Ghost Writer(4)

“In the meantime, I'll just stand here.”

“No. You’re going to eat your sandwich and then hit your bunk. Against all expectations, you are going to sleep like a baby tonight and then get up early and do your turn in the galley. I've arranged the roster so you only get breakfast prep. Less food to smell.”

“I see.”

“Still your hero?” he asked, moving his hand to my shoulder.

“Maybe. Depends what kind of sandwich you brought.”

It was roast beef with tomato slices and a little Dijon mustard. Fresh salty air was the final condiment. While I ate, Gravell kept me company. We talked about his family and my kid. He didn’t mention a wife, but had lots to say about his extended family of brothers, sisters, cousins, grandmothers, and a widowed Aunt Therese. By the time he escorted me to my cabin, I pegged him as one of those guys who seems like he's interested in you, but is just universally nice.





Chapter Four ~ Wind and Waves



Chief Gravell was right about me sleeping like a baby. I woke every two hours.

The émil Gagnan was not a cruise ship. Most of the openings that looked like windows were part of the sheltered deck. There were no portholes in our cabin. No natural light. When the medication induced drowsiness wore off, I couldn’t get into a deep sleep. I never thought of myself as afraid of the dark, but I’d never stayed in a room so black. I longed for an LED display clock, even though I usually hated them. At home, I even covered my phone when it was charging so the little green light wouldn’t bother me. In the end, I plugged in my phone and used the green glow as a night light.

Of course, as soon as I dropped into a deep sleep, it was time to get up.

Dora shook my leg and had to dodge my reflexive kick.

“Shit, Jen! Don’t kill the messenger. You’re going to be late for galley duty. Oh. My. God.”

“What?”

I had pushed back the covers and forced myself to sit up. Dora was staring at me, eyes wide, biting her lip. “Look in the mirror, sweetie.”

This might not have been a cruise ship, but it did have some of the amenities you would expect in a passenger vessel. Our bathroom crammed a shower, toilet and sink into the smallest possible space, but it was our own. I opened the pocket door and was shocked at the reflection.

My thick wavy hair was now a storm of frizzy curls.

“Yikes! Maybe a shower will help.”

“You don’t have time.”



Health and safety protocol demanded that I wear a hairnet while I worked. It barely fit and felt like it might pop off any minute. I had to wear it even though I was washing dishes not prepping food. This mostly involved rinsing plates in warm salty water, and loading and unloading a steamy industrial dishwasher. I could almost feel my curls coil and was afraid of what would happen when I removed the net.

The worst part was that I also had to carry the tubs of dirty dishes from the wardroom to the galley, which I mistakenly referred to as the kitchen, and make sure the self-serve buffet was well-stocked. That gave the team and crew plenty of opportunity to remark on what looked like a squishy white ball encompassing my head.

Most of them were nice enough to stifle their grins, but Dora had to poke it. “Amazing! It bounces right back again.”

I would have poked her back, but my hands were full. Instead I stuck my tongue out. She responded in kind. That was good for a few laughs. Not long after that I realized I no longer felt queasy. I even felt I could sit in the wardroom and do a little work after Cookie’s deputy released me from duty. As much as I wanted a shower, I wanted coffee and some breakfast first. No eggs though. I wasn’t feeling that brave.

With coffee in one hand and a breakfast plate of bagel, cream cheese, and smoked salmon in the other, I found an unoccupied table and pulled out my smart phone. The device doubled as a tablet. It wasn’t easy to write on, but I could read over my research notes in preparation for the interviews.

Forty years ago, when I wasn't even a gleam in my father's eye, eight men disappeared in the depths of the Arctic Ocean. There was no investigation. An investigation might have exposed that, during a politically delicate time, what was supposed to be an experimental undersea research station was, in fact, a US subaquatic military base.

The world changed. The Arctic changed. Commonly available, detailed, satellite images of the planet, coupled with the receding icecap, made it difficult to hide evidence of a vintage, nuclear-powered, underwater station the size of the Goodyear blimp.

It was about a thousand kilometers from where it was supposed to be and in Canadian territorial waters. It was possible that it got there because of the current or storms, or it might have been in Canadian waters all along.

Once again, it was a politically sensitive time, but environmental groups demanded its removal and the Canadian Government wanted to assert its sovereignty in the Arctic. Suddenly, Dora and her group had the leverage they needed to lead an expedition.

Expenses were not a big problem. With three family members of the lost crew on the team and the fact that the U.S. Military establishment was trying to block us, we had a hefty advance on the book and documentary. I just hoped it turned out to be a Titanic, not a Capone's Vault, or the profits (that is, my income for the next year) would be pretty dismal.





Chapter Five ~ Reuben and Lil