Алистер Маклин - Ice Station Zebra

The men seated around the wardroom table were dazed and shocked, uncomprehending and incredulous. But they were only incredulous because the enormity of the whole thing was beyond them. But not beyond them all.

‘I’m a man with a curious turn of mind,’ I went on. ‘I wondered why sick, burnt, exhausted men had wasted their time and their little strength in shifting the dead men into the lab. Because someone had suggested that it might be a good thing to do, the decent thing to do. The real reason, of course, was to discourage anyone from going there. I looked under the floorboards and what did I find? Forty Nife cells in first-class condition, stores of food, a radiosonde balloon and a hydrogen cylinder for inflating the balloon. I had expected to find the Nife cells – Kinnaird, here, has told us that there were a good many reserves, but Nife cells won’t be destroyed in a fire. Buckled and bent a bit, but not destroyed. I hadn’t expected to find the other items of equipment, but they made everything clear.

‘The killer had had bad luck on two counts – being found out and with the weather. The weather really put the crimp on all his plans. The idea was that when conditions were favourable he’d send the films up into the sky attached to a radiosonde balloon which could be swept up by a Russian plane: snatching a falling capsule out of the sky it very tricky indeed; snaring a stationary balloon is dead easy. The relatively unused Nife cells our friend used for keeping in radio touch with his pals to let them know when the weather had cleared and when he was going to send the balloon up. There is no privacy on the air-waves, so he used a special code; when he no longer had any need for it he destroyed the code by the only safe method of destruction in the Arctic – fire. I found scores of pieces of charred paper embedded in the walls of one of the huts where the wind had carried them from the met. office after our friend had thrown the ashes away.

‘The killer also made sure that only those few worn-out Nife cells were used to send the SOS’s and to contact the Dolphin. By losing contact with us so frequently, and by sending such a blurred transmission, he tried to delay our arrival here so as to give the weather a chance to clear up and let him fly off his balloon. Incidentally you may have heard radio reports – it was in all the British newspapers – that Russian as well as American and British planes scoured this area immediately after the fire. The British and Americans were looking for Zebra: the Russians were looking for a radiosonde balloon. So was the ice-breaker Dvina when it tried to smash its way through here a few days ago. But there have been no more Russian planes: our friend radioed his friends to say that there was no hope of the weather clearing, that the Dolphin had arrived and that they would have to take the films back with them on the submarine.’

‘One moment, Dr Carpenter,’ Swanson interrupted in a careful sort of voice. ‘Are you saying that those films are aboard this ship now?’

‘I’ll be very much surprised if they aren’t, Commander. The other attempt to delay us, of course, was by making a direct attack on the Dolphin itself. When it became known that the Dolphin was to make an attempt to reach Zebra, orders went through to Scotland to cripple the ship. Red Clydeside is no more red than any other maritime centre in Britain, but you’ll find Communists in practically every shipyard in the country – and, more often than not, their mates don’t know who they are. There was no intention, of course, of causing any fatal accident – and, as far as whoever was responsible for leaving the tube doors open was concerned, there was no reason why there should be. International espionage in peacetime shuns violence – which is why our friend here is going to be very unpopular with his masters. Like Britain or America, they’ll adopt any legitimate or illegitimate tactic to gain their espionage end – but they stop short of murder, just as we do. Murder was no part of the Soviet plan.’

‘Who is it, Dr Carpenter?’ Jeremy said very quietly. ‘For God’s sake, who is it? There’s nine of us here and – do you know who it is?’

‘I know. And only six, not nine, can be under suspicion. The ones who kept radio watches after the disaster. Captain Folsom and the two Harringtons here were completely immobilised. We have the word of all of you for that. So that, Jeremy, just leaves yourself, Kinnaird, Dr Jolly, Hassard, Naseby and Hewson. Murder for gain, and high treason. There’s only one answer for that. The trial will be over the day it begins: three weeks later it will all be over. You’re a very clever man, my friend. You’re more than that, you’re brilliant. But I’m afraid it’s the end of the road for you, Dr Jolly.’

They didn’t get it. For long seconds they didn’t get it. They were too shocked, too stunned. They’d heard my words all right, but the meaning hadn’t registered immediately. But it was beginning to register now for like marionettes under the guidance of a master puppeteer they all slowly turned their heads and stared at Jolly. Jolly himself rose slowly to his feet and took two paces towards me, his eyes wide, his face shocked, his mouth working.

‘Me?’ His voice was low and hoarse and unbelieving. ‘ Me? Are you – are you mad, Dr Carpenter? In the name of God, man–’

I hit him. I don’t know why I hit him, a crimson haze seemed to blur my vision, and Jolly was staggering back to crash on the deck, holding both hands to smashed lips and nose, before I could realise what I had done. I think if I had had a knife or a gun in my hand then, I would have killed him. I would have killed him the way I would have killed a fer-de-lance, a black widow spider or any other such dark and evil and deadly thing, without thought or compunction or mercy. Gradually the haze cleared from my eyes. No one had stirred. No one had stirred an inch. Jolly pushed himself painfully to his knees and then his feet and collapsed heavily in his seat by the table. He was holding a blood-soaked handkerchief to his face. There was utter silence in the room.

‘My brother, Jolly,’ I said. ‘My brother and all the dead men on Zebra. Do you know what I hope?’ I said. ‘I hope that something goes wrong with the hangman’s rope and that you take a long, long time to die.’

He took the handkerchief from his mouth.

‘You’re crazy, man,’ he whispered between smashed and already puffing lips. ‘You don’t know what you are saying.’

‘The jury at the Old Bailey will be the best judge of that. I’ve been on to you now, Jolly, for almost exactly sixty hours.’

‘What did you say?’ Swanson demanded. ‘You’ve known for sixty hours!’

‘I knew I’d have to face your wrath some time or other, Commander,’ I said. Unaccountably, I was beginning to feel very tired, weary and heartsick of the whole business. ‘But if you had known who he was you’d have locked him up straightaway. You said so in so many words. I wanted to see where the trail led to in Britain, who his associates and contacts would be. I had splendid visions of smashing a whole spy ring. But I’m afraid the trail is cold. It ends right here. Please hear me out.

‘Tell me, did no one think it strange that when Jolly came staggering out of his hut when it caught fire that he should have collapsed and remained that way? Jolly claimed that he had been asphyxiated. Well, he wasn’t asphyxiated inside the hut because he managed to come out under his own steam. Then he collapsed. Curious. Fresh air invariably revives people. But not Jolly. He’s a special breed. He wanted to make it clear to everyone that he had nothing to do with the fire. Just to drive home the point, he has repeatedly emphasised that he is not a man of action. If he isn’t, then I’ve never met one.’