by Ponzo, Gary
“Don’t mind Joe. He’s just worried about this place. I came back from the Bay, and we had to pop three thousand for a new generator.”
Amaruq’s eyes registered the dollar amount, and he seemed to ponder it. Kiawak’s glance followed Joe as he fluttered between the tables, receiving more food orders. Two new customers had walked in while they were moving the generator. Kiawak recognized them as Nicholas and Brian, two researchers working for the mining company. They showed up every year to monitor the contamination levels in the town site.
“So you were at the Bay this morning?” Amaruq asked. “Why didn’t you let me take you there?”
Kiawak snorted. “Don’t you remember what happened the last time you drove a truck?”
Amaruq sighed. “Not fair. That was a long time ago, there was a snowstorm, and I was in a semi—”
“You went through the freaking ice, old wolf, taking with you the rig and a ton of dynamite.”
“The herd . . . those damn caribous. I keep telling everyone. I was trying to avoid crashing into the caribou herd. That’s why I lost control.”
Kiawak shrugged. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. I just can’t afford to lose my truck. And you need to see an eye doctor.”
“My eyes are fine. I told you it was the herd. But no one trusts me anymore.”
Joe returned to the bar counter and began directing beer from the tap into three large jugs. “Nick and Brian are here.”
“Yeah, I saw them. Why are they early?”
“Something about a potential waste spill from one of the tailing ponds.”
“Oh, crap,” Amaruq whined and fired an angry stare at the two researchers.
Kiawak knew they could not see Amaruq’s reaction, as they were sitting at the far end of the trailer.
“Keep it down, old wolf. Don’t you start trouble now.”
Amaruq raised his hands in resignation.
“There hasn’t been a leak since the mine was sealed off. That’s why these guys are here, to make sure it stays that way,” Kiawak said.
“I get it.” Amaruq turned around to face Kiawak and offered him a big grin. “Trouble’s bad for business. By the way, how’s the other business?”
Amaruq pointed his index finger above Kiawak’s head to two framed photographs hanging on the wall. The first one showed a proud Kiawak in the Ranger’s uniform, posing in front of the entrance to the Nanisivik port with the Canadian Minister of National Defence. The second was a shot of Kiawak’s Rangers Patrol Group, thirty-three members in all, with the minister in their midst.
“You know what’s missing there?” Amaruq’s shaky hand kept stabbing the air as if he were trying to reach for the photographs.
“You?” asked Joe.
“No.” Amaruq laughed. “Our Queen.”
“Huh?” Kiawak asked.
“Your picture with the Queen. It would be nice if you had a picture of you and Her Majesty.”
Joe laughed. The only time he agreed with Amaruq was when the old man threw out one of his punch lines.
“The Defence Minister shows up only in August, the warmest month around here,” Amaruq said. “I don’t know how we can fire up this place and make it much hotter for Her Majesty.”
He lifted his voice in mock solemnity, and they all laughed aloud, attracting curious stares from the closest tables.
“Excuse me, but I need to refill my drink. From home.” Amaruq lifted his glass one last time. A few drops trickled into his mouth. He zipped up his jacket and hobbled out of the trailer.
“Talk to you later,” Kiawak said.
Joe served his thirsty customers while Kiawak finished his coffee. Then Kiawak retreated to his office. It was slightly larger than a den, with a small foldable desk, two plastic shelves full of books and magazines, a file cabinet, and an office chair. He began reading the Nunatsiaq News website, his favorite English-Inuktitut weekly newspaper.
Joe showed up a few minutes later and stood by the door. “We really need to do something about Amaruq.”
“He’s a good old man, just poor and lonely. Can’t you leave him alone?”
“I would if he left us alone.”
“Never mind him. Amaruq is always welcome here. My brother Julian, his soul rest in peace, owed him a huge debt I can never repay. Remember when Amaruq found Julian almost frozen during that bowhead whale hunt? The occasional free drinks and meals are the least I can do for Amaruq.”
“More like regular than occasional,” Joe observed.
“In a year or two, the old wolf will find a job he can actually do. Maybe even this summer, if construction starts. He can drive a small Bobcat or help with drywalling, be kind of a gofer, things like that.”
Joe remained unfazed, his left foot tapping nervously on the linoleum floor.
Kiawak continued, “Listen, starting tomorrow and over the weekend, I’ve got to work with some people from Ottawa. They’re DND.”
“What do they need you for?” Joe asked.
“They’re flying an Otter here, and we’re going for a research mission up north.”
“Where exactly up north?”
“We’re doing the regular triangle, Nanisivik to Pond Inlet to Grise Fiord and back.”
Joe shook his head. “I can’t believe this. Why do they have to do this now, in April? What’s so important that can’t wait until summer? July or August, when everyone flocks up there.”
“Justin, one of the DND researchers, told me they have to collect the data right now. Ice thickness, ice movement, melting levels, and other stats.”
Kiawak hated lying to Joe about the reconnaissance mission. But Justin had insisted the mission remain top secret. If Joe learned about the real nature of Kiawak’s assignment, the entire Arctic would be buzzing with gossip.
“Do you know these researchers?”
“Justin, yes. I’ve worked with him before. I don’t know the other three. But they’re landing here tomorrow around noon. After refueling, we’ll take off.”
“You’ll not have to worry about this place,” Joe said before Kiawak could offer any advice. “I will not turn up the heat, will not touch your truck, and will not tease Amaruq more than I usually do.”
“OK,” Kiawak said and nodded. He swiveled in his chair. “I’ve got to pay some bills now. Call me if you need a hand.”
“OK, boss.” Joe went back to the kitchen.
“Hey, Joe, two more beers, man,” one of the patrons said.
“Right away, pal.” Joe reached for two jugs.
Chapter Four
Nanisivik, Canada
April 12, 2:10 p.m.
The DHC-6 Twin Otter charter sat at the end of the hard-packed gravel runway of the Nanisivik Airport waiting for its passengers. Two snowplows circling around the aircraft had long conceded defeat to the flogging snowfall, which kept pounding against their windshields and steel blades like a rabid beast. The drivers zeroed in on clearing a narrow strip of the runway. The Twin Otter was the only airplane scheduled to take off or land for the rest of the day, and it needed a short but solid path for its swift ascent.
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, stari
ng 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.’”