Ice Station Zebra (26 page)

      "I can bear him out on that," Hewson said quietly. "I was right beside him at the time."
      "I didn't wait," Naseby went on. "I wasn't thinking of saving my own skin. I thought Flanders and Bryce were all right and that they would be out the door on my heels. I wanted to warn the others. It wasn't--it wasn't until minutes later that I realized there was no sign of them. And then-well, then it was too late."
      "You ran across to the radio room. That's where you slept, Kinnaird, wasn't it?"
      "That's where I slept, yes." His mouth twisted. "Me and my mate Grant, the boy that died yesterday. And Dr. Jolly slept in the partitioned-off east end of the hut. That's where he had his surgery and the little cubby hole where he carried out his tests on ice samples."
      "So your end would have started to go on fire first?" I said to Jolly.
      "Must have done," he agreed. "Quite frankly, old chap, my recollection of the whole thing is just like a dream--a nightmare, rather. I was almost asphyxiated in my sleep, I think. First thing I remember was young Grant bending over me, shaking me and shouting. Can't recall what he was shouting, but it must have been that the hut was on fire. I don't know what I said or did, probably nothing, for the next thing I clearly remember was being hit on both sides of the face, and not too gently, either. But, by Jove, it worked. I got to my feet, and he dragged me out of my office into the radio room. I owe my life to young Grant. I'd just enough sense left to grab the emergency medical kit that I always kept packed."
      "What woke Grant?"
      "Naseby here woke him," Kinnaird said. "He woke us both, shouting and hammering on the door. If it hadn't been for him, Dr. Jolly and I would both have been goners. The air inside that place was like poison gas, and I'm sure if Naseby hadn't shouted on us, we would never have woken up. I told Grant to wake the doctor while I tried to get the outside door open."
      "It was locked?
      "The damned thing was jammed. That was nothing unusual at night. During the day, when the heaters were going full blast to keep the huts at a decent working temperature, the ice around the doors tended to melt. At night, when we got into our sleeping bags, we turned our heaters down, and the melted ice froze hard around the door openings, sealing it solid. That happened most nights in most of the huts--usually had to break our way out in the morning. But I can tell you that I didn't take too long to burst it open that night."
      "And then?"
      "I ran out," Kinnaird said. "I couldn't see a thing for black smoke and flying oil. I ran maybe twenty yards to the south to get some idea of what was happening. The whole camp seemed to be on fire. When you're woken up like that at two in the morning, half blinded, half asleep and groggy with fumes, your mind isn't at its best but thank God I'd enough left of my mind to realize that an S.O.S. radio message was the one thing that was going to save our lives. So I went back inside the radio hut."
      "We all owe our lives to Kinnaird." Speaking for the first time was Jeremy, a burly, red-haired Canadian who had been chief technician on the base. "And if I'd been a bit quicker with my hands, we'd all have been dead."

      "Oh, for Christ's sake, mate, shut up," Kinnaird growled.
      "I won't shut up," Jeremy said soberly. "Besides, Dr. Carpenter wants a full report. I was the first out of the main bunkhouse after Captain Folsom. As Hewson said, we tried the extinguisher on Major Halliwell's hut. It was hopeless from the beginning, but we had to do it--after all, we knew there were four men trapped in there. But, like I say, it was a waste of time. Captain Folsom shouted that he was going to get another extinguisher and told me to see how things were in the radio room.
      "The place was ablaze from end to end. As I came around as close as I could to the door at the west end I saw Naseby here bending over Dr. Jolly, who'd keeled over as soon as he had come out into the fresh air. He shouted to me to give him a hand to drag Dr. Jolly clear, and I was just about to when Kinnaird came running up. I saw that he was heading straight for the door of the radio room." He smiled without humor. "I thought he had gone off his rocker. I jumped in front of him to stop him. He shouted at me to get out of the way. I told him not to be crazy, and he yelled--you had to yell to make yourself heard above the roar of the flames--that he had to get the portable radio out, that all the oil was gone, and the generator and the cookhouse with all the food were burning up. He knocked me down, and the next thing I saw was him disappearing through that door. Smoke and flames were pouring through the doorway. I don't know how he ever got out alive."
