Thrilling Thirteen

by Ponzo, Gary

  The commander cut him short. “Enough with this crap! Your story doesn’t add up. It doesn’t explain the fact that your clothes were dry when my men found you, and why there were no IDs on any of your crew members. No radios, no PLBs, no satphones, nothing. It looks like someone robbed you and left you to die.”

  Justin took a deep breath before opening his mouth, but the commander held up his right hand as he stood tall again. “I’m not finished. I don’t know many geologists or meteo-whatever-ologists who from scrap can build a fully functional raft, manage to keep it afloat in ice-infested waters, at seventy-seven degrees North latitude, and guide their team to safety until rescue arrives. I don’t know about in Canada, but, back home, we have a name for such folks. We call them ‘special agents.’”

  Justin tried to voice his objection, but the commander shook his head. He asked, “Are you Canadian, Justin?”

  “Yes, and let me explain—”

  “Are you a Canadian secret agent?”

  “No, I’m not a secret agent.”

  “Don’t lie to me!”

  Justin drew in a quick breath. “Sir, if what you’re saying is true,” he said quietly, “about the odds of simple geologists surviving an Arctic shipwreck, then you know I can’t admit anything to people without a security clearance.”

  A tense silence hung in the small room. For a moment, Justin found it hard to breathe, as if all oxygen had been pumped out of his lungs. A nurse knocked on the glass door and made her way in, dragging a meal delivery cart. She sensed the tension and looked at the commander for instructions.

  “Leave!” he ordered her with a dismissive glare.

  The nurse pushed away her cart.

  The commander said, after waiting until the nurse slid back the glass door, “You can’t tell me who you are or what you were doing freezing to death. Can you give me anything about your situation?”

  The moment of truth, but not of the entire truth.

  “We’re in grave danger, Commander.” He chose his words carefully and pronounced them in a friendly tone. “And we desperately need your immediate help.”

  The commander’s thick eyebrows arched back. He asked, “Who is we? What grave danger? Can you be more specific?”

  “Canada . . . and the Unites States. The immediate threat comes from Danish troops—”

  “Danish? Seriously?” the commander burst out in a good-spirited laughter.

  “Yes, Commander, I’m not joking. I’m talking about Danish troops. We’ve always waved them off as little more than a political pain in the butt. But they have the capacity of launching a military attack against Canada, and they’ve already started their attack.”

  Seriousness returned to the commander’s face. “Do you have any evidence to back up your allegations?” he asked. “Are you aware that my air base is on Danish soil, and three Danish senior officials are a crucial part of my staff? I can’t allow you to drag their good reputation through the mud.”

  “That’s not at all my intention, sir. With all due respect, I don’t think those officers would know anything about these plans.”

  “Lieutenant Colonel Eichmann with the Royal Danish Air Force is not a simple officer.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Commander. I believe the Danish operation is top secret. Very few people would know about it.”

  The other man folded his arms across his chest. “Let me ask you again, Justin, what is your evidence?”

  “The raft. We built the raft out of logs found in the debris of a Danish depot. The Siriuspatruljen, which store supplies and—”

  “I’ve met a few of the Siriuspatruljen. Brave men, and I know about their excellent job. What were they doing on Ellesmere Island, if that’s what you’re insinuating?”

  “We found a military radio and other rubble, which assert that Danish troops have, at the very least, violated the Canadian sovereignty, by setting foot in our land without authorization.”

  “Where is this alleged radio? Or did you lose it when your boat tipped over?”

  Justin sighed and bit his tongue. He could not tell the commander how Alisha had backstabbed them. It would raise more questions and doubts in the commander’s already skeptical mind. “I don’t have the radio any longer, Commander.”

  “So, let me clarify this: All you have is a far-fetched story about a disappearing military radio, on which you base a mountain of crazy accusations. You know what I have? I have three uninvited and unwanted guests, who require extensive and expensive medical attention, lengthy reports and explanations to my superiors and to the Canadian authorities about my search and rescue, and this nonsense about an invasion from Denmark, of all places.”

