Beneath the Ice (43 page)

‘They’re not Russian,’ Balakin offered, wrinkling his nose against the smell of fish.

‘German maybe,’ Muller suggested, seemingly content to spend the next few minutes discussing the men’s nationality despite the obvious urgency with which they seemed to be signalling.

‘Wherever they’re from,’ Nicolai cut in, ‘we can’t just leave them on the ice. So we’re going to have to figure out a way to bring them over.’

‘It’s too far for the gangplanks,’ Balakin said. After a pause, Nicolai grunted in agreement.

There was only one way they were going to get them across and that was using the crane, but with Andrey’s haphazard control it was a dangerous proposition. Already the captain was wondering how the hell he would write this up in the ship’s log.

‘Ditch the container already on the crane,’ he ordered, ‘and send over some cargo strapping. They’re just going to have to tie themselves on.’

The two crew members nodded but both remained still, thinking ahead to the host of things that could go wrong.

‘
Go
!
’
urged the captain, sending the men scurrying across the deck in search of the equipment.

With Andrey perched high in the open-sided cabin, the massive crane arm swung out across the water. Nearly a hundred feet below, the dark waves of the Southern Ocean rolled under the ship’s hull before reflecting off the immovable ice of the barrier. It was a choppy mess of conflicting currents, interspersed with chunks of ice and the occasional dead fish. Without survival suits, the men on the opposite bank would only last a few minutes in the water. That was
if
they survived a fall in the first place.

Nicolai stared through a pair of binoculars he had retrieved from his cabin, watching as Andrey inched the crane hook down on to the other side. He saw one of the men tying in the other two, ratcheting the cargo belts tight around their thighs so that they were locked into a sitting position. Nicolai cursed his own men’s stupidity again, realising that despite there being three men on the opposite bank, they had only sent across two straps. Now they were going to have to repeat the whole process.

He turned, about to reprimand Andrey, but then, as he looked up into the open cabin of the crane, he could see the concentration on the lad’s face. His tongue was poking out of the corner of his mouth and his whole body was tilted forward, almost dangerously so. Nicolai shook his head, regretting having been so hard on him. He was obviously trying his best.

As the crane arm slowly swung back across the divide, the two newcomers became clearly visible. Both were gripping on to the metal hook above, while their heads were angled down towards the dark waters below. One of them was holding a black Pelican case in his left hand, which swayed with the natural roll of the ship.

With a whirr of the winch cables, they slowly descended towards the deck.

‘Easy now,’ Nicolai shouted. ‘Easy.’

The two men landed in a crumpled heap and Balakin smiled at the incongruous tangle of legs and arms. As they tried to get up, the Pelican case slipped from the grasp of the larger man and spun a few feet across the deck.

‘Welcome,’ Nicolai said, his voice thick with a Russian accent. He grabbed the forearm of the tall, skinny man, easily hoisting him to his feet, while Balakin cranked the locking mechanism of the cargo strap, releasing them.

‘Holy shit!’ Joel stammered, eyes wide with manic energy.

Nicolai stared across at him, suddenly wondering if the newcomer’s fear resulted from something more than being craned across. Next to them, Katz clambered to his feet and immediately staggered towards the case. Snatching it up, he held it close to his chest.

‘There’s a lunatic after us,’ Joel blurted out. ‘Send back the crane for Luca. We could hear the sound of his Ski-Doo. He’s got to be close by now . . .’

The Russian stared between them both, having only partially understood what was being said.

‘Slowly, slowly,’ he said, trying to reassure them. ‘We collect other man. No problem.’

‘Now!’ Katz shouted, gesticulating wildly towards the cliff. ‘Another man is after us. He has a rifle.’ He then mimed firing a gun with his spare hand.

The Russian’s eyes narrowed in confusion.

‘OK, OK,’ he said, more to try and placate them than with any real understanding. His eyes switched across to the ice cliff, searching for any sign of danger, but there were only the three containers they had already unloaded that morning, with the remaining Englishman standing nearby.

