It was a hot and humid summer day, far removed from the Arctic conditions in which he had died. The horse-drawn caisson pulled slowly away from the chapel, rattling over a cobble-stone path, as the steel-shod hooves of the black shire mares clacked loudly with each dropped step. With a long procession following behind on foot, the caisson rolled slowly toward a secluded section of the cemetery crowned by towering chestnut trees. The driver pulled to a stop next to a family plot fronted by an open gate. A freshly dug grave lay empty alongside a tomb marked LADY JANE FRANKLIN, 1792-1875.
Franklin’s beloved wife, more than anyone, had resolved the fate of the lost expedition. Through tireless appeal and expense, she had personally outfitted no fewer than five relief expeditions on her own. Scouring the Arctic in search of her husband and his ships, the early expeditions had failed, along with those sent by the British government. It was another Arctic explorer, Francis McClintock, who had ultimately discovered Franklin’s fate. Sailing the steam yacht Fox on Lady Franklin’s behalf, he’d found important relics and a note on King William Island that revealed Franklin’s death in 1847 and the crew’s subsequent abandonment of the ships trapped in the ice.
It had taken one hundred and sixty-eight years since kissing her good-bye on the shores of the Thames, but John Franklin was reunited with his wife once more.
His soul would have been happy for another reason, as he was laid to rest beside Jane. When a Royal Navy frigate had retrieved his coffin from the Erebus and transported it back to England, the ship had traveled the long route, through the Bering Strait and down the Pacific to the Panama Canal.
In death, if not in life, Sir Franklin had finally sailed the Northwest Passage.
94
PITT STARED OUT HIS OFFICE WINDOW AT THE POTOMAC River far below, his mind drifting aimlessly like the river’s current.
Since returning from the Arctic, he had been out of sorts, carrying a mild angst mixed with disappointment. Part of it was his injuries, he knew. His leg and arm wounds were healing well, and the doctors said he would make a full recovery. Though the pain was mostly absent, he still hated the loss of mobility. He had long since abandoned the crutch but still required the use of a cane at times. Giordino had lightened the need by providing a walking stick that contained a hidden vial of tequila inside. Loren had stepped up as well, performing her best Florence Nightingale routine by nursing him at every opportunity. But something still held him back.
It was the failure, he knew. He just wasn’t used to it. The quest for the ruthenium had momentous importance, yet he had come up dry. He felt like he had let down not only Lisa Lane but also every person on the planet. It wasn’t his fault, of course. He’d followed the clues as he found them, and would have done nothing differently. Crack geologists throughout the government were already on the hunt for new sources of ruthenium, but the near-term prospects were grim. The mineral just didn’t exist in quantity, and there was nothing he could do about it.
His instincts had been wrong for a change and it gave him doubts. Maybe he’d been at the game too long. Maybe it was time for a younger generation to take the reins. Perhaps he should go back to Hawaii with Loren and spend his days spearfishing.
He tried to conceal his melancholy when a knock came to the door and he called for the visitor to enter.
The door blew open and Giordino, Gunn, and Dahlgren came marching into his office like they owned it. Each man had a suppressed grin on his face, and Pitt noticed they were all hiding something behind their backs.
“Well, if it isn’t the three wise men. Or wise guys, in this case,” Pitt said.
“Do you have a minute?” Gunn asked. “There’s something we’d like to share with you.”
“My time is yours,” Pitt said, hobbling over to his desk and taking a seat. Eyeing the men suspiciously, he asked, “What is it that you are all trying to conceal?”
Dahlgren waved a short stack of plastic cups that he was carrying.
“Just thought we’d have a little drink,” he explained.
Giordino pulled out a bottle of champagne that he was hiding behind his stubby arms.
“I’m a bit thirsty myself,” he added.
“Hasn’t anyone told you about the rules regarding alcohol in a federal building?” Pitt admonished.
“I seem to have misplaced those,” Giordino replied. “Jack, do you know anything about that?”
Dahlgren attempted to look dumb and shook his head.
“All right, what is this all about?” Pitt asked, losing patience with the antics.
“It’s really Jack’s doing,” Gunn said. “He sort of saved the day.”
“You mean, he saved your rear,” Giordino said, grinning at Gunn. He slipped the foil off the neck of the champagne bottle and popped the top. Grabbing Dahlgren’s cups, he poured everyone a glass.
“It came down to the rock,” Gunn tried to explain.
“The rock . . .” Pitt repeated with growing suspicion.
“One of the samples from the thermal vent that we located off Alaska,” Giordino interjected, “just before the Canadian ice camp business. We put all of the rock samples in a bag that Rudi was supposed to bring here to headquarters for analysis. But he left the bag on the Narwhal when he departed Tuktoyaktuk.”
