by Ethan Jones
“Aha.” Jim’s eyes flashed a wicked grin. His nod meant he knew something was going on. “Rekindling the old flame, aren’t we?”
“It’s nothing like that. It’s been over a year since we broke up.”
“Yes, that may be true, but the two of you keep falling into each other’s arms.”
“No, not really.” Justin shook his head. “But we work at the same place, sometimes on the same tasks, and I can’t help it that we end up in the same mission. But work was what got in the way in the first place. So I doubt it will reunite us at the end.”
“You never know.” Jim looked around for a trash can. He was already done with his pop.
“This time I know for sure. I’ll never fall in love again with a co-worker.”
“Then you’ll remain single for life. Work is all you know.”
“Look who’s talking?”
“Hey, it took a while, but I married Susan. You need to go out more often and with a woman. Leave the national security to the old and grumpy kind of guys who can’t wait to get away from their families.”
“Dating Tips from the Love Guru. Volume One. Thank you.”
“More like Volume Ten Thousand, but you never listen to any of them. Do you want another drink?” Jim eyed the closest concession stand.
“No, I’m good, thanks,” Justin replied.
Jim disappeared into the crowd.
“So are you going to do me the favor?” Justin asked when Jim returned with another pop in his hand.
“What favor? Oh, that one about the kid? I thought you’d forgotten all about it. By the way, shouldn’t he be finished by now?”
“Give the kid his time. Yes or no?”
“All right, I’ll do it.” He sounded like he was agreeing to a capitulation treaty. “But, man, oh man, you owe me big this time.”
“Oh, I won’t bug you for credit checks over the next month. That will do it.”
“That doesn’t even come close.” Jim began coughing after taking a big gulp of his pop.
“Or I can give you a Heimlich so you’ll stop choking.”
“I’m fine.” Jim regained his composure. “It’s these kinds of favors that will kill me one of these days.”
Justin consulted his wristwatch. “We’ll have to get back soon to avoid the rush of people during the last minutes.”
As he turned around, Olivier appeared out of the washrooms.
“Hey, little buddy,” Justin said, “Uncle Jim will get you some popcorn while I use the little boy’s room.” He leaned toward Jim and whispered, “You two bond.” He winked at Olivier.
“What do you do, Uncle Jim?” Olivier asked.
“Hmm, I am a fin… do you like monopoly?”
Chapter Three
Nanisivik, Canada
April 11, 12:50 p.m.
The bright sun bounced off the hard sheet of ice covering the gravel road and blinded him for a second. Kiawak squinted. All he saw were yellow sparks and black dots. His Arctic Wolf sunglasses — coated for extra protection against the sunrays’ sharp reflection from the snow — and the semi-tinted windshield of his Toyota truck were nearly useless. The permafrost, which had been agonizing under the weight of several feet of snow for months, mirrored all of the sunrays.
At minus two degrees — but driven down to minus thirteen because of the wind chill factor — the sun, although bright and blazing its way across the skies for sixteen hours a day, provided absolutely no heat. A man stranded outside without heavy protective clothing could experience the first signs of the frostbite within minutes. The exposed skin would begin to freeze, the tissue turning red and burning at the lightest touch. Hypothermia would set in soon thereafter, and death could occur in the next hour.
Inside his truck cabin, however, the heater blasted hot air onto Kiawak’s unshaven face as he drove around the corner toward his destination. Parting Waters was the only bar, restaurant, and grocery store in Nanisivik. Kiawak ran it with Joe, his best friend. Waters, as Joe called their joint venture, stretched over the length of three construction trailers. They were soldered, converted, and insulated to accommodate Kiawak’s small apartment in the back and the business in the front. Waters was the right name for the joint, located on the edge of the old town site, overlooking the Strathcona Sound. The waters parted when icebergs in the spring and icebreakers in the summer cruised by the small town.
The truck let out a loud puff as Kiawak tapped on the brakes and turned right. The front wheels slid on the ice, but the truck responded to his command. Nanisivik used to have a lead-zinc mine, which spewed out enough ore to keep happy and busy about two hundred employees for many years. When the mine closed its doors, the managing company took away not only the jobs and the people, but also everything it could salvage: the machineries, the ship loader, and even some of the townhouses.
