Outpost (20 page)

Ghost
steered the zodiac. Jane sat in the prow. They had left Rye shivering at the
refinery railing, ready with a spotlight to guide them home.

Jane
hunched over the GPS screen. An intermittent signal to the north.

'Left.
More left.'

She
shone her torch into the darkness and fog. The beam of her flashlight lit
nothing but broiling vapour.

'We're
getting close. They should be around here somewhere.'

Ghost
shut off the engine. They rode the swells. Jane scanned black water.

'I
don't get it. They should be right here.'

A
blinking TACOM signal at the centre of the screen.

Jane
shouted into the dark.

'Hello?
Is anyone there?'

Nothing.

Jane
took a flare from her coat pocket. She popped the cap and pulled the rip-strip.
A red star-shell shot skyward.

'How
long do you want to wait?' asked Ghost.

'It
would be tragic if they are floating out there and we miss them.'

They
took turns to shout.

'Two
more minutes,' said Jane, 'then we call it a night.'

'There,'
said Ghost. 'See that?'

A
faint strobe blinking in the fog. It was hard to judge distance. Ghost gunned
the engine and headed for the flashing light.

The
TACOM beacon was a cylinder the size of a Thermos flask. It floated in the
water attached to a ragged strip of red rubber. The remains of a raft.

'So
they didn't make it,' said Jane. 'Lonely place to die.'

'We
needed that cable. Guess it'll be at the bottom of the ocean.'

'Over
there.'

More
ripped rubber. Jane undipped a paddle from the side of the zodiac and dragged the
punctured raft closer. A boot. She lifted the edge of the tattered raft. A body
in a red hydro- suit. A bearded man, floating face up. Marble-white skin. Open
eyes.

'Was
that him?' asked Jane. 'Ray. You said you met him once. The guy I've been
talking to these past couple of weeks.'

'Maybe.
Hard to tell. Want to say a prayer?'

'No.'

They
headed back to the rig. Neither of them spoke. Jane switched off the redundant
GPS and sealed the case.

Ghost
suddenly swerved the boat. He struggled to avoid a sheer white wall that
confronted them through the fog. Jane was thrown to the bottom of the boat.

'Jesus,'
said Ghost. 'Fucking berg.'

He
killed the engine.

'That's
no berg,' said Jane. She shone her flashlight across the white cliff face.
Rivets. Weld seams. Steel plate. She looked up. An anchor the size of a bus.

HYPERION.

Jane
ran up the steps to the observation bubble. 'Punch, wake up.'

She
unzipped the tent. Punch and Sian sat up, shielding their eyes from the
flashlight glare.

'Fuck's
sake,' muttered Punch.

'Get
up. Grab your coat. We just got lucky.'

They
hurried to fetch rope from the boathouse.

'It's
drifting,' said Jane. 'A superliner. Fucking big. Dead in the water. No running
lights. We'll have to be quick. It'll pass out of range in a few hours. We have
to get aboard and take control. This is our ticket home.'

'We
should get the lads together. Ferry everyone across.'

'No
time. Ghost is upstairs pulling the legs off a chair to make a grappling hook.
Where's Ivan? We'll need him too.'

'Why
him?'

'Ghost
is running round like he has fully recovered. I need you two to help him out,
slow him down. We don't want to provoke a relapse.'

They
ran through the canteen kitchen. Jane unlocked a refrigerator. Punch held her
torch.

Shotguns
laid across a shelf. Jane tugged the weapons from their nylon sleeves. She
slotted shells into the receiver. She swept boxes of ammunition into a
backpack.

'I'll
tell you right now,' said Jane. 'There will be no negotiation. I don't care
how many people are hiding on that boat. They are sure as hell going to stop
for us.'

They
found the ship drifting twenty kilometres south of its previous position.

'The
current is pretty strong,' said Jane. 'No time to fetch the boys. Three or four
trips in the zodiac. Guys would get left behind.'

'Jesus.
Look at the size of it.'

'Bring
us round the stern,' said Ghost. He hurled the grappling hook upward and
snagged railings.

'Maybe
I should go,' said Punch.

Ghost
ignored him. He shouldered his backpack and gun, gripped the knotted rope and
began to climb. He hauled hand over hand, walking his way up the side of the
boat. Punch tried to keep the zodiac beneath him. If Ghost fell in the freezing
water the shock would kill him.

Ghost
reached the deck. He climbed over the railing. He caught his breath, coughed
and spat.

'Looks
pretty dead,' he shouted. 'No one around.'

Jane
grabbed the rope and hauled herself up the side of the boat. Weeks ago, when
she was fat, she couldn't have managed the climb.

She
tipped over the railing and fell on to the deck.

The
ship was ten storeys high. Six rows of portholes in the main hull, and four
stacked decks like the concentric tiers of a wedding cake.

Jane
found herself on a teak promenade laid out for an Arctic pleasure cruise.
Whale-watching loungers and curling stones.

She
looked up and down the walkway. Every cabin window was dark. They un-shouldered
their shotguns. Safety to Fire. Ghost chambered a shell.

'Let's
find the bridge.'

They
walked towards the prow. A couple of cabin doors were open. Scattered
possessions. Jane wanted to investigate, but there wasn't time to explore.

Ghost's
flashlight lit vacant lifeboat davits, rope swinging in the breeze.

'Couple
of lifeboats missing,' he said. He kicked scattered lifebelts. 'Looks like
everyone left in a hurry.'

They
reached the prow. Jane pointed to windows high above them.

'That
must be the bridge.'

