“I didn’t volunteer you.”
“Johnson won’t let you go on your own. That’s if she even decides to assign you to such a task force.”
Justin held the gaze of her gray-blue eyes. He nodded. “You’re right about that. She’s bringing in a couple of other people to this briefing. Some bigwig from DND and a lawyer from our legal services.”
“You know them?”
“No, and I don’t understand why they’re here.”
“I’m sure Johnson will give us her excuse for calling them in.”
“Yes, she will.”
Justin glanced at his wristwatch. “Shall we head up?”
Carrie finished her muffin and her coffee and stood up. “Sure. Let’s not make her wait.”
* * *
The office of Claire Johnson, Director General of Intelligence for North Africa, was at the northeast corner of the sixth floor. Justin walked in fast, short steps, listening to the rhythmic thud of his shoes over the hardwood floor. He stopped once in the hall. He saw a huge painting on the wall, depicting an impressive Arctic landscape and three determined explorers. Their weary faces were very much alive as they stoically pressed ahead with dogsleds toward the white horizon peppered with snow-capped ridges. The ice packs, the snow banks, and the heavy blizzard appeared quite real. Justin shook his head in awe before resuming his swift pace. He turned the corner and saw Carrie pacing in front of Johnson’s office door.
“Justin, what took you so long?”
“The painting. And it was only a moment.”
“Everyone’s here.”
“They’re early. We’re on time.”
Justin knocked.
“Come in,” called Johnson.
Her office was neatly arranged, with an L-shaped desk and matching bookcases. Two women sat around an oval glass table that took almost half of the office space.
Johnson nodded at Justin and Carrie while still swiveling in her black leather chair and tapping the keyboard of her desktop computer. She stood up. “Welcome, welcome. Let me introduce you to Colonel Alisha Gunn, with the NDHQ. She’s the chief of the Defence Intelligence Section.” Johnson gestured toward the older woman.
The National Defence Headquarters in Ottawa was the heart of Canada’s military defense machine, where every nut and bolt of all operational forces joined together. The colonel was in a perfect position to feel the pulse of the armed forces. She had access to every piece of information streaming into the Department of National Defence databases.
She was in her late forties, with gray, curly hair sticking out unevenly. Almost a head shorter than Carrie, she stood at about five feet, dressed in a gray pinstripe suit. The colonel had a strong handshake. She gave Justin a nod while her small brown eyes sparked with a tiny, almost invisible, glint of mischief.
Justin said, “My pleasure.”
“Nice to meet you, Agent Hall.” Her voice was coarse and throaty, as if she had just recovered from a serious case of sinus infection.
“Please call me Justin.”
She nodded. “That’s great, Justin, and you can address me as Alisha,” she said with a sincere smile before moving on to exchange pleasantries with Carrie.
“And this is Anna Worthley. She’s an Operational Liaison with our Legal Services,” said Johnson.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Agent Hall, especially after hearing so much about you,” the young woman said.
Justin fought the initial impulse to frown as the counsel’s delicate fingers touched his large, rugged hand. Anna was in her late twenties, with short raven hair that sported an odd red highlight. She wore a black woolen sweater and black dress pants.
Justin disliked all lawyers working for CIS’s most controversial department. They complicated his life and his operations with lengthy and dimwitted arguments, motions, and inquiries. Security and intelligence meant little to these kinds of people. They were more concerned about the legal aspects of the agency’s operations than their actual impact on the safety of Canadians. But the innocence of Anna’s blue eyes—peering timidly at him from behind rimless glasses—and her soft voice—slightly insecure and with a certain amount of agitation—disarmed Justin’s defenses and melted away his objections.
“I’m very happy to meet you, Ms. Worthley,” he said.
“Simply Anna.” Her eyes glowed.
“OK, Anna.” Justin nodded. “Call me Justin.”
Johnson gestured for them to sit down at the glass table.
“The colonel brought over the latest CSE report,” she began, handing four copies of a briefing note to Justin. He took one and passed the others to Carrie. “It details the movements of the two icebreakers, but we’re still uncertain about their identity. One thing we know for sure is that they’re not ours.”