‘We send crane now. Pick up other man,’ Nicolai added, smiling good-naturedly. He then signalled up to Andrey once more and they all watched as the mighty crane arm swung back across the divide. Just as it was in position over the ice and Luca started moving towards it, there was the crack of gunfire. The noise echoed out across the open area, making everyone jump. Then Andrey’s body came crashing down from the crane cabin, hitting the ship’s deck face-first only a few feet away from them. The weight of the impact snapped his head back and he lay bunched unnaturally to one side. Beneath him, blood slowly fanned out in a semi-circle across the deck.

‘
Mother of God
,’ Nicolai breathed.

There was another shot and this time Joel spun round as the bullet passed through his left shoulder blade. His whole frame pivoted as though caught by some unseen wire and he collapsed on to the deck, screaming wildly.

‘Run!’ Katz shouted, sprinting full tilt across the deck with his back arched and the Pelican case swinging wildly in his grasp. A few seconds later he reached the first of the steel turrets lining the control bridge and dived for cover, bruising the entire left side of his body as he smashed on to the ground.

Out on the open deck, Nicolai finally jerked into action. Joel was crawling helplessly across the ground, his vision so blurred he couldn’t tell which way to go. His right arm was raised, pressing down on the wound, while his mouth was wide in a constant scream. As Nicolai ran past, he grabbed hold of the wounded man and shunted him forward towards the shelter of the ship’s bridge.

Nicolai ran with his head down, expecting the next bullet to strike at any moment. But the sea takes care of her own and, as if on cue, the ship slowly rolled in the opposite direction causing Stang’s next bullet to miss by a few inches. They reached the cover of the steel doors just as the other member of the crew, Balakin, crashed down next to them.

‘
What’s happening, Captain
?’ he cried out, stuttering from fear.

Nicolai looked across to the big man for an answer, but he was staring up at the cabin of the crane, grey sky now visible through its open side. After a moment, his gaze switched back towards the Russians.

‘If we don’t pull back the crane arm,’ he said, ‘Stang will be able to climb across and get on to the boat. You can’t allow that to happen.’

Nicolai followed his gaze, his mind racing. He was an old navy man who many years ago had seen some action in the Baltic Sea. Now, he tried to steady his nerves and, instead of panic, do what was right for his crew and his ship. He had no idea who Stang was, but knew enough to fear the accuracy of his rifle. ‘
Nyet
,’ he said. ‘Too dangerous to go back up to cabin and operate the crane arm. We drive boat away, retract crane later.’

Joel stared up at them both. He was still clutching his shoulder, desperately trying to stem the flow of blood trickling through his fingers.

‘But Luca?’ he pleaded. ‘You can’t just leave him.’

Katz’s gaze settled on Joel for a moment, then he looked away.

‘We can’t help him now,’ he said flatly. ‘He’s just going to have to take his chances.’

LUCA STARED IN
horror as the deck of the
Akademia Federov
emptied under a hail of gunfire. He had been standing directly behind the row of containers when the first shot rang out. Stang was close; so close that Luca could even hear the sharp metallic click of the bolt-action rifle reloading with merciless repetition.

As it finally fell silent, Luca stared out towards the metal hook on the end of the crane. It swung idly in the breeze, no more than ten feet away. But as close as it was, he knew that if he broke cover and tried to reach it, Stang would simply gun him down.

He could only presume that Stang thought he was already on board the ship and had been winched across like the others. But that would only last so long. It was simply a matter of time before he rounded the side of the containers and discovered Luca cowering there.

Seconds passed. Sweat was running the length of Luca’s spine. His mind raced as he tried to think of a way out of the situation, but there was nowhere left to go. He could hurl himself into the water to be picked up later by the others, but the drop looked absolutely terrifying. He doubted whether he would even survive it.

He turned his gaze up to the roof of the container, wondering if he could hide there instead. Tracing his fingers over the smooth side, he searched for a handhold but there was nothing to grip on to. The only way to get up there would be to leap for the edge and pull himself higher, but at such close range, Stang would be bound to hear.

