Overnight, the Prime Minister’s popularity soared in the polls. Witnessing the public reaction, his fellow politicians clamored before the media to strike anti-American pose. The story of the ice camp survivors took on a life of its own, propelled by a manipulated media and a self-serving national leader. It became a glory-filled tale of victimization and heroic survival. Yet somehow lost in every retelling of the tragedy was the role of the NUMA research crew and the daring rescue effort that had saved the three survivors.
31
JIM, DO YOU HAVE A MOMENT?”
Walking down a corridor of the White House West Wing, Vice President James Sandecker turned to find the Canadian Ambassador calling him from behind. A distinguished-looking man with bushy silver eyebrows, Ambassador John Davis approached with a taciturn look on his face.
“Good morning, John,” Sandecker greeted. “What brings you to this neck of the woods so early in the day?”
“Good to see you, Jim,” Davis replied, his face brightening a bit. “I’m afraid I was sent to hammer on your good President over my country’s agitation with this business in the Northwest Passage.”
“I’m headed to a meeting with the President on that very topic. A sad tragedy about the ice camp, but I’ve been told we had no warships anywhere near there.”
“A sticky matter nevertheless. The hardliners in our government are blowing it full out of proportion.” He lowered his tone to a whisper. “Even the Prime Minister is rattling his saber over the matter, though I know he’s doing it strictly for political gain. I just fear a foolish escalation of some sort that will lead to further tragedy.” A somber look in the Ambassador’s gray eyes told Sandecker that his fear was deep-rooted.
“Don’t worry, John, cooler heads will prevail. We’ve got too much at stake to let something like this degenerate.”
Davis nodded his head weakly. “I sure hope you are right. Say, Jim, I’d like to express our thanks to your NUMA ship and crew. It has been overlooked in the press, but they made a remarkable rescue.”
“I’ll pass that along. Give my best to Maggie, and let’s plan on going sailing again soon.”
“I’d like that. Take care, Jim.”
A White House aide pressed Sandecker on to the Oval Office, guiding him through the northwest entrance. Seated around a coffee table, Sandecker recognized the President’s chief of staff, his National Security Advisor, and the Secretary of Defense. The President stood at a side cubby, pouring himself a cup of coffee from an antique silver pot.
“Can I get you a cup, Jim?” Ward asked. The President still had dark circles under his eyes but appeared more energized than during Sandecker’s last visit.
“Sure, Garner. Make it black.”
The other administration officials looked aghast at Sandecker for calling the President by his first name, but he didn’t care. And neither did Ward. The President handed Sandecker his coffee, then sat down in a gold wingback chair.
“You missed all the fireworks, Jim,” the President said. “The Canadian Ambassador just gave me holy blazes about those two incidents in the Arctic.”
Sandecker nodded. “I just passed him in the hall. They seem to be taking it quite seriously.”
“The Canadians are upset about our proposed plan to divert freshwater from the Great Lakes to replenish the Midwest farming aquifers,” said Chief of Staff Meade. “Plus it is no secret that the Prime Minister’s poll numbers are way down ahead of a call for parliamentary elections this fall.”
“We have reason to believe there is also an effort to keep our petroleum companies out of the Canadian Arctic,” added the National Security Advisor, a short-haired blond woman named Moss. “The Canadians have been very protective about their Arctic oil and gas resources, which continue to grow in significance.”
“Given our current situation, it is hardly an opportune time for them to turn their backs on us,” said Meade.
“You mean it’s not an opportune time for us,” noted Sandecker.
“You have a point, Jim,” the President replied. “The Canadians certainly have a few strong cards in their hand at the moment.”
“Which they are already starting to play,” said Moss. “The Ambassador gave notice that Prime Minister Barrett intends to announce a full prohibition on U.S.-flagged vessels crossing into Canadian Arctic seaways. Any violation will be deemed a trespass on territorial waters and subject to military reprisal.”
“The Prime Minister is not one for subtlety,” the President remarked.
“He went so far as to have the Ambassador drop the hint that reductions in oil, natural gas, and hydroelectric power exports to the U.S. are on the table,” Meade said, speaking to Sandecker.
“That is playing hardball,” Sandecker said. “We currently obtain ninety percent of our natural gas imports from Canada alone. And I know you are counting on the new infusion from Melville Sound to solve our immediate energy problems,” he added, addressing the President.
“We can’t afford to jeopardize those gas imports,” the President said. “They are critical to overcoming this oil crisis and stabilizing the economy.”
“The Prime Minister’s actions boost the Canadian sovereignty rhetoric he has been touting recently to reverse his waning popularity,” noted Moss. “He seized on the commercial possibilities of an ice-free Northwest Passage some years ago and has strongly argued Canada’s ownership claims. It fits in nicely with his newfound appeal to the country’s traditionalists.”
“There’s a good deal of power to be had in those Arctic resources,” Meade noted.
“The Russians are clamoring over the same thing,” Sandecker said. “The U.N. Law of the Sea Treaty opened the door for additional Arctic empire building based on the undersea extensions of existing territorial claims. We in fact have joined the same subsurface land rush as the Canadians, Russians, Danes, and Norwegians.”
