Cold Fusion

Their love is the catalyst that could save the planet…or cost their lives.

As an environmental activist for Peace Warrior, Kier Mallory never hesitated to throw himself into dangerous situations. Until his hotheadedness costs the lives of two fellow crewmembers on an anti-whaling mission.

He finds no refuge in his hometown on Scotland’s north coast, where everyone knows what this son of a broken fisherman has done. Effectively homeless, Mal returns to one of his favorite places—Spindrift, a rustic colony of artist and crafter huts.

Spindrift is dilapidated and empty, save for a lone resident. Vivian Calder, a brilliant but emotionally detached scientist who appears to have done the impossible—mastered cold fusion. A clean, free, limitless source of power.

Despite Viv’s aversion to contact, a fragile bond forms between them, seemingly one atom at a time. Until Mal, determined to redeem himself by revealing Viv’s accomplishment to the world, brings down the wrath of an oil-dependent establishment, risking not only their love, but Viv’s life.

Warning: Contains a disgraced environmentalist and an autistic genius who go from strangers to lovers-for-life in thirteen days. Don’t believe in miracles? We’ll make you.

Cold Fusion

Harper Fox

Dedication

To Jane, in celebration of our thirty years together.

Chapter One

The Norwegian captain was testing the edge of the storm, and so was I. The waters in the fjord were still smooth. I laid one hand on the gently rocking rail of the
Sea Hawk
, and I watched through binoculars as he paced the deck, gesturing to his crew. I didn’t need to be able to hear him. His concerns were the same as mine. Beyond the mist-draped cliffs where the fjord became open sea, the sky was pure Arctic fury. Uneasy sunlight still lay on both our decks.

A strange brotherhood, in the teeth of such bitter enmity. He looked ordinary. The captain of the last boat had turned out to be a paramedic, for God’s sake, taking seasonal work during the summer months of the hunt. That hadn’t done us much good in the press. At least this guy looked like a professional, and his vessel was a decent one, not a rusty fifteen-yarder barely twice the length of its prey. That was what I wanted—a hard-faced hunter, a ship three times my own size to pick on, and one last kamikaze run.

“He knows we’re here, Mallory.”

I lowered the binoculars. I didn’t turn. The warmth at my back was too delicious for that, palpable even through a fisherman’s sweater and waterproofs. “I know. I’m not hiding anymore. This is it.”

“There’s a storm coming.”

“He knows that too. Why isn’t he running for cover in the fjord?”

“He must have his eye on something. But he’s bigger than we are—he can afford to outstay his welcome.”

Now I did turn. Alan didn’t budge, forcing me nose to nose with him. He was six foot two of thickset Dorset farmer, and if the heat of him had been distracting against my spine, like this he was almost enough to make me forget my whole business out here today and drag him back down to my bunk. He’d found his sea legs quickly after joining the
Hawk
, in the intervals of wrapping mine around his neck. I’d been born to the water, though, and I could raise ten years of fishing off the north coast of Scotland to his landsman’s common sense. “It’s just a summer squall. We can ride it.”

“What about the RIBs?”

I squinted through the copper veils of sunlight at the two little crafts hanging ready in their cradles. They hardly qualified as rigid inflatables—more like tough dinghies with an outboard motor. But they were the best we’d been able to afford, racy and manoeuvrable. “They’ll do. You and Sarah will keep the
Hawk
close to them.”

“Sarah doesn’t think this is a good idea either.”

I hadn’t realised my idea had spread to the crew. Sarah was our pilot and would have to know soon enough, but so far I’d only discussed my plans with Alan. “I asked you to keep quiet about it.”

“Yeah, you did.” He shrugged and grinned down into my face, edging his hips against mine. “Since when did we keep secrets aboard this rust bucket?”

We didn’t. We shared cabins in pairs but the walls were thin, and the recent developments in my relationship with Alan were certainly public knowledge by now. I was the nominal leader for this expedition, but the
Sea Hawk
and the Peace Warrior network she belonged to were strictly nonhierarchical. We discussed everything.

“Look,” I said, wriggling aside before my wrecking ball of a lover could give me an erection. “I didn’t know if I’d be able to pull this off. I still don’t know, with the weather closing in like this, and there was no point in getting everyone edgy until we were in position.”

“We’re in position now.”

Damn. Every word from that clever, shapely mouth sounded sexy. He was blinding me more brightly than the sun. “All right, all right. Is Mike still in the crow’s nest?”

“Yep. Keeping a sharp eye on theirs.”

“Good. Do me a favour and get everyone else up here.”

