Arctic Drift

  “That is the only rationale I can think of. Though Bob and I always lock the lab when nobody is there.”

  “There is another possibility,” Pitt offered. “Do you think a competitor might be threatened by the results of your research? ”

  Lisa contemplated the question for a moment. “I suppose it is possible. I have published papers related to my general research, and there are far-reaching effects. But the fact is, only you, Loren, and Bob were aware of my catalyst breakthrough. Nobody else even knew. It seems hard to believe someone could react so quickly, if they were indeed aware of the discovery.”

  Pitt remained silent as Lisa looked out the window for a moment.

  “It seems to me that a working means of artificial photosynthesis would have only a positive benefit. I mean, who could possibly be hurt by a reduction in greenhouse gases?”

  “Answer that and we have a potential suspect,” Pitt said. He eyed a wheelchair parked along the opposite side of the bed. “When are they going to cut you loose from here?”

  “The doctor said tomorrow afternoon, most likely. Not soon enough for me. I’d like to get back to work and write up my findings.”

  “You can resurrect the test results?” Pitt asked.

  “Conceptually, it’s all still up here,” she said, tapping a finger to her head. “I’ll have to borrow a bit of lab equipment to re-document things, however. That’s providing the Ontario Miners Co-op can come up with another sample of ruthenium.”

  “Your source of the mineral?”

  “Yes. It’s very costly. The stuff may end up being my downfall.”

  “You should be able to obtain more grant money now, I would think.”

  “It’s not just the cost of the ruthenium, it’s the actual availability. Bob says it is almost impossible to find.”

  Pitt thought a moment, then smiled at Lisa.

  “Don’t worry, things will work out. I better not interrupt your convalescence any more. If you need someone to push your wheelchair, don’t hesitate to call.”

  “Thanks, Dirk. You and Loren have been too kind. As soon as I’m mobile, you two are invited for dinner.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  Pitt made his way back to his car, noting that the time was nearly five-thirty. Following a hunch, he called Loren and told her he would be late, then drove back to the NUMA building. Riding the elevator to the tenth floor, he exited into the heart of the agency’s computer operations. An imposing array of the latest information processors and storage devices held an unequaled repository of data on the world’s oceans. Up-to-the-second current, tide, and weather conditions from satellite-fed sea buoys gave an instant snapshot of every major body of water around the globe. The computer system also housed a mountain of oceanographic research materials, allowing instant access to the latest findings in marine science.

  Pitt found a man in a ponytail seated at a large console, arguing with an attractive woman standing a few feet in front of him. Hiram Yaeger was the architect of the NUMA computer center and an expert in database management. Though dressed eclectically in a tie-dyed T-shirt and cowboy boots, Yaeger was a devoted family man who doted on his two teenage daughters. Pitt knew Yaeger always made breakfast for his wife and daughters and often sneaked away to soccer games and concert recitals in the afternoon, making up the lost time during the evening hours.

  As Pitt walked near, he marveled, as he always did, that the woman arguing with Yaeger was not real but rather a hologram that looked remarkably three-dimensional. Designed by Yaeger himself as a computer interface to the vast network system, the holographic woman was modeled after his wife and affectionately named Max.

  “Mr. Pitt, can you please straighten out Hiram,” Max said, turning toward Pitt. “He doesn’t want to believe me when I tell him a woman’s handbag should match her shoes.”

  “I always trust what you have to say,” Pitt replied with a nod.

  “Thank you. There you have it,” she turned, lecturing Yaeger.

  “Fine, fine,” Yaeger replied, throwing up his hands. “Some help you are in picking out a birthday present for my wife.”

  Yaeger turned toward Pitt. “I should never have programmed her to argue like my wife,” he said, shaking his head.

  Pitt took a seat next to him. “You wanted her to be as lifelike as possible,” he countered with a laugh.

  “Tell me you have something to talk about besides ladies’ fashions,” he pleaded.

  “As a matter of fact, I’d like Max to help me with a few mineralogy questions.”

