The Swarm (20 page)

There was silence. Stone played with his pen.

‘May I ask,' said Johanson, ‘what kind of unit you'll be building out there?'

Skaugen glanced at Lund.

‘I told Sigur we were thinking of building a subsea unit and that nothing had been decided,' she said.

‘How much do you know about subsea units?' Skaugen asked Johanson.

‘Well, I've heard about SUBSIS,' he said.

Hvistendahl raised his eyebrows. ‘Not bad. You'll soon be an expert. If you join us for another few meetings, you'll—'

‘SUBSIS is old hat,' snapped Stone. ‘We've come a long way since then. Our units can go much deeper and, safety-wise, they're far superior.'

‘The system comes from FMC Technologies in Kongsberg. They specialise in developing subsea solutions,' explained Skaugen. ‘It's a
more advanced version of SUBSIS. In fact, we've already decided to use the technology. The only question is whether to link the unit to one of the existing platforms or run the pipelines to the shore. They'd have to cover a vast distance and be able to cope with varying depths.'

‘Couldn't you build a floating processing plant above the unit?' asked Johanson.

‘Sure, but either way the main unit will still be on the seabed,' said Hvistendahl.

‘In any case, we know how to evaluate the risks,' continued Skaugen, ‘so long as they're defined risks. But the presence of the worms is a factor we can't identify or explain. Maybe - like Clifford says - we're blowing it out of proportion and there's no need to jeopardise our schedule because of a strange glowing creature and some mysterious worms. But where there's doubt, we need to do everything in our power to eliminate it. I don't expect you to take this decision for us, Dr Johanson, but what do you think we should do?'

Johanson felt uncomfortable. Stone was staring at him with open hostility. Hvistendahl and Skaugen were waiting expectantly, and Lund's expression gave nothing away. If only I'd talked to her first, he thought. But she hadn't pressured him. Maybe she'd be glad if he called time on the project. Then again, maybe she wouldn't.

Johanson placed his hands on the table. ‘If it were up to me, I'd go ahead and build the thing,' he said.

Skaugen and Lund stared at him in bewilderment. Hvistendahl frowned, and Stone leaned back with a triumphant smile.

Johanson waited for a moment. Then he said, ‘I'd build it - but I'd wait until Geomar had carried out its tests and given the green light. I don't think we'll find out any more about the creature on the video - it's probably a distant relative of the Loch Ness Monster and I'm not even sure it's worth worrying about. The real question is what effect untold numbers of mysterious hydrate-eating worms will have on the stability of the slope and on future boreholes. Until you know the answer to that, I'd recommend you put the project on hold.'

Stone pursed his lips and Lund smiled. Skaugen exchanged a glance with Hvistendahl, then said, ‘Thank you, Dr Johanson, and thank you for sparing your time.'

 

That evening, when he'd put his suitcase into the car and was doing a last check before leaving the house, there was a ring at the door.

He opened it. Lund was standing outside. It had started to rain and her hair clung to her face. ‘You did well,' she said.

‘Did I?' Johanson stepped aside to let her in. She walked past him, wiping the raindrops from her eyes.

‘The decision was as good as made before you arrived. Skaugen just wanted your approval.'

‘Who am I to approve or disapprove of Statoil's projects?'

‘Like I said, you've got an excellent reputation. But that's not all Skaugen's interested in. He's the one who'll have to take responsibility for the project. He knows that anyone with any connection to Statoil will be biased. He wanted to talk to someone who had nothing riding on the project. Also, you know a bit about worms and you don't give a damn about subsea units.'

‘So he put the project on hold?'

‘Until Geomar can clarify the situation. Statoil's lucky to have people like him at the top.' She was standing in the hallway, arms hanging at her sides. For someone who was usually so energetic and determined, she seemed oddly at a loss. ‘So, where are your bags?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Aren't you going to the lake?'

‘My case is in the car. You were lucky to catch me - I was about to leave.' He gave her a look. ‘Is there anything else you want me to do before I abandon myself to peaceful isolation? Because now I'm going to do just that. No more delays.'

