The Blue Ice (6 page)

During those two days I got to know Jill Somers pretty well. She was twenty-six – tall and active, and very calm in a crisis. She wasn't beautiful in the accepted sense of the word, but her boyish ease of movement and her zest for life gave her a beauty of her own. Her charm was in her manner and in the way her rather wide mouth spread into a smile that was slightly crooked. And when she smiled her eyes smiled too. She loved sailing and in the excitement of the wind's driving force we forgot about George Farnell. Only once was his name mentioned. She was telling me about how she and her father had got out of Norway just before the German invasion and how after some months in England she had got in touch with the Kompani Linge through the Norwegian military authorities in London and arranged to work for them. ‘I just had to do something,' she said. ‘I wanted to be in it with everybody else. Daddy wangled it. He was in the Norwegian Shipping and Trade Mission in London. I went up to Scotland and began work right away at their headquarters – I and five other girls kept a twenty-four-hour radio watch. That was how I met Bernt Olsen.'

‘Did you know his real name was George Farnell?' I asked.

‘Not then. But he was dark and short and one day I asked him if he was really Norwegian. He told me his real name then.'

‘Did he also tell you he was an escaped convict?' I asked.

‘Yes,' she said, smiling quietly to herself. ‘He told me everything there was to tell me about himself then.'

‘And it made no difference to you?' I inquired.

‘Of course not,' she answered. ‘We were at war. And he was training for one of the first and most desperate raids into what was by then enemy territory. Three months later he went into Norway on the Malöy raid.'

‘He meant a lot to you, didn't he, Jill?' I asked.

She nodded. She didn't speak for a moment and then she said, ‘Yes – he meant a lot to me. He was different from the others – more serious, more reserved. As though he had a mission in life. You know how I mean? He was in uniform and training hard for a desperate job – and yet he wasn't a part of it all. He lived – mentally – outside it.'

It was this description of Farnell before the Malöy action that intrigued me. Farnell's interest in life was metals. In this respect he had been as much an artist as a painter or a musician. War and his own life were small matters in the balance against the excitement of discovering metals. Curtis Wright's description of Bernt Olsen at the moment of going into Malöy and Jill's account of him prior to embarkation all added up in my mind to one thing – Farnell had been after new metals in the mountains of Norway.

Farnell wasn't mentioned again. On watch our minds were fully occupied with the sailing of the boat, and keeping awake. Unless you have done any passage-making it is difficult to realise how completely one becomes absorbed in the operation of a ship. There is always something to concentrate on, especially for the skipper. When I wasn't at the wheel there were log readings to take, the dead reckoning to work out, position to be fixed by shooting the stars or the sun whenever opportunity offered, radio watch to be kept at certain times, forecasts to be listened to, sails to be checked. And over everything was the dead weight of sleepiness, especially in the early watches.

And there was little chance to get to know Jorgensen or Wright. Certainly no opportunity to discuss Farnell with them. As long as the wind held it was watch and watch about. The watch on duty went below as soon as it was relieved by the other watch. And during the day there were meals to get and the other chores to be done. And every now and then the watch below had to be called to help change sails. All I had time to notice in those first two days was that Jorgensen was a first-rate sailor and seemed to be literally enjoying the trip and that Curtis Wright settled down quickly.

The third day out the wind veered back to sou'-sou'-east. We were able to take out our last reef, set main tops'l and yankee. The sea lessened to a steep swell. We were nearly four hundred miles on our way by then and the sun was shining. We began to sight some of the trawlers of the Aberdeen fleet. There were gulls about and occasionally a stormy petrel skimmed low over the tumbled waters like a flying fish.

That was the morning on which things began to develop. We were able to relax, and think of other things besides sailing. At noon I handed the wheel over to Jorgensen. Dick had taken both watches for'ard to get the main tops'l down and replace a jammed swivel shackle. For the first time since we'd started I was alone with the Norwegian. ‘Course north twenty-five east,' I told him as I climbed stiffly out of the wheel seat.