  Justin decided to reveal another piece of information, in an attempt to persuade the commander. “We’ve found a lot of weapons. Danish machine guns, Let Støttevåbens. They’re planning an attack against Canada. I’m absolutely sure about this.”

  “Now the plot is getting thicker. Let me guess the answer to my own question, you don’t have any of these guns, do you?”

  Justin heaved a sigh of defeat. “They . . . hmm . . . I know where they are.”

  “Did you find these machine guns in the depot?”

  “No, but witnesses have confirmed the origin of the weapons, which is Denmark, the Royal Danish Army.”

  “Are these witnesses available for questioning, and will they corroborate your story?”

  “No,” Justin said, shaking his head. “I’m afraid they’re not.”

  “No? Why not? Have you lost them too?” The scorn was very clear in the commander’s voice.

  “The witnesses are gone. They’re dead.”

  “You know, Justin, you would make a great storyteller. You’re just making up this entire story to distract me from whatever you and your associates were cooking up in Ellesmere, aren’t you?”

  “No, no, of course not. You’ve got to believe me. This is real. It’s all true. The Danish are not stupid. They wouldn’t start an all-out war. Difficult to keep that a secret. The probability of being detected by the Canadians or the Americans is reduced to a minimum if the Danish Army is planning a single and isolated attack.”

  “So, why are we bothered if this is only one man, albeit a strong man?”

  The scorn burned him, but Justin brushed it away. “I’m not saying we’re facing a one-man team, but the size of the Danish attack may be considerably smaller than we anticipate. Something that will not draw attention to itself and will not look like a movement of troops ready for war. Something that looks legit. Canada’s Arctic territory is sparsely populated, and these areas are very isolated and very remote. A few hundred men, properly trained and equipped, can take over strategic positions in the blink of an eye.”

  The commander shook his head. “That’s none of my concern, Justin. I’ve already done more than enough.” He began walking toward the door.

  “You’re involved in this matter now, and you know as much as I do,” Justin said. “I need your help with this.”

  “The doctor tells me you should be healthy enough to fly in a couple of days. My staff will make arrangements to take you and your associates south, first to Søndre Strømfjord, and from there to Ottawa. Your government or agency, whatever it is, can take over this crazy situation of yours.”

  “Commander, you’re going to leave and do nothing with the information I gave you?”

  The commander turned around. He stepped closer to Justin’s bed, raised his right hand, and pointed it at Justin’s face. A moment later, he shrugged and produced a big smile. “You know what?” he said with a grin. “You almost pulled me back into this useless argument. I’ve already lost a lot of precious time. Good bye, Justin.”

  “In that case, I need to make a few phone calls. And I need to talk to Carrie and Anna.”

  “What do you think this is, the Sheraton?” the commander replied without bothering to look back. Instead, he tapped on the glass door. A tall man in a military uniform appeared and stood at at
tention. “Sergeant Brown, make sure this patient doesn’t go anywhere without an escort.”

  “Yes, sir. I will, sir.”

  The man’s strong voice, his broad frame, and vigilant eyes were clear hints to Justin about his chances of sliding through the glass door undetected.

  * * *

  Five minutes later, the same nurse the commander had thrown out of Justin’s room wheeled in the meal cart.

  “You hungry?” she asked.

  Justin nodded and the nurse, whose lab coat nametag read “Moore,” gave him his dinner. Grilled chicken parmesan, vegetable broth, and canned nectarines. Everything was served in white plastic tableware. A set of utensils—spoon, fork, and knife—also white plastic, were wrapped in a red, white, and blue napkin.

  Justin closed his eyes and frowned, as he chewed on the first bite of the cold chicken breast. Great. Once I’m finished with the soup, I can use the spoon to dig myself a tunnel out of this place.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Thule, Greenland

  April 13, 6:00 p.m.

