Текст книги "Noah's Ark: Encounters"

Автор книги: Harry Dayle

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“Grace, answer your radio or you’re off the security team!”

Max had somehow managed to remotely increase the volume of the device to maximum. There was no pretending now. Even some of the restaurant staff outside had heard the call, looking up from spooning out portions of rice.

“Argh!” She slammed the remaining pages down on the desk, and unclipped the radio.

“This is Grace,” she said stonily.

“About bloody time. Listen, I need you up on deck seven. Call in at the stores on two and get some binoculars on your way. We’ve a man overboard. I need you on lookout.”

“Max, I can’t just drop what I’m doing. It’s not just Mr Moran who’s missing, his wife is too. We have a responsibility to find them.”

“Deck seven. Ten minutes. If you’re not there, you can go straight to Silvia Brook’s office for reassignment.”

“But—”

The radio bleeped once and cut out before she had a chance to respond.

Grace checked her watch. She figured she could get down to the stores and back up to seven in about six minutes. That still left a few minutes to find what she was looking for. She sped through more and more ration records, cursing the committee for not having prioritised a project to computerise the whole system.

Then she found it.

“Moran, Giles. Moran, Claire”

“Yes!” She punched the air.

“No!” Her fist fell, dropping limply by her side. She read the sheet, then read it again. According to the restaurant’s ration sheet, the Morans had been in and claimed their meals every day of the last week. They weren’t missing at all.

Five

GRACE REACHED DECK seven with barely thirty seconds to spare. To her amazement, and anger, Max was actually standing there counting down the time from his wristwatch when she arrived.

“Shame,” he said, lowering his arm. “I thought you might be for farm duty.”

“It was important, what I was doing.”

“So’s farm duty.”

“Of course. But my skills are better utilised in the detection and prevention of crime.”

Max grunted. “So, what crime have you detected? Here, we need to go this way.” He pointed towards the bows of the ship, and they set off walking. A stiff breeze whipped at them, making conversation difficult.

“The Morans have been claiming their rations.”

Max let out a roar of laughter. “Not missing at all then? Good, so you can be back on deck patrol after we’ve finished this charade.”

“I thought we were looking for someone overboard?” Grace sounded shocked.

“That we are. And I can tell you right now that we won’t find them.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because we’ve never found anyone who’s gone overboard.”

“But you said people went over all the time? You’re telling me you’ve never managed to find one of them?”

“Miss Garet, we rarely even try.”

Grace stopped dead. “What?”

Max looked over his shoulder, but kept walking. “This way, Miss Garet. Or are you considering a change of career?”

Grace closed her eyes, breathed deeply, then jogged to catch up. “What do you mean, you rarely try? You must make some sort of effort when people disappear.”

“This is the high seas, Miss Garet, not your ‘downtown precinct’ or whatever you call it. People wanna jump? We let them. Not our problem. We’re not spending a fortune in fuel going round in circles just so we can bring back a body for the family to bury.”

“But…but…what if they didn’t go overboard? Or what if someone fell and didn’t jump? You have a responsibility to your passengers!”

“Yep. To all our passengers. Thousands of them, who’d rather be spending their time and money visiting the pyramids than sailing in circles.”

“And if someone was murdered? Their body thrown overboard?”

“Miss Garet, are you a bit slow? It’s not our problem.”

“You have a legal responsibility to investigate possible crime!”

“No, actually, we don’t. Not in international waters anyway. If someone goes missing, the company bungs the family some cash and a free holiday and hopes the problem goes away. That’s the way it’s always been, and not just with us. All the operators are the same. Ah, here we are. Right. I’m stationing you here. Got your binoculars? Good. Just…search the sea, or something. The captain wants us to make an effort, and as he has the ear of the committee, we are unfortunately bound to comply with his, frankly, ridiculous wishes. When we’re done, you can stay on deck. You’re back on patrol.”

“But the Morans—”

“Aren’t missing, according to your own investigation. Deck patrol, Miss Garet.”

Grace clenched her hands and swallowed the expletive that was on the end of her tongue. Max was gone anyway, positioning the rest of the security team around the deck. She looked at the binoculars in her right hand and considered throwing them overboard and going back inside. That, she realised, would be a bad move. Her mind was already made up. There had to be some sort of conspiracy. It seemed obvious to her. Someone had bumped off the Morans, thrown them overboard, and was now claiming their rations. She was going to catch them.

