‘No, I shouldn’t think so.’ Loftur’s attention was fixed on the radar. ‘Have your wife and kids gone to sleep?’
‘Well, Lára hasn’t but the girls are in bed. She’s reading to them in the hope that there won’t be a repetition of last night’s bad dreams. I must say, I wouldn’t mind turning in myself though we’ve been lying down most of the day. This sea air’s making me sleepy.’ Ægir toyed with the beer bottle. ‘Are you a family man yourself?’
Loftur looked up from the radar, and at first it seemed as if he had taken offence at the question. Perhaps he didn’t like discussing his private life with strangers, or maybe Ægir had touched a nerve. Young though he was, he might recently have split up with a girlfriend. Ægir immediately regretted having asked, but he must have misread Loftur’s reaction because the other man eventually replied: ‘No, not yet.’
The yacht dived suddenly and as she came up there was a resounding thud that made the entire vessel shudder. Ægir had to grab the table to keep his balance. The sea had been relatively quiet for the last hour, so he had been completely unprepared. ‘Whoa!’ As he straightened his knees, he noticed that Loftur was unaffected by the movement. Next minute all was calm again and the yacht righted herself. ‘Can any of those smart gadgets give advance warning of that kind of thing?’
‘If you mean can I warn you when a wave’s coming, the answer’s no. Your best bet’s to look ahead over the bows.’ Loftur glanced over his shoulder at the various monitors. ‘If you want to have a look around, it’s fine. Just don’t touch anything.’
Ægir didn’t like to decline the invitation and point out that Thráinn had already shown him the ropes. He was afraid this would be interpreted as lack of interest and expose his true nature, that of the wimpy office worker. Besides, it would be a pity not to respond to the man’s friendly overtures now that he seemed to be coming out of his shell at last. ‘That’s the radar, isn’t it?’ Ægir asked, standing in front of a large, multi-coloured screen whose function he knew perfectly well. The screen showed a disk with a radial sweep that revolved slowly, trailing an illuminated area that gradually faded away.
‘Yes.’ Loftur came over. ‘It shows the magnetic waves of the radar spreading out from the yacht’s transmitter. If they hit anything, they bounce back and it shows up on screen. We’re in the middle of the circle, here.’ Ægir nodded, feigning ignorance, and Loftur continued: ‘As you can see, there’s nothing in the vicinity, which is pretty unusual, and I was beginning to wonder if we’d drifted off course – if the GPS was programmed wrong.’
‘What did you conclude?’
‘That we’re on course. It’s just a coincidence.’
‘Could the radar be malfunctioning? Could there be ships out there that aren’t showing up?’
‘I doubt it. It’s not exactly a busy sea route, so it’s probably not significant. We’ll see other vessels once we enter the fishing grounds. The sea underneath us is dead; all the life has been hoovered up. It’s kind of depressing.’
‘What about the container? Would it show up?’
Loftur shrugged. ‘Depends how high it’s riding in the water. The radar waves have to bounce off something and if the container’s mostly submerged, they wouldn’t pick it up. Actually, it would be better if the sea was rough, because then it would move up and down with the waves and be more visible.’
He showed Ægir another screen. ‘This is the echo sounder. It’s no use here as the ocean’s so deep, but it’s an important instrument when you’re sailing in shallower waters.’
Remembering his earlier musings, Ægir asked: ‘How deep is the sea here?’
Loftur bent over the screen and pointed: ‘About 3,200 metres. At that depth sunlight doesn’t penetrate to the sea bed, so the life forms are really strange. It’s amazing anything survives down there at all. The pressure is almost three hundred times what it is on the surface. It’s too far down even for deep-sea fish.’ Loftur looked out of the window, as if he expected to see something in the darkness. ‘Deep-sea fish are bizarre enough as it is. I’ve never seen it myself, but occasionally they get caught in the nets and blow up like balloons because of the change of pressure. I expect the same would happen to us if we were dragged out of the earth’s atmosphere.’
Ægir recalled a picture he had seen of a fish with a lantern dangling in front of its jaws. It had been a deep-sea species that used the light to lure in other curious fish, before snapping them up. He didn’t dare mention it in case the fish was fictional, a maritime hoax invented by sailors to trick landlubbers like him.
A rasping sound came from the speaker grille at Loftur’s side. ‘There the bugger goes again.’ He stooped slightly towards it. For a while they heard nothing but the raindrops on the windows and their own heavy breathing. Then the machine crackled again and this time it was accompanied by another noise, which reminded Ægir of the popping of air bubbles when he’d been diving.
‘Is that the radiotelephone you were talking about?’ Loftur nodded, his attention riveted to the machine. ‘Is it making those noises because it’s broken?’
The radio was now completely silent. ‘Well, I think it’s faulty. You shouldn’t hear a thing unless someone’s transmitting. But no one would waste time transmitting stuff like that. I don’t know – it’s a VHF 16 channel with a very limited range, barely as far as the horizon. Maybe we’re receiving feedback from a message that wasn’t intended for us. There’s no vessel within thirty nautical miles according to the AIS, so I suppose it’s possible.’ He noticed that Ægir was looking blank. ‘All vessels are equipped with a transmitter that sends out information about which ships are in the area, where they’re headed, their position, and so on. The AIS is an automatic tracking system that receives all transmissions within a radius of thirty-five nautical miles. The Coast Guard and harbour authorities use it as well, to keep an eye on marine traffic.’
The radio emitted more static and they both stared at it. ‘Perhaps the radio transmitting the message is faulty?’ Ægir felt absurdly pleased when Loftur looked at him with a hint of respect. ‘You know, maybe someone’s trying to send a message but failing because there’s a glitch at his end.’
‘That could be it.’ Loftur seemed about to say more when the noises began again. This time instead of crackling they heard the sound of air bubbles and what may have been a human voice, but it was so distorted that it was impossible to tell. Silence fell again. Yet it was not complete silence; Ægir had the feeling that the channel was still open, as if the person at the other end was sitting there, staring at the transmitter. Loftur snatched up the microphone. ‘Hello.’ There was no answer. ‘Hello. This is the Lady K. Our position is 316 nautical miles north-west of Lisbon. Please identify yourself. Over.’ Although Loftur had a thick Icelandic accent, his English was perfectly comprehensible. There was no answer. ‘Please identify yourself. Over.’ Still no answer. Loftur replaced the microphone. ‘It must be some twat messing about.’
‘A twat with access to a radio, though.’ Ægir tried to sound jovial, to lighten the atmosphere. The air felt oddly charged; perhaps someone was in trouble but unable to call for assistance due to a broken radio. It might even be a yacht like theirs, with children on board. ‘Should you try again?’
‘Lady K.’ They both froze and stared at the loudspeaker. Now the sound was crystal clear, with no crackling or air bubbles, just those two words, unmistakably the name of their yacht. ‘Lady K,’ it repeated, and Ægir felt a cold shiver down his spine. The voice sounded vile, oozing malice, as if uttering an obscenity. The words were pronounced without haste or any hint of desperation, each letter enunciated precisely. Whoever it was, this person was not in any trouble. The radio fell silent again, and this time it was obvious that the channel had been switched off.