“I remember that bag,” Pitt replied. “Almost tripped over it every time I stepped onto the bridge.”
“You and me both,” Dahlgren muttered.
“Wasn’t it still on the bridge?” Pitt asked.
“Was and is,” Giordino said. “It’s still sitting with the Narwhal at the bottom of Victoria Strait.”
“That still doesn’t explain the champagne.”
“Well, it seems our good buddy Jack found a rock in his pocket when he got home,” Gunn said.
“I’m really not a klepto, I swear,” Dahlgren said with a grin. “I tripped over that bag, too, and happened to pick up one of the loose rocks and stick it in my pocket. Forgot all about it until I was changing clothes on the Santa Fe and thought I better hang on to it.”
“A very wise decision,” Gunn agreed.
“I took it down to the geology lab last week to have it assayed and they called this morning with the results.”
Gunn produced the rock sample and slid it across the desk to Pitt. He picked it up and studied it, noting its heavy weight and dull silver color. His heart began to race as he recalled the similar characteristics of the ore sample the old geologist at the Miners Co-op had given him.
“It doesn’t look like gold to me,” he said to the trio, eyeing their reaction.
The three men looked at one another and grinned. Giordino finally spoke.
“Would you consider ruthenium?”
Pitt’s eyes twinkled as he immediately sat up in his chair. He studied the rock carefully, then looked at Gunn.
“Is it true?” he asked quietly.
Gunn nodded. “High-grade, no less.”
“How do we know if it is there in any quantity?”
“We pulled the sensor records from the Bloodhound and took a second look. Though she is not configured to sense ruthenium, she can identify its platinum-based grouping. And according to the Bloodhound, the thermal vent has more platinum and platinum derivatives lying around than Fort Knox has gold. It’s a sure bet that a significant quantity of that platinum-based ore around the vent is ruthenium.”
Pitt couldn’t believe the news. He felt like he’d been injected with a shot of adrenaline. His whole demeanor perked up, and a glisten returned to his intelligent green eyes.
“Congratulations, boss,” Gunn said. “You’ve got your very own ruthenium mine a thousand feet under the sea.”
Pitt smiled at the men, then grabbed one of the champagnes.
“I think I will drink to that,” he said, hoisting his cup up and toasting the others.
After they each took a sip, Dahlgren looked at his glass and nodded.
“You know,” he said in his slow Texas drawl, “this stuff is alm
ost as good as Lone Star.”
95
TEN MONTHS LATER
IT WAS A RARE CLOUDLESS SPRING DAY IN KITIMAT, the kind that turned the waters cerulean blue and made the crisp air taste of pure oxygen. On the grounds of the former Terra Green sequestration plant, a small group of dignitaries and media reporters was gathered for a ribbon-cutting ceremony. A cherub-faced man in a beige suit, Canada’s newly appointed minister of natural resources, bounded up to a podium placed before the seated crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it is my distinct pleasure to officially declare open the Kitimat Photosynthesis Station, the first of its kind in the world. As you know, the Natural Resources Ministry inherited this facility last year, built as a carbon sequestration site, under less-than-ideal circumstances. But I am delighted to report that the facility has been successfully reengineered as the very first artificial-photosynthesis conversion plant in existence. The Kitimat Photosynthesis Station will safely and efficiently convert carbon dioxide to water and hydrogen without any risk to the environment. We are excited that the plant can use the existing pipeline to Athabasca to convert nearly ten percent of the carbon dioxide generated from the oil sands refineries. Here today we have the prototype for a new weapon against atmospheric pollutants, and ultimately global warming.”
The assembled crowd, including many Kitimat residents, applauded loudly. The resources minister smiled broadly before continuing.
“Like any historic venture, this facility conversion was accomplished by the work of a great many people. It has also been one of the more fruitful collaborative efforts that I have ever witnessed. The joint venture between the Natural Resources Ministry, the United States Department of Energy, and George Washington University stands as a testament to the great things that can be accomplished in the pursuit of the common good. I would like to especially recognize the achievements of Miss Lisa Lane, for whom credit can be given for the genesis of this facility.”
Seated in the first row, Lisa waved to the crowd while blushing deeply.
“I see momentous changes for all of mankind here today, and I look forward to the dawn of a new world from our humble beginnings here in Kitimat. Thank you.”
The crowd applauded again, then sat through the orations of several more politicians before a large ceremonial ribbon was cut for the cameras. As the speeches ended, the resources minister stepped over to the front row where Pitt and Loren were seated next to Lisa.
“Miss Lane, it is good to see you again,” he greeted warmly. “This must be a very exciting day for you.”
“It certainly is. I would not have imagined that a working artificial-photosynthesis facility would come on line so rapidly,” she said.
“Your President and our new Prime Minister showed great will in moving things forward.”