• • •

The cold steel handrail dug into Jake’s belly and pressed against his lower ribs. He couldn’t feel it, although he would probably have bruises in the morning. He was at the very prow of the ship, leaning forwards as if every centimetre he could extend himself would somehow help him to spot the lost man in the sea. Binoculars gripped firmly in both hands, he scanned left, then right, left, then right. The wind had increased in strength the further west they had travelled, and it had begun to whip up the surface of the channel into little white horses. Every now and then he would spot one that just for a split second could be a person. Then the wave would roll over and disperse, popping the tiny bubble of hope that had ballooned inside him.

“Anything?” Coote called from his right. The submarine captain, less optimistic and perhaps less agile than his cruise ship counterpart, stood back a little way from the railing. He surveyed his patch calmly and, Jake knew, with little real hope of success.

“Nothing,” Jake replied solemnly. “Anders?” He glanced left at the fisherman.

“Nej.”

More people – sailors, the entire security team, a few off-duty farm workers, and some of the submariners – fanned out along the perimeter of the ship, one person every five metres. The Ambush, sailing parallel to them on the port side, was scanning the area with its full array of sensors. If anyone was in the water, somebody would see them.

And yet, they had seen nothing.

Nobody said it, but Jake knew they were approaching the limit of their search area. He thought that they must already have covered more than five nautical miles. The current was against them, so if it had carried Stieg away from where he had presumably fallen from the raft, they would already have passed him by now. Even so, they would keep going, backtracking their route for another mile or two. It was always possible that, disoriented, he was swimming away from them.

“Captain Noah!”

Jake pulled his binoculars away and stepped over to Coote. “You see something? What is it?”

“Not sure. What do you think? Dead ahead. I’d say three hundred metres away.”

Jake followed the older man’s finger and focussed, sweeping left and right a few degrees at a time. He spotted it almost straight away.

“What do you think, old boy? Your eyes are younger than mine.”

“It’s an oar. I’m sure it’s an oar.”

“Aha! Yes, now you say it I can see you are right. Gosh, I have become so dependent on our fancy gadgets and gizmos, old-fashioned eyeballing is not my forte.”

“This is good, right?” Jake’s voice rose in pitch. “It means we’re in the right place.”

“Can’t argue with that, old chap.”

“Listen up!” Jake turned and addressed everyone who was within earshot. “We have an oar in sight, three hundred metres to the starboard side. We’re on the right track. Keep your eyes peeled. We’re going to find him.” He unclipped a radio from his belt and called to the bridge, instructing Chuck to turn ten degrees starboard.

As they ploughed on though, the burst of optimism began to fade. Not only was there no sign of Stieg, there wasn’t even another oar.

Jake felt a tap at his shoulder. He didn’t turn; he didn’t want to peel his eyes away from the expanse of sea before him.

“Jake, something’s come up. I think you need to come and see.”

He knew the voice. It was his friend, Ewan Sledge, submariner from HMS Ambush.

“You see something?”

“Yes. But not Stieg. Captain Coote, you’ll need to come too, sir.”

“I can’t leave here,” Jake protested. “The lookout—”

“It’s okay, Eric will take over.”

Eric O’Brien, Ewan’s colleague and close friend, took up position alongside him.

“I’ll keep a good watch, Jake,” he reassured him. “You really should go with Ewan.”

Jake finally, and reluctantly, stepped away from the railing. Coote was already on his way. He followed, catching him up at a bank of lifts, with Ewan tagging alongside.

“Not going to tell me more about what this is about, Ewan old boy?” Coote asked.

“Probably best to, er…” Ewan dropped his voice and paused as a family walked past, chatting and laughing. “Best to wait until we’re on the sub.”

The three of them continued in silence. They descended to deck two, and then took the walkway that was rigged up between the Arcadia and the Ambush while the submarine was out of the water. Jake hated the walkway. It was designed to let passengers on and off the ship when docked in port. It was most definitely not made for passage between two moving vessels. The engineering team had done a good job though, and the system was sturdy and reliable. It had been improved since its original incarnation, with more substantial sides to keep the buffeting wind at bay. Even so, it had a tendency to wallow in the middle, and Jake was never quite convinced that it wouldn’t buckle and send him into the ocean at any moment. He wiped his brow the moment he reached the safety of the Ambush’s conning tower.

Ewan led them through the warren of cramped passages, into the communications control room, the heart of the submarine.

“Ralf, Jason.” Jake nodded to the two men he knew well. The other officers he had barely met, and quite out of nowhere he felt a sudden flush of guilt at that fact. He made a mental note to spend more time on the Ambush, getting to know all of its crew better. There were only a hundred of them, and the whole community was dependent on the work they did. As chairman of the committee, it seemed the right thing to do.

