Ghost Writer(9)

Reuben took it well. Tim was shocked. I think Franchot was impressed.

Then she turned her attention to him. “How long have you known?”

“Madam…”

“Don’t ‘madam’ me, you horny sea pirate. I’m a doctor and don’t you forget it.”

That was disappointingly mild for Dora. Then she launched into German, and I was happy to see that it was not a language Franchot was fluent in. When she switched to French, I decided to intervene.

“Enough. It’s not like either of them was given a choice. Maybe Reuben should have told you sooner. He was probably was afraid you’d raise a fuss, like this one, that might cost the team its permits. As for the Skipper, he is probably as put out as you are.”

Both men made affirmative noises.

Dora heaved a sigh and slumped back in her chair. “I need a drink.”

Franchot poured her large rum. It only took one sip to revive Dora.

“Thank you, Skipper. I hope you know I would never have vented my anger on you in a more public place. Reuben is another matter. He’s an old friend who should have known better.”

“I understand, Dr. Leland.”

“Dora is fine. Just don’t call me madam.”



I scheduled Dora’s interview for after lunch, but she begged off. She decided she’d rather go last so she could fill in the gaps. Instead, Franchot rounded up his diving team, and I did a group interview. This was a bit challenging. English didn’t seem to be the first language of any of the crew. They all spoke French, but not the dialect of French Canadian I learned from my father. For a few, French was their second language. Judging by their accents, and a few odd words thrown in, I picked out an Italian and a Greek among the divers. Cookie spoke French and English perfectly, but Spanish was his first language. I could have used him as translator if he wasn’t busy in the galley. Gravell could have helped, but I hadn’t seen him since breakfast.

The camera crew weren’t entirely happy with the set up either. Light and sound levels had to be adjusted repeatedly. Tim’s directions had to be translated and, since I was doing the translating, misunderstandings arose. We were running into dinner time when we finally wrapped up. I offered to help with the packing of the equipment. It was appreciated, but refused. I can’t say I was sorry.

Dora greeted me almost as soon as I entered the wardroom. “Where the hell have you been?”

“I was working. Interviews. I'll need to do yours tomorrow.”

“No problem. Now, go get your supper. We've started a euchre tournament, and I expect you to be my partner.

I agreed, even though I really wanted to go back on deck until I was too tired not to fall asleep. My stomach still felt delicate. After a while, with my attention focussed on the cards, I forgot about it. I never did work out how the overall scoring worked. I won more games than I lost and it was all good fun.



Once upon a time, when the Arctic Ocean was a few patches of open water between ice flows, the sea was calm most of the time. With the ice receding more and more each summer, the Arctic started to see big waves, but it was still pretty calm compared to, say, the North Atlantic.

This was a bit of not so trivial information I picked up preparing for the voyage. It did not prepare me for our first patch of rough weather.

Gravell warned us that it might get choppy overnight and that he had Gravol for anyone who needed it. He repeated the warning to me personally, telling me to be proactive and pop a couple of pills after supper. Because of the euchre game, I forgot. I remembered after I threw up dinner.

Impervious to seasickness, Dora slept through it all, including me getting up. Once the nausea passed, I discovered that if I kept absolutely still in my bunk, I could pretend I was being rocked in a cradle. When my alarm sounded, I managed to drag myself out of bed and dress with minimum fuss. I wasn’t seasick, but the drugs in my system made me a bit dopey.

It was raining and the ship seemed to be rocking and rolling to the beat of its own drum. Leastwise, my legs were having trouble with the cadence. Fortunately, Cookie decided this would be a cold breakfast day. The smell of cooked meat or eggs would have probably sent me over the edge. The aroma of the coffee brewing almost did it and I love coffee. No interviews today. The cameras wouldn't be stable. Instead, I took coffee, a towel and my shoulder bag, and found a sheltered spot on deck to go over what I had so far.

Sheltered was a relative state. I had a deck above me that kept most of the rain off, but gusts cold rainwater and icy sea spray reached me even though I was as far back from the side as you could get. Fortunately, I had the foresight to upgrade my smartphone case to the kind that withstands anything short of a sledgehammer blow. It also had enough aps on it to let me do almost as much work as I could do on my laptop. It even supported a portable keyboard, but that wasn’t protected against the weather. Instead I read over my notes on the other crew members.

Petty Officers Lawrence Kant and Niles Golanger had no representatives amongst AFFA, either here, or on the support team. Lil had tracked down the families, but there was no interest among them to pursue the mystery.

Kant was survived by an older brother and younger sister, Ira and Sarah. Ira had opposed his younger brother joining the Navy. He was sorry that Larry was dead, but said he had brought it upon himself. A little chilling, I thought at the time.

Sarah understood why Larry joined up. He wanted to break free of his family. He wanted adventure. He looked the part. His swarthy complexion, dark eyes, and half-smile was worthy of a supporting role in a pirate movie. She didn’t want to spoil the fantasy she had built around her brother’s disappearance.