The radar in Rawlins's office sounded a collision alarm. Iceberg warning. His desk screen showed a massive object closing in, moving slow.
They watched from the observation bubble. A mountain of ice passing five kilometres distant. A table-berg, a colossal chunk of polar shelf. Ridges and canyons. Blue ice marbled with sediment. A strange hellworld.
'I walked on a berg once,' said Rawlins. 'They fizz and crackle. Trapped air. Sounds like a bonfire.'
'Some big waves down there,' said Jane.
Heavy swells broke against the ice cliffs. Spume and spray.
'Yeah,' said Rawlins. 'Wind speed is way up. There's another storm coming. Line squalls. One cyclone after another until spring.'
'Mayday, mayday. This is Con Amalgam refinery Kasker Rampart hailing any vessel, over.'
Two a.m. Jane's turn at the microphone.
'Mayday, mayday. This is Kasker Rampart broadcasting to the Arctic rim. Do you copy, over?'
Sian unscrewed her Thermos and refilled their cups.
'We're alone out here,' said Sian.
'I don't even want to think about it.'
The upper deck of the rig was floodlit. A storm lashed the refinery. A blizzard wind scoured girders and gantries. The girls watched the swarming ice particles from the eerie silence of their Plexiglas bubble.
Sian put her hand to the window. A thin film of plastic separating her from the lethal hurricane outside. She felt the warm up-draught of the heating vent between her feet and was acutely aware of the refinery's life support systems, the elaborate machinery keeping them alive minute by minute in this implacably hostile environment.
'Mayday, mayday. This is Kasker Rampart. Can anyone hear me, over?'
'How long until the sun sets for good?' asked Sian.
'Three weeks.'
'Jesus.'
'Mayday, mayday. This is Con Amalgam refinery Kasker Rampart requesting urgent assistance, over.'
'Thank God, Rampart. This is research base Apex One. It's wonderful to hear your voice.'
Rawlins swept his desk clear and unrolled a map of Franz Josef Land. He pegged the map open with a stapler, a hole-punch and a couple of mugs.
'They are here,' said Jane. 'Indigo Bay. Some kind of botanical research project. Not much of a base. Two guys and a girl. A couple of tents. They ran out of food days ago.'
'Poor bastards.'
'Imagine it. Out there in the middle of this storm. Huddled in a fucked-up Jamesway. I'm amazed they are still alive.'
'Indigo Bay,' said Rawlins. 'Nearly fifty kilometres. That's a long way to hike.'
'They've got a rubber dinghy. No outboard. Otherwise they use skis.'
'Then they're truly fucked.'
'We have to help. We can't abandon them.'
'I wanted to raise a rescue ship, not bring extra mouths to feed. So yeah, I must admit, I'm reluctant to risk men and equipment for no real benefit.'
'That cuts both ways. Why should anyone answer our call? Why should anyone pick us up, help us home? We have nothing to offer. We're just a bunch more problems.'
'If anyone is going to fetch these guys it will be Ghost. Rajesh Ghosh. Our resident fixer. It's down to him.'
Rawlins led Jane to the pump hall. The hall was a vast, poorly lit chamber on the lowest level of the rig. The oil-streaked walls were ribbed with girders and studded with pressure valves, stopcocks and instrumentation.
'Is this the pipe?' asked Jane, walking the circumference of a huge steel column that disappeared into the floor. 'The main oil line?'
'Yeah, this is MOLL' He slapped the metal. 'It's retracted from the seabed right now, but yeah, that's the umbilicus. When this facility is fully on-stream it can suck nearly a million barrels a day of heavy crude out of the ground. The entire Kasker field siphoned into these tanks. Super-grade. Liquid bullion.'
Jane checked her watch. 'It's three in the morning.'
'He doesn't keep office hours.'
They followed the sticky-sweet smell of cannabis to a bivouac in the corner shadows of the pump room. A camp stove. A pile of books. A guitar.
Ghost lay on a bunk, eyes closed. He was Sikh. He had a turban and a heavy beard.
Rawlins kicked the bunk. Ghost sat up and took off his headphones. Jane caught a brief snatch of Sisters of Mercy.
'We have a job for you,' said Rawlins.
They studied the map.
'It's too far.'
'We could use snowmobiles,' said Rawlins. 'We could cover a lot of ground, if the weather breaks.'
