The Swarm by Frank Schätzing Read Free Book Online Page B

water for Anawak. Outside, the clouds had dispersed and the sky was scattered with myriad twinkling stars. For a while they gazed up at it.
    â€˜I hope you find your whales,’ she said at last.
    â€˜I’ll let you know, Sam.’
    â€˜They’re lucky to have you as a friend. You’ve a good heart.’
    â€˜You can’t know that!’
    â€˜In my line of work, knowing and believing share a wavelength.’
    They shook hands.
    â€˜Maybe we’ll meet again as orcas,’ Anawak joked.
    â€˜Why?’
    â€˜The Kwakiutl Indians believe that if you lead a good life you’ll return as an orca.’
    I like the sound of that.’ Crowe grinned. ‘Do you believe it?’
    â€˜Of course not.’
    â€˜But I thought…’
    â€˜You thought?’ he said, although he knew without asking.
    â€˜That you were Indian.’
    Anawak felt himself stiffen. Then he saw himself through her eyes: a man of medium height and stocky build, with wide cheekbones, copper skin, almond eyes and thick, shiny black hair that fell across his forehead. ‘Something like that,’ he said awkwardly.
    Crowe glanced at him. Then she pulled out a packet of cigarettes, lit one and took a long drag. ‘Another of my obsessions,’ she remarked, blowing smoke. ‘Look after yourself, Leon.’

13 March
    Norwegian Coast and North Sea
    Sigur Johanson heard nothing from Tina Lund for a week, during which he stood in for another professor, who’d been taken ill, and wrote an article for National Geographic . He also contacted an acquaintance who worked for the distinguished wine producers Hugel & Fils in Riquewihr, Alsace, and arranged to be sent a few vintage bottles. In the meantime, he tracked down a 1959 vinyl recording of the Ring Cycle , conducted by Sir Georg Solti, which, with the wine, pushed his study of Lund’s worms to the back of his mind.
    It was nine days after their meeting when Lund finally called. She was in good spirits.
    â€˜You sound laid-back,’ said Johanson. ‘I hope that’s not affecting your scientific judgement.’
    â€˜Highly likely,’ she said.
    â€˜Explain.’
    â€˜All in good time. Now, listen: the Thorvaldson sets sail for the continental slope tomorrow. We’ll be sending down a dive robot. Do you want to come?’
    Johanson ran through a mental checklist of his commitments. ‘In the morning I have to familiarise students with the sex appeal of sulphur bacteria.’
    â€˜That’s no good. The boat leaves at the crack of dawn.’
    â€˜From where?’
    â€˜Kristiansund.’
    â€˜It was a good hour away by car on a wind-blown, wave-battered stretch of rocky coast to the south-west of Trondheim. There was an airport nearby, from which helicopters flew out to the many oil rigs crammed along the North Sea continental shelf and the Norwegian Trench.
    â€˜Can I join you later?’ he asked.
    â€˜Maybe,’ Lund said. ‘In fact, that’s not a bad idea - and there’s no reason why I shouldn’t go later too. What are you doing the day after?’
    â€˜Nothing that can’t be postponed.’
    â€˜Well, that’s settled. If we stay on board overnight, we’ll have plenty of time for observations and evaluating the results. We can get the helicopter to Gullfaks and take the transfer launch from there.’
    â€˜Where shall we meet?’ asked Johanson.
    â€˜Sveggesundet, at the Fiskehuset. Do you know it?’
    â€˜The restaurant on the seafront, next to the timber church?’
    â€˜Exactly.’
    â€˜Shall we say three?’
    â€˜Perfect. I’ll get the helicopter to pick us up from there.’ She paused. ‘Any news on the worms?’
    â€˜Not yet, but I may have something tomorrow.’
    He put down the phone and frowned. It was puzzling to see a new species within an ecosystem as well researched as this one. But it makes sense for