  “A welcome change of topics,” Max replied, peering down her nose at Yaeger. “I’m delighted to help you, Director. What is it that you would like to know?”

  “For starters, what can you tell me about the mineral ruthenium? ”

  Max closed her eyes for a second, then spoke rapidly. “Ruthenium is a transition metal of the platinum group, known for its hardness. Silvery white in color, it is the forty-fourth element, also known by its symbol Ru. The name derives from the Latin word rus, from which Russia originates. A Russian geologist, Karl Klaus, made its discovery in 1844.”

  “Are there any unique demands for or uses of the mineral?” Pitt asked.

  “Its qualities as a hardener, especially when combined with other elements such as titanium, were highly valued in industry. Supply irregularities have produced a sharp rise in prices recently, forcing manufacturers to turn to other compounds.”

  “How expensive can it be?” asked Yaeger.

  “It is one of the rarest minerals found on earth. Recent spot market prices have exceeded twelve thousand dollars an ounce.”

  “Wow,” Yaeger replied. “That’s ten times the price of gold. Wish I owned a ruthenium mine.”

  “Hiram raises a good question,” Pitt said. “Where is the stuff mined? ”

  Max frowned for a moment as her computer processors sifted through the databases.

  “The supplies are rather unsettled at the moment. South Africa and the Ural Mountains of Russia have been the historical sources for mined ruthenium in the last century. Approximately ten metric tons a year was mined in South Africa from a single mine in Bushveld, but their output peaked in the 1970s and fell to nearly zero by 2000. Even with the run-up in price, they’ve had no new production.”

  “In other words, their mines have played out,” Pitt suggested.

  “Yes, that is correct. There have been no significant discoveries made in the region in over forty years.”

  “That still leaves the Russians,” Yaeger said.

  Max shook her head. “The Russian ruthenium came from just two small mines adjacent to each other in the Vissim Valley. Their production had actually peaked back in the 1950s. A severe landslide destroyed and buried both mining operations several years ago. The Russians have abandoned both sites, stating it would take many years to return either mine to operation.”

  “No wonder the price is so steep,” Yaeger said. “What’s your interest in the mineral, Dirk?”

  Pitt described Lisa Lane’s artificial photosynthesis discovery and the role of ruthenium as a catalyst, along with the explosion in the lab. Yaeger let out a low whistle after digesting the implications.

  “That’s going to make an unsuspecting mine owner a rich man,” he said.

  “Only if the stuff can be found,” Pitt replied. “Which makes me wonder, Max, where would I go to purchase a bulk quantity of ruthenium?”

  Max looked up toward the ceiling. “Let’s see . . . there are one or two Wall Street precious-commodities brokers that would be able to sell you some for investment purposes, but the quantities available are quite small. I’m only finding a small platinum mine in South America that has trace by-product quantities for sale, which would require further processing. The present known stocks of the mineral appear to be quite meager. The only other publicized source is the Ontario Miners Co-op, which lists a limited quantity of high-grade ruthenium available by the troy ounce.”

  “The
Co-op is where Lisa obtained her sample,” Pitt stated. “What more can you tell me about it?”

  “The Miners Co-op represents independently owned mines across Canada, acting as wholesale outlet for mined ore. Their headquarters is in the town of Blind River, Ontario.”

  “Thank you, Max. You’ve been a great help, as always,” Pitt said. He had long ago transcended his uneasiness at speaking to the computerized image and, like Yaeger, almost felt like Max was a real person.

  “A pleasure anytime,” Max replied with a nod. Turning to Yaeger, she admonished, “Now, don’t you forget about my advice for your wife.”

  “Good-bye, Max,” Yaeger replied, tapping at a keyboard. In an instant, Max disappeared from view. Yaeger turned to Pitt.

  “A shame your friend’s discovery may be for naught if there’s no ruthenium around to power the process.”

  “As important as the ramifications are, a source will be found,” Pitt said confidently.

  “If your hunch about the lab explosion is correct, then somebody else already knows about the scarcity of the mineral.”

  Pitt nodded. “My fear as well. If they are willing to kill to halt the research, then they are probably willing to try and monopolize the remaining supplies.”

