Arctic Wargame (Justin Hall # 1) (6 page)

Justin stared at the snowplows through the terminal windows and sighed. The snowstorm had left them stranded at the airport. His team was waiting for clearance from the air traffic controller.

Justin’s satellite phone chirped inside his jacket. He removed his right-hand glove and frowned as he glanced at the screen.
How did he get this number?

“Who’s dead?” he asked on the phone.

Carrie shook her head. She knew there was only one person Justin would greet in such a way: his dad, Carter.

“Justin, how are you?” Carter asked quietly.

“What do you want? I don’t have much time.” Justin turned his back to his team and took a few steps.

“I wanted to see how my son is doing.”

“Fine. I’m doing fine.”

An awkward silence followed for a few seconds.

Justin tapped his foot on the floor, staring at the small skywalk connecting the airport terminal to one of the hangars. Resting on high stilts, the skywalk resembled a bridge. At least in Justin’s mind. He hated this bridge. In fact, he hated all bridges. It was a bridge that shattered his life when he was only eleven years old. His mother had gone off a bridge in her car. The police had ruled out suicide and instead blamed the icy roads for the accident. But Justin knew better. He hated the man he blamed for his mother’s death. The man he would never call “dad” again.

“You’re still there?” Carter asked.

“Sure. Now who’s dead?”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but no one is dead.”

“Strange. You usually call when a relative dies.”

Carter sighed. “Can we . . . can we have at least one conversation without fighting?”

Justin kept silent.

“Your brother was in a car accident last night. It happened close to his home in Vanier.”

Justin offered nothing but his uneasy silence. Seth, Carter’s firstborn, had always been his favorite son. Even now.

“He’s doing OK,” Carter said after another deep sigh, “but he’ll be at the Montfort Hospital for the next day or two. It would be nice if you—”

“I don’t have time to see him,” Justin snapped, “and I’ve got to go now.”

He punched the End button on his phone and clenched it in his hand. A groan escaped his lips.

“Justin?” Carrie said.

“Yes?”

“Is everything OK?”

“Yes, everything’s OK.”

“I just got an update on the weather forecast. The snowfall is local and stretches for only a few miles. We’re clear for takeoff.”

“Great, let’s go,” Justin said.

After they got into their airplane, Kiawak’s short version of the flight safety instructions included only two phrases: “No smoking during the flight” and “Fasten your seatbelts for takeoff and landing.” He gave them the distance to their destination, one hundred and thirty-five miles; the length of their flight, an hour, give or take; and the expected temperature upon their arrival at Pond Inlet, minus eight degrees.

Justin looked around the cabin. Anna was sitting across the aisle and was fumbling with her seatbelt buckle as if flying for the first time. Next to her, Carrie had taken a deep plunge into a thick folder spread across her lap. It seemed only an abrupt crash landing would draw her attention. In the seat in front of her, Alisha was typing on her laptop.

The rumble of the airplane’s twin engines shook the entire cabin. Anna dug her nails in her seat’s armrest. Carrie rested a reassuring hand on her forearm. Alisha still hammered on her keyboard, ignoring the metallic rattle as if it were a faint whisper. The terminal faded behind a white curtain of thick clouds as the Twin Otter arrowed skywards at twenty-five feet per second. The climb lasted about five minutes. Once Kiawak reached their cruising altitude of eight thousand feet, he switched off the seatbelt sign. Justin waited a few minutes, a sufficient time for Anna to regain her composure, before turning on his laptop.

“I was reviewing the CSE report last night, and a couple of points made me wonder,” he said. “It seems there were a couple of . . . how to put this . . . inconsistencies.”

“Huh? What inconsistencies?” Alisha raised her left eyebrow, and her usual gruff voice rasped a bit louder than necessary.

Justin tapped on his keyboard, bringing up a scanned copy of the report on his laptop’s monitor.

“On page three, Stryker refers to what he calls ‘unscheduled maintenance’ of one of the Polar Epsilon satellite wings.” Justin pointed to the screen, although neither Alisha nor anyone else could see the highlighted section.

Carrie leafed through her folder until she found Stryker’s report.

“I checked with one of my contacts,” Justin continued, “who knows about the upgrades of the RADARSAT 2, the satellite providing the feeds to the Polar. He had no information about any maintenance, scheduled or not.”

