“That’s impossible,” Gunn replied.
“I’m just telling you what the man said.”
Gunn fell silent, his eyes bulging in disbelief. “We’ll search some more, all the same,” he finally said in a low voice. Then, turning a sympathetic eye toward both men, he added, “That was a heroic rescue effort under terrible conditions.”
“I wouldn’t have wanted to trade places with those guys,” Giordino remarked. “But Dahlgren a hero? That will be the day,” he added with a laugh.
“I’ve a good mind not to share my bottle of Jack Daniel’s with you for that remark,” Dahlgren retorted.
Giordino put an arm around the Texan and escorted him off the bridge.
“Just one shot, my friend, and I’ll see that the Yukon is yours for the taking.”
THE NARWHAL SEARCHED THE surrounding seas for the next two hours, finding only the battered remnants of a blue awning among the ice-infested waters. Gunn reluctantly called off the search when most of the broken floe fragments finally drifted clear of the ice shelf.
“Prudhoe Bay would have better facilities, but Tuktoyaktuk is the closer port by about fifty miles. They do have an airfield,” Stenseth said, eyeing a chart of the North American coastline.
“We’ll have more of a following sea-sailing to the latter,” Gunn replied, looking over the captain’s shoulder. “It would probably be best to get them ashore as soon as possible. Tuktoyaktuk it is.”
The town was along a sparse stretch of northern Canadian sho
reline, just east of the Alaskan border. The area was well north of the Arctic Circle and beyond the northern tree line as well, a rolling, rocky land covered in snow most of the year.
The Narwhal plowed through rough waters for fourteen hours as the spring storm finally blew itself out. The Beaufort Sea still heaved with high breakers when the NUMA ship edged into the protected waters of Kugmallit Bay beside the town of Tuktoyaktuk. A Canadian Mountie patrol boat guided the ship to the city’s industrial pier, where an empty dockside berth awaited. Within minutes, the injured scientists were loaded into a pair of vans and whisked to the local medical center. A thorough checkup deemed the men stable enough for further travel, after which they were loaded onto a plane to Yellowknife.
It wasn’t until the next day, when the trio arrived in Calgary on a government jet, that their ordeal became headline news. A media circus ensued, as every major newspaper and television network jumped on the story. Bue’s eyewitness account of an American warship battering the ice camp and leaving its inhabitants to die struck an angry chord with many Canadians weary of their southern neighbor’s worldly might.
Fervor within the Canadian government ascended to an even higher pitch. Already stung by the embarrassing incident involving the mystery ship Atlanta, Coast Guard and military officials within the government showed particular wrath. The nationalistic Prime Minister, his popularity waning, quickly pounced on the incident for political gain. The rescued scientists Bue, Case, and Quinlon were feted as guests at the Prime Minister’s residence on Sussex Drive in Ottawa, then trotted before the television cameras to once more describe the destruction of the ice camp at the hands of the Americans. With a calculated show of anger, the Prime Minister went so far as to denounce the incident as a barbaric act of war.
“Canadian sovereignty will no longer be violated by foreign transgressions,” he shrieked to the cameras. With an angry Parliament buttressing his rhetoric, he ordered additional naval forces to the Arctic, while threatening to close the border and shut off oil and gas exports. “The great nation of Canada shall not be bullied. If protection of our sovereignty entails war, then so be it,” he cried, his face turning beet red.
Overnight, the Prime Minister’s popularity soared in the polls. Witnessing the public reaction, his fellow politicians clamored before the media to strike anti-American pose. The story of the ice camp survivors took on a life of its own, propelled by a manipulated media and a self-serving national leader. It became a glory-filled tale of victimization and heroic survival. Yet somehow lost in every retelling of the tragedy was the role of the NUMA research crew and the daring rescue effort that had saved the three survivors.
31
JIM, DO YOU HAVE A MOMENT?”
Walking down a corridor of the White House West Wing, Vice President James Sandecker turned to find the Canadian Ambassador calling him from behind. A distinguished-looking man with bushy silver eyebrows, Ambassador John Davis approached with a taciturn look on his face.
“Good morning, John,” Sandecker greeted. “What brings you to this neck of the woods so early in the day?”
“Good to see you, Jim,” Davis replied, his face brightening a bit. “I’m afraid I was sent to hammer on your good President over my country’s agitation with this business in the Northwest Passage.”
“I’m headed to a meeting with the President on that very topic. A sad tragedy about the ice camp, but I’ve been told we had no warships anywhere near there.”
“A sticky matter nevertheless. The hardliners in our government are blowing it full out of proportion.” He lowered his tone to a whisper. “Even the Prime Minister is rattling his saber over the matter, though I know he’s doing it strictly for political gain. I just fear a foolish escalation of some sort that will lead to further tragedy.” A somber look in the Ambassador’s gray eyes told Sandecker that his fear was deep-rooted.
“Don’t worry, John, cooler heads will prevail. We’ve got too much at stake to let something like this degenerate.”
Davis nodded his head weakly. “I sure hope you are right. Say, Jim, I’d like to express our thanks to your NUMA ship and crew. It has been overlooked in the press, but they made a remarkable rescue.”
“I’ll pass that along. Give my best to Maggie, and let’s plan on going sailing again soon.”
“I’d like that. Take care, Jim.”
A White House aide pressed Sandecker on to the Oval Office, guiding him through the northwest entrance. Seated around a coffee table, Sandecker recognized the President’s chief of staff, his National Security Advisor, and the Secretary of Defense. The President stood at a side cubby, pouring himself a cup of coffee from an antique silver pot.
“Can I get you a cup, Jim?” Ward asked. The President still had dark circles under his eyes but appeared more energized than during Sandecker’s last visit.