“That is true,” Moss replied. “But our potential claims don’t really impose much into Canadian waters. It’s the passage that is creating all the hysteria. Perhaps because it is the key to accessing and transporting all those Arctic resources.”
“It seems to me that the Canadians have a pretty sound legal basis for calling the passage part of their internal waters,” the President said.
The Secretary of Defense bristled. An ex-Navy man like Sandecker, he had managed one of the major oil companies before returning to public service.
“Mr. President,” he said in a deep voice, “it has always been the position of the U.S. that the Northwest Passage constitutes an international strait. The Law of the Sea Convention, I might add, also calls for the right of transit passage through waterways deemed international straits.”
“Assuming we are on friendly terms with Canada, why do we care if they claim the strait as territorial waters?” asked the President.
“Doing so would undermine the precedents already set in the Strait of Malacca, Gibraltar, and Bab el-Mandeb in the Red Sea,” Moss recited. “Those waterways are open to commercial ships of all nations, not to mention free passage by our own Navy ships.”
“Not to mention the Bosporus and Dardanelles,” Sandecker added.
“Indeed,” replied Moss. “If we were to treat the Northwest Passage in a different light, that could offer legal encouragement for the Malaysians to direct traffic through the Malacca, for example. It’s just too risky a proposition.”
“Don’t forget our submarine fleet,” Sandecker added. “We can’t very well walk away from the Arctic area of operations.”
“Jim’s absolutely right,” said the Secretary of Defense. “We’re still playing tag with the occasional Russian Delta up there, and now we have the Chinese fleet to worry about. They’ve just tested a new class of sub-launched ballistic missile with a range of five thousand miles. It only makes sense that they’ll follow the tack of the Russians by hiding their subs under the ice, in order to preserve a first-launch capability. Mr. President, the Arctic will remain a critical mission a
rea for purposes of our national defense. We can’t afford to be shut out of the seaways that are within spitting distance of our own borders.”
The President quietly strolled over to the east window and gazed out at the Rose Garden. “I suppose there is no walking away. But there is also no need to fan the flames of distrust. Let’s voluntarily abide by the ban for ninety days. I want no American-flagged vessels, including submarines, even to encroach on Canadian Arctic waters during that period. That should give everyone time to cool their heels. Then I’ll have State work up a meeting with Prime Minister Barrett, and we’ll try to reintroduce some sanity back into the equation.”
“An excellent suggestion,” Meade demurred. “I’ll put a call in to the Secretary of State right away.”
“Mr. President, there is one other thing,” the Secretary of Defense stated. “I’d like to war-plan a few counterstrike scenarios, should events dictate.”
“Good God,” the President thundered. “We’re talking about Canada here.”
The room fell silent while Garner glared at the Secretary of Defense. “Do what you have to do. If I know you, you probably already have a full-blown invasion plan all worked out.”
The Secretary of Defense sat stone-faced, unwilling to deny the President’s accusation.
“Seems to me we should be focusing our resources on investigating who’s roughing up the Canadians and why,” injected Sandecker. “What exactly do we know about the two incidents in question?”
“Very little, I’m afraid, since they both occurred in remote areas,” replied Moss. “The first incident involved a commercial vessel flying the American flag that rammed a Canadian Coast Guard cutter. All we know from the Canadians is that the vessel was a small containership carrying the name Atlanta. The Canadians thought they would nab her farther into the passage, near Somerset Island, but the ship never materialized. They believe she may have sunk, but our analysts believe it is possible she could have backtracked to the Atlantic without being seen. The marine registries show a dozen ships named Atlanta, although only one is of comparable size and configuration. It is sitting in a dry dock in Mobile, Alabama, where it has been parked for the last three weeks.”
“Perhaps the Canadians were right, and she sank from her own damage caused by the ramming incident,” the President said. “Otherwise, we have to assume it’s a case of mistaken identity.”
“Odd that they would aim to run the passage and then disappear,” Sandecker noted. “What about the Beaufort Sea ice camp? I’ve been told that we had no vessels anywhere near the area.”
“That is correct,” Moss replied. “All three of the ice camp survivors claim they saw a gray warship flying American colors burst through the camp. One of the men identified the ship as carrying the number 54. As it happens, FFG-54 is currently on station in the Beaufort Sea.”
“One of our frigates?”
“Yes, the Ford, out of Everett, Washington. She was supporting a submarine exercise off Point Barrow at the time of the incident, but that was over three hundred miles away. Aside from that, the Ford is not ice-rated, so she would have had no business plowing through the thick sea ice that supported the camp.”
“Another case of mistaken identity?” the President asked.
“Nobody knows for sure. There’s just not much in the way of traffic in that area, and there was a heavy storm at the time that obscured things.”
“What about satellite imagery?” Sandecker asked.
Moss flipped through a folder, then pulled out a report.
“Satellite coverage in that region is pretty sporadic, for obvious reasons. Unfortunately, we don’t have any imagery available within twelve hours of the incident.”
“Do we know for sure it wasn’t the Ford? Could they have made a mistake?” the President probed.
