White Death by Clive Cussler
Before long, the engine roar of the huge Russian helicopter filled the air. The sling was attached under the Sea Lamprey's belly, and the helicopter lifted the vehicle from the ship's deck. Then Zavala took off in the NUMA helicopter and followed the submersible back to the base where the sub would be loaded onto a transport plane for the return trip.
“One other thing,” Becker said. “I'd like you to keep that re- markable suit on board in case the court has the need for further ev- idence. If not, we'll gladly ship it anywhere you wish.”
“You want me to make another dive?”
“Possibly. I would clear it with your superiors, of course.”
“Of course,” Austin said. He was too tired to argue.
The captain came over and announced that the shuttle was ready to take them back to the mainland. Austin wasn't enthusiastic about spending any more time than he had to with the Danish bureaucrat. “I'll come ashore tomorrow if it's all right with you. Captain Larsen wants to show me some of the results of his whale research.”
The captain saw the desperation in Austin's eyes and played along. “Oh yes, as I said, you'll find our work fascinating. I'll deliver Mr. Austin to shore in the morning.”
Becker shrugged. “Suit yourself I've spent enough time at sea to last me a lifetime.”
Austin watched the shuttle boat head toward land and turned to the captain. “Thanks for rescuing me from Mr. Becker.”
Larsen sighed heavily. “I suppose bureaucrats like Becker have a value in the scheme of things.”
“So do the stomach bacteria that aid in digestion,” Austin said.
The captain laughed and put his hand on Austin's shoulder. “I think a liquid celebration of your successful mission is in order.”
“I think you're right,” Austin said.
NUMA 4 - White Death
7
AUSTIN RECEIVED V IP treatment aboard the research ves- sel. After drinks in the captain's cabin, he enjoyed a delicious meal, then he was entertained with incredible underwater footage of the ship's whale research. He was given a comfortable cabin and slept like a log, and the next morning he said his farewell to Captain Larsen.
The captain seemed sorry to see him go. “We're going to be here a few days doing survey work on the cruiser. Let me know if there is anything I can ever do for you or for NUMA.”
They shook hands and Austin climbed into the shuttle for the short trip to the Western Harbor. Happy to be on dry land once more after weeks on and under the sea, he made his way along the cob- blestone quay past the line of fishing boats. The capital city of the Faroe Islands was named Torshavn, “Thor's Harbor,” after the mightiest of the Scandinavian gods. Despite its thundering namesake, Torshavn was a quiet settlement located on a headland between two busy boat harbors.
Austin would have preferred to explore the narrow streets that ran between the colorful old houses, but a glance at his watch told him he had better get moving if he wanted to make the hearing. He dropped his duffel bag off at the hotel room that Becker had arranged for him. He figured he wouldn't be in the Faroes more than another day or so, and decided to leave whether Becker wanted him to or not. On his way out, he asked the desk to book him a flight to Copen- hagen in two days.
His destination was a short walk up the hill toward Vaglio Square in the heart of the city's commercial center. A few minutes later, he stopped in front of an impressive nineteenth-century building built ofdark-hued basalt. The plaque on the exterior identified the struc- ture as the Raohus, or Town Hall. He mentally girded his loins for the ordeal ahead. As an employee of a federal agency, Austin was no stranger to the hazards of navigating governmental seas. The rescue of the men trapped in the LeifErisson might have been the easiest part of his Faroese adventure, he reflected.
The receptionist in the Raohus lobby told Austin how to get to the hearing room. He followed a corridor to a door guarded by a burly policeman and identified himself. The officer told him to wait and slipped into the room. He reappeared a moment later with Becker. Taking Austin by the arm, Becker moved out of earshot.
“Good to see you again, Mr. Austin.” He glanced at the policeman and lowered his voice. “This matter requires a great deal of delicacy. Do you know anything about the Faroe Islands government?”
“Only that there's an affiliation with Denmark. I don't know the details.”
“Correct. The Islands are part of the Kingdom of Denmark, but they have had home rule since 1948. They're quite independent, even keeping their own language. However, when they get into financial trouble, they don't hesitate to ask Copenhagen for money,” he said, with a faint smile. "This incident occurred in Faroese waters, but a
Danish warship was involved."
“Which means SOS wouldn't win any popularity contests in Den- mark.”
Becker brushed off his comment with an airy wave. “I've made my feelings clear. Those crazy people should be hanged for sinking our ship. But I am a realist. The whole regrettable incident would never have happened if it hadn't been for the Islanders' stubbornness in keeping their old customs.”
“You mean the whale hunt?”
“I won't comment on the morality of the grindarap. Many in Den- mark regard the grind as a barbaric and unnecessary ritual. More important are the economic considerations. Companies that might buy Faroese fish or explore for oil don't want the public to think they are doing business with whale murderers. When the Faroese can't pay their bills, Copenhagen must open its pocketbook.”
“So much for independence.”
