Trident Force (5 page)

“It's too damn political, Mister,” continued the captain. “We—you, I and
Aurora
—are being set up in the middle of a culture war.”

“You're not the only person who thinks we're a target, Captain. They keep sending us those special warnings.”

“Useless warnings, Mr. Winters. ‘Your ship might well be an attractive target for terrorists. Special care should be exercised at all times.' They keep saying it over and over, but I haven't the slightest idea what we can do that we're not already doing—except return to BA and forget about the whole damn thing.”

“I couldn't agree with you more, Captain. We've searched the ship twice as it is, just in case they're talking about bombs, rather than guided missiles or six guys wearing ski masks.”

“What more do we do to ensure nothing happens? Strip-search everybody—starting with Senator Bergstrom—twice a day?”

Winters closed his eyes slightly and shook his head.

“And all this media, Mister,” continued the captain. “Crews from three different networks. Some of the passengers have even brought their own media advisors to deal with the media persons, and they're all getting under my skin before we've even gotten out of the Plate Estuary.”

“I've already had two run-ins.”

“I'm convinced some of these people are more interested in being seen than in seeing. Especially the senator and that congressman. Either could have jumped on a government flight anytime he wanted to visit the icy south. But they knew the media coverage might be a little scanty if they did it that way.”

Covington lapsed into silence and the two continued to stand, looking forward at the passengers milling around the bow. Most were talking as they watched the gulls and the white-capped waves glide by. Even from where he was, Covington could recognize the famous writer with his equally famous, carefully tinted, snow-white hair. And the emaciated actress with whom the writer was talking. She had once been even more famous than the writer. And there was Rod Johnson, the Greenpeace coordinator, or commissar if you didn't particularly like him. He was impossible to miss in his checked wool woodsman's shirt, especially when half the passengers were sweating in their T-shirts.

“I'm pleased they're able to enjoy the weather,” remarked Winters. “If we'd sailed from Ushuaia, they'd probably not see the sun for a week or two.”

“Ah!” sighed Covington. “I suppose we might as well get it over with now. Before it cuts into the Welcome Aboard Party.”

“I suppose so, Captain.”

Covington walked over to the bulkhead and raised the public-address system to his mouth. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Covington. As you were informed when you first boarded
Aurora
, we are required by both government and company regulations to conduct a lifeboat drill shortly after getting under way. We will conduct this drill in a few minutes, as soon as I review it with you. When you boarded, you were informed of the number of the boat to which you have been assigned. That number is also found on the door inside your cabin. Please remember that odd number boats are on the starboard, or right, side of the ship, and even numbered boats are on the port, or left, side of the ship. Numbers one and two are the farthest forward and the numbers go up as you walk aft. Please also remember that personal flotation devices—what used to be called life jackets—are stored in your cabin in a locker marked PFDs. In a real emergency the word would be passed over this public-address system for you to report to your lifeboat stations, and you would do this as rapidly as possible, after picking up and putting on your PFD. In this drill you will do the same, so now please walk—walk, this is not a race—to your cabin, get and put on your PFD and report to your assigned boat. When you are told the drill is completed, we ask that you return your PFDs to the locker from which they came so you can find them again. At all times, whether in this drill or in a real emergency, you are required to obey the orders of the ship's officers and other personnel and you are also encouraged to ask for their assistance.

“Now commence the drill!”

The two officers watched the reactions of the passengers they could see, the ones on the forward weather decks, many of whom had been looking up at the bridge, their sunglasses glinting in the sun, during the announcement. At first, very little happened. Then they all seemed to find something terribly important to say to one another. Then they started moving hesitantly toward the doors into the ship.

“As usual, they didn't really believe you'd do this to them,” remarked Winters wryly.

Covington just smiled.

 

Fifteen minutes into the boat drill Arthur Covington turned to his chief mate. “It's time, Mister, for you and me to take a tour of the boat deck. See how this is really going.”

“I'm with you, Captain.”

After nodding at the mate of the watch to carry on, Covington led the way down two ladders to the starboard boat deck, where they encountered the predictable level of confusion. With no true emergency in sight, it wasn't a matter of panic but one of confusion and growing irritation. Many of those who had found their boats were already getting bored standing next to them, while those who couldn't find their stations were becoming both frustrated and embarrassed. And then there were those who couldn't—or wouldn't—put their PFDs on properly.

Covington and Winters crossed through the superstructure to the port side and found the same situation. As they walked slowly aft, with the ship rising and falling gently beneath them, the captain became aware of a tall, balding man walking with them. Their unknown companion was dressed in expensive-looking slacks and a polo shirt embroidered with the crest of a very prestigious golf club, and his hands were clasped behind his back.

Covington stopped and turned to him.

“James Ives, Captain,” said the new arrival as he offered his hand. “I'm the CEO of Universal Systems and Solutions. Do you always have this much confusion when you run this drill?”

“Are you on your way to your lifeboat station, Mr. Ives?” asked Covington.

“I never participate in this sort of exercise anymore. Once you've reached my level . . .”

Covington paused a second. “I totally understand your position, Jim, and I hope you understand mine. Yes, these drills are always confused, but this isn't the navy, so they're not expected to be perfect. They're designed to make sure everybody knows where his PFD and lifeboat are located. It's also been my experience that men at your level are in an excellent position to set a stellar example for your less-accomplished fellow passengers.”

Ives looked coldly at him a moment and then walked off. Covington neither knew nor cared where the CEO of Universal Systems and Solutions was headed.

A few moments later Winters spotted a video camera operator recording the drill. “Have you reported to your lifeboat?” asked the chief mate.

“No,” replied the operator, waving for him to stand aside.

“You're required to do so,” said Winters, standing directly in front of the camera's lens.