      "Was that how you got your face and hands so badly burned?" Commander Swanson asked quietly. He was standing in a far corner of the wardroom, having taken no part in the discussion up till now but missing nothing, all the same. That was why I had asked him to be present; just because he was a man who missed nothing.
      "I guess so, sir."
      "That should earn you a trip to Buckingham Palace," Swanson murmured.
      "The hell with Buckingham Palace," Kinnaird said violently. "How about my mate, eh? How about young Jimmy Grant? Can he make the trip to Buckingham Palace? Not now he can't, the poor bastard. Do you know what he was doing? He was still _inside_ the radio room when I went back in, sitting at the main transmitter, sending out an S.O.S. on our regular frequency. His clothes were on fire. I dragged him off his seat and shouted to him to grab some Nife cells and get out. I caught up the portable transmitter and a nearby box of Nife cells and ran through the door. I thought Grant was on my heels, but I couldn't hear anything, what with the roar of flames and the bursting of fuel drums, the racket was deafening. Unless you'd been there, you just can't begin to imagine what it was like. I ran far enough clear to put the radio and cells in a safe place. Then I went back. I asked Naseby, who was still trying to bring Dr. Jolly round, if Jimmy Grant had come out. He said he hadn't. I started to run for the door again, and, well, that's all I remember."
      "I clobbered him," Jeremy said with gloomy satisfaction. "From behind. I had to."
      "I could have killed you when I came round," Kinnaird said morosely. "But I guess you saved my life at that."
      "I certainly did, brother." Jeremy grimaced. "That was my big contribution that night. Hitting people. After Naseby had brought Dr. Jolly round, he suddenly started shouting, 'Where's Flanders and Bryce, where's Flanders and Bryce!' Those were the two who had been sleeping with him and Hewson in the cookhouse. A few others had come down from the main bunkhouse by that time, and the best part of a minute had elapsed before we realized that Flanders and Bryce weren't among them. Naseby- started back for the cookhouse at a dead run. He was making for the doorway, only there was no doorway left, just a solid curtain of fire where the doorway used to be. I swung at him as he passed, and he fell and hit his head on the ice." He looked at Naseby. "Sorry again, Johnny, but you were quite crazy at the moment."
      Naseby rubbed his jaw and grinned wearily. "I can still feel it. And God knows you were right."
      "Then Captain Folsom arrived, along with Dick Foster, who also slept in the main bunkhouse," Jeremy went on. "Captain Folsom said he'd tried every other extinguisher on the base and that all of them were frozen solid. He'd heard about Grant being trapped inside the radio room and he and Foster were carrying a blanket apiece, soaked with water. I tried to stop them but Captain Folsom ordered me to stand aside." Jeremy smiled faintly. "When Captain Folsom orders people to stand aside.. . well, they do just that."
      "He and Foster threw the wet blankets over their heads and ran inside. Captain Folsom was out in a few seconds, carrying Grant. I've never seen anything like it: they were burning like human torches. I don't know what happened to Foster, but he never came out. By that time the roofs of both Major Halliwell's hut and the cookhouse had fallen in. Nobody could get anywhere near either of those buildings. Besides, it was far too late by then. Major Halliwell and the three others inside the major's hut and Flanders and Bryce inside the cookhouse must have been dead already. Dr. Jolly doesn't think they would have suffered very much: asphyxiation would have got them, like enough, before the flames did."
      "Well," I said slowly, "that's as clear a picture of what must have been a very confusing and terrifying experience as we're ever likely to get. It wasn't possible to get anywhere near Major Halliwell's hut?"
      "You couldn't have gone within fifteen feet of it and hoped to live," Naseby said simply.