'Until you reach your first crevasse and then you have to park and walk. A few weeks ago it wouldn't have been a problem. But we're down to a couple of hours' daylight and it's minus fifty out there. Normal circumstances, I wouldn't consider leaving the rig. Shit. The sea is so rough we couldn't even reach the island right now.'
'We must do something,' said Jane. 'I'm not going to sit by that radio night after night and listen to those poor sods freeze to death.'
'Okay,' said Ghost. 'Here's the deal. We'll meet them halfway. There's a log cabin at Angakut. Built by whalers. Empty, but good wind shelter. If they can make it that far, we'll fetch them home. I'll go out myself, when the storm breaks.'
'Angakut?'
'It's at the base of a mountain. You can see it for miles.'
'All right.'
'And you better tell them to get going, because the weather is going to get worse before it gets better.'
Rawlins summoned the crew to the canteen.
Most channels were dead. BBC News no longer chronicled carnage. They had lost contact with their outside broadcast units. Instead they re-ran communion from Canterbury Cathedral.
'The BBC has gone religious,' said Rawlins. 'Not a good sign, I think you'll agree. We're doing everything we can to get off this platform. The girls are broadcasting night and day. Sooner or later, someone will respond. But it's time to admit we might be stuck here for winter. Maybe that's no bad thing. Looks like all hell has broken loose back home. So if we are going to make it through the next few months we need to get organised. I know you folks like your privacy, but we can't heat and light the whole refinery. Everyone must move into this block by tomorrow night. We'll live in these few rooms. The rest of the rig can freeze.'
'I want a sea view,' said Nail.
'Flip a coin. Arm wrestle. I don't give a damn. Just get it done.'
Jane joined Ghost in the canteen. They sat by the window. They sipped coffee and watched the storm.
'I didn't know we had snowmobiles,' said Jane.
'Two of them. Part of a cache of stuff on the island. There's an old bunker near the shore. Not much in it. Couple of Yamahas. Some fuel.'
'So we must have a boat to get ashore.'
Ghost smiled. 'Clever. Trying to formulate an escape plan, yeah? Well, that's the big question. What if nobody comes for us? Worst-case scenario: how do we make our own way home?'
Jane liked Ghost. She wanted his approval. She knew full well she was emotionally immature, prone to infatuation. She had to guard against it. Avoid making a fool of herself.
'You seem like a practical guy. What are the options?'
'We have a rubber zodiac with a small outboard motor. Twenty- five horsepower. Room for four men and no luggage. Wouldn't take us very far. We've got plenty of hard-shell lifeboats, but no propulsion. The lifeboats are designed to drift free of a burning rig. They float. That's all they do.'
'We could build a big raft and put up a sail,' said Jane. 'An option, come spring.'
'Now you're talking.'
'We could bolt on an engine. A motor, a drive shaft, some kind of propeller.'
'Want to hear my big plan?'
'All right.'
'Any attempt to sail our way out of here is going to involve weeks, maybe months at sea. We would need to carry a shit-load of supplies. So I say we hitch a ride. Jump a passing iceberg.'
'Seriously?'
'The polar ice shelf breaks up each spring and bergs float south on the current. They pass by, pretty much every hour. We could track incoming debris. Soon as a decent-size berg is in range we use the zodiac to ferry men and supplies. Those things move slow. Inertia. We would have twelve, maybe sixteen hours to make the transfer.'
'Then what?'
'Camp on the berg. Put up tents. Eat. Sleep. We could tow a string of lifeboats behind us. As soon as the berg hits warm water and starts to break up, we take to the boats.'
'What does Rawlins say about it?'
Ghost shrugged. He poured coffee.
'Everyone is pretty snug at the moment. Plenty of heat, plenty of food. But six months from now things will be very different. People will be cold and hungry. They'll be ready to roll the dice.'
Jane joined Sian in the observation bubble.
'Let me take over for a while,' said Jane. 'I'm wired on caffeine. Why don't you get some sleep?'
Jane positioned her chair in front of the microphone.
'Apex Base, this is refinery Kasker Rampart. Do you copy, over?'
'This is Apex Base. Damn good to hear from you, Rampart.' The guy sounded tearful and exhausted.
'How are you folks getting on?'
'Not so great. The storm collapsed one of the tents and we lost a bunch of stuff. Clothes. Bedding. Hope you got some good news for us, Rampart. We need it.'
'We are worried about the distance. Indigo Bay is quite a trek. Winter is closing in and there isn't much daylight left.'