Recently, the Canadian government, alarmed by the so-called “black rush”—the race among Canada, Denmark, Norway, Russia, and the United States for ownership of the oil and the natural gas buried in the Arctic’s permafrost and seabed — announced its Arctic strategy. It was a well-elaborated and multilayered strategy to bolster Canada’s sovereignty in its northern territories. The strategy included the construction of the Canadian Forces Arctic Training Center in Resolute — two hundred and twenty miles north of Nanisivik — the expansion of the Canadian Rangers and the refurbishment and the expansion of the deep water port in Nanisivik.
Nanisivik was now crawling with DND employees surveying the proposed building sites, collecting samples, and carrying out environmental studies and technical assessments of the proposed work. New apartments and row houses were expected to start popping up. Kiawak had been flirting with the idea of investing in the promising real estate market and becoming a landlord.
For the time being, all these DND workers needed food, and Kiawak needed power to keep the kitchen running, the flat screen TVs on, and the grocery refrigerators in working condition. The trip to Arctic Bay scored him a diesel generator, sufficient to power up all the equipment. The current propane workhorse of the Waters proved to be less than reliable because of a sudden snap of hellish weather the previous week that had dipped the mercury under minus thirty-one.
Three black GMC pickups were lined up in front of the Waters and Kiawak recognized them as DND vehicles. The orange Ford Explorer parked farther to the left looked unfamiliar. As usual, a beat up Arctic Cat snowmobile occupied the last available space in the gravel parking lot. Kiawak sighed as he slammed the front bumper of his truck in a snowbank and turned around, backing up by the front entrance.
“Hey, boss, how was the trip?” Joe waved at him from behind the counter.
“Good.” Kiawak inhaled the warm air mixed with the appetizing aroma of fried pork chops as he entered the restaurant. Seven people sat around the small tables enjoying their lunch. Most of the patrons nodded at him.
“Where’s Amaruq?” Kiawak asked while Joe poured him a large mug of hot coffee. Before Joe could answer, Kiawak snatched the hot drink out of Joe’s hand. “I saw his Cat outside.”
“Back in the office. Nina gave birth to a boy, Gabriel, last night and e-mailed him a few pictures. I opened them for him on your laptop.”
“How are they doing? His sister and the baby?”
“Fine, I think. I mean, this is her fourth kid and according to Amaruq, everyone’s doing great.”
“Well, I’m happy for him.” Kiawak drained the mug down his throat. “You and I need to install the generator today, after the lunch rush. Help me move it to the back.”
“All right.” Joe scratched his long gray beard.
He turned down the heat of the stove’s burners, and put on his Taiga Gore-Tex jacket, the same as Kiawak’s. He took a pair of heavy-duty gloves from underneath the counter, fastened a black wool toque with long earflaps over his gray hair, and followed Kiawak outside.
“Man, you shouldn’t go out without a hat,” Joe said. “Your ponytail will freeze.”
“I don’t need any stupid scarves.”
“It’s nice now,” Kiawak said. “The wind has died down, but it was quite strong in the Bay before I left.”
Joe helped him untie the orange straps securing the generator to the truck. “How was Tania?”
“I don’t know.”
“What? You went all the way there and didn’t see her?”
“No, I didn’t.” Kiawak waved his hand, as if to express his frustration with the tangled straps. In fact, he was getting annoyed at Joe probing into his personal affairs.
“Why not?”
“Joe, drop it.”
“OK, fine. I’m just looking out for you, boss.”
Kiawak snorted. “Thanks. Who’s the pumpkin?” he asked, gesturing toward the orange Ford Explorer.
“Couple of researchers from Ottawa. They’re doing some weather measurements, the humidity and such. Something about global warming.”
“Oh, those things.”
“Yes. You’re ready?”
“I’m ready.”
They lifted the two-hundred pound generator and slowly placed it on the gravel.