He nodded and took the wheel, peering forward at the compass. Then he raised his eyes to the group busy on the halyards round the mainmast. Finally he looked up at me. ‘Just a moment, Mr Gansert,' he said, for I was going for'ard myself to lend a hand. I stopped then and he said, ‘My health is benefiting greatly from this little trip. But I do not think my business will – unless we can come to some arrangement.'

‘How do you mean?' I asked.

He leaned back, holding the wheel easily in his strong fingers. ‘I admit that I was not being honest with you when I said I was not interested in Farnell. I am – and particularly now that I know he has communicated with you recently. He told you, I suppose, that he had made important mineral discoveries in Norway?'

There was no point in denying it. ‘His message implied that,' I answered.

‘Did he tell you what metal he had discovered?' he asked.

I nodded. ‘Yes,' I said. ‘And sent samples.'

‘By post, I suppose?' His eyes were watching me narrowly.

I smiled. ‘His method of dispatch was rather more unorthodox,' I said. ‘However, I imagine it's sufficient for you to know that I got the samples safely.'

‘And you know where the mineral is located?' he asked.

I saw no reason to disabuse his mind of what was a natural supposition. ‘The samples wouldn't have been of much use to us without that information,' I pointed out.

He hesitated and then said, ‘I think we could come to some sort of an arrangement. Suppose we make straight for Bergen? I can then put specific proposals before you and you can get Sir Clinton—'

His voice died away. He was gazing past me. I turned. Dahler was standing at the top of the companionway. I hadn't seen him since we left the Thames, except once when I'd stumbled into him in the half darkness as he made his way to the afterheads. Jill had been looking after him. The sun emerged from behind a cloud and his lined face looked grey in the bright light. He had on a sweater of Dick's that was several sizes too large for him and a pair of old grey trousers turned up twice at the bottom. He was looking at Jorgensen. Once again I was conscious of the latent enmity of these two men. Dahler weaved his way awkwardly across the pitching deck. He must have heard what Jorgensen had been saying for he said, ‘So it's reached the stage of specific proposals, has it?'

‘What is that to do with you?' Jorgensen snapped.

‘Nothing,' the cripple replied with that crooked smile of his. ‘I am interested, that is all. You are like a dog worrying over a bone. You have buried it, but you are afraid some other dog will come along and dig it up. You were even questioning Miss Somers.'

Jorgensen said nothing. He was watching the other with a strange intentness. The man's nerves were plucking at a little muscle in his jaw.

‘I told her to tell you nothing,' Dahler added.

‘Since when have you become her guardian?' Jorgensen asked with a sneer.

‘I was a friend of her father,' the other answered. ‘Fortunately you got nothing out of her – or Major Wright.' He smiled. ‘Yes, you didn't know my cabin door was not properly shut, did you?' He turned to me. ‘Before you discuss specific proposals, Mr Gansert, I suggest you find out what he knows about George Farnell.'

Jorgensen's knuckles were white as his grip on the wheel tightened. ‘Why are you so interested in Farnell?' he asked Dahler.

The cripple leaned on the chartroom roof to steady himself against the pitch of the ship. ‘Bernt Olsen smuggled us out of Finse.' He thrust his head suddenly forward. ‘Also he told me who had instructed the Germans to raid my house that night. You didn't know I knew about that, did you?'

‘Your house was raided because you talked too much about what you pretended you were doing.'

‘Mueller, your Bergen representative, had nothing to do with it, I suppose?'

‘If he did, then he's paying for it with a six-year sentence for aiding the Germans.'

‘For doing what you ordered him to do.'

‘
Det er lögn.
' In his excitement Jorgensen dropped into Norwegian. His face was flushed with anger.

‘It is not a lie,' Dahler answered.

‘Prove it then.'

‘Prove it?' Dahler smiled. ‘That is why I am here, Knut. I am going to prove it. I am going to prove that you ought to be doing the sentence that Mueller is serving now. When I've found Farnell—'

‘Farnell is dead,' Jorgensen cut in, his voice sharp and controlled again.

Dahler didn't say anything after that. The curt reminder that Farnell was dead seemed to bring him up with a jolt. He turned and started to move back towards the companionway. But he stopped and looked round. ‘Before you discuss his proposals, Mr Gansert,' he said quietly, ‘remember that he worked for the Germans till the tide turned, just as hard as he worked for the British later.' And with that he disappeared down the companionway.

