Ghost Writer(14)

Gravell accompanied me. There was no posse to greet us, just one man with a sidearm who escorted us to Captain Campbell's office and stayed to serve tea. Tall, broad shouldered, and square jawed, he made an odd choice for butler, but a great choice for a bodyguard. He looked more like a soldier than a seaman (or a butler) and more like a football player than anything else.

Looks notwithstanding, he did a decent job. “Would you like Earl Grey or Orange Pekoe tea? Or we have coffee”

“Coffee, please.”

He had an east coast accent that came out in his cadence. According to the patch on his uniform, his name was Rankin. If I had to guess, I’d place him in Nova Scotia. “Milk? Cream? Sugar?”

“Black. No sugar.”

He gave me my coffee. It was in a proper cup and saucer, white with a gold rim and the emblem of the Nottawasaga. Very classy.

He turned to Gravell who responded before he was asked. “Tea, Earl Grey.”

If he had added “hot” I would have laughed. As it was, I had to bite the inside of my cheeks to keep from grinning. Jean Luc ‘Don’t-call-me-Picard’ indeed.

Rankin managed to keep a straight face, but he obviously got the Star Trek reference. He poured the tea and added a lump of sugar and a lemon slice before passing it to Gravell. Without asking, he poured the Orange Pekoe, milk, no sugar, for Captain Campbell.

Except for the absence of a desk, we were in almost the exact same seating arrangement as I had been when being interrogated by Captain Franchot.

The captain sat opposite me, in his perfectly pressed uniform, looking like the gentleman he legally was, and told me that there wasn't much he could do to help me, but he was pleased to enjoy my company.

Gravell sat kitty-corner to me, dressed in the usual black turtleneck, black jeans and émil Gagnan windbreaker, currently worn open. He was casually watchful, though I could see that he was mostly watching me.

On the other side of the captain, Rankin stood at ease, ready to refill cups or put me in irons as the situation demanded.

At least, that’s how it felt.

I sat there, in a t-shirt, denim jacket, and jeans, none of which were as fresh as they should be, trying to be the hard-boiled investigative reporter I was not.

I had already covered my usual warm-up questions like what kind of ship was the Nottawasaga (a Halifax Class, multi-role patrol frigate), how long he’d been in the navy (twenty-three years) and how long had he been captain of the Nottawasaga (four years). Now I had to get creative. “You said last time that you had worked with Captain Tinsdale before. Do you know him well?”

That surprised him and he answered cautiously. “Well enough to work smoothly together. The Arctic is not a good place to get contentious.”

“But things do get tense, don’t they? I mean, you’re here to ensure Canadian sovereignty in the north, right?”

“More or less.”

I nodded and took a moment to sip my coffee. I did my best to look and sound as relaxed as Campbell and Gravell. “Perhaps you can help me understand something.”

He gave me a cautious nod.

“These are Canadian waters, correct? Then why is Captain Tinsdale calling the shots?”

There a moment of anger apparent in the tightening of his mouth and the narrowing of his eyes. Then it was gone and he was the urbane and unflappable captain again. “I’m afraid I can’t help you, Ms. Kirby.”

“If you can't, who can?”

“Possibly the Minister for Defence, or you could take your case to the Prime Minister.”

He gave me a patronizing smile. Gravell’s eyebrows were raised in mild surprise, or perhaps amusement. It was hard to tell. What wasn’t hard to spot was the moment that Rankin looked over at Gravell when I asked who could help. He had also known how Gravell took his tea.

Yes, the men were positioned so they could watch me, but I could watch them too.

When I didn’t respond to his quip, Captain Campbell continued, “Captain Tinsdale and I are working within agreed protocols. You just need to be patient.”

I wondered if that was how I sounded to my son when he asked, “Are we there yet?”

“Okay. While I’m being patient, let me see if I understand the circumstances. The Canadian and US governments were pressured to agree to this project. It was politically expedient, but not militarily advisable. So you're here to keep a lid on things. What I'd like to know is, if there are still secrets down there, why not go after them? Why wait for civilians to do the job for you?”

Campbell said nothing and his smile didn't falter. I looked at Rankin who was staring at me, as unwavering as a cat. Then he noticed that my cup was empty and refilled it.

Oh so polite. Oh so bloody useless. I was only here to be humoured. Was that the only reason the team was there? Were we allowed to join the expedition only to show the world how open the military was willing to be?

Then I had a flash of insight. “Unless we're the only ones who can get away with it. You can't dive for it without offending the Americans and they can't dive for it without permission from the Canadian government, which, given the controversy over Arctic territory isn't likely to be forthcoming.”

Campbell betrayed a moment of surprise. Rankin was impassive, but Gravell’s eyebrows raised a notch.

My frustration melted away, knowing that I was on the right track. “We're perfect, a joint American-Canadian research team aboard a Canadian registered ship with an international crew.”