Laline Paull - The Ice - A gripping thriller for our times from the Bailey’s shortlisted author of The Bees

But none of these considerations sobered my high spirits. I had enlisted for Adventure, and that was all I asked for. I had no responsibilities or misgivings and was as carefree as a kitten.

Sledge: The British Trans-Greenland Expedition 1934 (1935)

Martin Lindsay

They landed on the narrow strip of cobbled beach. The boathouse doors were ajar but all was quiet. The Lodge itself looked better than Sean remembered, the wood more weathered, the structure even more camouflaged. He waited for the bear all-clear signal then went in to greet the mystery guests. The discretion of Midgard Lodge did not extend to its founder and CEO, and absent or not, he had a right to know who he was hosting.

Two men were waiting in the lobby and jumped up to greet him. The first of Kingsmith’s pals was Benoit, from the Central African Republic. He was tall and broad with a winning open smile, and he pumped Sean’s hand warmly.

‘You don’t remember me? I came to all your parties on Spring Street!’ He looked to his companion, a young elegantly dressed Asian man, also smiling politely. ‘Jiaq, our host gave the best parties in Manhattan, didn’t you?’

‘You’re very kind.’ Sean smiled over his confusion. He had no memory of Benoit, but he had indeed lived in a loft on Spring Street in New York, owned by Kingsmith, in his first year after graduation. Kingsmith had him running errands and apprenticing for him, while he learned what he called ‘housekeeping’. Spring Street marked Sean’s first experience of making real money through his mentor’s generous guidance, and he had never looked back.

Jiaq complimented Sean on Midgard Lodge and apologised for not personally knowing Miss Radiance Young, though he had certainly heard of her.

‘Your facilities are a credit to you,’ Benoit smiled. ‘We feel very safe!’

‘Excellent. I’m glad it’s all going well for you.’

Benoit apologised for their unscheduled visit – the result of a chance call to Joe, who suggested that if they were in the neighbourhood …

‘The neighbourhood?’

‘Of Iceland.’ They broke into peals of laughter. They explained they had been showing off their new ice-class yachts to each other, comparing anti-pirate protocols. Now the Arctic was open for business it was good to be prepared, like boy scouts!

Their high spirits grated. Sean said he was very pleased to have them there, and excused himself.

He pulled on waterproofs and went back down to the beach. The Dauphin rested at one end, facing down the fjord in readiness for their return. At the other, Danny Long had pulled one of the smallest Zodiacs from the boathouse, alongside the single kayak Sean had requested. This was his manager’s mute comment on the safety infraction of Sean’s stated intention to go out alone. A breeze glittered the water of the fjord – and carried the faint beat of rock music. He looked around. It came from the building beside the boathouse.

Sean looked at Danny Long in question, then walked towards it. His manager came with him.

‘I’ll tell them to keep it down, sir. But now might be a good time for them to meet you, if you’re happy with that?’ He hurried alongside as Sean pushed through the vestibule doors.

Twenty men jumped to attention off their bunks, their eyes down. Sean stared in surprise. No one said anything. He had never seen any of them before, and did not remember there being so many of them on his last trip. But everything about that visit was confused. He would check when he got back.

‘The new detail, Mr Cawson – they’ve only been in a week, but they’re all good.’ Danny Long’s voice changed as he addressed the men. ‘This is your CEO, Mr Cawson.’

The men looked at Sean and saluted. They wore dark clothing and looked very fit.

‘At ease.’ Sean had no military training, but apparently it worked because the men sat back down and resumed looking at their screens, or lying on their bunks. Danny Long seemed to be waiting for him to say something.

‘Good,’ he said, to cover his surprise. He went out into the open air. A retreat was in place he knew nothing about and a new detail of men – he had forgotten that part of the arrangement – were gathered in that dark cavernous room.

‘All good, sir.’ Danny Long was watching him.

‘Right then.’ Sean took out his own binoculars and stood back to back with his manager, sweeping the rocks and peaks of the bay with hi-mag scrutiny. He could not – would not – ask Danny Long questions that would reveal his ignorance and completely undermine the authority he was there to resume.

The manager’s radio crackled. From the upper lookout in the Lodge, his second in command Terry Bjornsen was also scanning for bears. All clear.

‘Waiting,’ Long said into his collar, as he completed his own slow survey. He raised his arm to the Lodge. ‘All clear below.’

Sean lowered his kayak into the water, climbed down the steel ladder and slid into the seat. He took the paddle from Long, coiled the red tethering rope into the cockpit and pushed off with a long slow glide. There was no wind. Midgardfjorden was a black mirror, the only movement was the undulating wake behind Sean’s kayak, and the slow rise and fall of his paddle, hissing softly as it cut the water.

He skimmed out towards the centre, the rising shimmer of light around him showing that the sky was drying as the sun burned through. His consciousness fused with the subtle motion of the kayak and the long ripples of sunlight. He kept his eye on the jutting inner point of the M. He knew the current that circled the inlets and made a little area of turbulence close to the shore that could capsize the unwary – but here it was now, all the way out in the centre.

Dipping his blade, he felt the pull from the water, the tug all the way up into his arm, as if it had caught on something. The current swirled like a water snake but Sean had good upper body strength and kept his head. He judged its velocity and angle, then twisted his paddle blade into its force. He felt the energy from deep in the water travel up his paddle, his hand, his arm, into his shoulder, neck, and face. He held the strain – and the hook of the current released him in the right direction. Only five or six seconds – but long enough to go in if he’d panicked. But he hadn’t – and in that instant of instinctive reaction, in that correct response, his feeling of power came flooding back – and he was embracing that beautiful and terrifying lover once again: the Arctic.

His heart pounding with joy, he glanced back. Danny Long stood on the jetty, a tiny figure beneath the rearing mountain, his rifle above his shoulder like a tribesman’s spear. Sean rounded the point and moved out of sight.

From the air the glacier was one thing, but approached in humility by kayak, she revealed another nature. Sean lifted his paddle and slowed, poised in the water. The towering blue and white face of the ice filled his vision, the Arctic silence his ears and mind. Sometimes it was so intense it almost formed into a sound; sometimes he had heard the bumping and scraping of the pack ice form abstract fragments like music.

The silence gathered around him so that he could almost hear the squeeze and suck of his heart in his chest. He felt his sweat blot his base layer, and the bracing of his tendons far away inside the kayak shell. Below him the dark depth of the water; above, a thread of breeze that dried the molecules of sweat. His vision filled with the deep blue strata of the most ancient compressed ice, forty thousand years old.