Arctic Wargame

Epilogue

The doctors had spent a lot of time to convince Carrie she was not ready to walk the five blocks from her apartment to the closest bus stop. They also prohibited her from driving her Nissan to work until the end of her six-week recovery period. Since her discharge from the Montfort Hospital two weeks ago, Justin had been taking Carrie to run errands, to the mall and grocery stores, to movies theatres and restaurants. On crutches, Carrie managed light chores around the house. Today, six weeks after the Arctic events, they were both on their way to the CIS headquarters on the outskirts of Ottawa.

“Tell me, how did your date go last night?” Carrie asked.

Justin, who was driving her blue Nissan, zoomed through an intersection, as the traffic light switched from amber to red. “What date?”

“The one with Anna, genius.”

“Oh, that one. Why do you want to know?”

“I’m a curious girl, but save me the gross details, if there were any… were there any?”

Justin frowned but did not look at her.

“I’m kidding, relax. I just want to make sure things are going well between you two.”

“Things are going well. Satisfied?”

“How well?”

“Obviously not satisfied.” He sighed. “It’s only our third date. She’s sweet, and we have many common interests. I’m enjoying the time I’m spending with Anna.”

“Is it like… like when we went out?”

“Oh, is this what you’re fishing for, comparisons with the past?”

“Take it easy. That’s not what I’m after.”

“OK, tell me what exactly are you after?”

“I want to make sure she’s getting the best of you, that part of you so often invested in work, research, or anything else but the girl. Anna deserves all your passion, your desires, your understanding. Even that part of you I never got.”

Justin’s frown melted, as Carrie’s voice became softer. “Justin, you and Anna will make a great couple. Please, make sure you don’t allow work to get in the way.”

“Work is exactly what brought us together, and I will not let it pull us apart.”

“If that starts to happen, I’ll come and scream at you ‘what the hell are you doing?’” Carrie said with a big smile.

“Yes, please do that.”

“I will. I wish someone would have done it for us, but they didn’t, and I can’t change the past. But I can help you plan the wedding and name your babies.”

“Whoa, whoa, hold on there. Aren’t we rushing things here just a little bit? Wedding? Babies? We’ve gone out only three times!”

“Hey, it’s never too early to plan who’s going to be your kids’ godmother. And now thanks to me, you’ve got one less thing to worry about. I’ll let you and Anna take care of the rest.”

“Gee, thanks. I’ll let you know if I need more of this kind of help.”

“Look, that’s… isn’t that Nick there?” Carrie pointed at a black sedan to their right. “No, I guess it’s not.”

“Nice change of subject, but thanks for changing it. Are you ready for today’s meeting?”

“I’ve been ready two weeks ago. I told the surgeon at Montfort to give me a wheelchair. I could have rolled out in style through our office corridors. But he insisted I had to walk and regain control of my leg muscles.”

“Do they hurt?”

“Is the sky blue? Of course they hurt. I have to sit down every fifteen minutes, otherwise they’ll give in. But yeah, I’ll think I’m ready to face the music.”

No bagpipes were waiting for their arrival at the CIS headquarters, and no red carpet was rolled out for them. In fact, Carrie humbly submitted her aluminum crutches to the meticulous search of two heavyset guards at the entrance. A few acquaintances nodded quick hellos. No questions asked, no explanations sought. This was an intelligence agency and their missions were secret. Only the people who needed to know learned only what they needed to know.

The elevator ride to the sixth floor was fast and quiet. Carrie winced as she shifted her weight from one leg to the other a couple of times. They came out of the elevator and made their way to the office of Ms. Claire Johnson, Director General of Intelligence for the North Africa Division.

“Welcome back, Carrie,” Johnson greeted them at the door, after Justin announced their arrival with a light knock.

She waited for Carrie to hobble inside and take a seat at the oval glass table.

“I’m glad to see both of you are doing well.” She sat next to Carrie. “Much better than the last time I saw you at Montfort.”

“You should have seen the Danes,” Carrie replied, “the ones that made it alive, I mean.”

Johnson grinned. Her gray eyes glowed. She turned to Justin. “Do you have the reports ready?”

“Yes. They’re complete.” He removed two manila folders from his briefcase. “This one,” he said, pointing at the thick one, then sliding it toward his boss, “is the classified report. The only copy. The second file is for the public archives.”

