Cold Blood Read online

  I nodded away politely, so she knew I was appreciating the fact that she was sharing her hard-won knowledge. But she didn’t know that I was responsible. Too fucking responsible. And holding it in was what I did, what I had always done. I was good at it. I had no choice.

  The help she was trying to give was for people in the real world, not fuck-ups like me, who spent their life doing the dull, dangerous, mind-destroying shit the squeaky-clean people who called it home wouldn’t want on their hands. If I hadn’t kept a grip on the shit that had been buzzing around in my head since I was sixteen, I wasn’t too sure how I would express it. And I really didn’t want to find out.

  40

  Visibility was deteriorating – the cloud cover felt like a low ceiling we’d bang our heads on if we didn’t stay in a crouch.

  Jules hustled the VW across the snow like a pro.

  ‘Nice.’

  She gave me a withering glare.

  ‘It was meant to be a compliment.’

  ‘The family farm in Devon … My father shoved me in the driving seat of our battered Defender as soon as I could reach the pedals. I was a bit of an expert on mud and grass and everything slippery long before I got anywhere near tarmac.’

  She gestured back at Stedman, who was curled up now, sparked out, like a kid after too much fun at Alton Towers.

  The team were clustered round a couple of snowmobiles, strapping their kit onto pulks, homemade wooden sledges hitched to the back with climbing rope. I’d seen a lot of those things – they were the locals’ favourite DIY project. A big sheet of plywood, a curved plastic nose, a fistful of bungees to strap stuff on and, bingo, you’d turned your snowmo into a minibus.

  The ridge that dominated the skyline whenever the sun came out reached up into the cloud behind them.

  I twisted around and gave Stedman a prod. He shook himself awake, eyes widening, and glanced around, probably hoping it had all been a bad dream.

  Jack started towards us before she brought the wagon to a halt, like those few steps would make all the difference to the time it was going to take to grip Stedman. Well, that was what Jack’s face was telling me. I thought I might as well let the two of them get that all over and done with before convincing Jack I had the answer to their problem.

  I didn’t spot too many hopeful expressions around the place as the three of us got out, and it wasn’t because of the weather. I kept a few steps behind Stedman so he had room to do some explaining. Jules heaved her medical bag out of the nine-seater and made for the snowmobiles. Gabriel positioned himself on one of the vehicle’s seats, ready for her to take a look at his stump.

  Jack studied the snow between his boots, kicking it into a small hummock as Stedman stammered out his confession.

  ‘I … I – I’m sorry, Jack. I … should have told you about … the money. The deal. Where Leila was in all this … But I knew how important it was to you … to me … fuck it, to all of us …’

  The others had stopped what they were doing and listened in. A few very long seconds passed after Stedman had stumbled to a halt with a final couple of sorrys. None of them moved or spoke.

  Without any warning, Jack jumped forward and rammed his forehead into Stedman’s face. He lost his balance and slipped over in the snow, then bent down, hands glued to his skull as he took the pain that always followed a badly planted head-butt.

  Everyone stood rooted to the spot except Jack, who finally got himself upright, turned and walked away.

  Stedman was still down in the snow, nose leaking. Jules rushed over, but the cold would probably stop the bleeding just as well as anything she could do for him.

  I moved to where Jack had retreated. Hands on hips, breathing hard, he turned away as I got nearer.

  I put a firm hand on his shoulder. ‘You have to get out of here, Jack. All of you.’

  ‘Just fuck right off.’

  Even Jack probably hadn’t seen this side of himself before. The sum total of his anger and frustration about trying and failing to make this thing happen had erupted in that one moment. Maybe he blamed himself for letting Stedman back in, for listening to him, letting the fucker get his hopes up – and, worst of all, for trusting him.

  I gripped him, hard. ‘Mate, you’ve got to listen. I can get you all out of this shit and up north. Really.’