  “So where do you go from here?”

  “There’s only one place to go,” he said. “The Ontario Miners Co-op, to see how much ruthenium really is left on the planet.”

  PART II

  BLACK KOBLUNA

  35

  SUMMER WAS WAITING AT THE DOCK WHEN SHE spotted Trevor’s boat motoring across the harbor. She wore a tight-fitting saffron-colored sweater, which accentuated the radiant red hair that dangled loose beneath her shoulders. Her gray eyes softened as the boat approached the dock and Trevor leaned out of the wheelhouse and waved.

  “Going my way, sailor?” she asked with a grin.

  “If I wasn’t before, I am now,” he replied with an approving look. He reached up and gave Summer a hand as she climbed onto the boat.

  “Where’s Dirk?” he asked.

  “His head was still pounding this morning, so he took some aspirin and went back to bed.”

  Trevor shoved the boat away from the pier and motored past the municipal dock before turning into the harbor. Had he glanced at the dock’s small dirt parking lot, he might have noticed a sharp-dressed man sitting in a brown Jeep observing their departure.

  “Did you finish your inspection this morning?” Summer asked, as they cruised past a heavily loaded lumber ship.

  “Yes. The aluminum smelter is just looking at a minor expansion of their receiving yard. Mandatory environmental impact statement sort of stuff.” He looked at Summer with a twisted grin. “I was relieved not to find the police waiting for me at the boat this morning.”

  “I doubt anybody saw you at the Terra Green facility. It’s Dirk and me who are most likely to end up on a WANTED poster at the Kitimat post office,” she replied with an uneasy laugh.

  “I’m sure the plant security is not going to file a report with the police. After all, as far as they know, they’re responsible for Dirk’s murder.”

  “Unless a surveillance camera caught you fishing him out alive.”

  “In which case, we’re all in a bit of trouble.” He turned and gave Summer a concerned look. “Maybe it would be a good idea if you and Dirk kept a low profile around town. A tall, gorgeous redhead tends to stand out in Kitimat.”

  Rather than blush, Summer moved closer to Trevor and looked deep into his eyes. He let go of the boat’s wheel and slipped his arms around her waist, drawing her tight. Returning her gaze, he kissed her once, long and passionately.

  “I don’t want anything to happen to you,” he whispered.

  The pilot of a small freighter passing the other way happened to witness the embrace and blew his horn at the two. Trevor casually released one hand and waved at the freighter, then retook the wheel. Sailing briskly down Douglas Channel, he kept his other arm locked tightly around Summer’s thin waist.

  The turquoise NUMA boat was moored as they had left it, and Summer quickly had the vessel under way. The two boats playfully raced each other back to Kitimat, passing far around the Terra Green facility without incident. They had just tied up at the municipal pier when Dirk came rambling down the dock. His gait was slow, and he wore a baseball cap to cover the bandage across his skull.

  “How’s the head?” Trevor inquired.

  “Better,” Dirk replied. “The pounding has gone down from dynamite to sledgehammer strength. The Bells of St. Mary’s are still ringing loud and clear, though.”

  Summer finished tying up the NUMA boat and walked over to the two men with a thick case in her hand.

  “You ready to get to work?” she asked.

  “The water samples,” Trevor said.

  “Yes, the water samples,” she replied, holding up the Kitimat municipal pool water-analyzing kit.

  She stepped onto Trevor’s boat and helped gather up the water samples taken the night before. Dirk and Trevor took a seat on the gunwale as Summer opened the test kit and began checking the acidity of the water samples.

  “I’m showing a pH of 8.1,” she said after testing the first sample. “The acidity is just a hair above the levels in the surrounding waters but not significant.”

  She proceeded to test all of her water samples and then the vials collected by Trevor. The results were nearly uniform for each vial tested. As she checked the results of the last sample, a defeated look crossed her face.

  “Again, the pH level is reading about 8.1. Remarkably, the water around the Terra Green facility shows no abnormal levels of acidity.”

  “That seems to blow our theory that the plant is dumping carbon dioxide,” Trevor said.

