Out of the Ice (19 page)

‘I thought that was Connaught.’

‘Nah. He’s just an administrator. Snow’s the man. And he likes to run a tight ship, so watch yourself.’ Guy gave a feeble smile and hurried back into the kitchen.

I took my porridge and sat at an empty table. I’d given up trying to make friends with the ghastly scientists and there was no one I knew in the room anyway. I hooked out my phone and started to look through emails from friends back in Australia, replying as I went. Bending the truth, pretending I was having a great time down here. I attached a few cute photos of penguins. The internet age. Easy lies. I found a breathless message from my mother, saying how lonely she was and complaining about changes at her university. I scrolled through quickly – if she was lonely that was her fault, and if the university wanted to push her out, I was with them. She’d stayed too long; younger people needed jobs. But I slowed to read how she was lobbying her local member of parliament to pressure the Prime Minister to take more refugees. She’d attached images of desperate families in overcrowded boats braving the Mediterranean Sea, heading to Italy. I was pondering how many to open, reluctant to fill my head with confronting pictures of people I couldn’t help, who I felt concerned for. It was so typical of Mum, pushing more troubles onto me when I was struggling to cope with my own. And never asking me about my life. I heard a chair scrape out. Looking up, a tall man in his mid-fifties, blazing blue eyes, hair greying at the temples but still mainly blond, sat down. He was tanned, youthful and fit, like an athlete. He wore a white T-shirt and his muscles bulged neatly. A fizz rippled through me. He was just my type. I hadn’t seen him before. I warned myself to steady on, as the far-too-familiar attraction to a good-looking man bubbled up. I had to perpetually re-learn to take my feelings more slowly.

‘Hi,’ he said in a cultured American accent, his voice deep and resonant as he reached over the table. His grip was strong and straightforward as we shook hands. ‘I’m Snow.’

I struggled to contain my surprise. That this man, with his congenial smile and easy manner had sent the base into a frenzy didn’t add up. He seemed laidback, curious, attentive – and nice. Had I misheard?

‘I’m Laura,’ I said. ‘And you are?’

‘Snow. Well, Andrew, but everyone calls me Snow on account of that’s my middle name. My mother was having an English phase. Andrew Snowden Flynt. Snowden for Lord Snowden, though goodness knows why. Never could get any sense out of her on that.’ He laughed a full, wholesome roar. I thought he might lean over and slap me on the back. But here was a surname at last. Professor Andrew Flynt.

‘I hear you’re down doing an EIA on the abandoned whaling station. How’s it going?’

‘Pretty well,’ I replied.

‘Are you going to open it up?’ he asked curiously.

‘I can’t tell you that, and it’s not up to me anyway.’

‘I guess not. Still, I’m sure your opinion counts for a lot. I looked you up before I came. Your research on whales and penguins is impressive.’ He leaned forward, as though about to exchange a confidence. I could smell his aftershave; it was fruity and exotic.

‘I would have loved to be a marine biologist,’ he said. ‘But it wasn’t the way my mind worked.’

‘So, what’s your area?’ I was surprised he’d given me an opening.

‘Clinical research. Viruses.’

‘Down here?’

‘Yeah, down here.’

‘What in?’

‘You know I can’t tell you that, Laura.’ He grinned, his blue eyes twinkling.

‘At other bases they’re usually more than keen to share their research,’ I said.

He winked. ‘You might get lucky.’ He stood. ‘Hope to see you round, Laura. Good talking to you.’

As he sauntered off, I found myself blushing. People were looking at me. I’d just spoken with God.

Snow shrugged on a thick coat and opened the door. A blast of freezing air rushed in. The sun was blazing outside, and for a moment he was silhouetted. My blood ran cold. He was exactly the same shape as the man last night. I tried to think clearly: could he have been down there all this time? Had he arrived today by air, as I’d assumed, or had he come up from Fredelighavn?

I hurried out of the mess hall and back to my room, where I phoned Georgia to tell her my fears, my hands shaking uncontrollably.

‘I’ll be there tonight,’ she said.

My body tingled hot and cold. I was desperately in need of sleep. I changed into my pyjamas and lay down beside Kate, who was snoring peacefully. But my mind wouldn’t switch off. I tried to visualise the person I’d seen last night. He was tall and thickset – but the thickness could have come from his coat.