'You can't leave us out here to die. That's inhuman.'
'Have you got a map with you? Can you see a map?'
'We're in no condition to walk. Alan has frostbite. His feet are black. He can barely stand.'
'Look at your map. Angakut. Can you see it? There's a mountain halfway between us.'
'Yeah.'
'There's a cabin, a wood cabin. It's solid. It's good shelter. It's warm and dry. If you can make it that far, you can ride out the storm. Then we can pick you up.'
'That's a three-day hike. We'd have to cross two inlets by boat.'
'What's your name?'
'Simon.'
'You've got to move, Simon. You have to put on your skis and move. You have to get your team to the main island. We can reach you from there. We can pick you up.'
'It's too much.'
'You've got to dig deep, dude. The weather will lift in a few hours, but there's more moving in. You're only getting weaker. It will be sunrise soon. You're the leader. Get your team ready to travel. Whatever you have to do.'
'I'm so tired.'
'You're giving in to death. If you stay in that sleeping bag you'll slowly freeze. I'll call again at nine. You better be on your feet and moving. You've got to get on your feet and move if you want to live.'
'Okay. All right.'
'God bless, guys.'
'Do they know about the plague?' asked Sian.
'Their relief plane didn't show up. That's all they know. Might as well keep it that way.'
Punch cut himself a cheese sandwich. He scraped the last smears from a big Country Larder jar of mayonnaise. He took a fresh jar from the refrigerator. He saw himself reflected in the steel door, and saw the phantom blur of a man standing behind him.
'Better make that your last snack,' said Rawlins. 'I need a list. An inventory of all the food we have left.'
'Already done.'
'You can lock these freezers and fridges, yes?'
'I've got keys somewhere.'
'One set for you, one set for me. Keep them locked at all times.'
'Okay.'
'Everyone is perfectly civil right now. A few months from now food will run short and it will be a different story. Situation could turn ugly.'
'Yeah.'
'People hoarding, fighting.'
'Absolutely.'
'How about dry goods? Cans and stuff?'
'There's a crappy lock on the storeroom.'
'Speak to Ghost. Get a decent padlock and bring me the key. What's for breakfast?'
'The last of the real eggs.'
'Excellent. Well. See you later.'
Rawlins left the kitchen. He scratched his head on the way out of the door. The edge of his leather jacket lifted for a moment and exposed the yellow butt of his Taser slung in a nylon holster. He had a red can of pepper spray in a pouch on his belt. A sheriff ready to lay down the law.
Jane tried to think up a reason to visit Ghost. Maybe she could help him pack for his expedition to the island.
She walked to the pump hall. She found him sitting on his bunk, slotting batteries into a yellow box.
'Need a hand?'
'I'm okay.'
'What's the box?'
'Nautical beacon. Beeps a locator signal. The Apex guys are stumbling around in the dark out there. If we set this thing pinging it will lead them straight to us. And they'll reach that cabin along the route.'
'Sure they have a tracker?'
'Yeah. They were carrying one so they could rendezvous with their relief plane.'
'Cool.'
'It's short range, though. Too many crags between us and them. We need to get it up high.'
'We could use the radio tower. Lash it to the scaffold.'
'Want to give me a hand?'
They dressed in the airlock. Heavy Ventile coats, rubber boots and ski masks. Ghost unwound his turban and tied his hair in a ponytail. Jane zipped her snorkel hood and buckled gauntlets.
'Been outside much?' asked Ghost as he strapped Jane into a full body harness. His voice was muffled by his mask. His eyes were hidden behind black goggles.
'Never in a storm.'
'Soon as we get out on to the walkway, grab the railing. There's a guide wire. Clip yourself to the wire before taking another step, all right? The wind could throw you clean over the side.'
Ghost handed Jane a shockproof spotlight.
'Million candlepower. Don't look into it. I'll climb the mast. Keep the light on me.'
He sealed the internal door. He spun the hatch wheel and pushed the external door. Alarm. Warning strobes. Sudden jet- roar of wind noise as the power-assisted hatch slid back. Jane was blasted by driving ice particles. She rocked on her feet.
'You all right?' shouted Ghost.
'It's hell out there.'
'Yeah. Know what? I reckon some of us won't make it home.'
Mayday
The storm passed.
