Arctic Drift Part 70

Opposition leaders quickly jumped on the news accounts and investigations, inciting a full-blown witch hunt against the Prime Minister. Already beleaguered by his false accusations in the Arctic incidents, the criminal allegations fell like a ton of bricks. Abandoned of all support, Prime Minister Barrett resigned from office a few weeks later, along with most of his cabinet. Publicly despised, the ex-Prime Minister would fight criminal charges for years until finally agreeing to a nonsentencing plea bargain. His reputation shattered, Barrett quietly faded into obscurity.

Goyette's Terra Green Industries would face a similar demise. Investigators pieced together his strategy of dominating the Arctic resources by expelling the American presence, monopolizing the local transportation, and bribing his way to controlling rights. Beset by corruption fines and environmental penalties that rose into the hundreds of millions, the private company quietly fell into receivership. Some of the company's a.s.sets, including the LNG tanker, the Victoria Club, and Goyette's personal yacht, were sold at public auction. Most of the energy a.s.sets and the fleet of vessels were acquired by the government, which operated the properties at cost. One icebreaker and a fleet of barges were leased to a nonprofit food bank for a dollar a year. Relocated to Hudson Bay, the barges hauled surplus Manitoba wheat to starving regions of East Africa.

Among the Terra Green fleet holdings, a.n.a.lysts discovered a small containership called the Alberta. An astute team of Mountie investigators proved that it was the same vessel that had rammed the Coast Guard patrol boat Harp in Lancaster Strait, with a few letters in its name repainted to read Atlanta. Like the crew of the Otok, the men who served aboard the Alberta readily testified at the mercy of the court that they were acting on direct orders from Mitch.e.l.l Goyette.

As moderate forces of influence regained power in the Canadian government, relations with the U.S. warmed quickly. The Polar Dawn was quietly returned to the Americans, along with a small remuneration for its crew. The ban on U.S.-flagged vessels sailing the Northwest Pa.s.sage was lifted and a strategic security agreement signed a short time later. For purposes of a shared mutual defense, the agreement stated, Canada pledged that American military vessels would forever be granted unrestricted transit through the pa.s.sage. More important to the President, the Canadian government opened up access to the Melville Sound gas field. Within months, major quant.i.ties of natural gas were flowing unabated to the United States, quickly suppressing the economic disruption caused by the spike in oil prices.

Behind the scenes, the FBI and Royal Canadian Mounted Police jointly reopened their files on Clay Zak. The bombings at the George Washington University lab and the zinc-mining camp in the Arctic were easily pinned on him, but his other crimes were not so traceable. Although suspicions were raised, he was never fully linked to Elizabeth Finlay's death in Victoria. He was, however, suspected in a dozen more unsolved deaths involving known opponents of Mitch.e.l.l Goyette. Even though he was buried in a pauper's grave at the North Vancouver Cemetery, his murderous activities would keep investigators busy for years to come.

The only Goyette a.s.sociate to successfully navigate the flood of judicial and media probes was the natural resources minister, Arthur Jameson. Despite his deep involvement in the corruption, Jameson survived the ordeal with an odd mark of public admiration. Contempt for Goyette was so great, even in death, that Jameson's crimes were overlooked by his act of turning evidence and blowing open the entire case.

Resigning his minister's post, Jameson was offered a provost position at a respected private college in Ontario, where he was called upon to teach a popular course in ethics. His stature grew as his past misdeeds were eventually forgotten, and Jameson soon embraced the scholarly life and a modestly downsized life-style. Only his four children were starkly reminded of his past activities, when, upon reaching the age of thirty-five, they each inherited a Cayman Islands trust account worth ten million dollars.

As for Goyette himself, he gained little sympathy in death. His bribery, vice, and greed, as well as his total disregard for the environmental impact of his pursuits, created a universal spite. The att.i.tude pervaded even the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, who a.s.signed only a cursory investigation into his death. Officials knew his murderer would be lionized and downplayed the circ.u.mstances of his death as potentially accidental. Public interest in the crime quickly waned, while internally the police cited few clues and an endless enemies list that precluded a solution to the crime. With little fanfare, the death of Mitch.e.l.l Goyette quickly became a cold case that n.o.body cared to solve.

93

AN ELITE ROYAL NAVY COLOR GUARD UNIT CARRIED the dark-wood casket down the steps of the neocla.s.sic Anglican chapel and carefully placed it onto an ornate nineteenth-century gun carriage. The eulogy had been long, as was the norm for a royal ceremonial funeral, with obligatory remarks recited by the Prime Minister and the Prince of Wales, among other notables. The sentiments were bl.u.s.tery and patriotic but not very personal, for no one still living had even known the deceased.

The funeral of Sir John Alexander Franklin was a grand and n.o.ble affair and, at the same time, an uplifting event. The discovery of Franklin's body aboard the Erebus had aroused a nostalgic romance amongst the British people, rekindling the days of glory when Wellington commanded the ground and Nelson ruled the seas. Franklin's exploits in the Arctic, a largely forgotten historical footnote to modern generations, was regaled in detail to a suddenly enthralled public that clamored for more.

The public fascination had placed great pressure on the team of archaeologists and forensic specialists tasked with examining the ship and retrieving his body. Working round the clock, they solved two key mysteries, even before Franklin's body arrived in London and was placed on view in Westminster Abbey.

