Out of the Ice (12 page)

•  •  •

Kate slept as I drove back through the icy terrain. Normally the landscape would be exhilarating, its blue–white vista opening my soul with its space and beauty, but now I felt only a low-level dread at things being amiss and what that might mean. What had caused a penguin to end up dead in a cupboard? Was it part of an illegal experiment? Or were the scientists at Alliance targeting me, knowing I was aware of their virus research? Perhaps it was another thing they’d deliberately placed here when I was sleeping off my spiked drink to intimidate me. But it could also be merely death by natural causes.

I pondered whether my Spanish compatriots, the Argentines and Chileans, could have come in and rearranged the houses at Fredelighavn, perhaps to evoke a feeling of mystery that might excite a scientist carrying out an Environmental Impact Assessment. After all, they had the most to gain in opening up the area – getting tourists near the secretive Alliance Station and annoying the British, a plan they would love. It would be a relief if that’s all it was. Games and politics. Although not if they’d upset the wildlife. Could the red cloth have had Spanish writing on it that would have given them away?

It was conceivable they could have come by boat to Fredelighavn at this time of year, just as the whalers and supply ships had done for decades. And they were expecting the report; they were the ones who’d asked for it. There was a plausibility to it that reminded me that, as with any scientific investigation, I must keep an open mind.

The more I chewed on it, the more possible it seemed. I sighed loudly, and Kate woke. I told her my latest theory.

‘But did they hurt the Adélies?’

‘I don’t know. It could be two different things. I still want to go diving, tracing what Travis and his mates did.’

To my mind, Travis wasn’t off the hook yet.

7

O
ur room was warm and welcoming, in contrast to the way we were feeling about the scientists at Alliance. Kate and I bagged our boots and clothes. They would have to be sterilised before we could wear them again around wildlife.

After a hot shower I emailed Connaught, copying in Georgia, to report the incident and request the kit and lab facilities. I also notified him that the Hägglunds would need to be sterilised. Then I went to find Travis.

He was sitting alone having a pre-dinner drink in the dining hall, and was eager and helpful about the diving gear. Travis was the sort of guy who liked to say yes.

‘But you can’t tell anyone. Even Moose.’

Travis hesitated. ‘Okay.’

‘Does that really mean okay?’

He bit his lips and nodded.

‘Travis?’

‘I’m not great with secrets.’

I gazed deep into his eyes. ‘Could you make an exception for me?’

He visibly melted and I felt a twinge of guilt. And I couldn’t help noticing how black his irises were, and the blue, a rich cobalt, surrounding them. Travis had beautiful eyes. I tried not to get distracted.

‘I’d make an exception for you any time, Laura.’

‘You’re one in a million, you know that?’

Travis blushed.

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘And now I have to go and get ready for dinner.’ I was getting wafts of a fishy, oily smell that seemed to have sunk into my face. ‘I fear I might still stink of seal.’

Travis grinned. ‘I didn’t want to tell you.’

We parted laughing but as soon as I was out in the icy street, all I could think of was whether I’d just done a deal with the enemy – the person who had caused the trouble with the wildlife.

And somewhere deep inside me was a little voice saying I hoped Travis wasn’t guilty.

•  •  •

Via Skype, Georgia reluctantly agreed to the dive and wanted to hear more about the penguin. She was growing increasingly concerned about Fredelighavn.

‘Check and triple-check the equipment. I don’t want to see a diving accident tricked up to seem accidental,’ she said firmly.

‘Georgia, don’t scare me.’

‘If you’d seen the things I’ve seen . . . There’s an element of gangland down there, from what you’re telling me. And that spells trouble.’

I pretended she wasn’t unnerving me.

•  •  •

In the morning, Kate was huddled close, her red hair sprawled across both our pillows. I chuckled and she sat up with a start.

‘Time to go.’ I hauled myself out of bed. Through the window the sun was shining and the sky was deep blue. ‘It’s going to be a perfect day.’

As we were finishing breakfast, Jasper came over and placed an Unusual Wildlife Death Kit on the table.

‘For the penguin. Connaught’s asked me to look after you in my lab. After-hours access. We’ll have to work the graveyard shift.’

A thrill ran through me: I’d be seeing inside the main building. But why had Connaught chosen Jasper?

