Ghost Writer(22)

“Ms. Kirby!”

“What?”

I had fallen off the table and was half-lying in a foot of blood-freezing seawater. I pulled myself up onto the bench seat.

“Ms. Kirby!”

“I'm here. I guess I fell asleep. And then I just fell.”

“Are you okay?”

“I'm okay.”

I was lying. I was cold and tired and my throat was feeling raw. I took a sip of water, but it didn’t help much. It was so cold it burned.

“I'm sorry I dozed off on you.”

“Just don’t do it again.”

“Aye-aye, Captain.”

That came out grumpier sounding than I intended. I adjusted my tone to sound more calm and collected. “How's that working plan going?”

“The plan is fine. We just had a little trouble getting all parties on board. Now that's sorted out, it's just a matter of logistics. Gravell would like to talk to you. Try to stay awake.”

Gravell ? What was he doing aboard the Nottawasaga?

“How are you doing, Madame Kirby?”

“I’ve been better. On the bright side, I don’t feel seasick.”

Instead, I was feeling a heartsick. My brain had finally collated all the clues I had been picking up since my first interview with the captain.

“So, you’re the ringer.”





Chapter Fifteen ~ Spooks



He said nothing. It didn’t matter.

“You’re the Canadian spook. No wonder Captain Franchot was only looking for the American one. Is your real name is Gravell. How about Jean Luc? Or are you just a Star Trek fan? I bet you aren’t even married.”

Silence. That was fine with me. I wasn’t sure that I wanted to talk to him anyway.

When he finally spoke, he sounded a little different. More formal. Less friendly. “I was christened Jean Luc Gravell. Luc Gravell is the name on my driver’s license. I never said I was married. You just assumed. Since I qualify for the rank of chief in the merchant marine, going by Chief is not a lie. But yes, I work for the Canadian government.”

“CSIS?

“INSET.”

Of course, the Integrated National Security Enforcement Team, Dora consulted for them, among other agencies.

“Does Dora know about you?”

“No one on your team knows about me except you. Since you know, I can be direct in my debriefing.”

He asked me to go over the events of the afternoon from when we boarded the station to when I was cut off while speaking to Tim. He was particularly interested in my conversation with any members of the Scranton crew.

In return, I asked him for an update on the rescue, what the mini-subs had found and the extent of the damage. Surprisingly, he answered my questions, perhaps not fully, but at length. I think that's what lulled me off to sleep.



The man on the bunk looks up from his writing and beckons me over. He shows me the page he was writing. I can't read it. While I watch, he writes one word and underlines it several times: Danger!



“Madame Kirby!”

I started at the sharp voice. “Sorry about that, Chief.”

“I understand. You are very tired, but it is not a good idea to fall asleep in the cold.”

I knew that. Too bad he didn’t know the Get Smart reference. It might have lightened the mood.

“I need to move. There's a clear stretch of counter near Parker. I'm going there.”

“Is it in line-of-sight with the hatch, Madame Kirby?”

“I think so. I'll check when I get there.”

Once I confirmed that I had a clear view of the hatch, I made myself as comfortable as I could. I needed to keep my mind engaged, so I turned on the hand-held camera and switched to play mode. While working my way through the songs in The Gay Divorcee to prove I was awake, I went over the footage from the living quarters. I couldn't find the photo I saw in my dream. I did see a gap where it might have hung.

Using the zoom, I looked closer at the photos on the wall. One seemed to be a group shot of the crew. One officer in particular stuck out. He had large, protruding eyes and a long, hook nose. If Gonzo the Muppet were human, he'd look like this. He was the one on the bunk, the one with the journal. Casting my mind back over my files, I put a name to the face, Lieutenant William Minton.

I segued from Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, who my mother adored, to The Muppet Movie, but only got as far as “The Rainbow Connection” before my voice gave out.

Meanwhile, I retrieved the shoulder bag I had been using to collect the bagged photos and letters. Thank heaven it was waterproof, and I had sealed the opening. It was on the deck beside Parker and had been standing, for who knows how long, in rising seawater. I slung it over my head and shoulder. If I made it out, it was coming with me.

“Madame Kirby?”

“Hmm?”

“You stopped singing.”

“My throat's sore. Maybe you should sing to me.”

Silence. For a panicked moment, I thought I’d been cut off again. I was still mad, but I didn’t want him to go away. Finally he spoke, sounding like the man who brought me coffee and told me to get out of the rain. “When I was talking to you, you fell asleep. If I sing, you might fall into a coma.”