"They who? Your people or the Coast Guard?"
"It was a joint sinking," Smith answered truthfully.
"Sank a foreign submarine? My God," said the President, thinking the worst. "Was it Russian? Was it nuclear?"
"At this time, unknown. The name was French. Fier D'Etre des Grenouilles."
"I left my French behind in college," the President said dryly.
"It means Proud to be Frogs."
"Why would the French be mucking about out there?"
"It may not have been a French naval vessel. The vessel flew a flag that suggests the provincial flag of Quebec, and their sailors wear greasepaint disguises portraying the fleur-de-lis.
"Suggests? What do you mean by 'suggest'?"
"It was not the Quebec flag, but a quadrant of it with the colors reversed."
"Why would Quebec be cruising for an international incident?"
"That is precisely my point. It is unreasonable to think that they would. If Quebec's current push for nationhood succeeds, they will need friendly relations with the United States. Their highest priority beyond official recognition by France itself would be remaining on good terms with America."
"Yet they're sabotaging it."
"That is not a conclusion I am willing to jump to," Smith cautioned, letting the line hang empty for a long breath, "unless there exist factors I do not know. I am forced to conclude that this is an operation designed to embarrass Montreal."
"I can think of only one place that could be coming from," said the President.
"Ottawa," said Smith.
"I think I might give the prime minister up there a courtesy call."
"I would be discreet," Smith warned.
"I don't have time for discreet. I'm going to ask him flat out what's going on."
"That would not be diplomatic."
"Maybe not," the President said tightly, "but if I can head off a fishing war by scaring the starch out of Ottawa, I think that would be a good thing. What could go wrong?"
"Anything," Smith said quickly, but since his role was advice not consent on these matters, that was all he would say.
The President thanked Smith and hung up.
When he got back down to the Oval Office, the President of the United States asked his personal secretary to place a call to Ottawa. Politically this was a matter that required a certain guarded tact, a calculated finesse. But this was neighborly, diffident, good-natured Canada. He'd just go boo, and they'd scurry for cover like a possum under a porch.
THE PRIME MINISTER of Canada was happy to take the call from the President of the United States. He exchanged convivial greetings and pleasantries of the day. Then the President's voice turned vaguely steely.
"I have a report on my desk of a Canadian submarine that fired upon a Coast Guard vessel. We had to sink it. No choice. We realized it was yours only after it had gone down."
"Our submarine. What vessel?"
"I'd only mangle the French, but the English translation is Proud to be Frogs."
The fiber-optic line was deathly silent. "Mr. President, have you been-how shall I put this-imbibing?"
"You have subs in your navy bearing French names?" the President questioned.
"We do. But-"
"Your sub is on the Atlantic floor," the President went on in a cool tone. "This office will convey formal regrets, of course. But I want it perfectly understood that such aggressive Canadian naval maneuvers will not be tolerated."
"We have not been aggressive!" the prime minister exploded.
"Then if that wasn't your sub, you have nothing to worry about," the President said.
"It was not, and we are not concerned. Except for the regrettable loss of life, of course."
"Down here we call that deniability."
"And up here we call it poppycock," the prime minister said, his voice tense.
"Well, whatever the truth is, you and I understand each other clearly. Isn't that right?"
"We," the prime minister said tightly, "understand ourselves only too well. Thank you for the courtesy call. Good day to you, Mr. President."
"Have a good one," the President returned in an unconcerned voice.
The call terminated with simultaneous clicks, and in the Oval Office, the President of the United States leaned back in his chair and breathed out a cool release of air. It felt good to do that. No point in letting anyone push him around now. Not even friendly, forgiving, top trading partner to the end, Canada.
Chapter 20
In Ottawa the prime minister of the Dominion of Canada replaced the office telephone with an expression on his face like that of a man who had his lips seared unexpectedly by a friendly kiss.
Tapping his desk intercom, he snapped, "Get the minister of fisheries on the line."
"Yes, sir."
The phone lit up a moment later, and the intercom said, "Fisheries Minister Houghton on line 3, Mr. Prime Minister."
"Thank you," he said, punching the lighted button and snapping the handset to his displeased face.
There was snow on the ground, and the Rideau Canal was frozen solid, much to the delight of ice skaters. The Winterlude Festival, with its influx of tourists, was now a pleasant memory. This made what he was about to do more practicable. No loss in upsetting the free-spending Yanks after their dollars had been dispersed into the Canadian economy.
"I have just had a peculiar call from the United States President," the prime minister said in his distinctive French-Canadian accent.
"Yes?"
"He called to warn me that a submarine of ours fired on a U.S. Coast Guard vessel. He was forced to sink it, he said."
"A submarine of ours?"
"So he claims. I know nothing of any lost submarine. Do you?"
"No."
"He claimed the name translates as Proud to be Frogs. Ring a bell?"
"Of course not. There is no such vessel in our fleet."
"He was very curt with me."
"It sounds as if he were," the fisheries minister agreed.
"I did not care for his tone of voice. It reminded me of the Spanish."
"Those philistines."
"I think there should be a response. Measured but pointed. Will you see to it?"
"U.S.-flag vessels continue to slip in and out of the Grand Banks illegally."
"I think we might wish to see a simultaneous Pacific response. It will be easier to handle, in the sense of disengagement."
"We are having problems with U.S. vessels in our Pacific salmon fisheries."
"We are having problems with every flag and vessel, including our own," the prime minister said tightly.
"I have matters under control."
"I know you do, Houghton." The prime minister was very quiet as his curled lips gradually resumed their normal contours. "Do you suppose Quebec could have acquired a submarine?"
"You would know more about that than I, Mr. Prime Minister."
"I would. But I do not. I imagine that I shall have to make inquiries. I would not excuse the French from poaching again. Your predecessor had difficulties with their fishing fleets, as I recall."
"Actually, that was my predecessor's predecessor."
"Of course." The prime minister's voice grew reflective. "Strange, is it not, that we live in times where the minister of fisheries and oceans should control such a potent portfolio?"
"I am equal to the task," said Fisheries Minister Houghton.
"Get right on it, Gil. I look forward to the coming news reports."
"Thank you, Mr. Prime Minister..."
IN HIS OFFICE overlooking Parliament Hill, Canadian Fisheries Minister Gilbert Houghton dropped the receiver into its hard plastic cradle and dry-washed his haggard face with both hands ....
The word from the PM was like a blow to the pit of his stomach. The Fier D'Etre des Grenouilles lay at the bottom of the North Atlantic. If true, it was a grave setback. That left only the Hareng Saur to conduct Maritime operations.