“Minister, I would like you to meet my dear friend Congresswoman Loren Smith, and her husband, Dirk Pitt.”
“A pleasure to meet you both. Mr. Pitt, it was you who recommended converting the sequestration plant, was it not?”
“It was my kids’ idea, actually,” he said, pointing to Dirk and Summer, who were making their way to the bar. “We all figured that a positive light might be shone on one of Mitchell Goyette’s past sins.”
The minister shuddered at the mention of Goyette’s name but soon smiled again. “Your discovery has proved a blessing on many fronts, Miss Lane,” he said to Lisa. “We’ll be able to expand our oil sands operations in Athabasca now, as additional photosynthesis facilities are brought online to capture the greenhouse gas emissions. That will go a long way in abating oil shortages in both our countries. I am pushing the Prime Minister to authorize funding for twenty more plants. How are things progressing in the States?”
“Thanks to the efforts of Loren and the Vice President, thirty plants have been funded, with plans for an additional fifty facilities to be built over the next three years. We are starting with our coal-fired power plants, which emit the most pollution. There is excitement that we will finally be able to safely burn coal, fueling our utilities for decades to come.”
“Perhaps as important, we have a signed agreement with the Chinese as well,” Loren said. “They have promised to build seventy-five plants over the next eight years.”
“My, that is good news, since the Chinese are now the largest emitters of greenhouse gases. It’s a fortunate thing that the technology is easily replicated,” the minister said.
“And that we have an abundant supply of the catalyst to make the process work,” Lisa added. “If Mr. Pitt’s NUMA organization hadn’t made the discovery of ruthenium off the coast of Alaska, none of this would be possible.”
“A lucky break,” Pitt acknowledged. “Our undersea mining operation is now up and running, and the yield is very encouraging so far. We hope to mine enough of the mineral to supply thousands of plants like this around the world.”
“Then we can look forward to a possible end to global warming in our lifetime. A remarkable accomplishment,” the minister said, before being pulled aside by an aide.
“It looks like your days of scientific anonymity are over,” Loren quipped to Lisa.
“It is all exciting, but the truth is I’d rather be back in the lab. There are plenty of refinements that can be made, and we still haven’t perfected the efficient conversion to hydrogen yet. Thankfully, I’ve got a new and even better lab at the university. Now I just need to find a new lab assistant.”
“Bob has been officially charged?” Loren asked.
“Yes. He had over two hundred thousand dollars in various places that were traced back to Goyette. I can’t believe that my own friend sold me out.”
“As Goyette proved, unmitigated greed will catch up to you in the end.”
A horde of reporters suddenly appeared, surrounding Lisa and barraging her with questions about the facility and her scientific discovery. Pitt and Loren slipped off to the side, then strolled across the grounds. Pitt had recovered fully from his injuries and enjoyed stretching his legs outdoors.
“It’s so beautiful here,” Loren remarked. “We should stay a few extra days.”
“You forget your congressional panel hearings next week. Besides, I need to get back to Washington and ride roughshod over Al and Jack. We have a new submersible to test in the Mediterranean next month that we need to prepare for.”
“Already on to the next project, I see.”
Pitt simply nodded, a twinkle in his green eyes. “As somebody once said, it’s in my blood.”
They walked past the facility until reaching the shoreline.
“You know, there is a potential downside to this technology,” she noted. “If global warming can one day be reversed, the Northwest Passage is liable to permanently freeze over again.”
Pitt stared out at the nearby channel.
“I think Franklin would agree with me; that’s as it should be.”
ACROSS THE COMPOUND, a white boat motored up to the channel front dock and tied up behind a rented press boat. Trevor Miller stepped onto the pier and studied the large crowd spread across the grounds before spotting a tall woman with flowing red hair. Snatching a beer along the way, he walked up to Dirk and Summer, who stood laughing near the former security hut.
“Mind if I steal your sister?” he said to Dirk.
Summer turned to him with a look of relief, then quickly kissed him.
“You’re late,” she said.
“I had to put gas in my new boat,” he tried to explain.
Dirk looked at him with a grin. “Go ahead and take my sister. Keep her for as long as you like.”
Trevor walked Summer back to the boat and released the dock line. Gunning the throttle, he shot off the dock and was soon racing down Douglas Channel. He ran the boat all the way to Hecate Strait before cutting the motor and letting the boat drift as the sky overhead began to darken. Slipping an arm around Summer, he moved to the stern with her at his side and looked out toward Gil Island. They stood together, sta
ring across the calm waters for a long while.
“The best and worst things in my life seem to happen out here,” he finally whispered in her ear.
She slipped an arm around his waist and held him tight as they watched the crimson sun sink slowly beneath the horizon.
Clive Cussler, Arctic Drift
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