Arctic Wargame - Страница 8

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 over his lips. 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. He 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 that I can never repay. Remember when Amaruq found Julian almost frozen during the bowhead whale hunt? The occasional free drinks and meals are the least I can do for Amaruq.”

“More like regular than occasional,” Joe observed, his face showing he was unhappy with Kiawak’s reply.

“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 dry walling, be kind of a gofer, things like that.”

Joe remained unfazed, his left foot tapping nervously on the linoleum floor.

“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 till 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 the fact he was 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 called to him.

“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 mini-snowploughs circling around the aircraft had long conceded defeat to the flogging snowfall, which kept pouncing against their windshields and steel blades like a rabid beast. The drivers, sardined into their compact cabins, 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 remainder of the day. The bush plane required a short but solid path for its swift ascent.

Justin’s stared at the snow ploughs 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.

His 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, apparently recognizing the only 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.

“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, Seth, was in 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 in their seats, Kiawak’s abridged version of the flight safety instructions included 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 to Pond Inlet, about minus eight degrees. Then he walked to the end of the plane, about fifty feet in length, and slammed the passengers’ door shut.

“Now we’re good to go.” Kiawak returned to the cockpit. “Let me know if you need anything during the flight. If not, see you when we land.”

Justin looked around the cabin. Anna, sitting across the aisle, 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 deserve her attention. In the seat in front of her, Alisha typed on her laptop, only occasionally peeking outside the small oval window.

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 about twenty-five feet per second. The climb lasted about five minutes. Once the pilot reached his cruising altitude of eight thousand feet, Justin switched off the seatbelt sign. He 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 3, Stryker refers to what he calls ‘unscheduled maintenance’ of one of the Polar Epsilon satellite wings.” Justin pointed at 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.”