Arctic Drift

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 funnel of the freighter as its lines were cast and the blue-hulled ship churned slowly away from the dock. Standing on the Narwhal ’s bridge, Bill Stenseth watched as the Korean ship steamed out of Tuktoyaktuk’s small harbor and entered the Beaufort Sea. Picking up a shipboard phone, Stenseth dialed the number to a cabin belowdecks.

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

“The Korean freighter is on her way.”

“What’s our crew status?”

“All nonessential personnel are off the ship. I think we filled up every hotel in town. Of course, there are only two hotels in town. Flights to Whitehorse have been arranged for everyone. They’ll have an easy time getting to Alaska from there, or even Vancouver. We’re left with a total of fourteen men aboard.”

“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.”

Dahlgren slipped the stone into his pocket while he picked up the cables, then stepped over to the helm. Without further comment, he opened a panel beneath the ship’s console and began connecting the cables.

“Not an opportune time to be reformatting our nav system, Jack,” Stenseth admonished.

“I’m just borrowing a bit of data for a computer game,” he replied, standing up and turning on his computer.

“I really don’t think we have the need for any games on the bridge,” Stenseth said, his agitation growing.

“Oh, I think y’all will like this one,” he replied, quickly typing in a number of commands. “I call it Shadow Driver.”

The screen on his laptop suddenly illuminated with the image of two boats sailing in tandem from bottom to top. An angular beam of gray spread from a point at the top corner of the monitor, illuminating the majority of the screen, save for a moving shadow behind the upper boat.

“A little software program I just put together, with some help from the ship’s GPS and radar systems. This shaft of gray light is targeted from Bathurst, mimicking the station’s radar coverage.”

“Which will allow us to stay out of the eye of the ground radar system?” Pitt asked.

“You nailed her. Because of our changing angle to the radar station, we’ll have to constantly adjust our position behind the freighter in order to duck the signal. We just can’t chug right alongside her or else we’d be detected at the fringe angles. If the helmsman keeps us locked in the indicated shadow, then we have a darn good chance of sailing past Bathurst like the Invisible Man.”

Stenseth studied the computer, then turned to the helmsman. “Let’s put it to the test before we get in range. Engines ahead one-third. Take us five hundred yards off her port beam, then match speed.”

“And play Shadow Driver?” the helmsman asked with a grin.

“If this works, you’ve got a six-pack on me, Jack,” the captain said.

“Make it a six of Lone Star and you’re on,” he replied with a wink.

The Narwhal kicked it with an extra burst of speed until the running lights of the freighter flickered off the bow. The helmsman nudged the NUMA ship to port and continued drawing closer.

“One thing worries me,” Stenseth said, eyeing the rust-streaked freighter. “Hanging closer to her side for any length of time is liable to generate a radio call from her captain. And I’m sure our Canadian friends at Bathurst have ears as well as eyes.”

“My insurance policy,” Pitt muttered. “I nearly forgot.”

He stepped down to his cabin, then returned a few minutes later with the triangular package he had purchased in Tuktoyaktuk.

“Try running this up,” he said, handing the package to Stenseth. The captain ripped open the package, unfurling the Canadian maple leaf flag that was folded inside.

“You really want to sail in harm’s way,” Stenseth said, displaying the flag with uncertainty.

“It’s only for the freighter’s benefit. Let them think we’re part of Canada’s Arctic ice patrol. They’ll be less likely to question us hanging on their flank for a few hours.”

Stenseth looked from Pitt to Dahlgren, then shook his head. “Remind me never to get on the wrong side of a shooting war with you guys.”