  He tried to step away but I held on. He didn’t want to listen just yet: he’d been badly let down by Stedman, his comrade, his friend, and was still stuck in his trough of self-pity. The bond between them wasn’t going to disappear into thin Arctic air. That was what was making the pain inside his head worse than the pain outside – but he had to get over it, and quickly. All that was for another day, when they could face each other across the studio floor in their own private version of The Jeremy Kyle Show.

  ‘Mate, chances are, what happened in Barentsburg won’t stay in Barentsburg.’

  Jack’s head was spinning, both physically and mentally. He’d left a crimson starburst on the face of one of his best mates, and he suddenly didn’t know which way was up. He didn’t know who the fuck to trust. And the fact that his dad had never left him any options had probably prevented him thinking them through in the first place.

  ‘Jack, you’ve got three choices. You stay here, and try to get the trip back on line yourself – at the same time looking over your shoulder. Or you bin it now and leave with Stedman.’ I paused, to let all this sink in. ‘Or you go north on my cheque book, no interference from your dad. I’ve got the guides, the kit and the money.’

  There was still no reaction. He needed more time.

  I tightened my grip on him.

  ‘Jack, you have to make a decision. Not just for yourself but the others. They need this trip and they need to put some distance between themselves and last night’s fuck-up. Right now, you’re nothing, big on intentions but with no capability. I’m the fucking capability, so you need to pull your finger out and make a decision, any decision.’

  He finally raised his eyes to mine. There was no light in them, and that had nothing to do with the cloud cover. ‘Like I said, Nick, fuck off.’

  I raised my hands and stepped away. He wasn’t in the mood to listen.

  I started back towards the VW. If Jack couldn’t make a decision and keep his team safe, then someone had to.

  Gabriel was still on the saddle of the snowmobile with Jules. As she swabbed away at his red and swollen stump, he didn’t try to camouflage the pain. Stedman leaned back on the bonnet, a fistful of cotton wool pressed to his nose.

  Rio and Will were strapping the last of their kit on the homemade trailers. I shouted over to them to get things moving. ‘Lads, you know what’s happening. No matter which way, we have to be off the island ASAP. Come over to the wagon. We need to sort this shit out.’

  I pointed towards the murk crawling down the mountains behind them. ‘That’s coming in fast.’

  Jack snapped out of it. ‘No, stop! Nick, please … I’m sorry.’

  I kept walking. I didn’t want to play hard to get, but he was going to have to work harder than that.

  ‘Wait!’

  I took a couple more steps, then let him catch up.

  He waved a hand. ‘OK, OK. I’m a bit … fucked up. I’m sorry.’ He took a man-sized breath. ‘What do you have, exactly?’

  ‘The same deal your dad had. But I’ve taken it over. You get two guides and a garden gnome thrown in for luck.’

  He looked puzzled but knew it wasn’t the time to ask. ‘Who are they?’

  ‘Environmentalists. They plant devices all along the route that measure the ice melt.’

  ‘What do they want with us?’

  ‘Mate, you need each other. There’s a lot of energy companies up there and people like the Gnome barging in with all their save-the-planet initiatives could jeopardize their cash flow big-time. So they need to slip into a last-degree ski expedition to hood prying eyes, and you need the guides – plus three full sets of arms and legs.’

 
I looked around at the rest of the team and gave them my best shit-eating grin. ‘Let’s face it, you need a few more of them around here, don’t you?’

  I still wasn’t convinced by the line Cauldwell and Rune had shot me. But so what? It was a means to an end. And it worked. Jack’s face creased and I got something approaching a laugh out of him.

  ‘If this turns out to be my father, Nick …’

  ‘It was your father – but now it isn’t. He’s history. I’m paying for everything.’

  Jack’s expression dialled back to ‘concerned’. I couldn’t blame him. Mine would have too. Did I have a Stedman-like deal up my sleeve, and were they about to get fucked over once more?

  ‘It’s my money, Jack. Really. Mate, I’m loaded. I don’t know what to do with the stuff. I want to pay. You lot getting to that Pole matters just as much to me as it does to you.’ I fell silent for a moment because I’d realized that the words coming out of my mouth were true. ‘I get it. I understand. So shut up and let’s get sorted. It’s cold out here.’