They
entered the ship. They were in a functional, crew-only zone of the liner. Bare
corridors. Linoleum floor. No heat.

Jane
was spooked by shadows. Once in a while she swung her torch beam down the
passageway behind them to make sure they were not being followed.

Ghost
tried a light switch. He pointed at the red, winking LED of a ceiling smoke
detector.

'The
power is shut off but some basic systems are active. I guess the generators
still work. All we have to do is throw the switch.'

Offices,
store cupboards, crew quarters. Corridor floors cluttered with toilet supplies
and discarded uniforms. Signs of hurried departure.

They
climbed narrow stairs and pushed through doors marked
Tilltr
ä
de F
ö
rbjudet.

They
reached the bridge. Ghost tried the light switch. Dead.

'Thought
it might be on a separate circuit or something.'

Jane
moved to enter the bridge but Ghost put a hand on her shoulder to hold her
back. There was someone sitting in the captain's chair.

'Hello?
Bonjour?'

A
slumped figure in a white cap and greatcoat, collar turned up. Ghost and Jane
cautiously approached.

'How
you doing?' asked Jane. Her boot crunched on broken glass.

The
captain was a big man in his fifties. He had a white moustache. He had been
dead a long while, but the sub-zero temperature had preserved his body from
decay.

Green
glass in his hand. He had cut his throat with a jagged piece of wine bottle.
The front of his uniform, a brass-buttoned tunic, was glazed with frozen blood.

'Help
me get him out of the way,' said Ghost. 'Watch yourself. The guy doesn't look
infected, but you never know.'

They
dragged the man from the chair. He was rigor-stiff. Crackle of frozen blood.
They hauled him into a side room.

The
bridge looked like the flight-deck of a starship. Three padded chairs facing
the sea. Banks of switches, dials and screens, powered down and inert. The
steering column was a horseshoe control like the joystick of a passenger jet.
Acceleration governed by a central thrust lever.

'I
was expecting a big wheel,' said Jane.

'Look
at this,' said Ghost. 'A keyhole. What do you reckon? An ignition?'

He
ran to the side room. He crouched by the captain's body and searched his
pockets. Handkerchief. Coins. Asthma inhaler. No key.

'Search
the place. Let's see if we can find some kind of key locker. If we can get this
ship to drop anchor we'll have all the time in the world to figure out the
rest.'

Jane
looked around. Desks at the back of the bridge. Charts and, maps. She tugged at
the door of a red cupboard.

'Brandsl
ä
ckare.
What the hell is that? You'd think the signs would be bilingual. I mean English
is the international language of pretty much everything.'

'There
must be a spare set of keys somewhere, but we're running out of time.'

'Hey,'
called Jane. 'Check this out.'

A
door at the back of the bridge led to a stairwell. They leaned over the
railings and shone their flashlights downward. A jumble of furniture heaped
against a steel hatch. Chairs, tables, a bed frame. A big, red 'X had been
sprayed on the door.

'Someone
was very anxious to keep that door closed,' said Jane.

Jane
called Punch and Ivan on the radio.

'Get
aboard, folks. Meet us at the prow.'

Ghost
showed them to the bridge.

'We
need the master key to this thing, okay? We need to get the ship's systems back
on-line. Let's fan out and see what we can find.'

Ghost
and Ivan checked the officers' quarters.

'This
is living,' said Ivan. 'Plasma TV. En suite.' He picked an officer's cap from a
sofa and tried it on. He checked his reflection in a mirror. 'Fuck oil rigs. I
need a Cunard gig.'

'Imagine
sailing south in this palace,' said Ghost. 'The presidential suites. Gym,
Jacuzzi, sauna. We've got to make this work for us.' 'I've never been in a
Jacuzzi.'

'This
ship is a fucking gold mine.'

'The
freezers have been shut off a long while,' said Ivan. 'Most of the food will
have spoiled. Lobster will be off the menu.'

'Think
of the bars down there. Champagne, vintage malts, any cocktail you care to mix.
Imagine how much beer they must have stowed below deck. You could fill a bath.'

They
descended a flight of stairs. Another barricade. A fire axe slotted through the
crank-handles of a door to keep it closed. A big, red 'X sprayed on the hatch.

'This
is fucking creepy,' said Ivan. He crossed himself.

Ghost
examined an exterior door at the end of a passage. Sooty scorch marks and
bubbled paint. He pushed open the door. Someone had built a large bonfire on
the promenade deck. A pile of charred debris. A mound of scorched lifebelts and
bench-slats. The fire had long since burned out. The cinders were dusted with
snow.

Ghost
knelt by the debris and prodded the ashes with a stick.

'What
have you found?' asked Ivan, joining Ghost on deck.

'Bones.
A ribcage. At least two skulls.'

He
hooked a can with his stick and read the scorched label. Kerosene.

'I
wish there were a few more of those guns to go around,' said Ivan.

'Let's
find those keys.'

The
administration corridor. A row of offices.

A
splash of blood on the corridor floor.

'Steer
clear,' advised Jane. 'Assume infection.'

Faint
white-noise fizz from a side office. Jane nudged the door open with her foot.
The radio room. The radio operator had died at his desk. His body was slowly
melting into a telex console, upper body completely absorbed like the
workstation was eating him head first.

Jane
yanked the power cable from the wall. The satellite console sparked and died.
The hissing stopped.

They
found the purser's office.

'We
could be millionaires,' said Punch. 'All those rich old ladies on a Baltic
cruise. The deposit boxes must be packed with diamonds and pearls.'