‘I volunteered for it,’ he said, as if reading my mind. ‘No one else put their hand up. The scientists down here are a pretty selfish lot and not happy about you coming in. So, you’ll have to do exactly what I say. I don’t want to sound bossy, but they’re the rules.’

‘No problem,’ I said. ‘We’ll have the poor bird back tonight. Can we go in then?’

‘At eleven. There’ll be no one in my lab but us by then.’

‘I appreciate it, Jasper.’ I opened the response kit and checked everything was there: a blue body bag for the penguin, disposable overalls, gloves, surgical masks and overshoes, alcohol-based hand wipes and a bottle of bleach.

Travis approached, hovering nearby.

‘Well, a favour given might need to be returned one day,’ said Jasper as he turned and walked away.

Kate glowered. ‘Since when’s protocol a favour? He’s as bad as the rest of them.’

Travis plonked down beside us. ‘Everything’s ready,’ he said in a soft voice, his blue eyes bright. His face was so open and honest I couldn’t believe he’d be responsible for anything bad. ‘What’s this for?’ he asked, picking up the body bag. He looked completely innocent when I explained, not like a penguin- tormentor or a person who hid birds in cupboards.

Near the Hägglunds, Travis had assembled drysuits – which were like heavily insulated full-body wetsuits with attached hoods and booties, to keep the body dry and protected while swimming in icy water – and scuba gear. Kate and I methodically checked the tanks and breathing apparatus. All seemed in order.

We tried on the drysuits and chose our gloves.

‘Good to go,’ I called when we were ready, and Travis bounced over from where he’d been discreetly waiting in the corner of the shed, his back turned to us.

‘I won’t forget this,’ I said. ‘And remember, not a word to anyone.’

‘You’ll get me into trouble one day, Doctor Alvarado.’ He was beaming.

We headed off, waving goodbye to him.

•  •  •

Fredelighavn sparkled in the sunshine. The air was fresh and clear and there was no wind; it was silent as our skis whooshed along the icy road to the sea – Kate towed a sled, on which our scuba tanks and gear were strapped. The House of the Carvers glinted with icicles dangling from its eaves and windows, like it was winking to me.

When the harbour came into view we both stopped. It was the most intense blue I’d ever seen and it was glass calm.

‘Wow,’ said Kate, dumping her backpack on the ground, extricating herself from her skis and ripping off her clothes. ‘Super wow. That’s the best sea ever. Let me in there.’

I grinned from ear to ear as I stripped off too, hoping there were no surveillance cameras on this stretch of beach. The water lapped quietly along the rocky shore. Further up the coast the Adélies were screeching happily, thousands of little black and white birds going about their business. In the other direction, near the hulking skeleton of a ship, elephant seals basked lazily in the sun, taking no interest in us.

With tanks in place, we both checked the quick-release latches on our weight belts. If we got into trouble we’d need to come up fast. They were working smoothly.

We carried torches and cameras in bags clipped tightly to our belts.

At the shoreline we put on flippers and gloves, and spat into masks that would cover our faces, dipping them in a little seawater and swirling the mix around to ensure they wouldn’t fog up underwater.

‘Ready?’ I asked as I fitted the breathing apparatus into my mouth and bit down on the rubber ends, taking a deep breath that felt easy and clean like a fresh breeze.

Kate gave me two thumbs up.

Checking our masks were firmly attached, we walked backwards into the sea and submerged once it was deep enough. The feeling was sublime. The water was crystal clear and visibility stretched for miles. Colours were vibrant. The rusting hulks of nearby ships were brilliant orange, the water a translucent blue. Our drysuits blocked any sense of how cold the ocean was, although I knew from experience it was freezing. Once a season, in a popular Antarctic ritual, we would cut a hole in the ice, strip off our clothes, tie a rope around ourselves and run like mad from the hottest building to leap into the water like maniacs. Then we’d scramble out as fast as we could. The water was truly frigid – and without protection, you could go into cardiac arrest and die in minutes. Which is what made the Polar Plunge such exhilarating fun.