Justin skimmed through the pages. The Communications Security Establishment served as Canada’s national cryptologic agency. It analyzed foreign intelligence signals and provided technical and operational assistance to CIS. The briefing note was signed by Jacob Stryker, the Associate Director of Signals Intelligence. Stryker had a reputation as very meticulous in accomplishing his tasks. If Stryker had highlighted on the last page that “there is inconclusive evidence to determine the port of origin, the destination, or the identity of the icebreakers,” one could rest assured he had not overlooked any seemingly unimportant detail.
“There’s strong reason to believe,” said Alisha, “the two vessels infringing on our sovereignty are part of the Russian Navy.”
Justin held her gaze while folding his arms across his chest. “What makes you believe the Russians have sent these warships?”
“Wait a second.” Johnson held up her hand. “Two assumptions right off the bat. First, Russians, second, warships. The CSE report confirms only that two icebreakers navigated through a steady course in international waters then crossed over into our territorial waters by Ellesmere Island. Nothing more. Let’s be careful with our assumptions, shall we?”
Alisha nodded her understanding. “The Russian generals are constantly declaring their support for the Arctic militarization. Their Murmansk Air Base is buzzing with jet fighters and nuclear subs are always lurking underneath the North Pole. Remember when they planted their flag on the seabed, declaring the Pole as a part of Russia? They’ve tried to cross into our airspace many times. All tracks point to the Russian bear, if I were to make an educated guess.”
Justin glanced at Johnson. “I don’t want to come across as dismissive of the colonel’s assertions.” He chose his words very carefully. “But the Russians are just one of the major players in the Arctic. If Stryker’s report offers no decisive answers, our opinions, although based on previous experiences, amount to little more than speculation.”
“You don’t think the Russian Navy is involved?” Alisha asked Justin. Her left eyebrow arched up slightly, and her lips puckered.
Justin realized his words had bruised the colonel’s ego. “They’re a top candidate,” he conceded, spreading his palms over the table. “But until we determine the ships’ identity beyond any reasonable doubt, it’s not wise to jump to conclusions.”
Alisha leaned back in her chair. “Right. We agree that further investigation is necessary. And like other investigations, it pays to line up the usual suspects.”
Carrie was sitting on the edge of her chair, glancing at the CSE report. She pointed to a paragraph above a large topographical map of the eastern Canadian Arctic, which took up half of the page. “The US air base in Thule, Greenland, is just across Baffin Bay,” she said, exchanging a glance with Johnson. “A little more than 124 miles from Ellesmere’s coast.”
Anna stopped taking notes on her yellow pad. “You mean these ships could be American?”
Carrie shrugged. “Why not? The Americans have never accepted our sovereignty over the Northwest Passage, and they still cruise it without our permission. They always anchor an icebreaker or two in Thule, and their claims over the Arctic are as aggressive as those of the Russians.”
Johnson nodded. “I will seek clarification from the US liaison officer in Thule.” She wrote something down in her notebook. “But of course, the honesty of their reply will depend on the icebreakers’ flag. I’m afraid if it’s Stars and Stripes, we’re out of luck.”
Justin stared at the Arctic map. A red dotted line indicated the suspected route of the two unidentified icebreakers. It was around the southeast part of Ellesmere Island. At the bottom of the page, he noticed the cape’s coordinates: North Latitude: 76° 59' 00''; West Longitude: 78° 15' 00''.
How far is that from the North Pole? A thousand miles? Seven, eight hundred?
Johnson rapped her blue pen on the table. “What are you thinking, Justin?”
Her voice brought him back from his calculations. “I was . . . I was just reading the map. I know we have few facts, since radio communications were inaudible and RADARSAT-2 was experiencing problems—”
Johnson interrupted him, “Yes, I’ve already given hell to DND, no offense to you, colonel.” She shifted in her chair, turning toward Alisha, whose face remained expressionless. “DND blamed the thick layer of clouds, the whiteout, and an unexpected satellite upgrade for the blurry pictures in their report.”
“Judging by their route,” Justin said, “I’m trying to figure out something, anything, about the motive of this . . . this visit, if you will. See, initially, the icebreakers were sailing up to Smith Sound, north of Baffin Bay.” He leaned closer to the map as his hand traced the icebreakers’ course. “It resembles a patrol mission or an attempt to reach the North Pole. But at this point, almost halfway through Nares Strait, the icebreakers turn around, heading back.” Justin’s fingers stopped by Cape Combermere. “Here, they cross into our waters. This is the only place where this happens. Then they vanish.”
