Alistair MacLean - Ice Station Zebra

"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."