Ghost Writer(77)

Franchot, now suited-up, joined us.

“Is there a problem?”

“A little extra technology found its way into Madame Kirby's communication set.” Gravell held up something that looked like a hearing aid battery. “I'm tempted to leave it. Since we share all information gathered, it seems a bit redundant.”

“Spooks. Beaubien! Vas y. Aide Jen, si t' plait.”

Beaubien was one of the émil Gagnan divers. He would be acting as videographer for one of the teams. Evidently he’d been added when they decided to go with three teams. I knew Beaubien from the euchre games. Nice guy. Terrible player.

I wasn't quite the last one ready, but I was the last on deck. Gravell blocked my exit and indicated that Welland and Beaubien should go ahead.

“Be careful,” he said, tucking Minton's journal into a waterproof pouch on my utility belt.

I nodded.

“About what you say as well as what you do,” he added, putting my radio-phone into another pouch.

I gave him an eye roll. Then, because it seemed as though he were reluctant to let me go, I patted him on the chest.

“You should have thought ahead and taken up diving. Just be handy when I get back, okay?

He nodded and stood aside.



The émil Gagnan was close enough to the station to dive straight from her deck. A RHIB from the Nottawasaga picked up the divers from the Scranton. There were a lot of familiar faces. The Marines, Madison and Dippel, were back. USN engineer, Sinclair, was new to me. Sophie Briseau there as a medic and, with a couple of rescue divers, would stay on the RHIB in case of an emergency. Sophie waved when she saw me. I gave her a thumbs up.

We arranged ourselves in our teams.

Franchot was leading the team that would investigate engineering. He would be in charge of collecting evidence. Hassan had been designated the RCN observer and was doubling as videographer because Tim wanted to follow me with a camera. Lucky me. Sinclair was the official observer for the USN, but his real job was investigating the cause of the explosion.

Mary Lou was examining Command and Control, which, on the station, served as control, communications, and briefing room. Time permitting she intended to return to the galley. Jorge, one of the émil Gagnan divers, was her videographer. Petty Officer Cross had been pulled from watching me to being the RCN observer and Gunnery Sergeant Dippel completed the team.

Mike led the third team by virtue of his position on the research team, and was assigned weapons control and the sonar room. He had Beaubien as videographer; Madison and Alex Mercuros as observers. It turned out that Alex, like Gravell, was in the Naval Reserve as well as Merchant Marine.

Me and my shadows, Welland and Tim, were attached to Mike’s team to start. We went in first since we had the furthest to go once on the station.

We came up under the station to enter via a pool created by a flooded lower section of the propulsion compartment. The emergency lights were working again. They cast an eerie red glow over everything. All of us had shoulder mounted cameras with built-in lights. They cut through gloom in slices. In comparison, the hand-held lights supplied by the film company shone with spotlight brilliance, but only on demand.

“Smile,” said Beaubien, as I pulled off my mask and shut off my air.

As water had been pumped out, air had been pumped in, restoring the station's attitude and buoyancy. We would keep our tanks with us, but all going well, we shouldn't need them until we left the station. The quality of the air was a bit suspect, in my opinion, but it tested fine, so it might have been my imagination that I was slowly suffocating.

“Deep breaths,” Welland said, as she helped me remove my flippers. “You'll be okay.”

“You can always go back,” said Tim. “It's not too late.”

“She'll be fine,” said Alex.

Mike led the way forward. As we headed out, the first members of the next team appeared.

It was weird being back. We were retracing the route I had taken when Welland and Cross led me out. I was glad to get past the crew areas and into new territory. Just outside weapons control, I called a halt.

“This is your show, Mike, but can I go in first?”

He frowned. I gave him a wry grin.

“This is the only place I'll be able to do this. I won't touch anything, I just want to get a sense of the place. It'll help me recall points from the journal.”

“What journal?” asked Tim.

“Jen rescued a journal from the station when she was trapped,” said Mike, which I thought was very nice of him. His wife would have put it quite differently.

“Whose is it? What’s in it?”

“Now is not the time, Mr. Neville,” said Alex, sounding more formal than I’d ever heard him. It immediately made me shift from thinking of him as Alex to thinking of him as Mercuros.

Tim backed off and Mike almost pushed me into the room.

“Go ahead, Jen. Do your thing.”

I went to the centre of the room and looked around me. Banks of electronic equipment lay dormant. Access to the torpedo room was marked with warning signs on the hatch. I closed my eyes, silently summoned the ghost crew, and opened them again.



The room is bright. Lights blink or glow on the consoles. Video screens display schematic and text information in a green monotone. Naire is scrolling down information on a terminal, his face screwed into an expression of vague worry.