by Ethan Jones
Chapter Thirteen
Thule, Greenland
April 13, 5:30 p.m.
Colonel Richard Clark was the commander of the 821st Air Base Group at Thule. The man in charge of the entire base, who had ordered the rescue mission, and saved the lives of Justin’s team. The commander’s receding hairline had spared a few bushy, white patches around his large ears. His crisp navy blue uniform, white shirt, and matching blue tie indicated his utmost attention to detail. When Justin had asked earlier, the nurse had described the man with a few words, concealing the fact that his short stature matched perfectly his short patience.
“I’m glad to see you’re doing well,” the commander said. His deep voice was warm, and his black eyes displayed a real concern about Justin’s condition. “The doctors have done a great job.”
“Thank you, Commander, for everything you’ve done.” Justin rearranged the pillows behind his back. He adjusted the angle of the bed frame, in order to sit up straight when talking to the commander.
“Can you tell me what was it you were doing in the middle of the ocean?”
Justin had anticipated the question, fearing the commander would be able to see through his well-planned lies. As a CIS operative, he could disclose neither his profession, nor the nature of his Arctic mission.
“Our boat capsized and became useless. So we scrambled to build a raft.” Justin worded his reply brief and kept it vague, tricks he had learned since the early days of the CIS training.
“Uh-huh,” the Commander said and squinted, as if checking the truthfulness of Justin’s words by studying his facial expression. “And you were sailing the High Arctic for what purpose?”
Justin swallowed before replying. “We were collecting data on a research project, Commander.”
“I see. And whom do you work for?”
“I’m with the CRI, that’s the Canadian Research Institute, out of Ottawa.” One of the front organizations the CIS used for cover operations.
“So, you’re scientists, you and your colleagues?”
“Yes, we’re geologists.”
He paused to think about Justin’s reply. “And you were gathering data on…”
“Our project is related to… hmm… the study of ice thickness and its melting rate over the last year.”
“Oh, I see.”
The commander’s eyes continued to search Justin’s face for any hints of pretense. Justin wondered why he was taking so long to call his bluff. The odds of Carrie and Anna concocting the same exact tall tale were slimmer than being struck by lightning in a submarine.
“I don’t believe I asked you for your name.” The commander began pacing at the end of Justin’s bed.
I hope he’s not starting the interrogation from the beginning.
“My name is Justin Hall.”
“What was the purpose of your mission to Ellesmere Island?”
Justin blinked and did a double take. That’s exactly where he’s going, back to the beginning.
“I told you, Commander, we were gathering information on our research project on—”
“Geological ice thickness. I heard you lie to me once,” the commander interrupted him. He leaning over Justin’s bed, drawing closer to his face. He was so close Justin noticed a thick blood vein pulsating on the commander’s right temple.
Justin flinched. In a flash, he was back in his Libyan prison cell, the interrogator’s hands clamped around his throat.
The commander’s voice erupting in a stern roar brought Justin back to reality. “Here, I’m measuring the thickness of your bullshit.”
“Huh, what?” Justin spread his hands, his face feigning utter confusion. “I don’t understand, sir.”
“I took the same crap from your associates. They fed me the same lies about your boat crashing or sinking or capsizing, while three helpless geologists or meteorologists were working their asses off collecting data on ice thickness or weather patterns, depending on which one I chose to believe.”
Justin shrugged in silence. He decided to make a last-ditch effort to cover up the truth. “We struck a piece of drift ice and that’s why our boat—”
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-logists 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 a 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 on 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 attention. “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 scrape 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, as well as 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 ventured out in the hospital hall.
The short reconnaissance mission produced a few useful results. Shuffling his feet as slow 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 fo
r 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 may suffer from internal bleeding, as the pain stabbed from 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 a little more than an idea. He did not blame the commander for refusing to lift a finger and give them with any help. The case against the Danes, from the commander’s perspective 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 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 thoughts. Justin made no attempts to leave his bed.