Dispensing with greetings, Ralf reported what was so important as to drag them away from the search for Stieg.

“We’ve picked something up on the radar.”

“Stieg?” Jake asked, his pulse quickening.

“No. Bigger. Much bigger. We’ve detected a boat.”

Six

THE COMMITTEE WAS hastily assembled once again, this time on the bridge of the Spirit of Arcadia. Jake could see the search for the missing fisherman continuing three decks below. The lookouts positioned from the bow outwards scanned the surrounding sea. He knew time was running out fast.

Someone called his name.

“Yes?”

“Jake, we’re ready to begin.”

“Right. Yes, of course. Thank you all for coming. I think it’s best I hand straight over to Jason.” He nodded at the submariner, who got to his feet and addressed those seated around the map table.

“We believe we have picked up another boat on the sonar.”

A collective gasp went up around the bridge. Jason paused, allowing the implications to set in, before continuing.

“The boat in question I estimate to be between fifty and seventy metres in length. It’s hard to tell from this distance. What is clear is that while it’s no cruise ship, neither is it a life raft or lifeboat. It’s something far more substantial.”

Amanda raised her hand and spoke. “Can you tell if there’s anyone on board?”

A murmur went around the table. It was the question every one of them was thinking.

“The boat is too far away for our infrared sensors to give us anything useful. However, given her trajectory and speed, I would say there is little doubt that she is sailing under power. She is not drifting.”

“Do we know where she has come from? How could she have survived?” Lister asked.

“I first spotted her when she entered the Celtic Sea—”

“She came from the east?” Lucya cut in.

“Yes. Perhaps from the direction of Brest.”

“Or the Crozon Peninsula. That’s a coincidence.”

“We don’t believe much in coincidence in the Royal Navy, Miss Levin,” Coote grunted.

“It is indeed possible that the boat came from Crozon,” Jason agreed. “Maybe it’s a sign that the base there has survived. Given her current speed and direction, and our own, I estimate we will lose sonar contact within the next twenty to thirty minutes when she disappears behind Ile de Molène.”

“So why are we still sailing in the wrong direction?” Ella asked. Her shock of pink hair bobbed about her face as she looked around the table, eyes wide and questioning. “We need to turn round, get to the base.”

“Of course we do,” Martin agreed. “If it survived, who knows what we might find?”

Suddenly everyone was talking at once, and nobody was listening. Jake felt his heart sink. He stood and banged on the table. “Alright, let’s bring this to order. Amanda, you wanted to say something?”

“Thank you, Jake. If the base has survived, it will be there tomorrow. Surely we need to go and find this boat, before we lose them?”

“Exactly!” Lucya said, and several others voiced their agreement too.

Jake held up a hand, silencing them all again. “There is another consideration here,” he said, his voice dipping. “Stieg? We haven’t found him yet.”

“Captain Noah,” Coote said. “I think you know as well as I that the fisherman is not going to be found. I’m sorry, old boy, but we’ve gone way beyond the original search area already. We cannot jeopardise the possibility of finding more survivors for the tiny chance that we may find Stieg alive.”

“He is right, Jake,” Grau said softly. “For the record, I agree our priority must be the other survivors.”

“We don’t know there are any survivors,” Ella protested. “And even if there are, they seem to be doing okay by themselves. Why should we interfere?”

“We cannot make those kinds of assumptions,” said Grau. “It has been almost two months since the asteroid. For all we know, there are people aboard at the limit of their food and fuel reserves. We have a moral obligation to offer our assistance.”

“Grau’s right,” Amanda agreed. “And really, what is there to lose? If we find people who decline our assistance, we’ve only made a minor detour. Jason, how long will it add to our sailing time to Crozon if we try and meet up with this boat?”

“No more than twenty-four hours.”

“We have unlimited power, and we are blessed with good food reserves. Twenty-four hours extra on our journey has to be a worthwhile price to pay to potentially save more lives. You must see that?”

Silvia cleared her throat. She had, until then, remained silent. “If I may?” Seven heads turned to look at her. “Finding survivors would be a wonderful thing. Not only would we be saving lives, but think of the boost in morale it would offer to every man, woman, and child in this community. Since the asteroid, all we have seen is death and destruction. Longyearbyen, Faslane, Plymouth, Portsmouth. Everywhere we go it’s the same. Every port of call is like a knife through the heart, a reminder that the world is gone. The more we see, the more convinced we become that we’re alone, the only survivors. But think! If there are others, and so close by, then that means there could be more! There could be pockets of humanity dotted around the world. We don’t just owe it to whoever might be on that boat to go and find them, we owe it to ourselves.”

