Ice Station Death Page 2

  One thing that did surprise him was the fact that Breen had shown up for the event. He didn’t seem like a man who’d welcome on-screen appearances… but then again, maybe appearing as a scientist in an innocuous location like Argentina might be the perfect cover for a future operation. But the Colonel wasn’t fooled for a moment. The man knew less biology than Javier did: he would be lucky to be able to tell a whale from a penguin. The briefing said he was from the U.S. State Department, but the man shouted spook, and that would have been Javier’s assessment even if he hadn’t been briefed—extremely superficially—about the American on a ‘special assignment’.

  He didn’t let that worry him overmuch. On a ship this size or in a nearly-deserted stretch of Antarctica, no one’s activities would remain secret very long. It was always fun to watch covert operators get hot and bothered when the cook asked them how their secret listening station was coming along.

  As for the press, they were focusing on the main reason for this mission: propaganda. The major outlets, more or less aligned with the government, were asking fawning questions that seemed to have been lifted right off the official press release. Every once in a while, a more pointed question would come through, especially about the viability of the expensive Argentine presence in Antarctica, but the bland answer would be accepted without follow-up.

  More interesting were the opposition outlets which consisted of a couple of small socialist papers who absolutely despised the current régime. It was always fun to see what they came up with, but this time their attempts at derailing the conference were blunted by the Naval spokeswoman, a spin doctor who’d honed her craft during the presidential campaign and had been rewarded with a well-paid spot. The journalists, spewing questions straight out of 1917, didn’t stand much of a chance.

  They received exactly one science question, completely simplistic and having to do with whether they would be studying global warming. He fielded it quickly by saying that, though it wasn’t a specific objective of the mission, it was something that the permanent Antarctic bases always looked at, and that anything found by his team that might have a relationship to those studies—particularly on the bacteriological side—would be shared both with the scientists stationed there and the wider scientific community. Heads nodded and his words were recorded by cell phones.

  Finally, the press conference ended, the journalists, except for a pair who’d be sailing with the ship as far as Comodoro Rivadavia, were politely but firmly ushered off and the crew sprang into action. Javier assumed that they were battening hatches and swabbing decks… or whatever it was modern navies did before setting sail.

  He approached Camila. It didn’t take a genius to understand why her feathers were ruffled: he’d been put in nominal command of an expedition she’d spent the better part of a decade planning. But he needed her on his side, and not poisoning the rest of her team with her attitude. Besides, he hadn’t asked for the posting and wasn’t thrilled to be the babysitter for a bunch of scientists. Yes, it was a cushy job and highly visible—which meant that the higher-ups were probably preparing the ground for a future promotion—but it wasn’t what he’d signed up for.

  “Hi, want to get a drink?”

  She looked surprised. “Is that allowed?”

  The emotion replaced the semi-permanent half-scowl Camila habitually wore when speaking to him. The sudden unguarded openness looked much better, and made her look younger. He knew she was thirty-four, but always appeared to be a decade older. Her grey-streaked black hair only heightened the illusion. He felt a pang of disappointment that she hated him; her big brown eyes and open features were quite pretty when she didn’t sneer.

  “This is a naval vessel. I think it might be compulsory.”

  That actually elicited the ghost of a smile. “Lead the way.”

  Easier said than done. He had only the vaguest idea of where things were on the ship and no idea where the officer’s bar was. He stopped a Second Lieutenant who seemed unclear on whether a mere army Colonel should be allowed into the Navy’s holy of holies. But annoyed senior officers look the same in any service and the man soon revealed the location.

  The guy behind the bar was more experienced and served up a whisky on the rocks for Javier and a glass of red wine for Camila without a second glance.

  “So,” Javier began, “What’s the plan for the trip? We have five days before we get to Comodoro Rivadavia.”

  “I thought telling us what to do was your job.”

  “Yes,” he said. “We can do it that way if you prefer.” He let her think about that for a few moments.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that I’m in command. So, if you like, I can tell all the scientists what they should be doing at every moment of the day. As the responsible authority, I’d be within my rights. I just don’t think it would be the best way to get the most out of the impressive brainpower on board. I thought maybe, you might want to take the lead on that side of things and I can worry about the stuff I’m good at, namely keeping all of you safe and making sure the reports the army wants to see are filed in time. But it’s your call.”

  “You’d actually let me work in peace? So far, you’ve been running it as your personal project.”

  “I had to get you on board safely and make certain all the formalities were observed. Now is the time to modify that.” He held her gaze. “But only if you want to.”

  “Of course I want to.” Suspicion crossed her features. “What’s the catch?”

  “No catch, except that you keep me informed of what you’re planning. Also, that you check with me before sending anyone out to do something dangerous once we reach Antarctica.”

  “Do you mean that?”

  “Yes. I want this mission to succeed. I’m not interested in getting in your way.”

  “I thought that was the only thing military officers were good for.”

  “You’re thinking of the officers above me. Colonels, of course, are all brilliant and trust their people to do their jobs without ever interfering or micromanaging.”

