Upton could scarcely get the words out as he fumbled to decipher Norris' writing. " December the thirteenth, 1825. Log of the Sprightly:
" 2 p.m. saw a small low Island bear W 6 miles. 3 rocks in a cluster bear NW, another rock NW nearly level with the water's edge. This island is in Lat 53.56 Long 90
5°30. this island we have named Thompson's la bears NNE 15 leagues from Bouvet Island. Three rocks we named The Chinnies SE 4 or 5 miles off Thompson's la and another small rock 3 miles south of them…" Upton was silent for a long time. " So that is where Thompson Island is!" he exclaimed at last. " Fifteen leagues, or forty-five miles, north-north-east of Bouvet!"
For the next half-hour Upton relapsed into long abstracted silences as if he had forgotten the presence of the three of us altogether-silences broken now and again by a volley of words. It was then that I first seriously doubted the man's sanity. The only sounds were Sailhardy's unconscious moans. We dared not break in upon the silences.
Once Upton turned the parchment over and over. " God!
Imagine that little ship Sprightly of Norris' at two o'clock in the afternoon coming out of the fog and being confronted with the island! Now it is mine!" He fell into a long silence, as if he were reliving Norris' great discovery.
Then he came over to me, eyes bright, and grabbed me by the shoulder, completely carried away by what was going on in his own mind. " Tell me, man, does it look the way Norris says-small and low? How could it ever be confused with Bouvet, which is all cliffs and peaks? Did you see it like that? Tell me!"
"I saw it like that," I said. "I saw Thompson Island I am the only man living to have seen it."
He looked thoughtfully at me. " The only man living," he echoed.
I remember the ice, the dirty grey sky, the shroud of fog.
Upton's next words added to my doubts about his mind.
He traced with a finger, with almost reverential care, the old sealer's track past Thompson Island and its rocky outcrops. "Heavenly blue," he said. " Heavenly blue." The Tannoy loudspeaker above my bunk came alive with its disembodied crackle. " Bridge here! Bridge here! Sir Frederick Upton! Stand by for a repeat from radio office of an urgent message." Upton had been thorough. He'd told the bridge he would be in my cabin before leaving, so that he would not be out of touch while he searched my things.
Something inside me cleared like a lift of fog when I heard Helen's voice, for it told me she had had no part in her father's scheme for Thompson Island. She came over the loudspeaker clearly, which meant she must have been fairly close to the fleet, in view of the radio interference at any distance.
" H for Helen! Do you hear me? H for Helen! Helicopter NRWH calling factory ship Antarctica."
Upton wheeled on Pirow. " Get up to the radio office jam her, swamp her, do any damn thing, but get her off the air-quick!"
I felt somehow that the normal overtones in her voice were for me-the way she might think Royal Navy formality ran under stress. But her excitement overrode everything. " H for Helen! Position approx fifty-six degrees South, one degree West."
Pirow stopped in his tracks, white-faced. "Plain language transmission! Thorshammer can't miss it!"
" Dear God in Heaven!" shouted Upton. " Stop her, Carl!
Perhaps the radio interference is too bad for Thorshammer to hear.
…"
" No," snapped Pirow. " Never. Some temporary sunspot fade, but nothing like as bad as I made out to the Herr Kapitan to get him off the ship."
" Bouvet's dead spot…" began Upton.
" Dead spot for equipment thirty years ago, but not now," Pirow replied.
Helen's voice cut in. "I can't see the end of them! There are thousands and thousands of them! There are Blue Whales everywhere! I have found the breeding-ground of the Blue Whale!. Big, small, bulls, cows, calves! I've never seen any- thing like it!"
" Blast the girl!" roared Upton. "Blast! blast! blast! Just at this moment of moments! Everyone between here and South Georgia must have heard our position-including
Thorshammer."
Pirow stood as if undecided, the Luger in his hand. Helen's bombshell had put them off their guard, but I missed my opportunity.
" Give me that gun!" went on Upton. " Get to your radio! Do something!" Pirow hurried off, but Upton and Walter remained behind. " They'll be safe enough if we lock them in here for the moment," said Upton. " How long will it be before that bloody islander comes round?"
" An hour, maybe two," shrugged Walter. " What does it matter anyway?"
" Yes," echoed Upton. " What does it matter, anyway? 92
It's Wetherby who is the problem." He smiled without humour. " I thought I was up against something in the great Captain Wetherby of war-time fame. I didn't even get a run for my money. One kick in the face of his friend, and the whole show was over. Come, Peter!"
The door crashed to and I heard the lock turn. I knelt down and tried to do something about Sailhardy's face. It was a savage wound, and he would carry the scars to the end of his life. The way Upton talked, he did not intend either Sailhardy' s life or mine to reach its natural span. I looked round the cabin, but escape seemed hopeless. My cabin was situated at the end of the corridor. Beyond the solid steel bulkhead were the big compartments for processing the whales. The porthole was there, but short of jumping into the sea, it offered no escape for me.
My own danger was not uppermost in my mind. I was thinking of Helen, and I hated Upton for his part in moulding her, fashioning her whole existence, to be the instrument of his dream, Thompson Island. It was typical of the man that he had not confided his secret to her, but in the shock of her own escape long ago in Norway, the lack of a mother had so influenced her-not unwillingly, I told myself, but that was her part of the story, unknown to him-to be the brilliant but oulless automaton I had first met. I could not get out of my mind the transformation I had witnessed on the ice, and the vital, attractive personality I had seen as she had stood in this very cabin doorway.
SaiIhardy stirred, but did not regain consciousness. I tore off part of my sleeve and made an improvised bandage. I waited. After about half an hour I heard the roar of the helicopter's rotors overhead, as Helen came in to land. In less than five minutes there was a knock at the cabin door. I did not reply.
" Bruce!" Helen called. " Bruce! Are you all right?"
" Yes," I called. " Helen! For God's sake, get me a gun or a knife, and let me out of here!"
" My father seems beside himself," she called softly. "I gave him the slip for a moment." I heard the sound of her footsteps running back along the corridor.
I nearly jumped out of my skin as the Tannoy spoke. "
AXM. Canberra International Antarctic Weather Analysis Centre. WMO code Fm forty-five on the zero zero GMT analysis…"
I looked in astonishment at the grilled space above the bulkhead. Upton and Pirow must have forgotten to switch off the repeater from the radio shack.
Then I heard Upton's voice. " Nothing but bloody weather reports! That's all there ever is from the Antarctic!" Pirow's voice, intent, came through. " I told you, let a ship send eleven letters, and I'll find her. Thorshammer. is silent."
" It doesn't surprise me," I heard Walter say. " Christ!
After all we've done to keep our position dark."
Upton was rattled. His voice was harsh with anxiety. " Try and get Thorshammer, Carl! Change frequency, do any damn thing!"
" The Herr Kapitan Wetherby should be here," came Pirow's cool voice. " We'll try eighteen and twenty-four metres raider's frequency."
There was a pause. Then Upton's voice broke in. " What is it, Carl? Have you got her?"
" Thorshammer," replied Pirow. " She's flown off the seaplane!" I heard the crash of a telephone receiver being picked up. " Bjerko!" snapped Upton. " Alter course! Turn away, south and west! Full speed ahead!" I felt the pulse of the factory ship start to quicken under the cabin floor.