  ‘Yeah … What the fuck are we doing?’ Jack had re-engaged with the real world.

  ‘Exactly right. More bits will be snapping off that Barneo ice floe as we speak. Get your team sorted and off to the airport, soon as you can. Jules can take Gabriel back, and drop me and Stedman in town. We’ll cab it to the airport to sort out the flights. I think Jules may come with us, but she and Will can work that out.’

  His smile – proud but still uncertain – was the one he had used the first time I’d seen him as a zit-faced teenager in the Lines. ‘Sounds good.’

  ‘Course it does. I’ll call the Gnome and tell him we’re on our way.’

  41

  Compared with yesterday, the terminal building was like a zoo – rammed with overheated people in duvet jackets with day sacks on their backs, wheeling trolley bags with even more North Face hold-alls heaped on top of them. The public-address system waffled on, doing its best to compete with the constant rustle of nylon ski pants and murmurs of apology as passengers bumped into each other.

  I glanced at the departures board as we walked in, on the off chance it might contain some vaguely useful information. Where there should have been departure times, the LED display showed nothing but red.

  Stedman was busy checking out the crowd and Will’s mobile for any sign of Leila. We needed to split the tasks. I pointed to the service desk, which was heaving, just like the check-ins. ‘Get three tickets to anywhere. I’ll come and pay as soon as I’ve sorted Barneo out. It doesn’t matter if we’re all going together or to different places, just get three of us out today. I’ll meet you over there.’ I pointed to the desk with the AN-74 imagery.

  But Stedman wasn’t listening. He was still checking the crowds and the mobile screen for Leila.

  ‘Mate, switch on. Lots to do.’

  He started to push his way through the throng.

  The Barneo desk was the only deserted one. The woman sitting behind it had buried herself in a glossy Hello! type magazine – she probably thought it would stop people like us trying to talk to her. She looked extremely bored with whatever she wasn’t quite reading. She glanced up as we approached and I recognized her from yesterday. She had pointed me towards Stedman and the phone boxes. Now, with all her outer jackets off, I could see a name badge.

  ‘Hello there, Synne. Is there a flight to Barneo today?’ I couldn’t tell if she recognized me. Why should she? It was an airport. She saw thousands of faces every week.

  She gazed at me, her face broadcasting ‘Why would I be sitting here if there weren’t any flights?’

  Finally, I got a ‘Yes.’ Then she had second thoughts. ‘The weather coming in from the south. Maybe it will delay flights. I do not know.’

  She didn’t really care either way. It was just another day at the office. And whatever we had to offer wasn’t going to compete with Brangelina.

  ‘Is there any way of knowing? Can we check? Can we get some tickets?’

  Her eyes dropped reluctantly to her screen and she tapped a few keys. ‘Is possible. But it won’t be taking off for three, maybe four hours. There’s more freight to be loaded.’

  I didn’t need to know the ins and outs of what was going.

  ‘I want to buy four tickets, open return.’

  An operation like this was never going to be set like a normal commercial airline. The weather was a huge factor, as was cramming in as many passengers and as much cargo as possible, to maximize profit. And they didn’t even need to know how to spell ‘schedule’. Barneo didn’t exactly have a holding pattern above it.

  ‘Are you with an expedition?’

  ‘Yes – not me, there’s a group coming soon. But there’s been a big mess-up.’ I went into babbling mode. ‘Three of them, the guides, are already on the ice. But the rest of them are still here. I don’t know what’s happened. All the kit’s already been freighted up there so we don’t have to worry about extra weight on the aircraft – all they’ll have is what they can carry with them. There’s just four of them, four seats, please.’

  She tapped away as I babbled. I couldn’t tell from her expression whether she was onside or still didn’t give a shit. It was pointless getting worked up. I had no control over this phase. I just had to let her get on with it.

  I was sweating up, thanks to Sven’s over-padding, so I started to unzip and peel it off.

