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“Right now, I think the word ‘hot’ in any context might be a stretch,” Remi quipped.
“Indeed. This is my first officer, Lieutenant Ralph Willbanks. Lieutenant, may I present Sam and Remi Fargo?”
They shook hands, their breath steaming in the frosty air.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Willbanks said.
“You can’t believe everything the commander tells you,” Sam warned.
“I left out the dragon slaying and the ability to levitate,” Hall said.
The group chuckled.
Rick arrived with their bags. Willbanks shouldered both, and Hall waved at a waiting Hummer. Inside, a Canadian Navy ensign had the diesel engine running and the heat blowing. Remi crawled in the backseat with a sigh of relief, followed by Sam. Hall took the front passenger seat, and Willbanks slid in next to Sam and pulled the door closed.
As the big vehicle bounced down a rutted dirt track, Hall said, “We’re only a few minutes away. The ship’s anchored in Patricia Bay. We’ll overnight there, and be under way by five a.m. The ice waits for no man . . .”
“I don’t suppose you’ve got any Scotch to go with the ice, do you?” Sam asked.
“Actually, once we’re up in the fjords, you can make cocktails with glacier ice. Makes everything taste better, I hear. But I’m afraid I’m dry for the duration. Duty calls and all. Don’t want to set a bad example, carousing with civilians.”
“As long as there are no prohibitions against the hired help having a bracer now and again, I’m in.”
“If you were being paid, you’d be hired. As it is, helping fund this expedition makes you honored guests, and my motto is to treat guests with all possible hospitality.”
“I like the way you think. How cold is it out, anyway?” Remi asked.
“A toasty three degrees Fahrenheit. But don’t worry—it gets up as high as six during the hottest p
art of the day.”
“I don’t suppose you have spa or massage facilities on board?”
“That gets installed after this mission. Sorry, I thought you got the memo,” Hall said.
They rounded a bend and entered the small town of Clyde River, its grim, weather-beaten shacks shabby and uninviting. A few of the houses had lights on, the residents huddled inside against the constant cold, as dusk banished the weak glow of the sun to its nightly refuge behind the surrounding mountains.
“Where’s the casino?” Sam asked.
“Floating in the bay. Every day aboard’s a crapshoot on a shakeout cruise like this.”
“Oh, is she new?”
“Roger that. The Alhambra’s the latest technology, and she was just launched two months ago. A hundred-forty-foot cutter with improved light ice-breaking ability. The older Bay-class cutters can handle up to twenty inches of ice. This beauty ups that to nearly three feet.”
“And that’s considered light?” Sam asked.
“Compared to her four- and five-hundred-foot siblings, it is. But those would be impractical to take into the fjords. The Alhambra’s the perfect fit—agile enough to explore the coast without fear of grounding and hardy enough to break through the ice crust that even in the late spring and early summer coats the surface.”
“Oh, there she is,” Remi said, pointing at the vessel in the bay, the distinctive red racing-stripe logo of the U.S. Coast Guard emblazoned on her white hull near the bow, her lights reflecting off the placid surface of the black water. “She looks bigger than a hundred forty feet.”
“She’s beamy. Almost thirty-eight feet. And brawny. I like the design a lot. Not great in beam seas because of her round underside, but that’s true of almost all icebreakers,” Hall explained.
The truck slowed to a stop, gravel crunching beneath its oversize tires, and everyone got out. The wind sliced through Sam’s and Remi’s winter coats like they were made of linen. Remi hugged herself in an effort to keep her teeth from chattering.
Hall nodded knowingly and said, “I’ve got two Arctic explorer jackets with your names on them.”
“Thanks, Wes. You’re a gentleman. Between you and my husband, you’ve made this a kind of dream second honeymoon.”