‘I won't keep you long. I just wanted to tell you what Skaugen had decided…'

‘Yes?'

‘…and to ask if your offer still holds.'

‘What offer?' he said, although he knew what she meant.

‘To take me with you.'

Johanson leaned against the wall next to the coat rack. He sensed that things were about to get tricky. ‘And I asked you what Kare would have to say about it.'

‘I don't need his permission, if that's what you mean.'

‘I don't want to be responsible for any misunderstandings.'

‘You won't be responsible for anything,' she said. ‘If I want to go to the lake with you, it's my decision.'

‘You're dodging the issue.'

Water from her hair was trickling down her face. ‘Then why did you invite me?'

Yes, why?, thought Johanson.

Because he'd wanted to. But only if it didn't screw things up. Something bothered him about Lund's sudden decision to join him. A few weeks ago he would have thought nothing of it. Sporadic trips together, dinner dates - all that was part of their long flirtation, which had never gone further. But this was different.

Suddenly he knew what was wrong. ‘If you two have fallen out,' he said, ‘don't drag me into it. You're welcome to come with me, but not if it's just to put pressure on Kare.'

‘You're reading way too much into this.' Lund shrugged. ‘OK, maybe you're right. Forget it.'

‘No problem.'

They hovered in the hallway.

‘Well, I'll be off, then.' He gave her a peck on the cheek and pushed her gently out of the house, then locked the door behind him. It was nearly dusk, and the rain was still falling. He'd have to drive most of the way in the dark, but the prospect was almost appealing. He'd listen to Sibelius.
Finlandia
, at night - not a bad combination.

‘So you'll be back on Monday?' asked Lund, as she walked him to the car.

‘Sunday afternoon, more likely.'

‘I'll give you a ring some time.'

‘Sure. What have you got planned then?'

‘There's always work.' She paused. ‘Kare's gone away for the weekend. He's with his parents.'

Johanson opened the car door. ‘You don't always have to work, you know.'

She smiled. ‘Of course not.'

‘Besides…you couldn't come anyway - you're not equipped for a weekend in the country.'

‘What would I need?'

‘Sturdy shoes, for one thing.'

Lund glanced at her feet. She was wearing heavy lace-up boots. ‘Anything else?'.

‘A jumper…' Johanson ran his hand over his beard. ‘I suppose I've got some spares…'

‘Uh-huh. For all eventualities, I suppose.'

‘That's right. Best to be prepared.' He couldn't help laughing. ‘All right, Miss Complicated. This is your last chance.'

‘Me? Complicated?' Lund opened the passenger door. ‘We can thrash that out on the way.'

 

Gravel crunched under the tyres as they turned on to the track leading to the house, and wound their way past the dark shapes of trees. The lake lay ahead, like a second sky embedded in the forest; its surface studded with stars. In Trondheim it was probably still raining.

Johanson parked the car and carried his case into the house, then joined Lund on the veranda. The floorboards creaked. The stillness of the place had always filled him with awe, and seemed more intense for all the sounds he could hear - rustlings, the faraway call of a bird, twigs cracking, a scurrying in the undergrowth, and others he couldn't distinguish. A few steps led down from the veranda to a sloping meadow that separated the house from the lake. A crooked landing-stage jutted into it. At the far end, the boat he used for fishing lay motionless on the water.

Lund was gazing into the night. ‘And you've got all this to yourself?'

‘Mostly.'

‘I guess you're happy in your own company, then,' she said.

Johanson laughed. ‘What makes you say that?'

‘Well, if there's no one else, you'd have to be'.

‘When I'm out here, I can do exactly as I please - like or loathe myself, whatever…Come on, let's go inside. I'll make us a risotto.'

A few minutes later Johanson was frying onions, adding rice, stirring then pouring in hot chicken stock. He sliced a few porcini mushrooms and left them to sizzle gently over a low heat.

Lund was watching him. She couldn't cook, Johanson knew. He opened a bottle of red wine, decanted it and poured two glasses. The usual routine. They ate, drank, talked and got closer in a secluded romantic setting. An ageing Bohemian and a younger woman. He knew how it would end.

