Ghost Writer(13)

“Observation, as in spying?”

He spread his hands in and expansive gesture as if allowing that it might be possible, but he wasn’t going to say so. “It was the Cold War. However, unlike the US and Russian submarines that plied the same waters, the station was also intended for scientific research.”

He was pleasant. He managed to answer all my questions without telling me a single thing I didn't already know. When he had enough, he closed the interview, not Tim and certainly not me. “It has been a great pleasure to meet you, Ms. Kirby. I am looking forward our future meetings.”

Charming, or perhaps just polite?

Typically Canadian.



In the shadow of the warships, the recovery crew worked. Aquatic robots filmed and scanned the sunken base. Measurements were collated, equated, and processed to determine the best places for the bots to attach the freshwater salvage balloons that would raise their prize.

While Franchot directed the salvage operation, Gravell fed us information. At every meal, he'd give a progress report and answer questions. I was glad I'd done my homework, otherwise it might have been me, not Lil that asked, “Why freshwater balloons? Why not saltwater? Or air?”

“Freshwater is more buoyant than saltwater and it's easier to manipulate than air.”

“Okay, but we're in awfully cold water here. Wouldn't the freshwater freeze? And a solid is heavier…”

Before Gravell framed an answer, I pushed an ice cube down in my glass of water with a spoon and let it bob to the surface again. Lil, who was across the table from me, noted the demonstration.

She laughed. “Of course!”

It was more complicated than that, and Gravell explained in detail, but my demo made the point. He acknowledged that later.

“I'm going to remember that next time I have to explain buoyancy. You’ve got a knack for simplifying things.”

“It's a big part of what I do.”

I had stayed at the table to work. The cabin felt claustrophobic for anything besides showering and sleeping. Besides, working in the wardroom gave me easy access to the coffee.

“What are you doing now?” he asked.

I called up photos taken by the émil Gagnan bots on my laptop. Then I tiled the photos with a schematics of the station gathered from…well, I never asked. Another touch and the windows moved over to make room for a cross-referenced and indexed catalogue of photos, drawings, and notes.

“Every scrap of information gathered is documented by me for when Dora and I start writing the book. Plus, I'm keeping a running journal of what I experience and observe like the undercurrent of excitement, the difference between the American and Canadian navies, and how many times the Skipper says ‘Feh!’”

He laughed. Then we both reached for my coffee mug at the same time. Our hands met and there was a moment. His hand overlapped mine, our eyes met, and I knew the attraction was mutual.

Cool.

Damn.

I'd have to be more careful.

With mixed emotions, I shifted my hand. He kept hold of the mug.

“Another cup?”

I nodded and let him fetch my third cup of the morning.

I didn't record my feelings about Gravell in my journal. Instead I waxed poetic on the events of the afternoon. Arctic Station Alpha breached the surface like a shy Beluga and was greeted by a rousing chorus of cheers and applause.

Then the boom dropped again.





Chapter Eleven ~ Obstacles



“Schweinhund!” Dora slammed the door to our cabin. “Mascalazone! Asshole!”

“Mas-ca-la-zo-nay?”

This one was new to me.

“Scoundrel. Italian.” Dora couldn’t speak Italian, but she could swear in it.

“Who is the scoundrel?”

“Who else? Tinsdale! He's told us all to put away our cameras and equipment, on threat of confiscation. We have to sit back and twiddle our thumbs while he decides if we will be allowed on board. Tinsdale's knickers are in a twist because a couple of our divers went on board to check on the structural integrity.”

“Why would that bother him?”

“They let Tim Neville go with them. Evidently he's a recreational diver when he isn't making low budget documentaries. He took video.”

“Oh. What about Captain Campbell? Isn't he intervening on our behalf?”

“Right.” The word was supersaturated with disdain. “As if he could do anything.”

I decided it was best not to argue.

A day went by while the Scranton crew made their own check of the integrity of the vessel or so they said.

Franchot took the high road. In front of the camera he allowed that it was understandable that the US Navy would think they were better equipped to evaluate one of their own vessels. It wasn't necessarily so.

Off camera he said it was bullshit.

A second day passed.

I decided to try interviewing the commanders again more because I needed a break from Dora than any expectation of success. Tinsdale was unavailable for comment. Lieutenant Redding gave me a few minutes via radio, but no information.

It was late afternoon before I got a response from the Nottawasaga. This time I was invited aboard, though politely told that the invitation was not extended to the video crew. That was fine with me. It was more likely I'd get information without a camera present.