“I paid three Gs for it,” Kiawak said, responding to Joe’s curious stare at the gray metallic box, a little larger than the toolbox stretching the entire width of the pickup. “Brand new.”
“Three point five kilowatt?”
“Yeah. The other one was seven, but way more expensive. This one’s supposed to be economic and quiet and withstand up to minus forty.”
They struggled and swore, but within a few minutes they had moved the generator to the back of the trailers. They set it on the raised wooden platform by the propane generator it was going to replace.
When they got back inside, Amaruq stood behind the bar counter, fixing himself a cocktail of dark drinks. Kiawak refilled his mug from the coffee machine before sitting on one of the stools next to Amaruq.
“You know you’ll have to pay for that someday,” Joe smirked at Amaruq. His tone sounded like a warning that Joe was going to take payment in kind. In fact, Joe could easily pounce on the feeble Amaruq, who hardly weighted one hundred and fifty pounds in his five-foot frame.
“Someday, someday, everyone has got to pay,” Amaruq chanted in a weak voice that had a grouchy pitch while shaking both his head and his drink. “How’s my good friend Kiawak?”
Joe squeezed behind them to get to the stove and check on the pork chops, his beer belly almost knocking over a teakettle.
Kiawak shook Amaruq’s small, calloused hand. “Doing great, really great. How’s the old wolf?”
Amaruq smiled. “Hanging in there.”
“How’s Nina and the baby?”
“In perfect health. And the proud godfather is drinking to Gabriel’s long life.” He took a sip of his brew then smacked his lips in satisfaction.
“That’s his third drink today,” Joe informed Kiawak. “In case you’re wondering.”
“Thanks for flipping my pork chops. They would have burned if I weren’t here,” Amaruq quipped.
“If you weren’t here mooching off us, we could afford a real cook.” Joe lined up four plates and hurried to take them to the waiting patrons.
“All this howling is making me miserable,” Amaruq complained to Kiawak.
“Don’t mind Joe. He’s just worried about this place. I came back from the Bay, and we had to pop three thousand for a new generator.”
Amaruq’s eyes registered the dollar amount, and he seemed to ponder it. Kiawak’s glance followed Joe as he fluttered between the tables, receiving more food orders. Two new patrons had walked in while they were moving the generator. Kiawak recognized them as Nicholas and Brian, two researchers working for the mining company. They showed up every year to monitor the contamination levels in the town site.
“So, you were at the Bay this morning?” Amaruq asked. “Why didn’t you let me take you there?”
Kiawak snorted. “Don’t you remember what happened the last time you drove a truck?”
Amaruq sighed. “Not fair. That was a long time ago, there was a snowstorm, and I was in a semi—”
“You went through the freaking ice, old wolf, taking with you the rig and a ton of dynamite.”
“The herd… those damn caribous. I keep telling everyone. I was trying to avoid crashing into the caribou herd. That’s why I lost control.”
Kiawak shrugged. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. I just can’t afford to lose my truck. And you need to see an eye doctor.”
“My eyes are fine. I told you it was the caribous. But no one trusts me anymore.”
Joe returned to the bar and began pouring beer from the tap into three large jugs. “Nick and Brian are here.”
“Yeah, I saw them. Why are they early?”
“Something about a potential waste spill from one of the tailing ponds.”
“Oh, crap,” Amaruq whined and fired an angry stare at the two researches. Sitting at the far end of the trailer, they could not see his reaction.
“Keep it down, old wolf. Don’t you start trouble now.”
Amaruq raised his hands in resignation.
“There hasn’t been a leak since the mine was sealed off. That’s why these guys are here, to make sure it stays that way,” Kiawak said.
“I get it.” Amaruq turned around to face Kiawak and offered him a big grin. “Trouble’s bad for business. By the way, how’s the other business?”
Amaruq pointed his index finger above Kiawak’s head at two framed photographs hanging on the wall. The first one showed a proud Kiawak in the Ranger’s uniform, posing in front of the entrance to the Nanisivik port with the Canadian Minister of National Defence. The second was a shot of Kiawak’s Rangers Patrol Group, thirty-three members in all, with the minister in their midst.
