Tooth and Claw by Johnson Craig

Author:Johnson, Craig
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2024-11-19T00:00:00+00:00

8

SS Baychimo, Location Unknown, North Slope, Alaska

December 23, 1970

“The Beaufort Gyer. It’s this strange oceanographic phenomenon that slowly swirls generally clockwise, about ten times the size of Lake Michigan with chunks of ice in it over thirty miles in circumference, some of them thousands of years old. There’s a scientific research station named T3 on one of them; this mammoth ice pan circled around out there for years before it finally slipped free and floated down toward Greenland, where it broke up,” Matty explained.

I unbuttoned my parka, the heat in the dining room finally approaching zero as Matty, Henry, and I sat at the table. “So, you’re thinking this ship periodically gets trapped in this…Beaufort Gyre, and then slips free long enough to get sighted before being pulled back in where it disappears for decades until it appears again?”

Matty shrugged. “What else could it be?”

The Cheyenne Nation grunted.

I glanced around at the sleeping people, piled into all corners of the room, most of them near the roaring stoves that provided a cheery light in the otherwise dismal, frozen surroundings. “Dumb luck?”

“They found rocks and caribou antlers embedded in the ice, as well as the bones of animals that had been extinct for centuries.”

I walked over to the cabinets in the mess and began opening and closing them until I found what I was looking for in the form of a half-bottle of Château de Laubade Armagnac, which sat next to a full bottle. Pulling the half-full container from the cabinet, I retrieved a handful of tumblers from the captain’s quarters and sat them on the table between Matty, Henry, and me. “Drink?”

“Never touch the stuff.”

“Maybe you should start.” I shoved a glass in his direction and dumped a little in. “Henry?”

He waved me off.

“More for me.” I poured a tumblerful and then picked up the bottle and attempted to read the crumbling French label in the firelight before resting it back on the table amid the supplies, curling ledgers, blueprints, and yellowed charts. “So, what are the chances that this Beaufort Gyre will pull the Baychimo back in and swirl us around out there for another ten years?”

Matty’s expression turned somber as he nudged his tumbler with his fingertips. “I don’t know.”

Picking up my glass, I swirled the deep-honey-colored liquid. “How come this thing hasn’t been spotted by aircraft, satellites, or other ships?”

“Do you know how big the Arctic is?”

My eyes darted toward Henry, who remained silent, and then back to Matty over the glass. “I concede your point.”

“Ninety-five percent of the time the Baychimo has probably been covered in snow and ice.”

“Why hasn’t it sunk?”

He shrugged. “Dumb luck?”

The Bear lifted an empty glass. “Here is to stupide chance.”

Matty nodded. “Let’s hope that we get some ourselves.” He took a sip and then slowly lowered the tumbler, all the time studying the tabletop.

“Something bothering you?”

The young man took a moment to respond. “Mike.”

I nodded as he got up and walked over to the nearest stove, opening it with the shovel and tossing a few more chunks of coal into the fire.

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