If only she hadn't insisted on coming.

He was tempted to let things take their course. Lund was sitting at the kitchen table in one of his jumpers, more relaxed than she'd seemed in a long time. There was an unexpected softness about her features that perturbed him. He'd tried to persuade himself that she wasn't his type, too hyperactive and too Nordic, with her straight white-blonde hair and eyebrows. Now he was forced to admit it wasn't true.

You could have had a quiet weekend, he told himself, but you had to go and complicate things.

They ate in the kitchen, drank their wine, chatted easily and laughed. Soon they had started on another bottle.

At midnight Johanson said, ‘Fancy a boat trip? It isn't too cold.'

She propped her chin in her hands and grinned at him. ‘How about a dip?'

‘I'd give that a miss. In a month or two, maybe, when the water's warmer. No, I thought we could motor to the middle of the lake, take the wine with us and…'

‘And what?'

‘Gaze up at the stars.'

Their eyes met, and Johanson felt his defences crumble. He heard himself saying things he hadn't meant to say, setting things in motion, leading her on. He edged closer to her until he could feel her breath on his face. ‘OK, let's go.'

The wind had dropped. They walked along the landing-stage and hopped down into the boat. It rocked in the water and Johanson caught her arm. He nearly laughed. It was like a film, he thought - a corny romantic comedy, with Meg Ryan as the lead.

He'd purchased the little wooden boat with the house. At the bow end, planks had been nailed together to create storage space. Lund sat cross-legged on top, and Johanson started the outboard engine.

They didn't speak while the boat was moving, and soon Johanson released the throttle and let the engine die. They were some distance from the house but the veranda lights reflected in the water as a rippling band of brightness. The silence was punctuated by soft splashes as fish darted up to seize insects. Johanson picked his way carefully across to Lund, with the half-empty wine bottle in one hand. ‘If you lie back and look at the sky,' he said, ‘the universe and everything in it will be yours.'

She looked at him, eyes glinting in the dark. ‘Ever seen a shooting star from here?'

‘Plenty.'

‘Did you make a wish?'

‘I'm not enough of a romantic,' he said, and squeezed in beside her. ‘I just enjoyed the view.'

Lund giggled. ‘You don't believe in such things, then?'

‘Do you?'

‘Of course not!'

‘You're not the type for flowers either. Kare will have his work cut out with you. A stability analysis for subsea construction would be the most romantic present anyone could give you.'

Lund gazed at him. Then she lay down, and her jumper rode up to reveal a taut abdomen. ‘Do you mean that?'

Johanson propped himself up on his elbow. ‘No, not really.'

‘You think I'm unromantic.'

‘I think you've never stopped to think what romance is about.'

Their eyes met.

And lingered.

His fingers were already in her hair, combing through the long blonde strands.

‘Maybe you could show me,' she murmured. She wrapped an arm round his neck, eyes closed.

Kiss her. Now
.

Neither of them moved. They were locked in position, as if they were waiting for a sign.

What's wrong? thought Johanson. Why isn't it working? He could feel the warmth of Lund's body and he breathed in her scent - but he felt like an intruder.

‘It's not happening,' said Lund.

Johanson felt as though he'd been thrown into the lake's cold water. Something had been extinguished. His ardour dispersed, giving way to relief. ‘You're right,' he said.

They disentangled themselves reluctantly. Johanson saw a question in her eyes that was probably mirrored in his: have we spoilt what we had? ‘Are you all right?' he asked.

Lund didn't reply. He sat down in front of her, with his back against the side of the boat, and offered her the bottle. ‘Good friends like us,' he said, ‘should never be lovers.'

It was a cliché, but it had the right effect. She giggled, grabbed the
bottle and took a swig. Then she laughed. She put her hand to her mouth to stifle it, but noisy laughter spilled between her fingers, and Johanson joined in.

‘Phew,' she said. ‘Are you angry with me?'

‘No. What about you?'

‘No - it's just…' She hesitated. ‘I don't get it. On the
Thorvaldson
that night in your cabin, if I'd stayed a moment longer something could have happened, but now…'