“You know what’s missing there?” Amaruq’s shaky hand kept stabbing the air as if he were trying to reach for the photographs.
“You?” asked Joe.
“No.” Amaruq laughed. “Our Queen.”
“Huh?” Kiawak asked.
“Your picture with the Queen. It would be nice if you had a picture of you and Her Majesty.”
Joe laughed. The only time he agreed with Amaruq was when the old man threw out one of his punch lines.
“The Defence Minister shows up only in August, the warmest month around here,” Amaruq said, “I don’t know how we can fire up this place much hotter for Her Majesty.”
He lifted his voice in mock solemnity, and they all laughed aloud, attracting curious stares from the closest tables.
“Excuse me, but I need to refill my drink. From home.” Amaruq lifted his glass one last time. A few drops trickled over his lips. He zipped up his jacket and hobbled out of the trailer.
“Talk to you later,” Kiawak said.
Joe served his thirsty customers while Kiawak finished his coffee. He retreated to his office. It was slightly larger than a den, with a small foldable desk, two plastic shelves full of books and magazines, a file cabinet, and an office chair. He began reading the Nunatsiaq News website, his favorite English-Inuktitut weekly newspaper.
Joe showed up a few minutes later and stood by the door. “We really need to do something about Amaruq.”
“He’s a good old man, just poor and lonely. Can’t you leave him alone?”
“I would, if he left us alone.”
“Never mind him. Amaruq is always welcome here. My brother Julian, his soul rest in peace, owed him a huge debt that I can never repay. Remember when Amaruq found Julian almost frozen during the bowhead whale hunt? The occasional free drinks and meals are the least I can do for Amaruq.”
“More like regular than occasional,” Joe observed, his face showing he was unhappy with Kiawak’s reply.
“In a year or two, the old wolf will find a job he can actually do. Maybe even this summer, if construction starts. He can drive a small Bobcat or help with dry walling, be kind of a
gofer, things like that.”
Joe remained unfazed, his left foot tapping nervously on the linoleum floor.
“Listen, starting tomorrow and over the weekend, I’ve got to work with some people from Ottawa. They’re DND.”
“What do they need you for?” Joe asked.
“They’re flying an Otter here, and we’re going for a research mission up north.”
“Where exactly up north?”
“We’re doing the regular triangle, Nanisivik to Pond Inlet to Grise Fiord and back.”
Joe shook his head. “I can’t believe this. Why do they have to do this now, in April? What’s so important that can’t wait till summer? July or August, when everyone flocks up there.”
“Justin, one of the DND researchers, told me they have to collect the data right now. Ice thickness, ice movement, melting levels, and other stats.”
Kiawak hated the fact he was lying to Joe about the reconnaissance mission. But Justin had insisted the mission remain top secret. If Joe learned about the real nature of Kiawak’s assignment, the entire Arctic would be buzzing with gossip.
“Do you know these researchers?”
“Justin, yes. I’ve worked with him before. I don’t know the other three. But they’re landing here tomorrow around noon. After refueling, we’ll take off.”
“You’ll not have to worry about this place,” Joe said before Kiawak could offer any advice. “I will not turn up the heat, will not touch your truck, and will not tease Amaruq more than I usually do.”
“OK,” Kiawak said and nodded. He swiveled in his chair. “I’ve got to pay some bills now. Call me if you need a hand.”
“OK, boss.” Joe went back to the kitchen.
“Hey, Joe, two more beers, man,” one of the patrons called to him.
“Right away, pal.” Joe reached for two jugs.
Chapter Four
Nanisivik, Canada
April 12, 2:10 p.m.
The DHC-6 Twin Otter charter sat at the end of the hard-packed gravel runway of the Nanisivik Airport waiting for its passengers. Two mini-snowploughs circling around the aircraft had long conceded defeat to the flogging snowfall, which kept pouncing against their windshields and steel blades like a rabid beast. The drivers, sardined into their compact cabins, zeroed in on clearing a narrow strip of the runway. The Twin Otter was the only airplane scheduled to take off or land for the remainder of the day. The bush plane required a short but solid path for its swift ascent.
