The Swarm

There was a crackle from Stringer's walkie-talkie. Tom Shoemaker's voice screeched through. 'Susan? Tune into ninety-nine.'

They were currently on ninety-eight, the frequency used by various whale-watching stations to send and receive messages. It was a practical arrangement that allowed them to keep up with all the different sightings. Tofino Air and the coastguards also used the channel, as, regrettably, did various sport fishermen, whose idea of whale-watching was considerably less sophisticated. Each station had its own frequency for private conversations. Stringer switched over.

Is Leon with you?'

'Yes.'

She passed the walkie-talkie to Anawak, who took it and spoke to Shoemaker for a while. Then he said, 'All right, I'll do it. No, it doesn't matter that it's short notice. Tell them I'll fly over as soon as we're back. Catch you later.'

'What was all that about?' asked Stringer, as he handed her the radio.

'A request from Inglewood.'

'The shipping line?'

'Tom had a call from the directorate. They didn't say much except they needed my help and it was urgent. He had the impression they would have liked to beam me over.'

INGLEWOOD HAD SENT A HELICOPTER. Less than two hours after his radio conversation with Shoemaker, Anawak was in the air watching the spectacular landscape of Vancouver Island unfold beneath him. Hills covered with fir trees gave way to rocky mountain peaks connected by shimmering rivers and turquoise lakes. But even the island's beauty couldn't disguise the ravages of logging. The deforestation of vast swathes of land was all too evident.

They left Vancouver Island and flew over the hustling Strait of Georgia. The Rockies, peaks dotted with snow, ran along the horizon, while towers of pink and blue glass lined the sweeping bay, where seaplanes soared and dipped in the air like colourful birds.

The pilot radioed ground control. The helicopter dropped down, banked and headed for the docks. Minutes later they landed. Stacks of cedar towered on either side of them, while mounds of coal and sulphur rose in cubist-style arrangements from the wharf. A colossal cargo vessel was moored nearby. A man detached himself from a group of people and headed over. The wind from the helicopter's rotor ruffled his hair. He was wearing a long coat, and hunched his shoulders against the blast. Anawak unbuckled his seatbelt and made ready to disembark.

The man opened the door for him. He was in his early sixties, tall and well-built, with a round, friendly face and intelligent eyes. He smiled at Anawak and held out his hand. 'Clive Roberts,' he said, 'managing director.'

Anawak followed him to the others, who were inspecting a freighter. They seemed to be a mixture of crew members and people in suits.

They were walking along the starboard side of the boat, staring up at it, pausing, then setting off again.

'It's very good of you to come at such short notice,' said Roberts. 'We wouldn't normally call and expect you to come running, but it was urgent.'

'No problem,' said Anawak. 'What are we looking at?'

'An accident we think.'

'Involving that freighter?'

'Yes, the Barrier Queen. Although it's more to do with the tugboats that were supposed to be bringing her home.'

'You know I'm a cetologist, right? An expert in animal behaviour? Whales and dolphins.'

'That's exactly what we need.'

Roberts introduced him to the others. Three were from the shipping line's management team; the rest were representatives from the technical contractors. A short distance away two men were unloading dive equipment from a truck. Anawak looked into the circle of worried faces, then Roberts took him to one side.

'Unfortunately we can't speak to the crew right now,' he said, 'but I'll forward a confidential copy of the report as soon as it's available. We don't want to involve any more people than are absolutely necessary. Can I count on your discretion?'

'Of course.'

'Good. I'll give you a rundown on what's happened, and when I'm done, you can make up your own mind whether you want to stick around or fly home. Either way we'll reimburse you for your trouble and expense.'

'It's no trouble.'

Roberts looked at him gratefully. 'The Barrier Queen is fairly new. When she sailed, everything was in A-l condition and it's all been properly certified. She's a sixty-thousand-tonne freighter that we've been using to transport HGVs, mostly to Japan and back. We've had no trouble with her until now. We put a lot of money into making sure our boats are safe – more than strictly necessary. Anyway, the Barrier Queen was on her way home, fully laden.'

Anawak nodded.

'Six days ago she reached the edge of the two-hundred-mile zone on her way into Vancouver. It was three in the morning. The helmsman changed course by five degrees – a routine correction. He didn't bother checking the display: he could see the lights on a vessel ahead, which gave him perfect visual reference. He waited for the lights to shift right, but they stayed where they were. The Barrier Queen was heading straight on. He tried moving the rudder again, but there was no noticeable change in direction, so he went for full rudder, and suddenly it worked. The trouble was, it worked too well.'

'She hit the other vessel?'

'No, she was too far away for that. But the rudder blade seemed to have jammed. Nothing could budge it. Just imagine: a speed of twenty knots and you're stuck on full rudder … A ship of that size isn't simply going to stop. She heeled with her cargo. A ten-degree heel – do you know what that means?'

'I can guess.'

'The drainage system for the vehicle deck is located just above the waterline. In rough conditions the water floods in, then pours straight back out, but at an angle like that the drainage holes would be submerged. It wouldn't take a second for the ship to fill with water. Luckily for us, the sea was calm that day, but the situation was still critical. The rudder had stuck.'

'So what was wrong with it?'

'We can't be sure… but one thing's certain: that was when the trouble really started. The Barrier Queen stopped her engines, radioed a mayday and waited for help. It was clear she wasn't seaworthy. Several ships in the vicinity changed course to head over in case they were needed. In the meantime two salvage boats set out from Vancouver. They arrived two and a half days later, in the early afternoon. One sixty-metre deep-sea tug and one twenty-five-metre craft. The trickiest part of any rescue operation is to get the rope from the tug to land safely on the vessel. In bad weather it can take hours: first a thin line, then a slightly thicker one, then a heavy-duty cable. It's an interminable procedure. But in this case, well, there should have been no problem. Conditions were good and the water was calm. But the tug was obstructed.'

'By what?'

'The thing is…' Roberts grimaced. 'Have you ever heard of an attack by whales?'

It was the last thing Anawak had expected. 'An attack? On a ship, you mean?'

'Yes. A big ship.'

'It's almost unheard-of.'

'Almost?' Roberts was listening carefully. 'So this wouldn't be the first time?'

'There's one recorded incident from the nineteenth century. Melville wrote a novel about it.'

'You mean Moby Dick?

'The novel was inspired by the story of the Essex, a whaling ship sunk by a sperm whale. The vessel was forty-two metres long, made of wood and probably rotten, but that's not the point. The whale rammed the boat and it sank within minutes. Its crew are supposed to have drifted for weeks in their lifeboats… Oh, and there were two further cases last year off the coast of Australia. In both incidents a whale was reported to have sunk a fishing-boat.'