  She finally found what she needed on the screen. ‘It’s mostly freight on today’s flight. They would have to put on extra seating. Is short notice, but we can get you on. There will be an extra charge.’

  No surprises there. I stayed in begging mode. ‘They need to join the rest of the team, or they’re going to lose their window. Could you do it for me, please?’

  She didn’t answer, but her fingers were dancing a flamenco across the keyboard. She looked up as Stedman joined me. ‘Oh, you found him. Very good.’

  ‘Nick, there are no flights. The weather …’ He was talking to me but his eyes were pretty much everywhere else. ‘Nothing coming in, so nothing going out. No one knows when that will change. It’s shit.’

  I turned back to Synne. ‘Excuse me.’

  ‘OK, it can be done.’ The excitement of it all showed in her face, and I guessed I was about to find out why. ‘In all … three hundred and forty-eight thousand dollars.’

  Stedman froze halfway through trying to fight his arm out of its sleeve. ‘What? For a two-and-a-half-hour flight?’

  ‘You want to take the train instead?’ She pursed her lips. ‘That price includes up to three days’ use of the ice-camp facilities and your helicopter flight back from the Pole. You are the expedition, no?’

  It was like it was Stedman’s own personal savings. ‘Yes, but – really?’

  Synne gave him a what-the-hell-are-you-on? look. ‘Extra seating will also have to be put on the aircraft. And it’s the last year the service will operate from here. I think they do not care if you fly or not.’

  I dipped into my neck wallet as Stedman managed to shake off his sleeve. I caught Synne’s half-smile. It told me that I was only a step away from some middle-aged American tourist digging into a bum-bag.

  Stedman was still preoccupied with the Barneo logistics. ‘Really? That’s going to happen? They’re going to cut loose from Norway?’

  ‘Yes. Next year, all from Russia.’

  I held out my card. ‘The team will give you the details you need when they get here.’

  She took the card and inspected it suspiciously, checking the back for identification having studied the front for embossed numbers and found none. Her eyes narrowed.

  ‘It will work.’ I pointed at the reader. ‘It’ll give you a number to ring.’ I got back to Stedman and made sure I had his attention. ‘You sure there are no flights out? We can’t get out anywhere?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘And nobody’s got any idea of when we can?’

  ‘Nothing’s going to happen until the weather lifts. Even
if it gets better down south and they can take off – they’ll just follow the storm. It’s heading north. Nobody knows anything. What are we going to do, Nick?’

  ‘I’ll think on it. Listen – I’ve got to go and square things with Sven. You sort out the rest of the team when they arrive, get their passport details, anything that’s needed. Get them on the manifest. But try and keep an eye on what’s going on with the flights, yeah? Keep switched on, mate.’

  ‘Excuse me but …?’ Synne’s voice, from behind me.

  She held out a phone. Claudia Nangel, my incredibly correct, well-spoken relationship manager, would be at the other end. She was on call twenty-four/seven for any big transactions. I’d never met her, but she was like a long-lost old-school maiden aunt who was short on cuddles but always there to help. I pictured her gazing out of her window at some shimmering Swiss lake as she talked to her customers at all hours of the day and night.

  I confirmed the sum and answered three security questions, the answers to which didn’t always spring to mind when she asked them. Then I had to dredge up some random digits from my number code, and that was even worse. I knew her voice-recognition software would be checking simultaneously for a match against my previous conversations with her. The call ended, with a very Teutonic ‘Thank you very much, Herr Stone. Goodbye.’

  I handed back the receiver to Synne as her machine whined a confirmed sale and spewed paper.

  I shouldered my day sack, tucked the onesies under my arm and reached the exit just as Jack and the lads tumbled in, encased in duvets and beanies, lugging backpacks full of cold-weather kit.

  I stopped long enough for a warp-speed info dump. ‘I’ve got seats, return. Stedman’s waiting for you at the Barneo desk. There are no flights going south, so I don’t know when we’re getting out but I’m working on it.’