“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?”