There was a sudden shout from Dick – ‘Watch your course.' The boat's head was right up into the wind and canvas everywhere was slatting madly. Jorgensen paid her off on to course. Then he sighed. ‘That is what happens, Mr Gansert,' he said quietly, ‘in a country that has been occupied.'

I made no comment and after a moment, he went on: ‘Before the war Jan Dahler and I did business together. His tankers supplied my metal plant. Now—' He shrugged his shoulders. ‘He was foolish. He helped some British agents and then went and talked too freely about it. And because Mueller was pro-German and informed against him, he blames me. And his escape from Finse.' He looked up at me. ‘A German officer has admitted that the price of his escape was certain information they wanted. The information concerned new types of marine engines planned by my engineers. The plans were “lost” when Norway was occupied. But Dahler knew about them because I'd promised to fit his tankers before accepting any other orders. And – well, there was a leakage and the plans were extracted from us.'

‘And Dahler was responsible?' I asked.

‘There's no proof – apart from the German officer who broke down under cross-examination by our Intelligence. But the demand for the plans was made just after Dahler's escape from Finse. That is why the authorities do not want him back in Norway.'

‘What was he doing up at Finse?' I asked.

‘Forced labour,' he answered. ‘The Germans had some fantastic scheme for an aerodrome on the Jökulen.' He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. ‘You see how it is, Mr Gansert. To cover himself, he must make counter-allegations. And' – he hesitated – ‘the trouble is that a man in my position is awkwardly placed under an occupation. I had to carry on, publicly showing friendship for the Germans, in order to work for the liberation of my country. If they did not trust me, then I should have ceased to be useful. Many people who do not know what I did secretly are prepared to believe that I was pro-German. That is why it makes me angry to hear a man like Dahler make wild accusations. I know how vulnerable my work has made me.' He smiled a trifle sadly. ‘I thought it better that you know,' he said. And then he added, ‘Now, what about running straight into Bergen and arranging things?'

I hesitated. Two things were occupying my mind. One was the information that at some period of the war Farnell had been up at Finse. The other was that Jorgensen was no longer dictating terms to B.M. & I., but seeking them. I glanced for'ard for an excuse to break off the conversation. Dick was hoisting the tops'l again and it was jammed. ‘Hold it,' I called out to him. ‘You haven't cleared the topping lift. We'll talk about this later,' I said to Jorgensen and hurried for'ard to give them a hand.

As soon as the tops'l had been set and everything made fast I took my watch below for food. I needed time to think over Jorgensen's change of attitude. Dahler was seated in the saloon when we came down. Jill poked her head in from the galley. ‘Four is it?' she asked.

I nodded. I was looking at Dahler. He was rocking gently backwards and forwards with the movement of the ship. ‘Bit hard on Jorgensen, weren't you?' I said.

‘Hard?' He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Knut Jorgensen is—' he hesitated and then said, ‘He's a business man.' He leaned towards me across the rocking table. ‘I tell you, Mr Gansert, the only dangerous Norwegian is a Norwegian business man. I'm a Norwegian and a business man. I know. We're an open-air, easy-going, comfortable people – until it comes to business.'

‘And then?' I asked.

He fastened on to my sleeve with his sound hand. ‘And then – anything is possible,' he replied. The way he said it made me feel cold inside. Jill came in then and immediately everything seemed normal. But after the meal, when I had gone to my cabin to sleep, the scene between Dahler and Jorgensen came back to me. I lay with my eyes open, listening to the movement of the ship, sensing the violent antagonism of the two Norwegians, and wondering what the hell to do about it. To keep them apart was out of the question on a small ship. To let them come together … They'd have to be watched, that was all. I swung myself out of my bunk and went up on deck to find Jorgensen at the wheel and Dahler seated in the cockpit watching him. Jorgensen looked paler than usual under his rather leathery skin. His gaze alternated between the binnacle and the burgee at the masthead – anywhere but in the direction of Dahler. The tension between them was noticeable, even up there on deck, with the wind blowing and
Diviner
lifting and surging with each wave.