Chapter 30. Maxim
MAXIM
“This ship cannot sink,” I say, my words slurred with fatigue and whatever the team doctor gave me for pain. I wince when he pulls the thread through a small wound at my hairline.
My words cut into the shouts of jubilation and fill the ship’s meeting room where everyone’s gathered.
It’s only been an hour since I regained consciousness.
I wasn’t out long, but I have one hell of a headache.
It’s hard to concentrate, to follow the developments, but I do know we cannot allow the ship to sink.
“We’re getting off, Kingsman,” Dr. Larnyard says, brows drawn together. “The winds have let up just enough, maybe only long enough for us to get out of here.”
He’s nursing a mug of cocoa, no worse for wear from our little swim in the icy ocean.
“Yeah, King,” Captain Rosteen says. “Neither the Japanese nor the Russians could risk a helicopter to reach us. Your Americans are coming through.”
The team gives another shout of relief and round of high-fiving.
“I get that,” I say, my teeth still chattering despite the warmth from the heater. “And I’m grateful, of course, but we can’t abandon this ship.”
“The hell we can’t,” David snaps. “Maxim, we have to jump through this window before it closes. What the hell, man?”
“Of course we’ll leave,” I agree, keeping my tone reasonable. “But it’s not enough that we’re saved. The Chrysalis has to be saved, too. Or else we may create the worst Antarctic disaster since—”
“ Bahía Paraíso ,” Grim says, running a hand over his military-cut pelt of hair.
“Right.” I look to Dr. Larnyard. “Do you want to go down in history beside the largest oil spill and possibly man-made ecosystemic disruption ever in this hemisphere?”
The professor gulps, and I can practically see him weighing all of his accolades and tenure against such a black mark.
“What’s Bahía Paraíso ?” Peggy asks.
“An Argentinian supply ship trapped in 1989,” I tell her. “It was struck by a ’berg and sank here in Antarctica.”
“Spilled a hundred and thirty thousand gallons of diesel fuel all over the west Antarctic Peninsula coast,” Grim continues, “and destroyed the local wildlife.”
“I came here to do something good,” I tell them, spreading what I hope is a compelling look over the entire team. “Something that could help in our fight to save this planet. I’ll be damned if I’ll be party to devastating one of the most pristine parts it has left.”
“What good will it do for us to go down with the ship?” Dr. Larnyard demands.
“Not go down with it,” I say, not even bothering now to hide my impatience and disdain for the man. “Save it. When the Americans call back, we have to at least try to negotiate a rescue for this ship. If not when they pick us up, as soon as humanly safe and possible.”
The radio crackles, signaling incoming communication. I don’t hesitate but grab the radio before anyone tells me I can or can’t.
“ Chrysalis , do you copy?” the voice on the other end asks over the sound of whipping wind and propellers.
“This is Chrysalis ,” I say, glancing at Captain Rosteen, who gives a reluctant nod of approval. “We copy.”
“We’re about a mile out,” the pilot says. “We’ve identified the ice floe large enough for us to land. Have you marked it?”
“Roger that. The wind died down enough for the part of our team out on that ice floe to leave their tents and mark it with coffee beans.” I wink at Grim, whose agile genius had led to that idea.
“Coffee, huh?” The pilot laughs, providing the only measure of comfort I’ve felt since ice pierced our ship.
“As long as I can see it in the snow, we should be fine, but we gotta be fast. Satellite projects those storms will be swinging back soon. And with the size of your team, even with five helicopters, it’ll take several trips. ”
“I know you’re doing us a huge favor with this,” I say carefully, “and at great risk to your crew, but I have to ask. Any chance you have the means to repair this ship at least enough so it doesn’t sink before somebody can come back and retrieve it when the ice shifts?”
“We got a team of engineers with us,” the pilot says. “If it’s one thing we know how to prevent, it’s oil spills, Maxim.”
Maxim? How does he know me?
“That’s good to hear,” I reply, smiling and frowning, pleased and confused. “You guys are prepared. Who are you anyway?”
“Oh,” the pilot says, surprise evident in his words. “I thought you knew. It’s Cade Energy, sir. Your father sent us.”