  Emily Moore was a young nurse who also served meals to patients recovering in the intensive care unit, since the air base hospital employed a small staff. At the same time, she was a sergeant with the Seventh Flight of the 821st Support Squadron, which was responsible for the medical care of the air base personnel. Emily’s pink lips, although adorable, were sealed tight. Justin tried to charm her into telling him the location of Carrie’s and Anna’s room or slipping him a cellphone for a quick phone call. She did reward him with bright smiles, hushed giggles, and a definite no.

  Moving on to Plan B. Make a weapon out of anything you can find in the room. He began to look around, while Emily copied in her notepad a bit of data from the cardiac monitor. In a matter of seconds, Justin was forced to scrap his idea. The door opened and two uniformed men, followed by Sergeant Brown, barged in. They exchanged a few whispers with Emily, and, after her nods, they proceeded to remove every piece of equipment that could be used to even remotely facilitate an escape. Emily detached Justin’s intravenous lines and cardiac monitor wires, and the officers wheeled out the machine, the liquid medicine dispenser, and the defibrillator. They emptied the metallic shelves of all sharp objects, glass bottles, and boxes of syringes. The commander had anticipated Justin’s armed rebellion and had decided to deal a strong pre-emptive strike.

  After Emily was gone, Justin convinced Sergeant Brown to allow him to use the washroom. It was two doors down from his emergency room. This was the first time Justin had ventured out in the hospital hall.

  The short reconnaissance mission produced a few useful results. Shuffling his feet as slowly as possible, he located the fire exit at the far end of the hall. He identified another possible escape route, the elevator next to the washrooms.

  A quick sweep of the three bathroom stalls yielded nothing useful. Unless I attack Sergeant Brown with a roll of toilet paper, there’s not much to work with in here. The door leading to the janitors’ closet, adjacent to the washroom, was locked. His three attempts at prying it open were unsuccessful. Disappointed, he stumbled back to his room, under the scolding glance of his escort.

  Justin paced around his bed to stretch his legs and also to energize his thought process. The emergency room had no windows. The door was going to be his exit point. I have to figure out how to get past the guard, but first I need to find out where they’re holding Carrie and Anna. I need to get out of this room, but this time for much longer. But with what excuse?

  He stopped pacing and glanced at the bare walls. His gaze wandered from the floor to the ceiling and found his dinner leftovers on the plastic tray at the end of his bed. He walked over to the tray and dumped its contents in the garbage can. But he saved the unused plastic knife. It’s not much, but maybe I can find a use for it.

  When Emily returned for a routine checkup and to retrieve his meal tray, Justin complained of severe chest pain. Emily took a closer look at his eyes and his face for any signs of foul play, but his expression showed real signs of acute pain. She agreed to inform a doctor about his new condition, but not before completing a preliminary examination.

  Justin coughed and winced while Emily listened to his chest and his back. Her conclusion was that there was nothing wrong with him. Insisting he might suffer from internal bleeding and complaining of a stabbing pain inside his chest, Justin scored a small victory. Emily agreed to arrange for an x-ray exam. Unfortunately for Justin, it was going to take some time.

  * * *

  Justin decided the best way to use that time was to fine-tune his escape plan, which was little more than an idea. He did not blame the commander for refusing to lift a finger and give them help. The case against the Danes, from the commander’s point of view, was pure speculation. I wouldn’t help someone in my shoes either. First, I need to find Carrie and Anna. They shouldn’t be far away, since we all suffered frostbite, and Anna was in the worst condition. But how do I fake the need for further medical attention if I can’t find them this time? I don’t even have any frostbite marks on my hands or feet.

  He stretched his legs, and his knee made a popping sound.

  “Voila!” he exclaimed with a big smile and snapped his fingers. A wheelchair! I’ll complain of leg pain, and Emily will have to get me a wheelchair. It will slow me down and give me extra time to look around. It will also give me a reason to ask for other tests.

  “The doctor will see you now.” Emily walked in and interrupted his line of thought. Justin made no attempt to leave his bed.