Sian stood on the deck and sipped coffee. Her mug broiled like a witches' brew. She was standing on a walkway above the fresh water storage tanks. She wanted to enjoy the sun before the long Arctic night began and the rig was left in permanent darkness.
Sian often took refuge outside. She got a lot of male attention. She heard a rumour the crewmen took a bet when she first joined the rig. First to fuck the new girl. Four months later, nobody won the bet. She overheard Nail call her 'the dyke'.
She took the job because she was bored. She was counter staff at Barclays Bank in Portsmouth. She saw an advert:
Coral Recruitment
Overseas Jobs
Oil industry administrator
Will provide secretarial support to installation manager. Strong organisational skills and a keen eye for detail are important aspects of the role. Good salary, insurance, flights and negotiable bonus.
She took the job. Friends threw a party the night before she flew to Norway.
They said she was brave. They said she would have a big adventure. She would come home with stories.
There used to be planes overhead. Earlier that year the blue and cloudless sky had often been bisected by the contrails of jets patrolling the Russian frontier. Now the sky was empty.
She saw a ship. A dot on the horizon. A tanker funnel. She dropped her coffee and sprinted to an airlock intercom. Rawlins came running followed by the crew. They gathered on the helipad. They waved and shouted. Ghost fired flares. The tanker didn't turn or slow.
Rawlins had binoculars.
'Japanese flag,' he said. 'There are men on deck.'
'Maybe they saw us,' said Sian. 'It takes a while for a tanker to respond.'
The ship kept going.
Sian joined Jane in the observation bubble. They watched the distant ship through the window.
'Japanese tanker, this is Kasker Rampart twenty kilometres east of your position. Requesting urgent assistance, over.'
No reply.
'Japanese tanker, this is Con Amalgam refinery Kasker Rampart twenty kilometres east of your position. We are British crewmen requesting evacuation, over. Japanese tanker, we badly need your help. Please respond.' The ship sailed out of sight.
'I can't believe they didn't see us,' said Sian.
'They saw us,' said Jane. 'They just didn't want to stop.'
'Rampart, this is Apex base.'
'How's it going, Simon?' asked Jane.
'We made less time than I hoped. We were walking into the wind. We covered less than five kilometres'
'The storm has cleared. You have a window of good weather. Make the most of it.'
'We're weak. We're hungry.'
'Once you cross that second inlet you can ditch the boat. Should lighten your load.'
'We're all pretty shattered.'
'Hold it together forty-eight hours and you're home and dry. A little more walking. That's all that stands between you and the rest of your life. What about food? Do you have anything left at all?'
'We've been eating toothpaste.'
'Get some sleep. Just make it through tomorrow. That's all you have to think about. One foot in front of the other. That's all it takes. You're so close to home.'
'This is absurd,' said Jane, when Apex signed off. 'You know how much Arctic survival training I've had? I built a snowman once. I'm talking up this cabin like it's the answer to their prayers, but we don't even know if it is still standing.'
'You're doing a fantastic job,' said Sian.
'I'm trying to coax these poor guys to safety, and I'm not even sure it's physically possible.'
'Sometimes people just need to hear an encouraging voice.'
Jane helped Ghost pack his possessions. They dismantled his bivouac. They stacked CDs and books into boxes, and carried them to a room in the main accommodation block.
'I was thinking,' said Jane. 'We're about three time zones away from the nearest chocolate.'
'Crush that thought. It'll drive you nuts. This past week I've been craving beer. It hit me the other day. I might never taste beer again. I get weepy just thinking about it.'
'Some people get high on bereavement. Life is boring, a lot of the time. Then your uncle drops dead and yeah, you're sad, but on the other hand you relish it because it's the first real, solid emotion you have experienced for months. It breaks the torpor. Suddenly you are awake and alive. I'm no different. I'm scared and tired and I want to go home. But a little, childish part of me is enjoying the drama.'
'Yeah. Well. People are complicated. There's no shame in it.'
Ghost had commandeered a disused tool store. He had glued a High Voltage sign to the door to discourage visitors, and turned the place into a cannabis farm.
The refinery was equipped with UV lamps and sunbeds to help combat winter depression. Ghost hung lamps over a bunch of grow-bags. Convection heaters kept the room subtropical. The plants had grown tall and strong. It looked like a room full of forest bracken.
'Does Rawlins know about this place?'
'Frank is a pragmatist. As long as the refinery runs right, he's happy.'
'So what exactly is it you do on the rig?' asked Jane.