* * * * *

I surveyed my crew. They
were
mine, I supposed, for the duration of this voyage anyway. I was proud of that. Command of twelve souls and a forty-year-old ex-trawler wasn’t much to boast of in the grand scheme of things, but it was more than I’d ever expected from life. This time last year I’d been gutting codfish in the hold of my dad’s fishing smack off North Kerra, getting bellowed at for working too slowly even while he bemoaned our tiny catch. He’d called me useless so often I’d started to believe it.

Well, I was useful out here. I’d made runs into the Arctic Circle with four Peace Warrior missions now, helping cause such levels of sabotage and havoc among the whaling ships that even Greenpeace had drawn back its skirts from us, making international press statements to disassociate their activities from ours. It was quite something for an environmental group to have pissed off Greenpeace.

The
Hawk
felt more like home to me now than Kerra village. I leaned my back against the prow rail, breathing the salt fret and blinking against the fine sharp rain now beating in on the wind. Ahead of me, the painted logo on our wheelhouse glimmered like inspiration. We’d taken the Greenpeace dove and adapted it for our own purposes. Now she was a bird of prey, wings outstretched protectively and a set of fierce talons ready to tackle business down below. This time last year I’d never have had the nerve to address a dozen hardened activists.

Now I just began. “Thanks for coming up. That’s the
Halmøya
over there. She’s Skatvik’s foremost whaling ship, and I reckon she’s making her last run of the summer. It’s got to be a big one, or she wouldn’t be risking hanging about here in the storm.”

Alice Maguire, our photographer and on-board journalist, shoved her hands into her pockets. “I don’t understand why the hell
we
are.”

My leadership was definitely nominal. Open to question from everyone, and that was a good thing. Alice was a good kid who’d followed me all the way out from North Kerra to be here. I still wanted to tell her to shut the hell up and listen. “I’ve tried to keep out of her sight until now. I don’t want this to end with us getting towed back to harbour by the Skatvik marine police. It’s too late for them to get to us now, and I’m hoping…” I paused, because this next part was bollocks, and I hadn’t learned to be much of a liar so far. “I’m hoping now the
Halmøya
knows we’re here, they’ll back off and go home.”

A chorus of snorts and chuckles arose from the group in front of me. Alan had joined them. His gaze was cynical and amused. “What Cap’n Mallory means is, he hopes they’ll start a harpooning run, so he can pull the stunt of a lifetime.”

I shook my head. “Not a stunt.” I’d taken my fair part in the sabotage and madness. I’d personally helped deliver a ripe whale carcase to the front garden of the Norwegian environment minister. That didn’t mean I wanted Peace Warrior to remain the bad boy of the oceans forever. “If we do this right, I guarantee us a worldwide media hit without breaking or damaging a thing. I’m pretty sure they’re waiting for a pod of minke to surface over there. If they go for it, I want Alice and Oskar to head out towards them in one of the RIBs, and—”

“And what will you be doing in the other one, Mal?”

I fought not to look away. A question from Oskar had to be taken seriously. He was our cameraman, a native Norwegian who’d worked hard and quietly to show the world what his country was doing. “It sounds dramatic, but it isn’t. It’ll just look good on film. I’m gonna take the second RIB and get between the whales and the
Halmøya
. If I can time it right, and you and Alice can get the right angle on it, it’ll look like their harpoon gunner’s chasing me.”

There. I’d played my card. Normally the
Sea Hawk
only dogged the whaling ships, tried to reach the pods ahead of them and scare the creatures off, or failing that, hung around to get footage of the gory results of a catch. To my surprise, Alice’s brow cleared. “That’s actually quite a decent idea.”

Oskar grunted. “Sounds bloody insane to me.”

“Think about it,” Alice insisted. “Huge whale ship with harpoon threatens tiny protestor. David-and-Goliath situation. Yeah, I can see it—that’ll go viral, no problem at all.”

A wave rocked the
Hawk
, and everyone steadied themselves. All this would be academic if the whalers lost track of the minkes’ vapour spouts in rough water.

“I know what Mal’s trying to do,” Alan said, taking a step out of the group and turning to face them. “And sure, it’s a cool scenario. But I’m not sure the RIBs will handle it in this weather. I think we should call it quits for today.”

Irritation flared in me. I guessed spending last night on top of me didn’t mean Alan was going to be on my side today. Alice had painted a brighter picture of my intentions even than I’d formed for myself. It would be a hell of a coup, and suddenly Alan’s resistance made me want it more than ever.

“You know I wouldn’t put a boat into unsafe water.” I didn’t add that I’d been out fishing the North Atlantic while he was still polishing his Montblanc at his fancy boarding school. “We’ll have it rough for about ten minutes, but then it’ll pass. Seriously, everyone, this is a great chance. Only our hardcore supporters can sit through a kill video. Everyone else turns away. We need to pull new people in with a bit of excitement and action, a heroic dash, and—”

“And you’re just the hero for the job?”