“The longer we discuss this, the greater the risk of losing sight of our new friends on the sonar. I think it’s time to move this to the vote, don’t you, old boy?”

Jake sank back into his chair. He hated to admit it, but the others were right. Stieg was gone. The possibility of finding others didn’t soften that blow. “Okay. All those in favour of proceeding to the Ile Longue base at Crozon?”

Martin and Ella raised their hands.

“And those in favour of intercepting this boat?”

Coote, Amanda, Grau and Silvia raised their hands. Jake reluctantly raised his own hand too.

“Splendid,” Coote said, beaming. “Jason and I shall return to the Ambush and dive forthwith.”

Jake walked to the helm, his feet dragging. “Chuck, turn us around.”

• • •

After the search was called off, much to Max Mooting’s delight, Grace was hoping to slip away unnoticed. She had had time to think over her conspiracy theory regarding the Morans and their claimed rations. The more she churned it over, the more she was sure that there was foul play involved. Telling Max her ideas was pointless; he would tell her to get a grip, then send her to one of the passenger decks on patrol. She had other ideas.

Unfortunately so did Max. After a brief telephone call with the bridge, he recalled her and the rest of the security team to the theatre. There was to be an important town hall meeting, to which everyone on board was invited. The theatre couldn’t hold everyone, so a strong security presence would be required to prevent trouble from brewing among those left outside.

Even before Grace reached the theatre, the rumours had begun. Whispers in corridors, hushed and excited conversations in doorways. Always the same subject:

“Have you heard? They’ve found more people alive!”

“There’s another ship, just like this one.”

“I heard it’s a warship, and we’re running away from them.”

“Someone I know who’s friends with someone on the bridge said everyone on that ship is dead. Killed by the same virus we all had.”

“I heard it was a ghost ship.”

The theatre wasn’t at capacity. The short notice meant many people couldn’t get there in time. Plenty more didn’t want to attend. Such public gatherings had a habit of being organised to dispense bad news.

The meeting itself started well. Amanda Jackson and Ella Rose from the committee explained what they knew: that another boat had been spotted, that it showed indications of being inhabited, and that they were now on course to intercept it.

Initial reactions had been positive. As Silvia had predicted, a wave of optimism swept quite perceptibly through the cavernous auditorium. The space was filled with chatter at the prospect of finding new people, and what that meant in the wider scheme of things.

The hosts of the meeting let the chat continue for a while, then as it calmed down, they opened the floor to questions. Transparency was one of the guiding principles of the committee, and everyone in the community had the right to quiz its members on any topic relating to their wellbeing.

Amanda fielded the questions with ease.

“How far is this boat?”

“A bit more than two hundred nautical miles. We’ll rendezvous with it in roughly fifteen hours.”

“How big is it?”

“Between fifty and seventy metres long. That means it’s bigger than most fishing boats, smaller than most ferries. We can’t tell more than that yet.”

“How did they survive?”

“We don’t know.”

“Where are they going?”

“We don’t know.”

“Are you sure there are people on board?”

“No, but there’s a very good chance there are, because the boat is sailing under its own power.”

Then came the more difficult questions.

“What happens when we find them?”

“That’s being discussed. We will probably quarantine them before letting them onto the Spirit of Arcadia and inviting them into the community. We assume their resources are limited.”

“So you’re saying we’ll have to accommodate and feed them?”

“Yes.”

“But we don’t know how long our food is going to last us. Why should we hand out food to these people?”

The question was met with a murmur of agreement.

“We can’t simply leave them to starve. If they need our help, we will provide it. Plus, there’s safety in numbers. They may also have knowledge of other survivors or places that escaped the asteroid. The kind of knowledge that can help all of us.”

The response garnered many nodding heads.

“Why should we give up our hard-earned food stocks to a bunch of foreigners?” A shout from the stalls was met with a smattering of cheers.

“Foreign to who? There are people of almost every nationality on this ship. Besides, they are people, like you and me. If they need our help, we’ll give it. Just like HMS Ambush came to our aid.”

“That’s different. They’re the army, it’s their job.”

“They’re the navy, idiot,” someone else called from the back.

Amanda tried to calm the room, but people had begun to shout over one another, arguing among themselves, trying to make their voices heard.