“And your point is?” Johnson asked, a slight tone of impatience lingering in her voice.
“Perhaps the icebreakers had an accident and needed to anchor off our shores for repairs. Or maybe it was easier to navigate our waters. The visibility was better, fewer icebergs, a thinner layer of ice, so the need arose to steer around and zigzag to our side of the ocean.”
Johnson frowned.
Justin scrambled to correct his reply before Johnson gave him a dismissive headshake. “I’m not trying to justify their behavior in anyway. I was drawing a deduction that may help us to better understand this situation.”
“But their motives for crossing into our waters will not tell us anything about their identity.” Anna raised her glasses to the bridge of her nose.
Johnson leaned forward before Justin could say a word. “I have to side with counsel on this one.” She placed her copy of the CSE report back into one of her folders. “All deductions in the world simply don’t hold water in the face of empirical evidence.”
Justin lowered his head and avoided Johnson’s gaze. He threw a quick glance at Carrie, whose weary eyes had already accepted their fate.
We’re up the frozen creek,
her expression said.
And without a paddle.
Johnson looked at each one of them. “Since we’re helping Marty and his Arctic Division these days, I’ve decided to dispatch a small team for a fact-finding operation.” She stressed the last words a little more than necessary. “Because of our shared jurisdiction over national security and intelligence and because of DND’s great assistance to our operations, I’ve accepted the colonel’s offer to join this team. She brings years of experience in similar missions.”
Justin wanted to blurt out his thoughts.
What great assistance? Their satellite was barely functional, and she’s giving us nothing else. Maybe she can cough up more details, as CSE receives them. But if she has already made up her mind these icebreakers are Russian, how can she be impartial?
Justin knew from previous missions that as a career pencil-pusher, Johnson had perfected the inter-departmental game of favors and back-scratching. Assigning the colonel to the investigation team meant the credit for resolving this case would go to both agencies, proving Johnson’s competence in forging strong cooperation. But the colonel would serve as the scapegoat, single-handedly responsible for a potential failure of the operation. Johnson was covering all angles.
“And because of the sensitivity of this mission,” Johnson continued, “and CIS’s increased concerns about our interaction with our citizens, I’m adding the counsel to this mission. She’ll provide her expertise during questioning of witnesses and collecting their testimonies.” She gave Anna a nod.
Justin looked up in time to catch Anna’s smile. Her eyes resembled a splendid sunrise over a calm ocean, with glitters of sun rays sparkling off the water’s surface.
She’s so excited, as if making the cheerleading team.
Justin suppressed a grin.
Poor girl doesn’t know what she’s getting into.
Johnson looked at Justin. “You’ll be in charge of this operation.”
His heart pounded in his chest. The opportunity for a field mission was finally in his hand. “You’ve got it, boss.”
Johnson said, “Carrie will assist you in gathering evidence about these ghost ships.”
Carrie nodded after two long seconds, which under the circumstances was a considerable delay.
Johnson ignored Carrie’s passive objection and returned her gaze to Justin. “I expect this team to cooperate fully with Joint Task Force North and its Rangers in carrying out this operation. The Arctic is under their jurisdiction.” Johnson tapped a folder with her index finger and pushed it toward Justin. “In addition to maps and pictures of the area, here’s a list of useful contacts, Rangers, and local chiefs. Trustworthy sources who have proven themselves during our operations in the North.”
Justin browsed through the folder, his eyes running through names and pictures, searching for a familiar face. Johnson was assigning him a sensitive mission, with two strangers, whose credentials were yet to be tested in the frigid Arctic environment. The support of a former partner would be extremely valuable.
He stopped on the fourth page and smiled. A middle-aged man with thin lips and a thinner line of gray moustache, a long, curved nose, a pointed chin, and almond-shaped brown eyes smiled from the portrait. Justin did not need to check the name of the Canadian Ranger typed under the portrait. The friendly face had refreshed his memory. “Kiawak Kusugak,” he mumbled, “it’s been a while.”