  “You didn’t hear me? I said we can go.”

  “I can’t. My legs . . . my legs hurt so bad.”

  Emily gave him a suspicious glance. Justin’s eyes were pleading for help, and his face was contorted in pain.

  “I think I snapped my kneecap while stretching my legs. I might have pulled a muscle or something.”

  “You can’t walk at all?” Emily asked with a deep frown, placing her hands on her hips.

  “Barely. How far is the lab?”

  “Two floors down . . . uh . . . about three hundred feet.”

  “Yeah, too far. I don’t think I can do it.”

  Emily shrugged, pursing her lips. “All right, since the doc’s waiting, I’ll get you a wheelchair.”

  “Thanks. Can you arrange for someone to have a look at my knee?”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Five minutes later, Emily rolled in an old wheelchair. A musty stench rose up from the black fabric of the seat, overpowering the chemical smell of the emergency room.

  “Our troops don’t use them too often,” Emily said. “The men, our men, tend to suck up the pain.”

  Justin ignored her sharp words and lowered himself into the wheelchair, feeling the cold aluminum of the armrests against his hands and his body. At first, he struggled with the manual wheels, then began to follow Emily.

  “I’m taking him for x-rays,” she said to Sergeant Brown, who began to follow them, marching three steps behind the wheelchair. “This way, Justin.”

  They turned left, passing by the other emergency rooms. Justin had suspected his room was the last one in the intensive care unit. His suspicions were confirmed.

  He moved slowly, peering through every glass door. The first two rooms were empty, but the blinds of the third one were pulled shut. A dim light glimmered inside that room, and Justin wondered if that was the one. The fourth room was also occupied. Its blinds were drawn only halfway down. Someone was lying on a bed. Justin could not make out the patient’s features, since the lights were off.

  “You OK?” Emily asked him, as she turned her head. The wheelchair’s squeaking noise had ceased.

  “Yes, I’m fine. One of the wheels got stuck for a second.”

  “Let’s move it,” Sergeant Brown growled.

  Justin pushed on the wheels. The last emergency room was empty and the door left open. They turned the corner by the fire exit and approached the second elevator of the floor.
>
  So it’s either door number 4 or 5, Justin thought. Unless they moved Carrie and Anna to another unit somewhere else in the hospital.

  * * *

  They went past the Immunizations Laboratory and the Pharmacy, before arriving at the Radiology Unit, at the other end on the first floor. Emily left Justin under the watchful eye of Sergeant Brown, and they lingered in the waiting room. Justin wheeled back and forth, trying to peek out of the small windows.

  A thick darkness had veiled the entire landscape, but for the air base grounds, which were well lit. The contours of six, maybe seven “golf balls”—huge protective covers for satellite dishes—were visible in the distance. The tarmac of an airstrip reflected a blurry moonlight. There were two large hangars to the right, about three hundred yards away from the hospital.

  What’s that noise?

  Justin felt the vibration of the waiting room walls. The entire wooden structure trembled under the violent wind bursts.

  “Chill out,” Sergeant Brown said, looking at Justin’s confused face. “It’s just a storm delta.”

  “Huh?”

  “An extremely strong blizzard. Wind blowing, snow drifting, and all that white crap. Cuts down your visibility to almost non-existent, even in daylight.”

  “I guess that means no flying?”

  “No flying, no driving, no working.” Sergeant Brown pulled out a folded newspaper from one of his jacket pockets and spread it over his lap. “Last April, it happened twice. When it’s early morning, the command tells us to stay in,” he added, flipping one of the newspaper’s pages.

  Justin moved closer to the window for a better look. Two men seemed to be moving in and out of the furthest hangar, the one with the smallest entrance.

  “Somebody’s working late on their planes.” Justin motioned with his hand for Sergeant Brown to come to the window.

  The officer shrugged, his only gesture. “That’s the Maxwell brothers, working on the medevac chopper.”

  “Medevac?” Justin tried to hide the sudden burst of interest in his voice.