      "And what happened afterward?"
      "I took charge, old boy," Jolly said. "Wasn't much to take charge of, though, and what little there was to be done could be done only by myself--fixing up the injured, I mean. I made 'em all wait out there on the ice cap until the flames had died down a bit and there didn't seem to be any more likelihood of further fuel drums bursting. Then we all made our way to the bunkhouse, where I did the best I could for the injured men. Kinnaird here, despite pretty bad burns, proved himself a first-class assistant doctor. We bedded down the worst of them. Young Grant was in a shocking condition--'fraid there never really was very much hope for him. And--well, that was about all there was to it."
      "You had no food for the next few days and nights?"
      "Nothing at all, old boy. No heat, either, except for the stand-by Coleman lamps that were in the three remaining huts. We managed to melt a little water from the ice, that was all.. By my orders everyone remained lying down and wrapped up in what was available in order to conserve energy and warmth." -
      "Bit rough on you," I said to Kinnaird. "Having to lose any hard-earned warmth you had every couple of hours in order to make those S.O.S. broadcasts."
      "Not only me," Kinnaird said. "I'm no keener on frostbite than anyone else. Dr. Jolly insisted that everyone who could should take turns sending out the S.O.S.'s. Wasn't hard. There was a pre-set mechanical call-up, and all anyone had to do was to send this and listen in on the earphones. If any message came through, I was across to the met office in a flash. It was actually Hewson here who contacted the ham operator in Bodd and Jeremy who got through to that trawler in the Barents Sea. I carried on from there, of course. Apart from them, there were Dr. Jolly and Naseby to give a hand, so it wasn't so bad. Hassard, too, took a turn after the first day--he'd been more or less blinded on the night of the fire."
      "You remained in charge throughout, Dr. Jolly?" I asked.
      "Bless my soul, no. Captain Folsom was in a pretty shocked condition for the first twenty-four hours, but when he'd recovered from that, he took over. I'm only a pillroller, old boy. As a leader of men and a dashing man of action--well, no, quite frankly, old top, I don't see myself in that light at all."
      "You did damned well all the same." I looked around at the company. "That most of you won't be scarred for life is due entirely to the quick and highly efficient treatment Dr. Jolly gave you under almost impossible circumstances. Well, that's all. Must be a pretty painful experience for all of you, having to relive that night again. I can't see that we can ever hope to find out how the fire started, just one of those chancein-a-million accidents, what the insurance companies call an act of God. I'm certain, Hewson, that no shadow of negligence attaches to you and that your theory on the outbreak of the fire is probably correct. Anyway, although we've paid a hellishly high cost, we've learned a lesson: never again to site a main fuel store within a hundred yards of the camp."
      The meeting broke up. Jolly bustled off to the sick bay, not quite managing to conceal his relish at being the only medical officer aboard who wasn't _hors de combat_. He had a busy couple of hours ahead of him: changing bandages on burns, checking Benson, X-raying Zabrinski's broken ankle and resetting the plaster.
      I went to my cabin, unlocked my case, took out a small wallet, relocked my case, and went to Swanson's cabin. I noticed that he wasn't smiling quite so often now as when I'd first met him in Scotland. He looked up as I came in in answer to his call and said without preamble, "If those two men still out in the camp are in any way fit to be moved, I Want them both aboard at once. The sooner we're back in Scotland and have some law in on this the happier I'll be. I warned you that this investigation of yours would turn up nothing. Lord knows how short a time it will be before someone else gets it. For God's sake, Carpenter, we have a murderer running loose."
      "Three things," I said. "Nobody's going to get it any more, that's almost for certain. Secondly, the law, as you call it, wouldn't be allowed to touch it. And, in the third place, the meeting this morning was of some use. It eliminated three potential suspects."
      "I must have missed something that you didn't."
      "Not that. I knew something that you didn't. I knew that under the floor of the laboratory were about forty Nife cells in excellent condition--but cells that had been used."