I hauled myself out of bed and opened my laptop, studying the photographs of the man with the torch, enlarging them until they disintegrated into digital noise.

There was just no way of telling if this man and Snow were the same person.

I closed my eyes and tried to remember everything from last night. Had the man had a smell? Was he wearing aftershave?

I could remember Snow’s aftershave – fresh and strong, with the promise of mysterious lands. Moroccan perhaps. Or somewhere from the Middle East. It spoke of the Silk Road. But it wasn’t cloying. It was exotic but enticing.

No scent had drifted through the air from the man last night.

I looked up Professor Andrew Snowden Flynt online, my fingers flying over the keyboard. He was at Harvard and held more science awards than anyone I’d ever known. The only one he seemed not to have garnered was a Nobel Prize. Was that what he was chasing down here?

An eminent virologist, he was playing a significant role in developing a cost-effective treatment for the Ebola virus, the African monster that killed over half the people it infected through haemorrhagic bleeding and massive organ failure. I shuddered. Surely they weren’t testing such a deadly virus in the pristine environment of Antarctica?

There were hundreds of papers in leading scientific journals that outlined Snow’s work. I glanced through a few and was intrigued to see that there were certain areas of overlap with my father. Could they know each other? They would certainly be aware of each other’s research, and it was even conceivable they’d met at a conference somewhere.

Snow’s main area of work at the moment seemed to be investigating a gene that exhibited qualities in an extraordinarily complex mathematical sequence, that was so robust and different to any other known gene that he and his team had named it
Superstar
. The research was sophisticated and specialised and I struggled to understand it. They seemed to be searching for other Superstars that had similar properties.

I read page after page of dense material: Snow was brilliant, top of his field. I began to understand why he could be so approachable. Just his presence would inspire loyalty and respect. The base had swung into action not because they feared him, but because they were in awe of his work. They probably all wanted to prove themselves to him.

I’d come across it before at my own university. The professors who were world standard were always kinder and more helpful than those struggling to make their name, or those whose best days were behind them. I swatted back the memory of the professors I’d blown the whistle on: little men who had never achieved anything of substance. Fabricating results because they weren’t up to working the long hours and delving into material that would allow them to make real discoveries. Men who weren’t brilliant.

I was eager to spend more time with Snow. And then I remembered his silhouette in the mess-hall doorway – how much he looked like the man at Fredelighavn. But Snow was an esteemed international scholar. I couldn’t imagine him hiding out at an abandoned whaling station.

I stood stiffly – I’d been online for hours. I went to my backpack and took out the brown T-shirt. I held it up and pictured the boy in the cave. Had he been wearing it? Try as I might, I couldn’t conjure the image of what he’d had on: there had been too many reflections through the white–blue ice.

I smelled the bitter sweat on the T-shirt again. Could the boy be part of an experiment? Personnel at Alliance had a habit of thumbing their nose at the law, but human testing was well beyond the boundaries even for them. And Snow would be bound by strict ethics – a top scientist like him wouldn’t be compromised. Especially if he was after the Nobel Prize.

I put the T-shirt carefully away, went into the bathroom and washed my hands. I couldn’t stop. I used all the liquid soap in the bottle until my hands were red and raw. I knew I had to sleep, otherwise paranoia would truly set in. It was ridiculous to think the boy would be part of an experiment. It was far more likely he had nothing to do with Snow and that the man I’d seen at Fredelighavn was intent on setting up the abandoned whaling station to make it attractive as a tourist destination.

I lay down on the bed, promising myself that Georgia would be here later, and everything would change.

12

P
ropellers roared overhead. Kate sat up blearily. I jumped out of bed and looked out the window to where a Twin Otter plane with skis beneath its wheels was descending on the outskirts of Alliance.

‘Let’s hope it’s Georgia.’ Excitement bubbled through me as I flung on my jeans and jumper. Kate leaped up, throwing on clothes, brushing her flaming red hair so that it shone like silk, and applying lipstick.

‘I want to look my very best when I ask to go home to my penguins,’ she said.

‘What about the penguins here? I thought you wanted to protect them.’

‘They’ll be in safe hands with you and Georgia. And with whatever’s going on – she’ll be so much better at dealing with it than me.’ Kate blushed. ‘Sorry, Laura, but I’m not cut out for this. I’m an ornithologist. Now you’ll have a real detective.’