Becker smiled again. “The Danish government wants to resolve this case quickly, with the minimum amount of international pub- licity. We don't want these SOS people seen as courageous martyrs who acted rashly but in defense of helpless creatures.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Please go beyond your technical observations in your testimony. We know what sank the cruiser. Feel free to emphasize the human suffering you witnessed. Our goal is to convict Ryan in the court of public opinion, then get these reckless hooligans out of our country and make sure they don't come back. We want to make sure that the world sees them as pariahs rather than martyrs. Perhaps then, some- thing like this won't happen again.”
“Suppose Ryan is innocent in all this?”
“His innocence or guilt is of no concern to my government. There are greater issues at stake.”
"As you say, a matter of great delicacy. I'll tell your people what I saw. That's all I can promise.
Becker nodded. “Fair enough. Shall we go in?”
The policeman opened the door, and Becker and Austin stepped inside the hearing room. Austin's eyes swept around the large dark- paneled chamber and took in the suits, presumably government and legal people, who filled several rows of chairs. He was wearing his usual working gear of jeans, turtleneck and windbreaker, having no need on board ship for dressier outfits. More suits sat behind a long wooden table at the front of the room. Sitting in a chair to the right of the table was a man in a uniform. He was speaking in Danish, his words taken down by a stenographer.
Becker indicated a seat, sat next to Austin, and whispered in his ear. “That's the representative from the coast guard. You're next.”
The coast guard witness concluded a few minutes later, and Austin heard his own name called. Four men and two women sat at the table, with the group evenly divided between Faroese and Danish representatives. The magistrate, an avuncular Dane with a long Viking face, said his name was Lundgren. He explained to Austin that he would ask questions, with the others on the board offering follow-up. This was only an inquiry to collect an informational base, not a trial, he explained, so there would be no cross-examination. He would also translate when necessary.
Austin eased into the chair, and under questioning, offered a straightforward account of the rescue. He didn't have to embellish the suffering or the crew's ordeal in its dark and practically airless tomb. The expression on Becker's face showed that he was pleas
Austin was curious how anyone could defend himself against eye- witness accounts. The door opened and two policemen walked in. Between them was a tall and ruggedly built man in his mid-forties. Austin took in the ginger Captain Ahab chin-fringe, the coifed hair and the gilt-trimmed uniforrri.
The magistrate asked the witness to sit down and introduce him- self.
“My name is Marcus Ryan,” the man said, his gray eyes making direct contact with those in the audience. “I am the executive direc- tor of the Sentinels of the Sea organization and captain of the SOS flagship, the Sea Sentinel. For those who don't know us, SOS is an in- ternational organization dedicated to the preservation of the sea and the marine life that dwells within it.”
"Please give the court an account of the events surrounding your collision with the Danish cruiser Leif Eriksson/'
Ryan started into a diatribe against the whale hunt. Speaking in a firm voice, the magistrate asked him to keep his remarks confined to the collision. Ryan apologized and described how the Sea Sentinel had suddenly veered toward the cruiser, striking it.
“Captain Ryan,” Lundgren said with unconcealed amusement. “Do you mean to tell me that your ship attached and rammed the Leif Eriksson of its own accord?”
For the first time since he'd started testifying, Ryan lost his aplomb. “Uh, no, sir. I'm telling you that the controls of my ship did not respond.”
“Let me see if I understand this clearly,” said a woman on the board of inquiry. “You are saying that the ship took control of itself and went off on its merry way.”
There was a ripple of laughter in the audience. “It seems so,” Ryan conceded.
His admission opened the doors for a round of probing questions. The hearing may not have been adversarial, Austin thought, but the court was nibbling Ryan apart like a flock of hungry ducks. Ryan did his best to parry the questions, but with each reply, his case became weaker. Finally he lifted his hands, as if to say enough.
“I realize that my explanation raises more questions than it an- swers. But let me say this unequivocally, so there is no misunder- standing. We did not deliberately ram the Danish ship. I have witnesses who can back me up. You can check with Captain Pe- tersen. He'll tell you that I warned him.”
“How long before the collision did this warning occur?” Lundgren asked.
Ryan took a deep breath and let it out. “Less than a minute before we hit.”
Lundgren asked no further questions. Ryan was excused, and the female reporter from CNN took the stand. She was calm during her recounting of the collision, but she broke down and glared at Ryan with accusing eyes when she described the death other cameraman.
Lundgren signaled a court officer to insert a videotape into a TV set that had been set off to one side where everyone had a good view of the screen. The tape began to roll. It showed Ryan standing on the deck of his ship surrounded by reporters and photographers. There was some joking about rough seas, then the reporter's voice saying:
“Just make sure the story is worth all the damned Dramamine I swallowed.”
The camera executed a close-up of Ryan's grinning face as he replied: “I can almost guarantee that you'll see action.” As the cam- era followed his finger pointing toward the Danish cruiser, there was a muttering in the audience. That's it, Austin thought. Ryan is toast.
The tape ended, and Lundgren asked the reporter one question. “Was that your voice on the tape?”
When the reporter replied in the affirmative, Ryan sprang to his feet.
“That's unfair. You're using my comment completely out of con- text !”
“Please be seated, Mr. Ryan,” Lundgren said, a bemused expres- sion on his face.