So Luca waited. Second followed second, each filled with the gut-wrenching certainty that Stang would suddenly appear around the side of the container. Curling his hands into fists, Luca tried to steel himself for a fight, but already he knew it was pointless. Rifle or not, Stang was a giant of a man and Luca wouldn’t stand a chance in a fistfight. The mere thought of it made his legs go weak and Luca just stood there, feeling physically sick with fear.

Turning his gaze out towards the ship, he willed someone to notice him. But the decks were deserted. There was only the broken form of the Russian who had fallen from the crane, his body haloed by a dark stain of blood.

Then Luca heard footsteps. There was a soft crunching of snow and he screwed his eyes shut, feeling terror rise within him. This was it. Another second and Stang would be on him. As he listened, he realised that the footsteps were heading away from him, not towards, and poking his head around the side of the container, he saw the Norwegian shuffling back towards his Ski-Doo parked nearly a hundred metres away. He had his rifle slung across his back and his head bowed low. As Luca watched, he flipped open the saddle of the machine and began digging through the contents stored within. A few seconds later, Stang re-emerged with a rope, snapping the ends together as he tested its strength.

Luca stared at it, wondering if the rope was somehow meant for him. Did Stang now plan to garrotte him? Then he realised what it was for. The man needed it to secure himself as he climbed across the crane arm and on to the ship.

Ducking back behind the container, Luca stared across to the ship’s empty deck. He
had
to get on board or risk being left behind. The generators at GARI were destroyed, meaning no heat, no water and no chance of surviving more than a few days.

The ship was his only way out.

Just as he tried to galvanise his legs into action, there was a deep roar from the engines. A dark plume of exhaust belched out and there was the sound of churning water. A second later, a great, foamy spray erupted beneath the hull as the propellers fought against the ship’s mighty inertia to move her backwards.

Luca stared in disbelief. They were leaving without him! The fear of being abandoned finally triggered him into action and he pushed off against the container, sprinting headlong towards the hanging crane arm.

As soon as he broke cover, there was a yell of surprise. Stang was still standing by the Ski-Doo, looping the rope over his hands as he considered the best way to attach himself. It took several seconds for him to shake himself free before dropping down on one knee and readying his rifle. In a single, finessed movement, he clicked off the safety and aimed.

But Luca was moving fast. With his arms pumping at his sides, he reached the metal hook of the crane in just a few strides. Flinging himself up, he grabbed on to the main cable and dragged his body on top of the crane arm. He began shuffling along, legs dangling to each side, while beneath him the ship started moving in earnest. The engines were on full reverse power, finally gaining momentum through the dark, frozen water.

There was the sound of the rifle once more, and Luca heard a low clang as a bullet smacked into the metal just ahead of him. However, there was only time for one shot. The speed at which the ship was retreating meant Stang didn’t have time to reload. Instead, he gave chase, his mighty thighs powering through the deep snow.

Luca had managed to get nearly halfway along the crane arm when he suddenly heard another shot. He froze, with his upper body bent so low as to be touching the metal arm of the crane. Reaching behind him, he fumbled in his jacket pocket for a few seconds before grabbing hold of one of the emergency flares they had taken from GARI. He twisted round, searching for any sign of his adversary.

At first Stang was not visible. Then, as the ship rolled to one side, Luca suddenly saw him, dangling from the end of the crane winch. His military boots were clamped either side of the metal cable and he was staring fixedly ahead, right into Luca’s eyes. It was the first time Luca had seen him in the full light of day and the sight of his blackened skin with red welts laced across his face was almost mesmeric. Luca stared back into Stang’s pallid eyes and saw a look of absolute hatred. It was pathological, like a predator incensed by the lucky escape of its kill.

There was a sudden whoosh of light as the flare rocketed along the length of the crane. Luca stared after it through the clouds of red smoke, coughing violently as he tried to see whether it had struck its target. But a moment later he caught sight of Stang’s outline. He was still there, gripping on to the end of the winch cable.

Turning back once more, Luca dragged his body hand over fist along the crane arm. A few feet further on he passed the threshold of the ship’s rail below. Now, at least if he fell, he would land on deck instead of falling all the way to the water.