  “All colonels?”

  “Of course. We’re quite a splendid bunch.”

  She finally laughed. “We’ll see. What about the American?”

  “Are you really interested in what he does?”

  “If he’s going to be doing science on my watch, yes.”

  Breen wasn’t going to do any science. Javier knew it and he had a feeling that Camila suspected it, too. But he couldn’t say it. “I’ll have to check. You know how the government is about Americans. I can’t promise anything.”

  She gave him a level look. “Fair enough, I guess. I’ll be happy if you leave the rest of my team alone.”

  “You can count on that.”

  “Good.”

  They drank on for a while, neither wanting to break the conversation off too abruptly, but after a couple of attempts at conversation petered off awkwardly, Javier was left with the sense that either they had nothing whatsoever in common, or that Camila simply didn’t want to.

  Chapter 2

  The TV blared in a corner, ignored by all. Camila had gathered the scientists—except for the insufferable Breen, of course—in one of the ship’s lounges which had been reserved for them to hold a team session. There was little to discuss because all of the proposed experiments and sample-taking had been pre-approved, and any changes or additions would happen in Antarctica itself, but she’d still wanted them to get together. Experience had taught her that a group that was comfortable in each other’s company would share findings and ideas, leading to additional insights and cross-pollination.

  Besides, staring out at the sea and surfing the net on the ship’s overloaded connection had gotten old really fast. Two days in, every scientist on board had gotten back to work either on projects related to the expedition or on their unconnected work. All of them had institutions they answered to, places that had accepted their request to take a few months off, but who had enormous troub
le cutting the cord completely and were always asking for reports or information.

  “Wait,” Ernesto blurted out in Spanish, holding up a hand. “That’s what I was telling you about before.” He pointed at the TV where a reporter in a yellow poncho was bobbing up and down on a boat in a slate-grey sea.

  They all turned to look.

  “Oh, great, more water,” Clark said, reverting to the groups’ official language, English. “That should bring some much-needed variety to our lives.”

  “Turn it up, will you?”

  Ernesto walked over to the sofa where the remote lay and turned the volume up. The reporter’s words echoed off the metal walls and Camila offered a running translation to English.

  “The creature has been reported by several fishing boats off the coast of Ushuaia,” the woman said. “This isn’t the first time a flurry of unidentified creatures have been reported in the seas in and around the Straits of Magellan, but it is the first time in nearly a hundred years that there have been so many sightings.”

  The screen turned to a hand-drawn sketch, in pencil, of what appeared to be a snake’s head emerging from a body of water. Behind the head, something that looked like a fin broke the surface.

  “In 1905 and 1906, several sightings of an unidentified sea-creature were reported to authorities in Patagonia. This drawing was made by an English sailor who was an eyewitness to one of the events.”

  “He should have used his iPhone,” Anna joked, viewing the image critically. “He wasn’t much of an artist.”

  “In an unusual twist,” the reporter continued, “unconnected reports surfaced in Brazil, thousands of kilometers away. A nearly-identical sea creature was spotted on a beach. At that time, there were speculations, based on witness testimony, that the animals might have been plesiosaurs that somehow survived the extinction of the dinosaurs to roam modern oceans.

  “Of course, in the century since those sightings, we’ve explored the seas much more comprehensively, and nothing of the sort has been encountered since. Until now.

  “Many people are speculating that the sightings are related to the various reports of the Nahuelito creature in the Nahuel Huapi Lake in Bariloche. Eyewitnesses say that the sea creature is very similar to the one seen by countless tourists near the holiday resort.

  “These images,” a blurred and distant cell phone picture replaced the drawing; they showed a dark shape in the distance, “were taken just a week ago, right here in this spot. We’ve rented a fishing boat to see if we can get some real images of the sea monster, and we’re determined to stay right here until we do. We’ll keep you posted.”

  The image returned to the three talking heads in the studio and Ernesto turned it back down.

  “We’re sailing right that way,” Ingrid said. “Maybe we should help them look for the monster.”

  “Maybe we should sail in the opposite direction,” Clark said with a grin. “I hear the Bahamas are beautiful this time of year… plus, there are no sea monsters.”

  Anna initiated a web search on the laptop in front of her. “Here’s where they got that drawing.”

  They all crowded around to look at the website dedicated to cryptozoology, but Anna exchanged a glance with Ingrid. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  Ingrid smiled. “If you’re thinking oarfish, I am.”

  “Bingo.”

  Camila tried to suppress her annoyance. The sisters weren’t twins, but they often acted like they could read each other’s minds… much to the irritation of anyone who happened to be around. “What,” she said calmly, “is an oarfish?”

  Wikipedia replaced the drawing on Anna’s screen, and she showed them a picture of a group of US soldiers holding a huge flat snake. The caption called it a 23-foot-long oarfish.

  “That is an oarfish,” Ingrid said. “They’ve probably been responsible for more erroneous sea-monster sightings and sea-serpent legends than anything other than whales.”