Ryan realized his outburst would bolster the image of a hothead capable of ramming a ship. He regained his composure. “My apolo- gies, sir. I was not told that the video would be introduced into evi- dence. I hope I will have the chance to comment on it.”
“This is not an American court of law, but you will have every op- portunity to make your side known before this hearing is adjourned. The board will hear from Captain Petersen and his crew as soon as they are able. You will remain in protective custody at the police sta- tion until then. We will do our best to expedite the process.”
Ryan thanked the court. Then, escorted by the policemen, he left the room.
“Is that all?” Austin asked Becker.
“Apparently so. I expected they might ask you back to the stand, but it appears they don't need you anymore. I hope your plans haven't been disrupted.”
Austin assured Becker that it was no problem. He sat in his chair as the room began to empty, chewing over Ryan's testimony. Either the man was telling the truth or he was a very good actor. That would be for wiser men to decide. First a good, stiff cup of coffee, then he would check out earlier flights to Copenhagen. From there, he'd fly back to Washington.
“Mr. Austin.”
A woman was walking toward him, her face wreathed in a bright smile. Austin noticed her athletic and well-proportioned figure, the chestnut hair that fell to her shoulders, the unblemished skin and
alert eyes. She was dressed in a white Icelandic wool jumper known as a lopapesya.
They shook hands. “My name is Therri Weld,” she said, in a voice
that was mellow and warm. “I'm a legal advisor with the SOS or- ganization.”
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Weld. What can I do for you?” Therri had been watching Austin's serious expression as he gave his testimony, and she was unprepared for his devastating smile. With his broad shoulders, burnished features and blue-green eyes, he reminded her of a buccaneer captain in a pirate movie. She almost
forgot what she was going to say, but quickly regained her mental footing.
“I wonder if you could spare a few minutes of your time,” she said.
"I was about to look for a cup of coffee. You're welcome to join me.
“Thanks. There's a pretty decent cafe around the corner.” They found a quiet table and ordered two cappuccinos.
“Your testimony was fascinating,” she said, as they sipped their coffee.
“Your Captain Ryan was the star of the day. My words paled by comparison with his story.”
Therri laughed softly. Her laughter had a musical lilt that Austin liked. "Today wasn't his finest hour, I'm afraid. Usually he can be
quite eloquent, particularly on those subjects he's most passionate about."
“Tough trying to explain to a bunch of skeptics that your ship was possessed by evil spirits. The reporter's testimony and the video didn't help.”
“I agree, which is why I wanted to meet with you.”
Austin gave her his best country-boy grin. “Aw, shucks, I had hoped you found yourself hopelessly attracted by my animal mag- netism.”
Therri raised a finely arched brow. “That goes without saying,” she said. “But the main reason I wanted to talk was to see if you could help SOS.”
“To begin with, Ms. Weld-”
“Therri. And may I call you Kurt?”
Austin nodded. “I've got a couple of problems right off the bat, Therri. First of all, I don't know how I can help you. And second, I don't know if I want to help your organization. I'm not in favor of whale slaughter, but I don't endorse radical nutcases.”
Therri skewered Austin with a leveled gaze of her laser-bright eyes. “Henry David Thoreau, John Muir and Edward Abbey were considered radical nut cases in their times. But I concede your point. SOS tends to be too activist for the taste of many. Okay, you say you don't endorse radicals. Do you endorse injustice, because that's exactly what's involved here.”
“In what way?”
“Marcus did not ram that Danish ship on purpose. I was in the pil
“Have you told this to the Danish authorities?”
“Yes. They said they didn't need me to testify and told me to leave the country.”
“Okay,” Austin said. “I believe you.”
“Just like that? You don't seem like someone who accepts the world at face value.”
“I don't know what else to say without offending you.”
“Nothing you say can offend me.”
“Glad to hear that. But what gives you the idea that I would care whether the case against Ryan is just or not?”
“I'm not asking you to care about Marcus.” Therri's tone hinted that there was a bit of hard steel behind her soft features. Austin suppressed a smile. “What exactly do you want from me, Therri?”
She brushed a lock of hair out other face and said, “I'd like you to make a dive on the Sea Sentinel”
“What purpose would a dive serve?”
“It might prove that Marcus is innocent.” “In what way?”
She spread her hands. “I don't know. But you might find some- thing', all I know is that Marcus is telling the truth. To be honest, much of his radicalism is hot air. He's really a hard-nosed pragma- list who calculates the odds very carefully. He's not the kind of per- son who goes around ramming navy ships in a fury. Besides, he loved the Sea Sentinel. He even picked the ridiculous psychedelic color scheme himself. No one on the ship, including me, intended for any- one to get hurt.”
Austin leaned back in his chair, clasped his hands behind his head and stared at Therri's earnest face. He liked the way her perfect lips turned up in a Mona Lisa smile even when she was serious. Her girl- next-door appearance couldn't disguise the sensuous woman who lurked behind remarkable eyes. There were a thousand reasons why he should simply thank her for the coffee, shake her hand and wish her good luck. There were maybe three good reasons why he might consider her request. She was beautiful. She might have a case. And, right or wrong, she was passionate about her cause. His plane flight was two days away. There was no reason his short stay in the Faroes had to be boring.