      "The hell you did," he said softly. "Sort of forgot to tell me, didn't you?"
      "In this line of business I never tell anyone anything unless I think he can help me by having that knowledge."
      "You must win an awful lot of friends and influence an awful lot of people," Swanson said dryly.
      "It gets embarrassing. Now, who could have used those cells? Only those who left the bunkhouse from time to time to send out the S.O.S.'s. That cuts out Captain Folsom and the Harrington twins--there's no question of any of the three of them having left the bunkhouse at any time. They weren't fit to. So that leaves Hewson, Naseby, Dr. Jolly, Jeremy, Hassard and Kinnaird. Take your choice. One of them is a murderer."
      "Why did they want those extra cells?" Swanson asked. "And if they had those extra cells why did they risk their lives by relying on those dying cells that they did use? Does it make sense to you?"
      "There's sense in everything," I said. "If you want evasion, Carpenter has it." I brought out my wallet, spread cards before him. He picked them up, studied them and returned them to my wallet.
      "So now we have it," he said calmly. "Took you quite a while to get around to it, didn't it? The truth, I mean. Officer of M.I.6. Counter-espionage. Government agent; eh? Well, I won't make any song and dance about it, Carpenter, I've known since yesterday what you must be: you couldn't be anything else." He looked at me in calm speculation. "You guys never disclose your identity unless you have to." He left the logical question unspoken.
      "Three reasons why I'm telling you. You're entitled to some measure of my confidence. I want you on my side. And because of what I'm about to tell you, you'd have known anyway. Have you ever heard of the Perkin-Elmer Roti satellite missile-tracker camera?"
      "Quite a mouthful," he murmured. "No."
      "Heard of Samos? Samos III?"
      "Satellite and Missile Observation System?" He nodded. "I have. And what conceivable connection could that have with a ruthless killer running rampant on Drift Station Zebra?"
      So I told him what connection it could have. A connection that was not only conceivable, not only possible, not only probable, but absolutely certain. Swanson listened very carefully, very attentively, not interrupting even once, and at the end of it he leaned back in his chair and nodded. "You have the right answer, no doubt about that. The question is, who? I just can't wait to see this bastard under armed guard."
      "You'd clap him in irons straight away?"
      "Good God!" He stared at me. "Wouldn't you?"
      "I don't know. Yes, I do. I'd leave him be. I think our friend is just a link in a very long chain, and if we give him enough rope, he'll not only hang himself, he'll lead us to the other members of the chain. Besides, I'm not all that sure that there _is_ only one murderer: killers have been known to have accomplices before now, Commander."
      "Two of them? You think there may be two killers aboard my ship?" He pursed his lips and squeezed his chin with a thoughtful hand, Swanson's nearest permissible approach to a state of violent agitation. Then he shook his head definitely. "There may only be one. If that was so, and I knew who he was, I'd arrest him at once. Don't forget, Carpenter, we've hundreds of miles to go under the ice before we're out into the open sea. We can't watch all six of them all the time, and there are a hundred and one things that a man with even only a little knowledge of submarines could do that would put us all in mortal danger. Things that wouldn't matter were we clear of the ice: things that would be fatal under it."
      "Aren't you rather overlooking the fact that if the killer did us in, he'd also be doing himself in?"
      "I don't necessarily share your belief in his sanity. All killers are a little crazy. No matter how excellent their reasons for killing, the very fact that they do kill makes them abnormal. You can't judge them by normal standards."
      He was only half right, but unfortunately that half might apply in this case. Most murderers kill in a state of extreme emotional once-in-a-lifetime stress and never kill again. But our friend in this case had every appearance of being a stranger to emotional stress of any kind--and, besides, he'd killed a great deal more than once.
      "Well," I said doubtfully, "perhaps. Yes, I think I do agree with you." I refrained from specifying our common ground for agreement. "Who's your candidate for the high jump, Commander?"