Johnson flipped through the classified report. “It’s very detailed and comprehensive.”

“I used the recollection of the events from my team members and the people on the ground. In addition, the intel provided by our foreign assets allowed us to recreate a clear picture of the Arctic Wargame.”

Johnson opened the second folder. She smiled as she read the two-page document inside. “I like the words you’ve chosen to describe the Arctic Wargame operation for the public: ‘The Arctic Wargame, executed through coordinated teamwork among various Canadian government departments, simulated hostile incursions in Canada’s Arctic and the immediate defensive response by the local population and the Canadian Forces.’ Bravo.”

Justin nodded modestly.

Johnson set aside both folders. “Regarding your informants, they seem to have adapted quite well to the Witness Protection Program,” she said with a smile. “And they gave us more intel about someone else other than the Danes pulling the strings of the Arctic Wargame.”

“But we still have nothing concrete that the Russians organized this attack?” Justin asked.

“Yes, nothing concrete,” Johnson replied, “but a lot of circumstantial evidence. And there was an interesting development in Denmark.”

“The Danes are ready to apologize?” Carrie asked.

“Eh, far from it. They’re still investigating. Canada’s using all diplomatic channels to clear up this situation without making too many waves. We’re talking to our counterparts in the Danish intelligence to clarify everything.”

Carrie shook her head. Justin closed his eyes. “What’s the interesting development?” he asked.

“Ms. Helma Madsen, the wife of Gunter Madsen, is claiming to have been kidnapped. According to her, she was released a couple of weeks ago and the kidnappers were Russians.”

Carrie frowned. “She has some evidence for her claims?”

“No. She insists the men who took her spoke Russian. She says she can recognize their voices, but she never saw their faces.”

“Is that it?” Justin asked.

“That’s insufficient,” Carrie said.

Johnson nodded. “Yes and no. Yes, we know the Russians organized the Arctic Wargame. No, we don’t have evidence to prove it.”

Justin sighed. Carrie frowned but said nothing.

“On the bright side of things,” Johnson said, “the government has almost finished revising its Arctic Strategy, focusing on its enhancement and its expansion. The budget proposal will almost double the funding for the defense of our Northern borders over the next five years. We’ll have more Rangers on the ground and they’ll be better equipped with state-of-the-art technology. Two other deep-water ports are being proposed, one at Banks Island and the other at Baffin Island, at each end of the Northwest Passage, in addition to the one in Nanisivik. Canada will have five more vessels with year-round icebreaking capabilities in addition to the one in Nanisivik.”

Johnson glanced at her watch. “Moving forward, there’s one last thing to do before I let you go.”

She retreated to her desk, reaching for a notepad and her phone handset. Justin glanced quickly at Carrie, who raised her index finger to her lips. A glimmer of mischief flickered in her eyes, as if she knew what scheme Johnson was plotting.

“It’s exactly nine o’clock.” Johnson began dialing a number. “We have to be absolutely punctual for this phone call, which is probably the most important in your entire life.”

“Is this another job?” Justin asked.

Carrie hushed him with a headshake.

Johnson smiled. “You’ll get your answer in a second… oh, yes, good evening madam, this is Claire Johnson, Director General of Intelligence for the North Africa Division with the CIS, the Canadian Intelligence Service. Yes, that’s why I’m calling. Of course, I’ll wait.”

Justin began to wiggle in his chair.

“OK, let’s tell him.” Johnson nodded at Carrie. “Someone very important wants to give you Her recognition.”

“Pardon—” Justin began, but Johnson’s hand gesture stopped him.

“Your Majesty, this is Claire Johnson.”

She’s really talking to the Queen?

“Yes, of course, Your Majesty. Very well, thank you. As scheduled, I have Mr. Justin Hall and his partner, Ms. Carrie O’Connor, on line. They will be delighted to talk to you.”

Justin had no time to get over the initial shock. Johnson offered him the phone handset. He cleared his throat and hesitated a moment, before walking to her desk.

“Come on, Justin,” Johnson whispered, covering the receiver with her hand. “We can’t make Her Majesty wait.”

Justin picked up the phone and took a deep breath. “Your Majesty,” he said finally. “Mr. Hall at Your service.”