Arctic Drift (Dirk Pitt 20)

“Well, don’t bother responding to them. The Me

lville gas fields will be worth billions, and I’m not going to let them slip through my fingers,” he snapped. “I will be sending you several maps shortly. They delineate my desired exploration zones, which encompass large sections of Melville Sound and some other Arctic regions. I intend to dramatically expand my exploration business in the Arctic and want wholesale exploration licenses for the entire lot. There are incredible profits available there, and you’ll be aptly rewarded, so don’t blow it. Good-bye, Arthur.”

Jameson heard a click as the line went dead. The resources minister sat frozen for a moment until a seething anger welled up from within, then he slammed the phone down with a whack.

T WO THOUSAND MILES TO the west, Goyette punched off his speakerphone and leaned back in his chair. Gazing across his office desk, he stared into the cool eyes of Clay Zak.

“Nothing ever comes easy,” he griped. “Now, tell me again why this ruthenium is so bloody important.”

“It’s quite simple,” Zak replied. “If you can monopolize the supply of ruthenium, then you can control a primary solution to global warming. What you elect to do with the mineral is a matter of money . . . and ego, I suppose.”

“I’m listening,” Goyette grunted.

“Assuming that you control the principal supply, then you have a choice to make. Mitchell Goyette, the environmentalist, can become the savior of the planet and pocket a few bucks along the way, fueling the expansion of artificial photosynthesis factories around the world.”

“But there is a risk on the demand side,” Goyette argued. “We really don’t know how much ruthenium will ultimately be needed, so the profits could be enormous or they could be squat. I’ve staked most of my worth in developing control of the Northwest Passage. I have invested heavily in natural gas and oil sands infrastructure to be able to ship through the passage, supported by my fleet of Arctic vessels. I have long-term export agreements in place with the Chinese and will soon have the Americans pleading on their knees. And I’ve got a potential booming business in carbon dioxide sequestration. If global warming is reversed, or even halted, I could face extended ice issues that run counter to my entire business strategy.”

“In that case, I suppose we can turn to Mitchell Goyette the unrepentant capitalist, who can recognize a profit opportunity blindfolded and will stop at nothing to keep his financial empire expanding.”

“You flatter me,” Goyette replied sarcastically. “But you have made the decision easy. I can’t afford to have the Northwest Passage revert to a solid chunk of ice. The recent melting is what has allowed me to gain control of the Melville Sound gas fields and monopolize transportation in the region. Maybe ten or fifteen years from now, when the oil sands and gas reserves are nearing depletion, I can go save the planet. By then, the ruthenium may even be exponentially more valuable.”

“Spoken like a true capitalist.”

Goyette reached over and picked up two thin pages of paper lying on his desk. They were the journal entries Zak had stolen from the Miners Co-op.

“The basis for this whole ruthenium claim still seems rather flimsy,” he said, examining the pages. “A trader purchased the ore in 1917 from an Inuit whose grandfather acquired the stuff some seventy years earlier. The grandfather was from Adelaide but claimed the ruthenium came from the Royal Geographical Society Islands. On top of that, he called it Black Kobluna and said the source was cursed with dark spirits. Hardly the basis of a scientific mining claim.” He peered at Zak, unsure whether the whole thing might be a ruse on the part of the paid assassin.

Zak stared back without blinking. “It may be a long shot. But the Inuit ruthenium had to come from somewhere, and we’re talking one hundred and sixty years ago in the middle of the Arctic. The journal has a map of the island, showing exactly where it was mined. The Inuit didn’t have front-end loaders and dump trucks back then, so they would have had to pretty much find the stuff lying on the ground. There has to be more there. While this Mid-America Company has appeared in the area, they’re looking for zinc, and on the opposite side of the island. Yes, Mitchell, it may well be a long shot. But there could be an enormous payoff if it’s there, and an enormous cost to you if someone else gets to it first.”

“Aren’t we the only ones who know about the Inuit deposits? ”

Zak squinted slightly, his lips pressed in a tight grimace.

“There is the possibility that Dirk Pitt is aware of the trail,” he said.

“Pitt?” Goyette asked, shaking his head in nonrecognition.

“He’s the Director of the National Underwater and Marine Agency in the United States. I ran into him at the research lab in Washington and noticed him giving aid to the lab manager after the explosion. He appeared again in Ontario, at the Miners Co-op, just after I took these journal entries. I tried to arrange an accident on the road out of town, but some old man helped him escape. He’s obviously aware of the importance of ruthenium in triggering the artificial-photosynthesis process.”

“He might be on to you as well,” Goyette said, a crease crossing his troubled brow.

“I can take care of that easily enough,” Zak said.

“It’s not a good idea to be blowing up high-visibility government officials. He can’t do anything from the States. I’ll have him tailed just to make sure he stays there. Besides, I’ll need you to go to the Arctic and investigate the Royal Geographical Society Islands. Take a security team with you, and I’ll send along some of my top geologists. Then figure out a way to put Mid-America out of business. I want you to find the ruthenium. Obtain it at any cost. All of it.”

“That’s the Mitchell Goyette I know and love,” Zak said with a twisted smile. “We haven’t talked about my share.”

“It’s a pipe dream at the moment. Ten percent of the royalties is more than generous.”

“I was thinking of fifty percent.”

“That’s absurd. I’ll be incurring all of the capital costs. Fifteen percent.”

“It’s going to take twenty.”

Goyette clenched his teeth. “Get off my boat. And enjoy the cold.”

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