into our faces. You remember this place. If I’ve got it right, the cross-wind will push us north onto line and the headwind will slow us just about perfectly. If I’ve got it wrong, wallowing around in trouble trying to get some headway up will just pull us over onto the rocks below Fildes Point all the more quickly.’
‘But if we don’t find the line, we’ll end up on the Ravn —’
‘There, Colin! There!’ Richard shouted it, and he could hear Yazov yelling too. On the corrugated heave of the ocean ahead there came a line the colour of graphite, as though drawn by a pencil from side to side ahead of them and roughly charcoaled in behind.
‘I see it. The cross-wind. God, Richard …’ Colin hardly ever swore.
Richard breathed in. Breathed out. ‘Steady as she goes,’ he said.
At full fifteen knots Kalinin came into Neptune’s Bellows, heading straight for the Ravn Rock. Richard, on some higher level of seam
anship — of reality, even — watched the wide calm reaches of Whalers Bay and Port Foster open up behind. As he looked, the ship’s movement separated the spire of Petes Pillar from the great black wall of Cathedral Crags northward, to starboard, almost as though he was watching some computer animation. The instant that this massive majesty imprinted itself on his mind, Colin shouted, ‘Now!’
Richard felt the whole of Kalinin begin to shudder. ‘Hold her steady,’ he told the helmsman. ‘Steady as she goes …’
The brute wind shoved Kalinin sideways, Fildes Point and Petes Pillar pouncing down on them. Her hull juddered and shook. Richard sent a silent prayer of thanks to the shipwrights of Gdansk who had built her to take poundings such as this. Up she went, northward, one point, two; not turning, simply sliding up across the Bellows as though sailing sideways as well as forward. Then Richard saw a gleam of light. A flashing point of brightness from deep within the massive throat of the place. It was the beacon on Collins Point, six cables in. ‘Steer for the light,’ he said, his voice rough with tension. ‘Steer straight for the light.’
‘Incoming!’ yelled Colin, as though announcing a shell or a bomb.
‘Then hang on!’ yelled Richard back, and not a moment too soon. The wind of icy air in the storm’s eye — heavy, thick, cold down-thrusting and wanting to push out across the ocean, trapped in the broken cup of Deception’s great caldera — burst out through the cleft of the Bellows, and all but stopped them dead in their tracks. Out of nowhere, they were in the grip of a gale that was hurling out at them with awesome force, trying to rip the bridgehouse off and blow Kalinin like a thistledown away to Graham Land.
‘Colin!’ bellowed Richard into the VHF, awed and shaken by the huge force of the catabatic gale. ‘Colin, are you all right?’
The radio leaped into life. ‘NOOOOoooooo!’ it shouted as Colin’s voice was snatched unmistakably into the distance. Then there was silence.
‘Colin?’ called Richard again. There was no answer. Outside, brushing the bridge wings, majestic cliffs swept by; so they had not quite stopped dead as it seemed. The wind intensified, shrieking around them with the steadiness which could only be the breath of a god blowing out against them.