Grace and the other security officers stepped in then, attempting to calm the situation. There was no time to reflect on the exciting news of other potential survivors; she understood that her afternoon was going to be spent trying to maintain order.

• • •

With the Ambush locked on to their target, guiding the Spirit of Arcadia through their shared navigation link, Jake was free to leave the bridge. He left Lucya in charge; there was another hour before she had to go and fetch Erica from school. Chuck was taking a well-earned break, and McNair was keeping a watchful eye over the helm, as well as maintaining lookout.

Jake was raw from the loss of Stieg. It was unfinished business, and although logic said that the man was gone, probably drowned, it felt unnatural and inhuman to turn his back on him. The decision was out of his hands though, so all he could do was occupy his time and try not to dwell on what had happened. After calling ahead to make sure she was there, he made his way down to Janice Hanson’s morgue on deck one.

There was a strange comfort that came from visiting the cold store room that had been taken over by the retired pathologist. Down in that part of the ship, among the endless pipes and ducts, the rusting metal bulkheads, and the low ceilings, away from the comforts of the public areas, he was reminded of what they had survived so far. Janice’s room had been used as a temporary morgue after the asteroid, a holding pen for the dozens of unidentified bodies charred and burnt by the ash cloud that followed the rock. And then, just weeks later, she had dissected the bodies of the first victims of the terrible mutated virus that had nearly wiped out the entire ship. Down there, in the dingy depths of deck one, the loss of Stieg was put into context.

“Captain.” Janice shook Jake’s hand and opened the door wide, inviting him in. He hadn’t been inside since she had taken over, and he was surprised at the transformation. Where once the place had resembled a giant steel container, now it looked like a low-budget operating theatre. In the centre of the room was an improvised dissection table. Janice explained that the engineers had modified a steel table to her specifications. They had also installed a water supply for a hose attachment, as well as a separate sink. Surrounding the table were free-standing lighting units.

A work area to the side was home to some of the equipment salvaged from the biological warfare lab at Faslane: scales, a microscope, and a digital camera. Surgical tools from the medical stores, complemented by more heavy-duty cutting instruments on permanent loan from the kitchens, completed the inventory.

Jake was relieved to find the dissection table was not in use. In fact, there was no sign of a body anywhere. The room was spotlessly clean, and mercifully odour free.

Janice caught the look on his face. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t have brought you in here if I had someone opened up on there,” she said, grinning widely.

“What have you found out?”

She led him to another table he hadn’t seen when he entered. It was at the far end of the room, hidden in the shadows. Janice clicked on a desk lamp, pulled out two chairs, and sat down.

“This morning’s body was in perfect health.”

“Apart from missing a head.”

“Yes, apart from that. As to where he came from, I would guess given his skin colour and height, and the size of his hands and feet, that he was originally from somewhere in Asia. His stomach was empty, but under the circumstances I doubt that knowing what his last meal consisted of would tell us anything.”

“Asia? Could he be Chinese?”

“Yes, that’s a strong possibility.”

“Was he sick? Could he have had the virus?”

“Mr Vardy was kind enough to run a blood sample analysis on his fancy machine up in medical, and it came back clear. I’ve completed a forensic autopsy, and I conclude that decapitation was the cause of death. All the vital organs were functioning perfectly immediately prior. No diseases, no viruses, no visible injuries.”

“I suppose that means we can rule out a mercy killing then? It’s not like someone killed him because he was suffering terribly. It was a him, right?”

“Yes, adult male. I estimate mid-thirties. And no, unless he had a brain injury – which is something I cannot determine for obvious reasons – then there is no cause to believe he was suffering in any way. This was a slaying, pure and simple.”

“Like the others?”

“I think so. Those bodies were in a far more advanced state of decomposition, but not so much that they would have hidden anything serious. From the angle of the cut, and the way the spine was sliced, I believe the same weapon was used in all three cases. I can’t tell you what sort of weapon, not my specialty I’m afraid. But I’d lean more towards a long blade; a sword or sabre, rather than something like an axe.”

Jake sat down, stroking his chin with his left hand.

“Something on your mind, Jake?”

“We’ve picked up a signal. Another ship. We’re headed for it now.”

“Ah, so that’s what the town hall meeting was called for? I wanted to finish up here, which is why I’m not there myself.”

“Yes, that’s what it’s for. And now I’m thinking: someone has apparently murdered three people. Someone not from this ship. Is that someone on that ship? Are we on our way to go and pick up a bunch of savages?”