“I'm a videojournalist!” snapped the young woman. “You just don't want the world to see this confused mess. If there's a real accident, all these people will be killed.”

“You're a passenger, and I will take that camera from you in fifteen seconds if you do not go where you are required to go.”

The girl gave the chief mate the sort of look she undoubtedly reserved for New York cops who told her to get behind the barricade along with everybody else. She then turned and walked off.

“I have to go change into trousers and brush my teeth for the Welcome Aboard Party,” remarked Covington half an hour later, after he'd secured from the drill. “It's too bad
Aurora
isn't bigger—then she might have a staff captain to handle the social stuff while I concentrate on dodging icebergs.”

 

Senator Alvin Bergstrom leaned on the rail and looked out to starboard as the golden sun lowered itself into the white-speckled blue sea. To his left, his PR coordinator, Babs Martin, had her glasses firmly in place and her back to the rail while she looked over the passengers, young and old but most affluent, chatting, nibbling and drinking at the Welcome Aboard Party. To his right—and almost shoulder to shoulder with him—Linda, young, desirable Linda in her shirt and jeans, was also leaning over the varnished rail cap, admiring the sun or the sea or perhaps just her own thoughts.

The senator took a deep breath. He couldn't decide which he found more refreshing—the fine wind that massaged his tired, sixty-five-year-old face and scalp as if it were the most delicate of lovers or the very attractive young lobbyist whose attention and smiles seemed to promise the same loving treatment. “Yes, Linda,” he replied to the young woman as he turned toward her, “all reasonable people agree something decisive must be done . . .”

“I totally agree with you, Senator,” said Linda, looking intently into the senator's strikingly blue eyes, “and that's why we've to first stabilize the climate and then get it back to where it belongs. We simply have got to get the temperature down!”

“Yes . . . ,” replied Bergstrom, glancing up at the video cameraman who was shooting down at them from the boat deck.

“The problem, Senator, is greed. Too many people are making too much money by trashing the environment, and they've got to be stopped.”

“I couldn't agree more, Linda. Deb, my wife, reminded me of that just a few days ago. It's too bad she couldn't come on this expedition—she's a very solid environmentalist, my whole family is—but she's not been feeling well recently. Now, in the way of a little background, tell me something about yourself. What kind of music do you like? Sports? What do you think about when you're with your boyfriend?”

Babs frowned when she heard the question. In the past four years she'd had to make half a dozen of Bergstrom's indiscretions disappear. In some cases, she'd been unable to bury them as deeply as she would have liked, so she'd had to confuse the facts so thoroughly that Solomon would have found it impossible to guess what had really happened. It had cost a great deal of money—and in several cases destroyed the reputations of an innocent or two—but the objective had always been attained. Alvin Bergstrom, in public, was folksy and convincing. With his twinkling eyes and open face, he was able to look anybody straight-on while he rumbled the most utter nonsense. His polls remained almost 90 percent positive, and that's all that mattered to the people to whom Babs really reported.

“Senator Bergstrom, it's good to see you.”

Babs watched as the senator turned. “Why, it's Jim Ives. How are you, Jim?”

“Looking forward to the voyage, Senator, although I'm a little bit nervous about the ship's governance.”

“You mean the way it's run?”

“Yes, that lifeboat drill was a disaster.”

“I suspect it went as well as they ever do.”

“We should have a drink this evening, Senator. As you may know, we've set up a new consulting arm that may well be able to help the government with all this warming business.”

“Not this evening, I'm afraid, but in the next day or two. Babs will set it up.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Okay, Babs?” said the senator as Ives walked away.

“I'll take care of it.”

 

Arthur Covington paused partway down the ladder from the boat deck to the main deck aft, as a rogue cloud of acrid stack gas, unwilling for some reason to blow promptly downwind, wrapped itself around his head just as he was inhaling, then dissolved in the clear air. His sinuses screamed briefly and then the incident was over.

He examined his ship critically. The paint work was clean and bright and the varnished rails gleamed, although here and there deep discolorations hinted at the ship's age. Some of the other expedition ships preferred the rough and ready look, but Covington liked to maintain certain standards. And the catering staff, he was also delighted to note, had done their usual fine job. What had once been a small pool—the Brazilians had done an excellent job of decking it over—was now surrounded by dozens of small round tables and countless chairs, all bordered by rows of long tables serving drinks and hors d'oeuvres. The fact that
Aurora
was an expedition cruise ship did not mean that her passengers were willing to settle for anything less than the best.

Covington took a moment to scan the crowd from his vantage point. Many—most—were in shorts or blue jeans. A few—generally the older ones—were slightly more formal. All were standing around chatting as they somehow managed to drink, nibble on hors d'oeuvres and wave their hands, all at the same time. Welcome Aboard Parties were the same on all ships, he decided. Whatever their mission.

Covington's eyes settled briefly on Senator Bergstrom. Although the plump little man was his most “senior” passenger, he decided not to rush over, since the senator was clearly busy with the gorgeous young thing whose eyes were so green he could feel their attraction from where he was. Next he spotted the movie actor, Lloyd what's-his-name. Once again, no action on his part was required immediately, since Lloyd . . . Llewellyn, that was his last name . . . was surrounded by and very busy with a flock of twenty-something ecologists. And the writer with the beautiful white hair. He was alone, looking desperately for somebody to approach him and chat. The captain could feel the man's unease and even disappointment, but he simply didn't feel literary enough at the moment to do anything about it.

The good news from Covington's point of view was that he didn't have to make a welcome aboard speech. The bad news was that he had to wander through the crowd and shake every hand that wanted to be shaken. Just like a politician. Taking a deep breath, he stepped down the ladder. As he did, something slammed into both his shins, knocking him back and down until he found himself sitting on the step.