I ran a hand into my hair, forgetting about my watch cap, which promptly tried to take flight in the wind. I snatched it back hard. What the hell was wrong with Alan today? His smile was now definitely mocking.

“Not at all. But I’m the only man on this boat who can run a RIB across that whaler’s prow fast enough to do this. Unless I’ve got any other volunteers.”

“Nobody’s questioning your skills, Mal,” Oskar rumbled. “I just don’t think the
Halmøya
’s going to be able to see the pod for much longer in this weather, let alone—”

“Mallory! They’ve sighted!”

Everyone looked sharply up. High in the crow’s nest, Mike was waving frantically. I pushed through oilskin-clad bodies to the starboard rail. Christ, yes—the
Halmøya
was in motion, beginning to churn up water with her props astern. Their gunner was scrambling for his station at the harpoon—a rusty, dirty old bitch, but powerful. Long-range, armed with a grenade. That would do fine.

When had my plans become a white-hot determination to pull this off at all costs? I couldn’t spare a second to think about it. I whipped back to face my crew. “Oskar. Alice. Will you do it?”

Alice spread her hands, resplendent as always in fingerless Icelandic mitts. “Anything for you, Mal, but we need to think this through. I don’t even know where you want Oskar to shoot from.”

“There’s no time.” I glanced to the deckhands. “Guys, go lower the RIBs. All you have to do is follow me, Alice, then veer off at my signal and stay at whatever distance Oskar needs to get the footage. The closer the better, of course. So?”

“So,” Oskar echoed, shrugging, and I knew I’d won my point. I clapped Oskar on the back and dragged Alice in with my other arm for a rough hug. I’d dreamed of a day like this, when instead of watching the planet go to hell in a human-made handbasket I would be able to do something about it. I wished my dad could see me. Well, he probably would, if he could squint through the booze mists for long enough to watch a YouTube clip. Alan stepped aside to let me go, and I ran for the starboard-side RIB.

* * * * *

The salt wind hit my face, forcing my lungs open to receive it. I always forgot between times the rush and the impact of driving the RIBs. The first seconds—gunning the motor, fighting the lift of the prow and surging forward—always shook half-strangled laughter from me. North Kerra and my father could be damned at that point, chopped up in my props and left far behind.

I had the run of a lifetime ahead of me now. The
Halmøya
was powering westward, up to her top speed of eighteen knots. My outboard would give me nearly twice that, but a quarter-mile stretch of heaving water lay between me and the sweet spot I wanted. I hit the first wave crest, and my seat in the prow bucked up to crack me in the arse. This boat had no harness, and I wouldn’t have stopped to fasten one anyway. I shifted the outboard to make the RIB a blade to slice the water rather than a big, flat wedge. Yes, there she was, malleable and quick in my hands. I could do anything now. Behind me I caught a fractured roar, which meant Alice and Oskar were doing it too.

I had no time to look. I trusted them to stay close and follow my signal. Alice was almost as good a sailor as I was, and Oskar would be planted like a rock, his camera wedged against his shoulder. I sent the RIB tearing round in a sweeping arc that carried her clear of the
Halmøya
’s wake. Outraged shouting clattered in the air. I couldn’t stop a yell of excitement—if I was close enough to hear myself being sworn at in Norwegian, I was almost there. I hung on to the wheel and squeezed one more burst from the motor. I had to get ahead. Had to transform the
Halmøya
from a sheer grey wall beside me to a plunging, slicing presence at my stern. I was hitting a headwind, and the motor howled. That didn’t matter. The wall was retreating, falling away. I got a little distance, then more and more, and finally it was enough. I gestured wildly to Alice in the boat behind—
drop back, drop back—
and charged across the whaling vessel’s prow.

The squall hit. I’d been right. It was only a baby, God and the ocean having some fun. Beyond it I could see blue skies already, and I wasn’t worried about being caught in its swatting wind-and-water paws. The RIB was lurching, clearing empty air beneath her hull with every smack of the waves, but she was holding speed. At last I snatched a look behind me.

Perfect. God, perfect. I was dangerously close to the whaler, and even if she’d been inclined to haul back and give me seaway, she was too cumbersome to do it fast. Dipping and rocking barely twenty yards behind my right shoulder I could see the V of her nose tip, her harpoon and her gunner cut out in flashing black shapes against the sky. If Oskar was filming now, he was seeing what the world would see—the whaling industry stripped of all its reasons and excuses, nothing but a spring-loaded cannon harpoon bearing down on an undefended sailor.