'Critical systems technician. Glorified caretaker.'
Ghost took a tobacco pouch from his pocket. He rolled a joint.
'Do you smoke?'
'Now and again,' lied Jane. She didn't want to admit her sheltered life.
He lit the joint and passed it to Jane.
'Mad Dog blend.'
She inhaled. Giddy headrush. She felt her world implode.
Ghost wriggled on surgical gloves. He stripped leaves and bagged them.
'I'm going to miss you, girls,' he told the plants.
'You have names for them?' croaked Jane.
'This is Beatrice.'
'You're not really a people person, are you?'
'Humans piss me off.'
Jane cleared out the chapel. She boxed the cross, the candles and the communion wafers. Ghost helped.
'I hope you don't mind,' said Jane.
'What?'
'The only religious space on the rig is Christian.'
'I don't give a shit. I worked at a gas plant in Qatar for ten years. Religious police everywhere. I had to apply for a licence to drink beer.'
Rawlins had told her to use one of the rooms in the main accommodation block as a church.
'Take out the bed and the TV,' he said. 'Improvise an altar. The men need a special place to sit and think. Some kind of meditation space.'
'Okay.'
'Make yourself available. The lads will need to talk.'
'Maybe I should say a prayer each morning in the canteen.'
'Good idea. I think everyone would appreciate it.'
Jane felt useful for the first time in a long while. Part of her was glad the Japanese tanker hadn't stopped. If they were rescued and taken to the mainland her new family would disperse and she would be alone again.
The corridors of the main accommodation block were choked with men and bags like a coach party checking in to a hotel. Rawlins suggested they draw numbers from a cup.
Nail and his gang announced they would take the top floor. They played loud music. They threw mats in the corner of the canteen and laid out dumbbells. Nobody argued. Nobody wanted to be near them.
Jane set up her chapel. She dragged furniture into the corridor. She put a table beneath a window and laid out two candlesticks and a cross. She played Gregorian chant. She left it on Repeat.
She took a room on the ground floor. Ghost lived next door. She could hear him through the wall. She heard him cough. She heard him move around.
Rawlins's voice on the PA: ' Reverend Blanc. Dr Rye. Meet me in the observation room right away.'
Jane took the spiral stairs to the observation bubble. Rawlins was at the microphone. Sian was at his side. .. eyes are open but we're not getting much sense out of him.'
'Nothing?' demanded Rawlins. 'Does he know his name? Does he know what year it is?'
'He can't speak. He's stopped shivering. His eyes are open.'
'Can you get him warm? His arms and legs?'
'We've wrapped him in everything we've got.'
'All right. Hold on a moment.'
'What's the problem?' Dr Rye joined the group. A thin woman in her fifties.
'They didn't want to camp,' said Rawlins. 'They talked it over and decided to keep walking. They reckoned they had enough batteries to keep their flashlights going through the night. They were crossing an inlet by boat. Alan, the guy with frostbite. He fell through the ice.'
'How's he doing?'
'Several shades of fucked. Pretty much comatose. A dead weight. He won't be going anywhere under his own steam. And his buddies are pretty far gone. I can't get much information out of them. They're cold, disoriented and ready to give up. Jane, when you spoke to them before, did they mention where they planned to cross to the island?'
'Darwin something. Darwin Sound? Darwin Point?'
'Stay on the radio. See if you can raise them again. Get a fix on their location. Landmarks. Anything.' Rawlins turned to Rye. 'Punch has been out on the ice, right?'
'Yeah. He's used the bikes. We drove down the coast last summer.'
'Okay. You, him, Ghost. You're the rescue team. Get your gear. You leave in one hour.'
Jane and Rawlins stood on the helipad. It was dark. Rawlins fumbled at his radio with gloved fingers.
'Hit the lights.'
Floodlights slung beneath the rig flared bright. They lit struts and girders. They lit pack ice collecting between the legs of the refinery.
Punch, Ghost and Rye stood on the east leg docking platform. They pushed floating ice aside with a boat hook. They winched the inflatable zodiac down into black waters. Ghost climbed into the boat. They threw him backpacks.
Jane wanted to tag along, but knew she would be a liability.
Punch and Rye climbed into the boat. They wore so much padding they moved slow and clumsy like astronauts. Ghost pull- started the outboard. The zodiac pulled away from the rig, weaved between plates of drifting ice, and was lost in darkness.