“No, sir,” the Secretary of Defense replied. “I had Pacific Command review their navigation records. The Ford never traveled anywhere near the position of the ice camp.”
“And we’ve shared that information with the Canadians?”
“The Chief of the Defence Staff has seen the data and concurs off the record that the Ford was likely not responsible,” replied the Secretary of Defense. “But the politicians don’t trust what we are giving them, quite frankly. Given the mileage they have gotten out of the incident, they have no reason to backtrack now.”
“Find those ships and we find our way out of this mess,” the President stated.
His advisers fell silent, knowing that the window of opportunity had likely already passed. Without direct access to the Canadian Arctic, there was little they could even hope to do.
“We’ll do what we can,” the Secretary of Defense promised.
The chief of staff noted the time, then ushered everyone out of the Oval Office in preparation for the President’s next meeting. After the others had left the room, Ward stood at the window and gazed out at the Rose Garden.
“War with Canada,” he muttered to himself. “Now, there’s a real legacy.”
32
MITCHELL GOYETTE PEERED OUT OF THE GLASS-WALLED office on the top deck of his yacht and idly watched a silver seaplane taxiing across the harbor. The small plane quickly hopped off the water and circled south, bypassing the tall buildings lining Vancouver Harbor. The magnate took a sip from a martini glass, then turned his gaze to a thick contract sitting on the desk.
“The terms and conditions are acceptable?” he asked.
A small man with black hair and thick glasses seated opposite Goyette nodded his head.
“The legal department has reviewed it and found no issues with the changes. The Chinese were quite pleased with the initial test shipment and are anxious to receive an ongoing supply stream.”
“With no change in price or limits on quantity?”
“No, sir. They agreed to accept up to five million tons a year of unrefined Athabasca crude bitumen and all the Melville Sound natural gas we can deliver, both at prices ten percent above the spot market, provided that we agree to extended terms.”
Goyette leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Our oceangoing barges have proven their worth at transporting both cargoes in bulk. We’ve got our fifth string of LNG barges coming on line next week. The potential revenue stream from the Chinese is shaping up quite nicely.”
“The gas strike at Melville Sound promises to be quite a windfall. Our projections show a net profit of nearly five million dollars is possible with each shipment to China. Provided that the government doesn’t initiate restrictions on natural resource sales to China, you are well positioned to capitalize on their growing appetite for energy.”
“The unfortunate death of MP Finlay seems to have alleviated that concern,” Goyette replied with a knowing grin.
“With the reduction of Athabasca refining due to the restrictive carbon dioxide mandate, the Chinese deal is lucrative for your Alberta holdings as well. You will of course be defaulting on the agreements just signed with the Americans to provide them the Melville natural gas.”
“The Chinese are paying me ten percent more.”
“The President was relying on an influx of natural gas to halt their energy crisis,” the attorney said with a cautionary tone.
“Yes, and they’ve called on me and my Melville Sound reserves to save them,” Goyette said with a laugh. “Only we’re going to turn up the heat a bit.” A fire suddenly burned in his eyes. “Let them stew in their own juices until they reach a state of true desperation. Then they’ll play it my way and pay my prices in order to survive. We’ll have our tankers carry gas to them and haul away their liquid carbon wastes on the return trip, and we’ll charge a premium for both. Of course, that will be after they finance a major expansion of our barge fleet. They’ll have no choice but to accept.” A grin slowly crossed his lips.
“I still worry about the political trouble. There’s talk of anti-American legislation that could spill over and impact our business with China. Some of the more rabid members of
Parliament are practically ready to declare war.”
“I can’t control the idiocy of politicians. The important point was to remove the Americans from the Arctic while we expand our acquisition of gas, oil, and mineral rights. We happened to get lucky with the Melville strike, but the strategy is clearly working quite nicely so far.”
“The geophysics team is close to identifying the necessary tracts to encompass the Melville gas field, as well as some other promising locations. I just hope that the natural resources minister continues to accommodate our requirements.”
“Don’t you worry about Minister Jameson, he will do anything I ask. By the way, what is the latest from the Alberta?”
“She arrived in New York without incident, took on a commercial shipment, and is presently eastbound to India. There appear to be no suspicions raised.”
“Good. Have her sent on to Indonesia for a repaint in new colors before she returns to Vancouver.”
“It will be done,” the attorney replied.
Goyette sat back in his chair and took a sip of his drink. “Have you seen Marcy about?”
One of a handful of ex-strippers Goyette kept on the payroll, Marcy usually wandered the boat in revealing attire. The aide shook his head firmly, taking the cue that it was time to leave.
“I’ll inform the Chinese that we have a deal,” he said, taking the signed contract from Goyette and quickly exiting the office.
Goyette drained his glass, then reached for a shipboard phone to call the master stateroom, when a familiar voice froze his movements.
“Another drink, Mitchell?”
Goyette turned to the far side of the office, where Clay Zak stood with a couple of martinis in one hand. He was dressed in dark slacks and a taupe turtleneck sweater, nearly blending in with the room’s earth-toned walls. Casually walking closer, he set one glass down in front of Goyette, then took a seat opposite him.
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