Arctic Drift Part 32

"Oh, about an hour or two ago. His stay wasn't much longer than yours."

"I think I saw him in town. Kind of a burly guy in a brown suit? "

"Yes, that was the customer."

"Mind if I ask where he was headed?"

"You two are both nosy. He asked who you were," he said, picking up a clipboard and running his finger down a short list of aircraft arrivals and departures. Pitt casually leaned over the manager's shoulder, catching the plane's tail number, C-FTGI, which he committed to memory.

"While I can't tell you who is aboard, I can tell you that the plane is bound for Vancouver, with a scheduled fuel stop in Regina, Saskatchewan."

"They visit Elliot Lake often?"

"No, I can't say I've seen that plane here before." The manager tilted his head toward a small room in the corner of the terminal. "Why don't you grab a cup of coffee in the lounge, and I'll notify your flight crew that you are here."

Pitt agreed and made his way to the lounge, where he poured a cup of coffee from a stained gla.s.s pot. A corner-mounted television was tuned to a Calgary rodeo, but Pitt stared past the bronco riders, toying with the scattered puzzle pieces of the last few days. His trip to the Miners Co-op had been made on a lark, yet his hunch had been right. Sourcing a supply of ruthenium was of global importance, and somebody else was in on the hunt. He thought back to the well-dressed man in the white sedan, John Booth. There was something familiar about the man, but Pitt knew no one in Vancouver who had the means to fly in a corporate jet.

The terminal manager popped into the lounge, refilling a large coffee cup as he spoke to Pitt.

"Your flight crew is on their way to your aircraft. I told them you would be right out."

As he spoke, he ripped open a packet of sugar to pour into his coffee. The bag ripped completely in half, though, showering the carpeted floor in white granules.

"Jeez," he groaned, tossing the empty packet aside. "Well, that will give the night janitor something to do," he muttered, staring at the mess.

Pitt was likewise staring at the mess but with a different reaction. His eyes suddenly turned bright, and a sly grin spread across his lips.

"A fortuitous disaster," he said to the manager, who looked back at him blankly. "Thanks for your a.s.sistance. I need to make a couple of phone calls, then I'll be right aboard."

When he crossed the tarmac a few minutes later, Pitt had a spry step to his aching bones and the gash to his head had ceased hurting. Across his face, the sly grin was still firmly embedded in place.

39

MINISTER JAMESON, I HAVE MITCh.e.l.l GOYETTE on line one," the gray-haired secretary said, poking her head into Jameson's office like a gopher.

Jameson nodded from his desk, then waited until his secretary closed the door on her way out before hesitantly picking up the phone.

"Arthur, how are things in our lovely capital city?" Goyette greeted with mock friendship.

"Ottawa is enjoying a warm spring, to accompany the hot jingoistic climate in Parliament."

"It's high time we retained Canada's resources for Canadians," Goyette snorted.

"Yes, so that we can sell them to the Chinese," the minister replied drily.

Goyette promptly turned serious. "There's a small pile of rocks in the Arctic southeast of Victoria Island called the Royal Geographical Society Islands. I'll be needing the mineral rights to the entire landma.s.s," he said, as if asking for a cup of coffee.

"Let me take a look," Jameson replied, pulling a bundle of maps from his desk drawer. Finding a map marked Victoria Strait, which was overlaid with numbered grid lines, he moved to a desktop computer. Inputting the grid numbers, he accessed the ministry's records of exploration and extraction licenses issued by the government. Within a few minutes, he had an answer for Goyette.

"I'm afraid we already have a production license in place, which covers about thirty percent of the islands, primarily the southern portion of West Island. It's a ten-year license, but they are only entering their second year of operations. The license is held by Kingfisher Holdings, a subsidiary of the Mid-America Mining Company out of b.u.t.te, Montana. They have built a small mining facility and are currently extracting small quant.i.ties of zinc, apparently just in the summer months."

"An American firm holds the license?"

"Yes, but through a Canadian sh.e.l.l company. There's technically no law against it, providing they post the required security bond and meet the other provisions of the license agreement."

"I want the license rescinded and reissued to one of my ent.i.ties," Goyette said matter-of-factly.

Jameson shook his head at Goyette's presumption. "There would have to be a violation of the license, such as environmental polluting or shortchanging the royalty payments. It can't be done unilaterally, Mitch.e.l.l, without setting the government up for a major lawsuit."

"Then how do I obtain the rights?" he huffed.

"Mid-America is currently in compliance, according to the latest inspection report, so your only option would be to try and purchase the rights directly from them. They would no doubt gouge you for the pleasure." He thought for a moment. "There may in fact be another possibility."

"Go ahead," Goyette urged impatiently.

"There is a national defense clause in the license. Should this brouhaha with the United States continue to escalate, there is a possibility of using it for grounds to terminate the license. The clause allows for the termination of foreign-held licenses in the event of war, conflict, or dissolution of state relations. A long shot, of course, but one never knows. What exactly is your interest in the islands?"

"Something that is as good as gold," Goyette replied quietly. Regaining his brashness, he barked, "Prepare the necessary details for me to bid on a new license. I'll figure out a way to have this Mid-America Corporation cough it up."

"Very well," Jameson replied, his teeth gritted. "I will await your results."

"That's not all. As you know, the Melville Sound site is showing extraordinarily rich reserves of natural gas, yet I only own rights to a tiny fraction of the fields. I will be needing to obtain the extraction rights to the entire region."

The line fell silent for several seconds before Jameson finally muttered, "I'm not sure that will be possible."

"Nothing is impossible, for the right price," Goyette laughed. "You'll find that most of the tracts are previously ice-covered regions that n.o.body was interested in. Until now."

"That is the problem. Word is out that major shipments are already being made from Melville. We're receiving dozens of exploration requests for the area."

"Well, don't bother responding to them. The Melville gas fields will be worth billions, and I'm not going to let them slip through my fingers," he snapped. "I will be sending you several maps shortly. They delineate my desired exploration zones, which encompa.s.s large sections of Melville Sound and some other Arctic regions. I intend to dramatically expand my exploration business in the Arctic and want wholesale exploration licenses for the entire lot. There are incredible profits available there, and you'll be aptly rewarded, so don't blow it. Good-bye, Arthur."

Jameson heard a click as the line went dead. The resources minister sat frozen for a moment until a seething anger welled up from within, then he slammed the phone down with a whack.

TWO THOUSAND MILES TO the west, Goyette punched off his speakerphone and leaned back in his chair. Gazing across his office desk, he stared into the cool eyes of Clay Zak.

"Nothing ever comes easy," he griped. "Now, tell me again why this ruthenium is so b.l.o.o.d.y important."

"It's quite simple," Zak replied. "If you can monopolize the supply of ruthenium, then you can control a primary solution to global warming. What you elect to do with the mineral is a matter of money ... and ego, I suppose."

"I'm listening," Goyette grunted.

"a.s.suming that you control the princ.i.p.al supply, then you have a choice to make. Mitch.e.l.l Goyette, the environmentalist, can become the savior of the planet and pocket a few bucks along the way, fueling the expansion of artificial photosynthesis factories around the world."