I signalled with my hand to move off. Kate took my other hand and we swam away from shore. I checked my watch and I could see Kate doing the same – we had air in our tanks for two hours. Long strange fish darted about us: mackerel icefish. As we swam further out, huge submerged icebergs came into view, their sculptured, multifaceted walls glowing eerily, like deep green glass and blue quartz. Their jagged, pointed bases, the inverted image of the smaller above-water shape, were hundreds of metres below us, engulfed in shadow. I glanced down and experienced a dizzying vertigo at the upside-down mountains of craggy ice; we took care to keep a wide berth. Suddenly the water churned into millions of swirling bubbles as we were bombarded by Adélie penguins jumping from the nearest iceberg into the water, propelling themselves at speed out to sea. Kate tapped me on the arm and gave a thumbs up, grinning. These penguins weren’t remotely interested in us, which was as it should be. Their little black and white bodies shot past, some turning and giving a fleeting look as they pelted through the water. On land, the Adélies could seem awkward as they waddled about. Down here, they were graceful and strong, sleek bodies cutting through the sea like bullets.

I felt weightless, the sound of my breathing was loud and rhythmic as I relaxed into the dive. As we headed out into the bay a huge elephant seal surged past, making me jump and let go of Kate’s hand. I could see her eyes wrinkled in laughter as she took my hand again. More Adélies swam past, untroubled. There was nothing amiss, no sign yet that Travis and his friends had caused any damage to the wildlife underwater when they dived.

I signalled to Kate to turn right. I wanted to head up the bay towards the Adélie rookery. Sunlight pierced the water in light green shafts. Two huge Patagonian toothfish swam towards us, and we let go of each other to let them pass between us.

Suddenly I was surrounded by a pod of humpback whales, their song rising and falling, a high febrile sound, soulful, vibrating through me. I grinned, treading water, flapping my hands gently around, a surge of happiness rising as I inspected their tail flukes to see if I recognised any of them. These were new to me. I hooked out my camera and photographed. A large mother humpback with a baby in tow looked at me. I tipped my head to one side and she swam closer, doing the same. I reached out and touched her as she moved past, wishing I could take off my glove and feel her silky black body. Her calf swam past and nudged me playfully, and I was reminded of Lev. The mother swam to the surface and broke through, her back twisting above me as she rolled, then her white belly flopped back into the water.

I watched mesmerised as she rolled again, putting on a show. The baby came back and looked at me. I reached out a hand as he swam past, and he rubbed his body against it. The mother was still rolling above me, breaching the surface and flopping around. Bubbles shot everywhere, like the sea was boiling. Sunlight shone through, giving the feel of a magical forest.

As the mother swam off and the calf followed, I turned to Kate – but she wasn’t there. I looked around. Somehow we’d become separated. I tried to keep calm. I swam on, turning three-hundred-and-sixty degrees as I searched the water. There were bubbles from the retreating whales, and more Adélies torpedoing past. But Kate was nowhere to be seen.

I stopped, treading water and telling myself not to panic as I fought an adrenalin rush of fear. A diver must never lose their buddy underwater; it was the first and most fundamental rule of diving. As I swam on I tried to ascertain where I was. Everywhere around me were the sleek, inverted mountains of blue–green icebergs. I had come to a channel and there was only one logical way through. I swam much closer than I would have liked, knowing the underwater mass of icebergs could move rapidly, even in this calm water.

As I swam on, I realised I was heading towards a wall of ice along the shore. I decided to go up to the surface, to get my bearings and to see if Kate had done the same. I was about fifteen metres down and had to rise slowly so that I wouldn’t cramp.

Eventually I broke through the water with ease. I was a distance from land and although the water was still calm, a wind was rippling tiny waves into small white peaks. I looked everywhere, visibility perfect. But no Kate. I went under again and began to swim down, wanting to retrace where I’d been, but I hit a current. I tried to swim against it. The rip was too strong; I had to swim across it instead. When I looked around, nothing seemed familiar. I kept treading water, bubbles blowing frantically from my mouthpiece, echoing in my ears, rising to the surface in a thick chain. The current was pulling me along and for a moment I didn’t fight it. I was tiring quickly. A white mass of ice came into view: I was rushing towards it. With all my strength I swam to the surface. Further up I could see the jagged outline of a cave in the icy cliff. I waited until I was close and then swam into the broad entrance.