Arctic Drift (Dirk Pitt 20)

“Mr. President, there is one other thing,” the Secretary of Defense stated. “I’d like to war-plan a few counterstrike scenarios, should events dictate.”

“Good God,” the President thundered. “We’re talking about Canada here.”

The room fell silent while Garner glared at the Secretary of Defense. “Do what you have to do. If I know you, you probably already have a full-blown invasion plan all worked out.”

The Secretary of Defense sat stone-faced, unwilling to deny the President’s accusation.

“Seems to me we should be focusing our resources on investigating who’s roughing up the Canadians and why,” injected Sandecker. “What exactly do we know about the two incidents in question?”

“Very little, I’m afraid, since they both occurred in remote areas,” replied Moss. “The first incident involved a commercial vessel flying the American flag that rammed a Canadian Coast Guard cutter. All we know from the Canadians is that the vessel was a small containership carrying the name Atlanta. The Canadians thought they would nab her farther into the passage, near Somerset Island, but the ship never materialized. They believe she may have sunk, but our analysts believe it is possible she could have backtracked to the Atlantic without being seen. The marine registries show a dozen ships named Atlanta, although only one is of comparable size and configuration. It is sitting in a dry dock in Mobile, Alabama, where it has been parked for the last three weeks.”

“Perhaps the Canadians were right, and she sank from her own damage caused by the ramming incident,” the President said. “Otherwise, we have to assume it’s a case of mistaken identity.”

“Odd that they would aim to run the passage and then disappear,” Sandecker noted. “What about the Beaufort Sea ice camp? I’ve been told that we had no vessels anywhere near the area.”

“That is correct,” Moss replied. “All three of the ice camp survivors claim they saw a gray warship flying American colors burst through the camp. One of the men identified the ship as carrying the number 54. As it happens, FFG-54 is currently on station in the Beaufort Sea.”

“One of our frigates?”

“Yes, the Ford, out of Everett, Washington. She was supporting a submarine exercise off Point Barrow at the time of the incident, but that was over three hundred miles away. Aside from that, the Ford is not ice-rated, so she would have had no business plowing through the thick sea ice that supported the camp.”

“Another case of mistaken identity?” the President asked.

“Nobody knows for sure. There’s just not much in the way of traffic in that area, and there was a heavy storm at the time that obscured things.”

“What about satellite imagery?” Sandecker asked.

Moss flipped through a folder, then pulled out a report.

“Satellite coverage in that region is pretty sporadic, for obvious reasons. Unfortunately, we don’t have any imagery available within twelve hours of the incident.”

“Do we know for sure it wasn’t the Ford? Could they have made a mistake?” the President probed.

“No, sir,” the Secretary of Defense replied. “I had Pacific Command review their navigation records. The Ford never traveled anywhere near the position of the ice camp.”

“And we’ve shared that information with the Canadians?”

“The Chief of the Defence Staff has seen the data and concurs off the record that the Ford was likely not responsible,” replied the Secretary of Defense. “But the politicians don’t trust what we are giving them, quite frankly. Given the mileage they have gotten out of the incident, they have no reason to backtrack now.”

“Find those ships and we find our way out of this mess,” the President stated.

His advisers fell silent, knowing that the window of opportunity had likely already passed. Without direct access to the Canadian Arctic, there was little they could even hope to do.

“We’ll do what we can,” the Secretary of Defense promised.

The chief of staff noted the time, then ushered everyone out of the Oval Office in preparation for the President’s next meeting. After the others had left the room, Ward stood at the window and gazed out at the Rose Garden.

“War with Canada,” he muttered to himself. “Now, there’s a real legacy.”

32

MITCHELL GOYETTE PEERED OUT OF THE GLASS-WALLED office on the top deck of his yacht and idly watched a silver seaplane taxiing across the harbor. The small plane quickly hopped off the water and circled south, bypassing the tall buildings lining Vancouver Harbor. The magnate took a sip from a martini glass, then turned his gaze to a thick contract sitting on the desk.

“The terms and conditions are acceptable?” he asked.

A small man with black hair and thick glasses seated opposite Goyette nodded his head.

“The legal department has reviewed it and found no issues with the changes. The Chinese were quite pleased with the initial test shipment and are anxious to receive an ongoing supply stream.”