She needs the blood.
She has to be more careful. Last night was a close one. She shouldn’t have cut the man from the ship, even though she barely scratched him. If it happens again, they’ll look for her and this isn’t the easiest of places to hide. For now, though, she has a more pressing problem to deal with.
From the inside pocket of her jacket she takes the stolen photograph. Taken a little under a year ago it shows Felicity leaving a house in an English city. It is early evening, and Felicity has no idea that she is being watched or photographed. She is glancing at her phone, striding off along the busy street to where she left her car. The image is entirely unremarkable, but the handwriting on the reverse is quite the opposite. It reads:
I will kill you.
Tucking the photograph away, Bamber shuts her eyes and thinks of the old days. The men gathered round a huge catch on the flensing platform. The animal’s big black eyes already starting to dull. The fires in the factory stoking high, ready to begin the rendering process. Huge blades being sharpened against stone. One last cry of pain from the whale and the knives begin cutting deep into its sides.
Blood pours from the fresh wounds, over the platform’s edge, into the ocean. Bamber opens her eyes and sighs happily. That’s better.
6
Freddie
South Georgia is more beautiful than he could have imagined. Ribbon-thin streams pour over mountains that shine gold in the early sun. The water of Cumberland Bay is aquamarine, still as glass. Even the derelict whaling station is picturesque at a distance, a scattering of rust-red buildings along the curve of the coast. Across the bay from the station lies King Edward Point, home of the British Antarctic Survey.
The mountains are astonishing, circling the bay, towering above the tiny buildings, sweeping almost down to the sea edge. A single dirt track links the two settlements of Grytviken and King Edward Point, but elsewhere roads don’t exist. Human life can barely survive here.
And yet this is where he’s found her.
‘Morning, sir. Nice to have you join us.’
A hand brushes Freddie’s shoulder as the man in an officer’s uniform squeezes his way past. Several of the other passengers, most wearing the ship-issue orange anorak, follow him along the deck.
‘South Georgia is truly a wildlife paradise,’ the steward tells the group. ‘All the seals, birds and penguins that inhabit the seas around Antarctica need to come ashore to breed and South Georgia is one of the few places in this part of the world that isn’t permanently covered in ice and snow. Most of them come here.’
‘The grass is so green.’ One of the women is looking at the shore through binoculars. ‘Is that because of all the rain?’
‘Grass as you know it doesn’t exist here,’ the steward tells her. ‘What you can see above the coastline is actually emerald moss. You should also be able to make out the spire of the Norwegian church. Built in 1913, it’s been the venue of sixteen weddings.’ He grins at a couple in their thirties who are holding hands. ‘Until tomorrow,’ he adds.
Freddie fixes his binoculars on the buildings of King Edward Point. Felicity will be in one of them, maybe still in bed, maybe eating breakfast. Porridge. With blueberries. That was her favourite.
‘Over two million fur seals, some ninety-five per cent of the world’s population, live here in summer,’ the steward continues. ‘As well as over half the world’s population of elephant seals and four types of albatross.’
She probably can’t get blueberries. It doesn’t look as though anything can grow here.
‘I thought there’d be more snow,’ one of the passengers says.
Frozen blueberries, maybe.
‘Snow usually starts to fall in April,’ the steward says. ‘You will see snow and ice while you’re here, though, as roughly half the island is covered in it permanently. And there are some one hundred and fifty glaciers.’
At the word glacier, Freddie turns back to the group. Glaciers are Felicity’s thing.
‘We’ll be anchoring in the bay directly ahead,’ the steward explains. ‘King Edward—’
‘How soon can we go ashore?’ Freddie interrupts.
The steward’s eyebrows flick a fraction closer together. ‘First trip is at 10.30.’ He turns his attention back to the group. ‘That gives you two hours to enjoy breakfast and get wrapped up. As I was saying, King Edward Point has an interesting history. For some time after the Falklands War, it was the military base here on the island…’
Freddie leaves the deck.
* * *
Two hours. He should eat. He has no idea when he’ll have the chance again and he really isn’t sure when he last ate. The communal dining room on board is intolerable with the mindless chattering of the other passengers, and since boarding the ship he’s taken every meal he can in his cabin. Managing to stay calm for most of the trip, he’s found his hands trembling uncontrollably as they near South Georgia. Nicotine isn’t helping any more, nor is the whisky he’s been pouring in his cabin each night. His head is dull and his mouth tastes tight and sour. Drinking will have to stop now that he’s arrived. He’ll need all his wits about him.
On the plus side, the antibiotics are kicking in and he’s feeling much better.
Time to pack. He pulls his rucksack down from the top shelf and then, one by one, the other things he’ll need. The single shell, one-man tent won’t be much of a match for a South Georgian gale but it folds up small. So does the sleeping bag, the thermal blanket and the groundsheet. The largest, bulkiest item is one he spent months researching – an inflatable, one-man kayak with foot pump.
He checks that his torches, his Swiss Army knife, his compass and his matches are where they should be. He counts the protein bars that will keep him alive the next few days. Everything else he’ll need, including his life jacket, he will wear.
He checks that his recently purchased satellite phone and back-up battery are fully charged.
The orange anorak can stay in the cupboard. He pulls his own dark-khaki jacket off its hanger and checks that his gloves are in the pockets. Finally, he unfolds the best chart of South Georgia that he’s been able to get hold of.
The main island is a little over a hundred miles long and twenty wide. Much of its internal landmass is covered with glaciers or mountain ranges that will be challenging, if not impossible, to cross. There are no roads, other than a few dirt tracks around the main settlements. The tiny population lives at either King Edward Point or Grytviken. Other places where people stay temporarily are few in number and are mainly ad hoc bases of the British Antarctic Survey. There is a small station on Bird Island and a former manager’s villa at the abandoned whaling station of Husvik. Nothing else that he’s been able to find. There are no airstrips, no regular ferry crossings. The only way to arrive is by sea voyage and once here, no other way off.
Freddie turns on his swivel stool to the newspaper cutting tacked to the headboard of his narrow bunk. A photograph and accompanying story, the only online trace he’s found in months of searching.
* * *
Glaciologist Seeks Antarctic Challenge
World expert glaciologist Felicity Lloyd, 28, is about to set sail on the trip of a lifetime to the remote island of South Georgia in the Antarctic Circle where she will spend two years studying the formation and movement of some of the planet’s lesser-known glaciers. Dr Lloyd, who has worked for the British Antarctic Survey (BAS) for five years, described the opportunity as ‘unique’ and says she isn’t remotely concerned about the harsh conditions so far south, or about the lack of human contact.