  “A gold star for Mitchell Goyette,” Dirk said sarcastically.

  “I can’t help but wonder about the tanker ship,” Summer said.

  Trevor gave her a quizzical look.

  “We got sidetracked and couldn’t prove it, but Dirk and I both thought the tanker might be taking on CO2 rather than unloading it.”

  “Doesn’t make much sense, unless they are transporting it to another sequestration facility. Or are dumping it at sea.”

  “Before trailing a tanker halfway around the world, I think we need to take another look at the site where we measured the extreme water acidity,” Summer said, “and that’s Hecate Strait. We’ve got the gear to investigate,” she added, motioning toward the NUMA boat.

  “Right,” Dirk agreed. “We need to look at the seabed off Gil Island. The answer has to lie there.”

  “Can you stay and conduct a survey?” Trevor asked with a hopeful tone.

  Dirk looked at Summer. “I received a call from the Seattle office. They need the boat back by the end of the week for some work in Puget Sound. We can stay two more days, then we’ll have to hit the road.”

  “That will allow us time to examine a good chunk of territory off Gil Island,” Summer said. “Let’s plan for an early start tomorrow. Will you be able to join us, Trevor?” It was her turn to give a hopeful look.

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” he replied happily.

  As they were leaving the dock together, the brown Jeep with a rental-agency sticker on its bumper cruised slowly along the adjacent roadway. The driver stopped briefly at a clearing, which gave an unobstructed view of the municipal dock and harbor. Behind the wheel, Clay Zak gazed out the windshield, studying the two boats at the end of the dock tied up one behind the other. He nodded to himself, then continued driving slowly down the road.

  36

  WHEN TREVOR ARRIVED AT THE DOCK AROUND seven the next morning, Dirk and Summer were already laying out their sonar equipment on the stern deck. He gave Summer a quick peck while Dirk was occupied coiling a tow cable, then he pulled a small cooler onto the boat.

  “Hope everyone can stomach some fresh smoked salmon for lunch,” he said.

  “I’d say that’s a vast improvement over Dirk’s
stockpile of peanut butter and dill pickles,” Summer replied.

  “Never have to worry about it going bad,” Dirk defended. He walked into the wheelhouse and started the boat’s motor, then returned to the stern deck.

  “I’ll need to refuel before we head out,” he announced.

  “There’s a fuel dock just around the bend,” Trevor replied. “It’s a little cheaper than the gas at the city marina.” He thought for a moment. “I’m a little low myself. Why don’t you follow me over, and we can drop off my boat on the way out of the channel.”

  Dirk nodded in agreement, and Trevor hopped onto the deck and strolled down to his boat moored just behind the NUMA vessel. He unlocked the door to the wheelhouse, then fired up the inboard diesel, listening to its deep throaty idle. Checking his fuel gauge, he noted a pair of sunglasses on the dashboard that Summer had left behind. Looking up, he saw her untying the dock lines to the NUMA boat. Grabbing the glasses, he hopped off the boat and jogged down the dock.

  “Some protection for those pretty gray eyes?” he asked.

  Summer tossed the bow line aboard, then looked up to see Trevor standing with her sunglasses in an outstretched hand. She gazed skyward for a moment, taking in a thick layer of rain clouds overhead, before locking eyes with him.

  “A tad overkill for today, but thanks for proving you are not a thief.”

  She reached over and grabbed the sunglasses as a sharp crack suddenly erupted behind them. The report was followed by a thunderous blast that flung them to the dock, a shower of splinters tearing over their heads. Trevor fell forward and onto Summer, protecting her from the debris, as several small chunks of wood and fiberglass struck him in the back.

  A simple five-minute timed safety fuse, attached to four cartridges of nitroglycerin dynamite and wired to the ignition switch of Trevor’s boat, had initiated the inferno. The blast nearly ripped the entire stern section off the Canadian boat, while flattening most of the wheelhouse. The stern quickly sank from sight while the mangled bow clung stubbornly to the surface, dangling at a grotesque angle by the attached dock line.