Ghost Writer(28)

He hesitated. “If I knew that this came from the station, I would be bound to turn it over to the Captain Tinsdale. Of course, I passed the other material you were carrying over to Dr. Leland before that request was made, so those items are out of my hands. Nor do I feel any obligation to turn over your personal property. So, I assume this is yours, and I would not violate your privacy by reading your personal journal. And if you are going to tell me that you copied the digital video from Petty Officer Parker's camera onto your smartphone, I don't want to know. In fact, we didn't have this conversation at all.”

I stuffed the journal in one pocket and the smartphone in the other.

“So, what have we been talking about?”

“Your son. I understand that you have been emailing him daily. After what you’ve been through, I thought you might want to make a video call before you leave the Nottawasaga. You won’t be able to give details, but he should know what a hero his mother is.”

I think I blushed, and I know I had trouble meeting his gaze. “I didn't feel very heroic. In fact, I'm not sure I would have held it together if it wasn't for you and Chief Gravell.”

He lifted my chin, forcing eye contact. “I think you would have managed. Speaking for myself at least, it was an honour to have been of service. But tell me, does this mean you’ve forgiven Chief Gravell?”

“I’m not sure I’d go that far.”

I had forgiven him for lying. I imagine that was part of his job description. I hadn’t forgiven him for making me like him.



Doc wasn't happy with my heightened colour when I returned. My flush wasn't solely due to embarrassment. I had a low-grade fever. Confined to bed for the rest of the day, I slept through the afternoon. Visitors were kept away. Even the ghost left me alone.

After dinner, Chief Gravell came to take my statement of events on the station. He confirmed that a security detail was on board the émil Gagnan and that things were going smoothly now.

“Does that mean that they are trying to raise the station again?”

“No, not that.”

“Are the Americans are going to sink the station.”

“No. That's not going to happen immediately either.”

“Have you come clean to the team—Dora at least?”

“More or less.”

I tried to find out more. I don't think he would have given me the time of day unless it had been cleared first. Still, he must have said something, because I fell asleep listening to his voice.



“This is the most significant mission I have ever taken part in. This is my chance to show that I have the right stuff.”

These are the opening sentences of the journal. They are followed by details about the long, slow trip, towing the station through the Arctic waters. I read them over the shoulder of Minton, who is sitting in the wardroom. The aroma of sweet, milky tea wafts on the steam from the mug by his left hand.

Two men enter. One gives him a warm welcome. The other teases him about burying his nose in work again. They are his friends: Mitch Shore and Margolo. The faint aroma of cigar smoke clings to them mixed with the scent of damp salty air.

Minton smiles.

“I am a lucky man to have such friends,” he writes.



A trickle of sweat hits the page. Minton is now sitting on his bunk on the station. Bitterness twists his features.

He flips through the journal to the next blank page. Wiping the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his uniform, he takes a deep breath and gags. He swallows a couple of times, then starts writing.

“I am cursed to be here with a crew of mad men…”



Dora Leland visited as soon as she was allowed, which was while I was trying to force down breakfast the next morning. She was beside herself with indignation over the affaire and hardly noticed that I was in a cold sweat from the dreams I had suffered overnight.

“The team is being removed. The crew of the émil Gagnan was told to recover their equipment.”

She punctuated her sentences with broad arm gestures that reminded me, as usual, of John Cleese in his Fawlty Tower days.

“Franchot is stalling. Even Gravell is being helpful, though we all know he was sent to spy on us. I need to get some political clout behind us to back us up. US Navy divers are preparing to scuttle the base, which they say is too dangerous to salvage. Bullocks! Our crew thinks otherwise. I'll say this, however, Captain Campbell isn't as useless as I thought. He's managed to get the Americans to return our equipment and notes. Not the artifacts, though. Mary Lou is raising hell and Reuben is threatening legal action.”

She sniffed and pulled a seat up to my bedside.

“You look terrible,” she said, looking at me properly for the first time. “I had some work for you, but I think I'll ask Mary Lou instead. You rest. Try to get some sleep.”

When she left, I hoped to take a walk on deck. Instead, I received a visit from Lieutenant Redding looking for information under cover of returning my laptop and finding out how I was.

We played a little game for the next half hour. He tried to grill me without seeming to do so and I did my best to wheedle information out of him. Neither party got any satisfaction. Eventually Dr. Stern came to my rescue and kicked Redding out. Exhausted, I decided I really wasn't up to a walk on deck after all. This time, I didn't need Gravell or Gravol to help me sleep.