Alisha shrugged and waved her hand in front of her face as if to squash Justin’s concerns like an annoying mosquito. “So? Your man wasn’t aware of a problem. I’m sure you don’t run to your boss every time something goes wrong in the field.”

“This was not a small problem, as it caused the eye in the sky to turn blurry, and the result was unrecognizable and useless pictures,” Carrie said. “Someone should have filed a status report.”

“I’m sure they have.” Alisha stared deep into Justin’s eyes. “And these pictures are not useless. They show these two ships, icebreakers, and the precise course they followed.”

“The second discrepancy,” Justin said, “is the weather report around the time of the incidents, when the icebreakers were crossing into our internal waters. According to Stryker’s memo, ‘an overcast sky hindered the satellite telescopes from zooming in on the moving targets.’ But other sources report the clouds were small and scattered, not the best conditions for taking pictures, but sufficient for clear shots.”

Alisha shrugged. “Who are these misleading sources of yours?” Her voice still carried a hint of menace, although she had dropped a few decibels of its volume.

“I can’t tell you.”

“In that case, what’s the purpose of your allegations? To discredit the Associate Director’s report?”

“Of course not. I have no reason to doubt Stryker conducted due diligence in assessing the evolving situation. I know he’s a skeptical kind of guy. Maybe someone has taken him for a ride.”

“You mean somebody deliberately misled him?” Anna asked incredulously.

“That’s complete nonsense,” Alisha burst out, shaking her head and furrowing her brow. “CSE provided accurate information, and we’re expected to act upon that information. I’m not going to allow you or anyone else to throw mud over my colleague’s hard work.” She clenched her long bony fingers into a tight, threatening fist.

“I have no intentions of discrediting Stryker’s report,” Justin replied. “I pointed out what I consider some difficulties in explaining this situation. But then, this is why we’ve been sent here, to investigate and to find out exactly what happened at Ellesmere Island.”

A few moments of cold, awkward silence followed. No one was willing to concede defeat or declare victory. It felt like an unstable ceasefire.

Justin decided to take the first step toward peace.

“Our Ranger friend will guide us to the right people and the right places,” he spoke softly, looking mostly at Alisha.

She seemed uninterested in his words and kept staring at her computer’s screen.

“How long has he been a Ranger?” she asked.

Her question caught Justin off guard.
Her eyes may be elsewhere, but she’s paying attention.
“Hmmm, oh, I don’t know.” He rubbed his chin and shrugged. “I think about ten years or so.”

Carrie looked up from her folder. “What is he like?” she asked.

“Well, you saw he’s a friendly kind of guy. He’s very knowledgeable about the Arctic. His dad used to be a hunter. Kiawak was raised to find his way around and survive in the frigid landscape without any of today’s gadgets. He has never left the Arctic for more than a few days.”

“What’s our itinerary?” Anna asked. The rose-tinted hue had finally returned to her face.

“First, we’ll scout Pond Inlet,” Justin said, “to check with residents and see if they’ve noticed anything unusual or suspicious around their area or the coastline. If we come up empty-handed, we’ll fly over the coastline and hit Grise Fiord, the other community on the southern shore of Ellesmere.”

Carrie nudged him with a gentle fist to his arm to keep talking.

“No, I didn’t forget you,” he said. “A chopper will be waiting for us at the Pond. One of the American geologist teams researching Devon Island has agreed to lend us one of their choppers, since we’re their Canadian ‘colleagues.’”

“I thought they did no research at this time of year?” Alisha asked.

“They don’t,” Justin replied, “but they’ve stored a couple of helicopters in a hangar, waiting for the summer. The one we’re taking needed some work on the rotor blades, but now it’s ready.”

“So what exactly are these Americans looking for in Devon?” Anna asked.

“Oh, who knows?” Carrie replied. “We have no idea what they’re doing or where they send their research teams.” After noticing Anna blinking in disbelief, she added, “Well, other than what they tell us when they’re kind enough to do that. Remember a few years back, when some illegal immigrant from East Europe showed up in Grise Fiord in a rubber boat?”

Alisha gave a small nod. Anna shrugged.