  Anna toggled back to the drawing. “And if you look here, it’s not all that different. The trouble is that people don’t know about them because they tend to live in really deep waters and only come up when they’re dying. So, sometimes they’re spotted in their death throes and look a lot like that.”

  Clark spoke. “You biologists are always ruining everything for people. I would love for there to be real sea-monsters. The world would be a much better place.”

  “Well, we were heartbroken when we learned that the Earth wasn’t hollow. Can you imagine the blow that represented to two girls brought up on Verne? Just awful. So consider this our revenge.” But Anna’s smile towards the Australian belied her words.

  Clark’s smile in return made Camila jealous again. And then she was angry at herself for being jealous. She reminded herself, for the millionth time, that her loneliness was temporary. She’d settle down when the right person came along. What was the use of dating a string of guys too scared to be with a woman smarter than they were.

  Of course, in Clark’s case, the guy was a scientist, too. That might help matters.

  “Besides,” Ingrid went on. “The thing that always astounds me is that, despite the proliferation of cameras on everything we carry, no one can ever get a decent picture of one of those things.”

  “Yeah, the only way I’d believe in something like that is to see it with my own eyes,” Clark said.

  “We’re still a few days off from the Straits, and we won’t be going through them, anyway,” Camila said for no reason other than to stop the flirting that, she felt, was about to flare up.

  “How long are we going to stop in Comodoro? Will we have time to explore the city?”

  “We’ll be there twenty-four hours. It should be more than enough to look around. I think there’s a petroleum museum you can visit. I’ll try to get the colonel to hire us a car for anyone who wants to go there. Other than that, the city isn’t much. It’s small, expensive and dusty… except for a beach to the south called Rada Tilly which is supposed to be really nice. I’m not sure we can get there, though.”

  “Have you been there?”

  Camila shook her head. “No. I asked a couple of friends of mine who worked down there for YPF. That’s the national oil company.”

  What Camila didn’t say was that her friends had also warned her that the city had a rampant violent crime problem, and that it was best not to be out on the street after dark. Foreigners always acted like they were afraid for their lives every time they stepped on Latin American soil, even though Argentina was much safer than most countries on the planet… even the ones that pretended to be oh-so-civilized. She wasn’t going to perpetuate the myth of insecurity.

  ***

  On the day they docked in Comodoro Rivadavia, Carl Breen watched the men filing onto the Almirante Irizar carefully. The soldiers had to push their way through the crowds that had appeared to take an abbreviated guided tour of the famous icebreaker.

  Fifteen of the men were dressed in the tan uniforms that the Argentine Army used for ceremonial occasions, but they weren’t particularly impressive examples of soldiery to his eye. Some slouched, a couple ran across the gangplank in an impromptu game of tag. All of them were thin and stringy. They looked healthy enough, but not particularly well trained on the physical side. They clearly weren’t commando troops… or if they were, Argentina would be in trouble if they were ever needed.

  Each of them carried only a duffel bag which he assumed contained their clothes. He nodded in approval. He knew that many armies allowed their people to use wheeled luggage as it was more practical in most circumstances… but those circumstances definitely didn’t include trying to manhandle tiny wheels up icy Antarctic rocks.

  Two officers waited below and only strode onto the gangplank when the enlisted men were safely aboard: a second lieutenant and another colonel. It might have seemed wasteful to have a full colonel commanding such a small detachment, but Breen knew that Argentina considered the national presence in Antarctica to be of u
tmost strategic importance.

  Three bearded civilians, none younger than fifty, rounded out the detachment.

  At first glance, these guys were exactly what he’d been told they were: the replacements for the men who were rotating out of the Antarctic base, and who’d be returning—probably gratefully—to the mainland on the Irizar.

  But he wasn’t being paid to accept first glances. One of his tasks on the mission—admittedly a minor one, but one he intended to complete to the best of his ability—was to assess whether Argentina was building up a military presence in Antarctica that might go contrary to international agreements.

  So far, he’d seen no evidence of that. Politically, Argentina seemed an unlikely belligerent. A stable democracy for more than thirty-five years, the few conflicts it had—mainly continuing complaints against the British regarding the Falkland Islands and disputes with Chile about moving the line a hundred meters in one direction or another along the mountain border in the Andes—had been handled through diplomatic channels ever since the Junta that launched the Falklands War was ousted in 1983.

  But even more, his own gut told him that the people around him were playing it straight. He’d been given unlimited access to the entire ship. His initial tour had included the equipment bays, engine rooms and access to the helicopter bay. He’d asked to look behind a couple of closed doors, just on general principles, and his requests had been granted with a shrug… and the doors had opened into a broom cupboard and a room full of pipes.

  Those were the moments he’d listened carefully. Though his hosts didn’t know it, Breen spoke Spanish fluently—probably better than most of the troops on this ship, if not their officers—and could use that knowledge to overhear unguarded comments. But again, other than jokes about crazy Gringos, which he got everywhere south of the border, no one said anything suspicious.