Arctic Drift

“Cape Bathurst, here, is about two hundred miles to the east of us. The Canadians have a radar station on the point, which they use to pick up all eastbound traffic through the passage. They can radio ahead to Kugluktuk, where a pair of vessels are stationed, or call back here to Tuk, where a small cutter is berthed. Fortunately for us, the Canadians have posted most of their intercept vessels on the other end of the passage, snaring the bulk of the traffic entering via Baffin Bay.”

“Last time I checked, we didn’t have stealth capabilities on our research ships,” Pitt said.

“We don’t necessarily need it,” Giordino continued. “As luck would have it, there’s a Korean freighter here in port that struggled in with engine problems. The harbormaster told me the repairs have been completed and that they’ll be departing later today. The ship is only going as far as Kugluktuk with a load of oil drilling repair parts, so it’ll be sailing without an icebreaker escort.”

“You’re suggesting that we shadow her?” Pitt asked.

“Precisely. If we can hold tight to her port flank while we pass Bathurst, they might not pick us up.”

“What about the Canadian picket vessels?” Dahlgren asked.

“The Tuk cutter just came into port this morning, so she likely won’t put to sea again right away,” Giordino said. “That leaves the two vessels in Kugluktuk. I’d bet one of them is probably hanging around the Polar Dawn, which was taken there. So that likely leaves just one vessel that we’d have to slide past.”

“I’d say those are odds worth taking,” Pitt stated.

“What about air surveillance? Can’t we count on the Canadian Air Force to do an occasional flyby?” Dahlgren asked.

Stenseth pulled out another sheet from his pile. “Mother Nature will lend us a hand there. The weather forecast for the next week is pretty dismal. If we set sail today, we’ll probably accompany a slow-moving low-pressure front that’s forecast to roll through the archipelago.”

“Stormy weather,” Giordino said. “We’ll know why there’s no plane up in the sky.”

Pitt looked around the table, eyeing the others with confidence. They were men of unquestioned loyalty that he could trust in difficult times.

“It’s settled, then,” he said. “We’ll give the freighter a couple of hours head start, then shove off ourselves. Make it look like we are headed back to Alaska. Once safely offshore, we’ll circle back and catch the freighter well before Bathurst.”

“Won’t be a problem,” Stenseth said. “We’ve got at least eight or ten knots on her.”

“One more thing,” Pitt said. “Until the politicians resolve the Polar Dawn situation, we are on our own. And there’s a reasonable chance we could end up with the same fate. I want only a skeleton crew of volunteers aboard. Every scientist and nonessential crew member is to disembark here as quietly as possible. Do what you can to book them rooms and flights out of here. If anyone asks, tell them they are oil company employees who have been reassigned.”

“It will be taken care of,” Stenseth promised.

Pitt set down his coffee and stared across the table with sudden unease. A painting hung on the opposite bulkhead, depicting a nineteenth-century sailing ship caught in a harrowing gale, its sails shredded and masts falling. A jagged cluster of rocks rose in its path, ready to bash the ship to bits.

Stormy weather indeed, he thought.

51

A thick plume of black smoke sifted out the fu

“Pitt here,” came the response after a single ring.

“The Korean freighter is on her way.”

“What’s our crew status?”

“All nonessential perso

“That’s a slim contingent. When can we leave?”

“I was preparing to cast off in another two hours so as not to raise suspicion.”

“Then I guess we just need to notify our hosts that we are headed home,” Pitt said.

“My next order of business,” Stenseth reported.

The captain hung up, then collected Giordino for good measure and walked down to the Canadian Coast Guard station. The Canadian commander seemed less interested in Stenseth’s imminent departure than the loss of Giordino’s charity at the local seamen’s bar. With little to fear from the research ship, the Coast Guard commander said farewell, neglecting to provide an escort out of Canadian waters.

“With that kind of international goodwill, perhaps there’s a future for you in the diplomatic corps,” Stenseth joked to Giordino.

“My liver would lodge a protest,” Giordino replied.

The men stopped at the harbormaster’s office, where Stenseth paid the docking fees. Leaving the office, they bumped into Pitt stepping out of a small hardware store with a triangular package under one arm.

“Were we missing something aboard?” Stenseth asked,

“No,” Pitt replied with a tight grin. “Just an added insurance policy for when we get to sea.”

The sky overhead had grown dark and threatening when the Narwhal slipped its lines two hours later and slowly cruised out of the harbor. A small fishing boat passed in the opposite direction, seeking refuge in port from the pending rough weather. Pitt waved out the bridge, admiring the black-painted boat and its hearty breed of fishermen who braved the Beaufort Sea for a living.

The waves began rolling in six-foot swells when the Northwest Territories coastline fell from view behind them. Light snow flurries filled the air, cutting visibility to less than a mile. The foul weather aided the Narwhal ’s stealth voyage, and the ship quickly altered course to the east. The Korean freighter had built a twenty-five-mile lead, but the faster research ship quickly began closing the gap. Within hours, the oblong image of the freighter appeared on the fringe of the Narwhal ’s radar screen. Captain Stenseth brought the NUMA ship within three miles of the freighter, then slowed until he had matched speed with the larger ship. Like a coal tender behind a locomotive, the research ship tailed the freighter’s every turn as it steamed along the uneven coastline.

Sixty-five miles ahead, Cape Bathurst jutted into the Beaufort Sea like a bent thumb. It was an ideal location to monitor the marine traffic entering the western approach to Amundsen Gulf. Though the nearest northerly landmass, Banks Island, was still a hundred miles away, the sea ice encroached to within thirty miles of the cape. With radar coverage extending more than fifty miles, the small Coast Guard station could easily track all vessels sailing through open water.

As Pitt and Stenseth studied a chart of the approaching cape, Dahlgren entered the bridge lugging a laptop computer and a string of cables. He tripped over a canvas bag near the bulkhead, dropping his cables but hanging on to the computer.

“Who left their laundry lying around?” he cursed.

He realized the bag contained a sample of rocks and picked up a small stone that had skittered out of the bag.

“That happens to be your laundry,” Stenseth said. “Those are the rock samples that you and Al brought back from the thermal vent. Rudi was supposed to take them to Washington for analysis, but he left them on the bridge.”

“Good old Rudi,” Dahlgren lauded. “He could make an atom bomb out of a can of dog food, but he can’t remember to tie his shoes in the morning.”