“Well, this guy had set sail from Greenland in mid-September. A week later, he pops up on our shores. One man, one single-engine boat, one trip of a lifetime. We had no idea he was there until he showed up.”

Anna nodded thoughtfully.

“Keep in mind this was a lone man, very determined and maybe a bit crazy, but still only one man. This amateur sailor crossed into our waters entirely undetected by our satellite systems and our Coast Guard. And we’ve got more intrusions, foreign submarines, Russian bomber incursions. You would think the Russian and the American warships and jet fighters would be easier to detect, right? But here we have two icebreakers and no idea where they came from or where they went.

“Like Alisha said, we know the Russians are always either lurking underneath our frozen waters in their nuclear subs or looming overhead in their jet bombers. On the other hand, the Americans have always dismissed our claims that the Northwest Passage is a part of our internal waters, regardless of the fact that it cuts right through the heart of Arctic Canada. There is Pond Inlet and Arctic Bay to the south and Resolute to the north of the Passage. These are all Canadian towns. Their population may be sparse, but those are some pretty good numbers for the harsh conditions of these barren lands.”

Carrie stopped to catch her breath. Justin nodded at her with understanding. She replied with a tired smile and a deep sigh.

“I didn’t expect you to be so patriotic,” Alisha said. “We’ll have to make sure you’re kept on a leash if we run into any ‘comrades.’”

Justin held his tongue. There was no point in discussing the merits of her obvious bias.

“It won’t be necessary.” Carrie returned to her folder. “Whatever and whoever was there, they’re now long gone. We’ll be extremely lucky to find even a single trace.”

Pond Inlet, Canada

April 11, 11:25 p.m.

“The pilot was shaking so hard, I thought he was gonna die.” Kiawak raised his voice in order to overpower the shouting of his drinking mates. One of them, a skinny man who seemed to be losing his balance, slammed his beer jug on the table, splashing his buddies. They cursed and shoved him, and he cursed and shoved them back.

“So you were . . . were you . . . man, you wanted to kill the pilot, ha, ha . . .” the skinny man pointed his empty jug at Kiawak and raised it to his thick lips. Disappointed that no happy portion flew down his throat, he yelled at the bartender for another beer.

“No, no,” Kiawak replied, the only one somewhat sober in the wild bunch. “I wanted to put him to sleep for a few hours, so we could patch his wounds. He was allergic to the drugs or something.”

Their chuckles echoed again throughout the small but crowded bar. Kiawak was telling some old hunting adventure, which became more entertaining when embellished with exaggerated details over a few drinks.

Qauins Bar and Hotel at the southern edge of Pond Inlet provided the overnight lodging for Justin’s team. In the bar, Kiawak was grilling his unsuspecting friends for information on anything out of the ordinary in and around town. With a little more than twelve hundred people, everybody knew the private affairs of everybody.

Three tables down from Kiawak’s, Justin kept an eye on the rest of the thin crowd. Earlier in the day, interviews with some of the residents and the courtesy visit to the Royal Canadian Mounted Police detachment produced no results. About two hours ago, Kiawak had moved to Plan B: the Bar Operation.
In vino veritas.
Justin remembered the Latin expression he had learned while attending McGill University. Wine, or whisky and beer in this case, the saying went, always brings out the truth, even in the best of people.

The wooden door of the bar squeaked as Anna rushed in. The little man at Kiawak’s table ogled her figure, even though she was wrapped in a thick Gore-Tex jacket and a black balaclava.

“It’s . . . it’s so . . . bloody, freezing cold out there.” Anna sat at Justin’s table, still shivering. She wiped the snow off her gloves and the hood of her jacket. Her nose was strawberry red, and tiny icicles adorned her thin eyelashes.

“Well, yeah. With the wind chill, it probably feels like minus twenty-five out there.”

“More like minus one hundred.” She placed her balaclava on the table and straightened her hair. “The inside of my noise is frozen solid. I can’t feel my nostrils any more. All this happened while I was out for no more than five minutes. Oh, I need some hot coffee to warm up.”

“It’s almost midnight. Will you be able to sleep?”

“I know I won’t be able to sleep without warming up.”

Justin called the waitress and ordered coffee. He noticed Kiawak downing a whisky shot, his last one. Five drinks and two hours were the agreed terms of the Bar Operation. Kiawak was getting close to his endgame.