S.J. Hailey
The 5th Amulet
To my parents and brother for our first adventures
and my wife and daughter for our future journeys.
An amulet is an object that protects a person from trouble; but the original Greek meaning comes from the word talein, which means ‘to initiate into the mysteries.
ONE
Two hundred and fifty miles east southeast of Newfoundland, a portion of the Labrador Current flows southward along the eastern edge of the Grand Banks. The icebergs and sea ice from here created the Titanic disaster of 1912.
It is still an unforgiving sea.
The oil supply vessel Sea Eagle ploughed through the intimidating winter waves of the Canadian coast. Black water capped with foam slammed into the red hull from all angles. The assault on the reinforced glass of the forward bridge was relentless, despite it being fifteen metres above the waterline.
The ship was front heavy, like a bulldog. A huge bow for dealing with the conditions of the northern Atlantic. The flat stern carried cargo and could be adapted for helicopter landing.
Captain Skanks was a rough looking Scotsman with a shaggy beard and head that was sinking into his neck. He was wedged into his large chair; his red knuckled hand gripped a battered mug of overly sweetened coffee.
The first mate called over, ‘Are you ever going to throw that mug out?’
‘This is an antique.’ Skanks replied.
‘Cap, it’s a 1977 Queen’s Silver Jubilee mug, there must be millions around the world.’
‘But none with this ancestry like me it’s a survivor.’
‘What are you on about? There’s only superglue holding it together.’
‘This mug Crawford, has survived four ships and two wives. You see this crack on the handle. First wife, last fight. She gave me stitches in my head.’
‘Mean lady?’
‘Yep. God I loved that woman.’
Crawford laughed with Skanks, knowing the only real love he had ever had was the sea, although it took him years to admit.
Skanks looked out through the spray, seeing storm clouds in the distance, but not much else. ‘We have a job to do, how much more of this storm have we got?’
Crawford reviewed the latest information. ‘Satellite imagery shows maybe five miles and then it will blow south of us.’
Skanks knew he could trust his judgement. ‘And where’s our quarry?’
‘You mean the iceberg?’
‘Anything else out here we need to worry about?’
‘Besides the freezing sea, icebergs and thirty foot waves?’
‘Always the comedian Crawford, you know sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.’
‘Yeah I know, sorry. The berg is fifteen miles north east.’
‘Ice patrol tag still squawking?’
‘Yes Cap.’
The International Ice Patrol dropped GPS tags onto all icebergs which transmitted their location to shipping in the area. This allowed the ships and oilrigs that occupied this lethal stretch of ocean, to remain informed of possible issues from the drifting ice.
‘Which platform is she threatening?
‘Hibernia.’
‘So, one and a half billion tonnes of oil platform versus an iceberg the size of a football stadium.’
‘Wouldn’t like to bet on that.’
‘Neither would our masters. Which is why we need to tow it out of harm’s way?’
‘Not exactly towing boss, more suggesting a slight detour.’
‘True Crawford, but doesn’t make it any less dangerous.’
Less than two hours later the experienced crew got the specialist cable around the berg with a careful circling manoeuvre. The winch team and navigator worked effectively to circle the enormous slab of ice with a high strength cable. Regularly spaced orange floats along its length kept it visible on the surface. Skanks wanted to make sure there were no problems, snagged sections or small growlers that could seriously compromise the dangerous operation.
A small UAV wheeled out on the deck, six-foot wingspan and a prop motor was reminiscent of a brightly coloured oversized toy. The lightweight plane was launched into the strong wind and powered to its chosen altitude with ease. A direct feed from its two cameras appeared on monitors above the Captain’s chair.
The iceberg was two hundred metres long, one hundred wide and fifty high. The UAV circled around the white island, checking for any smaller bergs floating around. If a chunk of ice fell off it could present a much larger hazard from lying low in the water.
After a thorough check it was late afternoon when they began towing. The fourteen thousand horsepower engines gradually built up power. Foam and spray churned from the stern, leaving a white carpet right up to the building sized piece of ice overlooking the ship.
Random cracking and rumbling amongst the background sounds of the cold North Atlantic was the only indication of movement. The cable held.
Something on the feed from the UAV screen perked Skanks curiosity; he pried his body from the chair
‘What’s that?’ His thick fingers left a mark on the pristine LCD monitor. ‘Rewind and pause. There! Dark outline, something in the ice.’
Davis the UAV operator turned the plane and made a single low pass over the berg. The wind blowing off its vertical sides buffeted the small aircraft.
‘What does that look like to you?’
Davis looked at Skanks, ‘You are going to think I am crazy, but it looks like the stern of a ship?’
‘I don’t think you’re crazy Davis, thought I had finally cracked for a minute.’
Skanks moved over to the computer terminal on the far side of the bridge. With surprising dexterity he emailed the images to the friend who had given him the UAV.
‘Who you sending that to boss?’
‘Jacob Mathias, an old friend. Saved his life once and he got me a good divorce lawyer. Gave me that UAV as a thank you.’
As he came onto the rear bridge, Crawford heard something unfamiliar on the wind. A scraping noise, metallic, something too different to be normal. He called down to the winch deck. ‘Get someone to check the cable on the back, sounds like its catching.’
He looked towards the berg quarter of a mile away. It began to turn. Not sideways, but over, towards the Sea Eagle. Crawford shouted across the bridge, ‘the berg’s spinning Cap!’ panic changing his voice to a scream.
The cable had shifted and the berg began to turn turtle. Its lucid blue underbelly rolled into view with surprising speed.
As the berg rotated it displaced a huge mound of water in front of it. A crewman was unlocking the rear hatch on the winch deck, the bottom handle was sticking as usual. He gave it a kick to loosen it.
The mound of water became a large wave, cresting and moving with astonishing speed. A wave over thirty feet high surged headlong towards the aft of the ship, washing over the deck within seconds.
The crewman swung the rear hatch open to see the three men on the winch deck being thrown towards him. Two hit the wall; even over the noise of the water he heard the crunch of bone. He attempted to shut the open hatch, but a third crewman washed into the void. The wall of water struck the open hatch and entered the ship. The massive change in pressure blasted any unsecured doors off their hinges.
Two other men were climbing up from the engine room, the torrent of water slammed down the corridor passed over their bodies and cascaded onwards into the engine room. The explosion as the freezing seawater hit the red-hot engines blew out a small section of metal, compromising what little hull integrity remained.
The sea straddled the stern, tonnes of salt water pushed through the open hatches. The freezing Atlantic Ocean relentlessly surged over the rest of the ship.