Ghost Writer(7)

“Let me take your things. You take your time.”

I don't know how long I stood there. Eventually a warm hand fell on my shoulder, making me realize I was getting chilled. I turned to see Gravell.

“Come on,” he said, raising his voice to be heard above the wind.

Our destination was the Captain’s Cabin, which combined office, sitting room, and bedroom. Franchot was waiting for us at his desk with three cups of steaming hot chocolate. I was ushered to the seat opposite my host and happily wrapped my hands around the warm mug.

“Coffee in the morning, tea in the afternoon, cocoa at night, and since none of us has the night watch, a little nip of rum in the cocoa will not be remiss.”

I tasted the cocoa and figured there was a large nip in the mug. Lubricating my vocal chords, I wondered? It didn't take long to figure out that it was my turn to be interviewed.

I sipped on my cocoa and answered most of the captain’s questions. There were some questions about AFFA that I couldn’t answer and a couple about myself that were none of his business. While Franchot interrogated me, Gravell sat back and watched. I was reminded of my early teens, being grilled by my father the cop and my mother the school principal. I never lied because they would always know. I didn’t lie now, but I was getting tired of the questions.

“You’ve got everything I can give you, so, do I pass? And what was I being tested on anyway?” I looked from Franchot to Gravell and back again.

Gravell’s expression said nothing.

Franchot leaned forward and tapped the desk in front of me. “With all due respect, you are a late addition to the manifest. I wanted to make sure you weren't a ringer.”

I turned to Gravell. I didn't know what I was supposed to be a ringer for, but I had to ask. “Is that why you gave me so much of your time?”

“No.”

“I didn't share my suspicions until this evening, after I suggested you interview me. Gravell bet me a bottle of rum I was wrong.”

“Wrong about what?”

“Arctic Station Alpha was a secret military station. Even after all these years, it may disclose secrets that certain three-lettered agencies might want to keep undisclosed.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I know that. But I can’t believe you think I’m a spy. Who am I supposed to be spying for? The Canadian government? Or maybe the World Wildlife Association. I’m a card carrying member, you know.”

“I’m not worried about Canadian spies.”

I couldn’t keep a straight face. “You think I’m CIA spook? I can’t wait to tell my son—and my father. Holy shit! He’s going to laugh himself silly. So, did I pass the test? Or will I be sleeping with the fish tonight?”

Gravell was surprised into laughing.

Franchot gave an eloquent shrug. “You joke, but I'm beginning to have second thoughts about this job. Last minute changes to the plans, governments breathing down my neck.”

His eyes darted to Gravell who gave the tiniest of shrugs in response.

“This wreck had better be worth it. I don't know if Dawes mentioned anything to you. We're silent partners in this venture. His team couldn't have afforded us otherwise.”

Reuben hadn't mentioned it, but it made sense. He and Dora had a similar arrangement with me, in that I was trading sure money as a ghostwriter for named credit for my work.

That wasn't what caught my attention. “When you say last minute changes to the plans, do you mean me?”

“Not entirely. There’s a Canadian frigate joining us. Not only are they going to be looking over our shoulders all the time, they are escorting a party of US Naval personnel, which will certainly include a spook, who will be there as watchdogs.”

“Does Dora know about this? Or Reuben?”

Franchot shook his head.

“I'll make an announcement tomorrow.”

“And Gravell gets his bottle of rum?”

The Skipper gave me a speculative look.

“At the end of the voyage. Just in case.”





Chapter Seven ~ Mary Lou and Mike



I volunteered for extra galley duty to stay out of Dora’s line of fire when Franchot made his announcement. I gave up my relaxed breakfast for nothing. Franchot didn’t show. Instead, I took coffee and a bagel to go so that I could prep for the next team interview.

I was going to interview Mary Lou and Mike Naire individually, since they were related to different crewmen, but Mike wasn’t having any of it. He stuck to Mary Lou like a guard dog.

Mary Lou looked exactly how you’d expect a Mary Lou at forty to look. She had wide blue eyes, a pretty face and wore her hair in a ponytail.

Mike looked like a guy who would be equally at home in the ‘hood’ or a Kung Fu movie—mature heavy number five. Right now he sat next to his wife, his hand on her back, a gesture that probably was meant to be supportive, but suggested territorial possession.

“Would you like to start, Mary Lou?”

She had a sweet voice without coming across as girlish. Dulcet came to mind. “My father was Lou Boreman. He was an engineer and he used to race stock cars.”

Judging by the photos I’d been given, Lou Boreman was a good ol’ boy from North Carolina and had high-test, not blood, in his veins.

“You’re a forensic technologist, Mary Lou. Tell me about that.”