‘I would have liked a real friend as well.’ I moved to hug her. ‘I didn’t mean to drag you into all of this.’

‘I know. Anyway, Georgia’s a mate too, isn’t she?’

‘Not like you.’ I wanted all three of us here. My only hope was Georgia would say no to her leaving. I knew I would. Even if I was being objective, which of course I couldn’t be.

‘Okay, enough emotion, you dag,’ said Kate. ‘Let’s go and meet her.’

We put on coats, scarves, gloves and dark glasses and crunched through the ice. It was 9pm but the sun was still blazing. In the distance, the mountains glinted an icy blue. There was not a breath of wind.

‘I hope we can go down to Fredelighavn tonight,’ I said and Kate groaned.

‘Not with me, babe.’

‘Well, maybe just Georgia and me. I guess Travis will be too busy.’

The plane was a red blotch in the ice. Its occupants had already disembarked and were walking towards us: tall, Australian Simon – the good pilot; Stan, his co-pilot, who I recognised from the mess hall; and a fair-haired man about six feet tall who strode purposefully along. There was no sign of Georgia.

‘Laura, here’s your partner,’ called Simon and I could see from the other man’s features that this was the colleague I’d been waiting for: Rutger Koch. He had thick, healthy fair hair, with a fringe that dropped over one eye that he kept brushing away. When he smiled he revealed straight white teeth. His skin had no blemishes, and he was fit and well-toned. He was about my age but appeared younger. He was far better looking in real life than he’d been in his photograph.

Kate visibly melted as I introduced him to her. Here was her saviour. Now she would be allowed to go home.

‘Georgia’s not with you?’ I asked. Rutger looked confused.

‘I’ll be picking her up tomorrow,’ said Simon. ‘There’s a Dash 7 from McMurdo, stops at Rothera. That’s where she’ll spend tonight. We’ve done our flights today – Professor Koch slipped in courtesy of the Argentines, so we diverted to Esperanza to pick him up. We can’t take off again now without ten hours on the ground, and our offsider Reg is busy on other assignments. Not that you’d want him to fly anyone you care for.’ Simon winked and grinned. ‘We’re off. Can you bring Professor Koch up to speed?’ He shook Rutger’s hand and hurried off after his co-pilot. Kate and I helped my new partner with his luggage and we traipsed across the ice towards the main street of base.

‘Laura, did you get my message that I was arriving?’ asked Rutger in perfect English, with just a hint of German accent. ‘You seem surprised.’

‘No. Did you email?’ I was sure I’d checked all emails and texts every day.

‘I let Professor Connaught know and I thought he’d pass it on.’

‘Well, that’d explain it,’ said Kate. ‘Connaught would have delighted in not passing it on.’

‘I see,’ said Koch, a little coldly. I was reminded how much men stick together.

‘How are you feeling?’ I asked. ‘All well from the operation?’

‘Operations,’ he corrected. ‘Yes, thank you. I don’t ever want to see a South American hospital again. I hope they got all the instruments out and didn’t leave some behind,’ he finished dourly.

‘Gallstones can cause trouble once they play up, I’ve heard,’ I said.

‘Hmm. So where shall I be sleeping?’

‘You can have my room,’ said Kate. ‘Well, it was actually your room in the first place. I’ll just clear a couple of things out. I haven’t been in there much.’

Rutger nodded and strode ahead, staring at the Alliance buildings, taking them in. They gleamed in the light, reflecting the mountains.

‘It’s very beautiful,’ he said approvingly.

Kate pulled me close. ‘I’ve left the bathroom in a pigsty. Take him for a drink or something. I’ll need time.’

I suggested to Rutger I show him the mess hall. ‘Let’s eat while Kate gets your room ready.’

‘If we must,’ said Rutger.

I had the feeling he wasn’t going to be a barrel of fun.

•  •  •

The dining room was buzzing, men talking loudly in a dull roar. I looked around for Snow but couldn’t see him. Connaught sat at his usual table, so I took Rutger up and introduced him. Connaught stood and shook his hand.

‘Very pleased to meet you, Rutger,’ he said warmly and then introduced Rutger to the other scientists at the table. Still first names only, but the tone was genial – and Connaught and Rutger seemed almost familiar.