“Time,” she said. “I consulted with a world-famous pulmonary specialist in Canberra, a Dr. Catlett. Top man in Canberra; member of the Royal Society in London. He said that as long as you didn’t pop an infection, your lungs would recover. He asked if you were a smoker, by the way.”
“Not anymore,” Malachi said. “I lit one off when I was discharged and damned near died from coughing.”
“Well, there you are, then,” she said, approvingly. “Some of your problems are from the free ascent, the rest probably withdrawal from nicotine, believe it or not. Which means you will feel increasingly better as time progresses. Now, the important question: any developments on what you are going to do now that you’re no longer a captain of submarines?”
“How’s about I come grab you, pull you into this bed, and have my wicked way with you?”
She grinned. “I was talking about the next chapter in your life, you silly brute. But do hold that thought. You know you can stay here for as long as you want.”
“Well,” he said. “Putting aside all the practicalities, that seems like my best hope for the rest of my life. Marrying you and settling down here, like the guilty bastard I am.”
She sat up, eyes wide. “Are you serious, Malachi?”
“I know, I know, it’s probably not possible, or even permissible here in Australia. I’m an American, and I have none of the prospects your parents were hoping for you. But, God! I wish. Would you think about it? You know I love you.”
She stared at him for a few seconds. Then her expression changed. “Well,” she said, archly. “Of course, I’ll have to think about it.” Then she paused, and finally smiled, unable to carry off the fiction. “Okay,” she said, as she reached for him. “All done.”
“Not by a long shot,” he said.
Lambert came back to the station two days later, with big news: the government was a creating a new ministry to direct all war production, especially of raw materials, and they wanted Lambert to head it up. He stopped by the cottage on the way in to check on Malachi. Kensie was at the hospital but due back in time for dinner. Malachi assured him that he was recovering and thanked him for letting him stay there.
After dinner with the family, he and Kensie went to Lambert’s study to break the news that Malachi was probably going to be medically retired from the Navy and that they wanted to get married. Lambert was hardly surprised and gave them his immediate blessing. Then he asked a question that was right to the point: will your Navy allow you to do that? Won’t they want you back in the States to teach the new submarine crews? Malachi said he didn’t know, but since he was being medically retired and not just reassigned, they probably wouldn’t have a problem with it. He then asked a question of his own: would Australia allow him to marry an Australian national? Lambert was about to say of course, but then remembered that Australia had a seriously restrictive immigration program.
“Let’s hold off on asking the question until I become a government minister,” he said. “Then I will ask that question. Much better chances for a yes. Will you have a pension?”
“I suppose so,” Malachi said. “I’d expect to get half my active-duty pay.”
“That helps,” Lambert said. “Tell me, didn’t you say you had worked in the coal industry?”
Malachi laughed. “Yes, I did, but not in any management level. I was a hard-rock miner in Kentucky, starting at age thirteen. Ask me about the coal business, I know nothing except that the guys who own the mine do much better than the guys who lift the coal.”
Lambert smiled at that. “Would you like to see the other side of the coal business?” he asked.
Malachi looked at Kensie, who was nodding her head emphatically. “Well, yes,” Malachi said. “My future boss recommends it, I think.”
They all laughed at that.
“Very well, Malachi Stormes,” Lambert said. “Let me call in some favors.”
The next night during cocktails, Lambert told Malachi that he’d made some inquiries and had been made aware of a gentlemen’s agreement between the US Navy and the RAN regarding the Firefish incident. He’d also found out about Malachi’s DSO, which had rung some bells in Canberra. The long and short of it was that Malachi Stormes, Commander, USN, Retired, was absolutely welcome in Australia.
Kensie was back on shift, but due home the next afternoon. After dinner, Lambert recommended that Malachi break the news to her that their plans to get married were apparently on track. He then asked Malachi to do one more thing: tell Margery.
“You haven’t told her?” Malachi asked.
“No, young man, that’s going to be the price of admission, I think. I realized that Kensie was her own woman a long time ago, but it was Margery’s dream of some fabulous mercantile alliance, a glittering society wedding, and then, well, I’m not sure what. This awful war has affected her more than I’d expected. Both of her brothers went off to fight with the Brits; one is dead, the other is missing in action in Burma.”
“Damn,” Malachi said. “I didn’t know that.”
“There’s more,” Lambert said. “Margery’s British, actually. Not one to complain. But her family lived in Coventry. Her father was something important in the Midlands munitions business.”
“Coventry,” Malachi said. “When I first took my boat to Holy Loch, they were still talking about what had happened to Coventry, even though it had been over a year. Did—?”
“Oh, yes,” Lambert said. “We met in London six months after the family had been all but wiped out in the November raid. I was over there for a war-planning conference of industrialists from throughout the Empire right after. She was very pretty but utterly devastated by what had happened. Her entire family was gone and she couldn’t have been more vulnerable. On impulse I asked her to come back to Australia with me. She never looked back, our Margery. But now I think it would be good for you to tell her about you and Kensie. And why. Why, especially, would be good, you know.”
“I have something of a past,” Malachi said.
Lambert just looked at him.
“Kensie told you?”
“Kensie did tell me, and she also said something that resonated with me. That what happened was part of who you were, not what you were.”
“Yes, I remember those words. I’d never thought of it that way. I’d also never told anyone about what happened. Until Kensie.”
“Count on it, Lambert,” Malachi said. “I can relate to fragile, believe it or not.”
“I’d like you to go see her now, Malachi, if you don’t mind. I’ve told her you need to speak to her about something important. She’ll be in the salon at this time of day.”
Malachi found his way to what Americans would have called the living room. Margery was sitting in a rocking chair, knitting something. She looked up when he appeared in the entrance to the salon.
“Hello, Malachi,” she said with a generous smile.
He took a deep breath and then stepped in.
ALSO BY P. T. DEUTERMANN
THE CAM RICHTER NOVELS
The Cat Dancers
Spider Mountain
The Moonpool
Nightwalkers
THRILLERS
Red Swan
Cold Frame
The Last Man
The Firefly
Darkside
Hunting Season
Train Man
Zero Option
Sweepers
Official Privilege
SEA STORIES
The Commodore
Sentinels of Fire
Ghosts of Bungo Suido
Pacific Glory
The Edge of Honor
Scorpion in the Sea
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
P. T. DEUTERMANN is the author of several previous novels based on his experiences as a senior staff officer in Washington and at sea as a navy captain and, later, commodore. His World War II works include Pacific Glory, which won the W. Y. Boyd Award for Excellence in Military Fiction, Sentinels of Fire, The Commodore, and Ghosts of Bungo Suido. He lives with his wife in North Carolina. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Map
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Also by P. T. Deutermann
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE ICEMAN. Copyright © 2018 by P. T. Deutermann. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Cover design by Young Jin Lim
Cover illustration by Steve/Pixel/works
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-18137-4 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-18138-1 (ebook)
eISBN 9781250181381
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First Edition: August 2018