Though a variety of ails contributed to his death at age sixty-one, the scientists determined that a case of tuberculosis, easily contracted within the tight confines of a winter-bound ship, most likely finished him off. More intriguing was the revelation as to why a large portion of the Erebus's crew had turned mad. Based on the account in the ship's log, which Pitt had sent to British authorities, the scientists tested a sample of ruthenium found in an officer's cabin. a.s.say testing revealed that the South African ore contained high quant.i.ties of mercury. When heated on the cookstove in buckets and bedpans, the ore released toxic fumes that acc.u.mulated in the galley and crew's quarters. As with the mad hatters of later years, mercury poisoning created neurological damage and psychotic reactions after months of exposure.

The tragic myriad events just added to the allure of the story, and the public flocked to pay their respects to Franklin. The gates of Kensal Green, an ancient, sprawling cemetery west of London akin to Forest Lawn, had to be closed on the day of his funeral after thirty thousand people congregated on its storied grounds.

It was a hot and humid summer day, far removed from the Arctic conditions in which he had died. The horse-drawn caisson pulled slowly away from the chapel, rattling over a cobble-stone path, as the steel-shod hooves of the black shire mares clacked loudly with each dropped step. With a long procession following behind on foot, the caisson rolled slowly toward a secluded section of the cemetery crowned by towering chestnut trees. The driver pulled to a stop next to a family plot fronted by an open gate. A freshly dug grave lay empty alongside a tomb marked LADY JANE FRANKLIN, 1792-1875.

Franklin's beloved wife, more than anyone, had resolved the fate of the lost expedition. Through tireless appeal and expense, she had personally outfitted no fewer than five relief expeditions on her own. Scouring the Arctic in search of her husband and his ships, the early expeditions had failed, along with those sent by the British government. It was another Arctic explorer, Francis McClintock, who had ultimately discovered Franklin's fate. Sailing the steam yacht Fox on Lady Franklin's behalf, he'd found important relics and a note on King William Island that revealed Franklin's death in 1847 and the crew's subsequent abandonment of the ships trapped in the ice.

It had taken one hundred and sixty-eight years since kissing her good-bye on the sh.o.r.es of the Thames, but John Franklin was reunited with his wife once more.

His soul would have been happy for another reason, as he was laid to rest beside Jane. When a Royal Navy frigate had retrieved his coffin from the Erebus and transported it back to England, the ship had traveled the long route, through the Bering Strait and down the Pacific to the Panama Ca.n.a.l.

In death, if not in life, Sir Franklin had finally sailed the Northwest Pa.s.sage.

94

PITT STARED OUT HIS OFFICE WINDOW AT THE POTOMAC River far below, his mind drifting aimlessly like the river's current.

Since returning from the Arctic, he had been out of sorts, carrying a mild angst mixed with disappointment. Part of it was his injuries, he knew. His leg and arm wounds were healing well, and the doctors said he would make a full recovery. Though the pain was mostly absent, he still hated the loss of mobility. He had long since abandoned the crutch but still required the use of a cane at times. Giordino had lightened the need by providing a walking stick that contained a hidden vial of tequila inside. Loren had stepped up as well, performing her best Florence Nightingale routine by nursing him at every opportunity. But something still held him back.

It was the failure, he knew. He just wasn't used to it. The quest for the ruthenium had momentous importance, yet he had come up dry. He felt like he had let down not only Lisa Lane but also every person on the planet. It wasn't his fault, of course. He'd followed the clues as he found them, and would have done nothing differently. Crack geologists throughout the government were already on the hunt for new sources of ruthenium, but the near-term prospects were grim. The mineral just didn't exist in quant.i.ty, and there was nothing he could do about it.

His instincts had been wrong for a change and it gave him doubts. Maybe he'd been at the game too long. Maybe it was time for a younger generation to take the reins. Perhaps he should go back to Hawaii with Loren and spend his days spearfishing.

He tried to conceal his melancholy when a knock came to the door and he called for the visitor to enter.

The door blew open and Giordino, Gunn, and Dahlgren came marching into his office like they owned it. Each man had a suppressed grin on his face, and Pitt noticed they were all hiding something behind their backs.

"Well, if it isn't the three wise men. Or wise guys, in this case," Pitt said.

"Do you have a minute?" Gunn asked. "There's something we'd like to share with you."

"My time is yours," Pitt said, hobbling over to his desk and taking a seat. Eyeing the men suspiciously, he asked, "What is it that you are all trying to conceal?"

Dahlgren waved a short stack of plastic cups that he was carrying.

"Just thought we'd have a little drink," he explained.

Giordino pulled out a bottle of champagne that he was hiding behind his stubby arms.

"I'm a bit thirsty myself," he added.

"Hasn't anyone told you about the rules regarding alcohol in a federal building?" Pitt admonished.

"I seem to have misplaced those," Giordino replied. "Jack, do you know anything about that?"

Dahlgren attempted to look dumb and shook his head.

"All right, what is this all about?" Pitt asked, losing patience with the antics.

"It's really Jack's doing," Gunn said. "He sort of saved the day."

"You mean, he saved your rear," Giordino said, grinning at Gunn. He slipped the foil off the neck of the champagne bottle and popped the top. Grabbing Dahlgren's cups, he poured everyone a gla.s.s.

"It came down to the rock," Gunn tried to explain.

"The rock ..." Pitt repeated with growing suspicion.

"One of the samples from the thermal vent that we located off Alaska," Giordino interjected, "just before the Canadian ice camp business. We put all of the rock samples in a bag that Rudi was supposed to bring here to headquarters for a.n.a.lysis. But he left the bag on the Narwhal when he departed Tuktoyaktuk."

"I remember that bag," Pitt replied. "Almost tripped over it every time I stepped onto the bridge."

"You and me both," Dahlgren muttered.

"Wasn't it still on the bridge?" Pitt asked.

"Was and is," Giordino said. "It's still sitting with the Narwhal at the bottom of Victoria Strait."