“RNE. This is Inuvik Tower. You are cleared to the town strip. The wind is 330 at five. The altimeter setting is 3019. I have no other local traffic in the area.”
“Roger, Tower. Will you please close my flight plan?”
“Roger, wilco.”
Freddie put the VHF mike back on its holder. It was dark now, and he peered ahead into the twinkling lights of Inuvik for his marker, the wafting white plume of the steam from the power plant. He would turn left over the power plant on his final leg inbound to the airstrip northwest of the town along the west arm of the Mackenzie.
Freddie Armstrong was a living legend in the Arctic. An Indian who had competed successfully in a white man’s field, he had graduated from high school, saved his money, and gone outside to Edmonton to take flying lessons. Back in Inuvik he had worked hard to save enough money to buy his own airplane, a Cessna, had obtained a Class 4 charter licence and started to work to build up his firm, Caribou Air Services Limited, at a time when no other operators were in the area and nobody gave a damn about the prospects of Inuvik or oil or gas in the Mackenzie Delta. The discoveries in the North brought so much business that he had been able to enlarge his fleet to ten aircraft, but they had also brought increased competition, and the Air Transport Committee in Ottawa had granted charter licences freely to the well-financed carriers from the south who soon moved in with their Twin Engine Otters and other sophisticated machines.
On top of that, his crews had cracked up two of his larger aircraft just as things were reaching their peak, and this financial setback had almost put him out of business.
But Freddie Armstrong was a determined man. He stuck to his guns and now had a reputation, all through the Arctic, as someone who really knew his job.
He glanced over at Sam Allen in the right-hand cockpit seat and thought, not for the first time, that Sam was a heck of a nice guy. He was glad he’d been able to do him a favour. Funny, though, that Sam and Bessie didn’t have any pelts with them. When he dropped them off about twenty miles west of Aklavik the morning before, Sam had told him that they were going out to look after some musk-rat traps set by Sam’s brother Pete, who was sick in Aklavik. So he’d expected them to have at least two dozen skins when he picked them up. He asked Sam if they’d got any rats. And Sam replied, “Sure did, Freddie, got plenty, but I bagged them and hung them off the ground in a tree just north of Rat River, so Pete can pick them up there as soon as he’s better.”
Freddie saw that Sam’s harness was done up, and turned back to check on Bessie. She was sitting in the passenger compartment on the right of the aircraft, and at his glance nodded and pointed to the harness. Freddie lined up on the runway lights and decided he’d do a full-flap landing because there was no wind. He pumped the flaps down and the nose of the aircraft came down in response. He checked his air speed, cutting back to 58 knots. He cranked on a bit more power to get ready for the roundout which was fast approaching, and as he passed the end of the airstrip, pulled back on the throttle and the wheel. The aircraft rotated beautifully and sank gently onto the snow. The skis squeaked and squealed as the plane slowed abruptly. A short landing was a trademark of the old Otter, and Freddie Armstrong was still one of the best pilots in the business.
Freddie cranked up the flaps and made a wide, sweeping turn into the dispersal area on the east side of the town strip. “Well, Sam, another successful non-crash.”
Sam smiled, “Beautiful landing, Freddie, just great.”
As they unstrapped and began to get ready to move out of the aircraft, there was a sudden pounding at the rear right-hand door. It was jerked open from the outside. Sam looked back into the ruddy, black-moustached face of Staff Sergeant Ray of the Inuvik detachment of the RCMP. Fear gripped him. He glanced quickly over at Bessie. Her eyes were wide with fright. Ray clambered up into the cabin next to Bessie and stopped, his hand on the green knapsack which contained a spare explosive charge, a timer and arming mechanism Sam had brought back with him. He said, “Sam, we’ve been looking all over for you. The Prime Minister has been trying to get hold of you all day. They tell me it’s really urgent.”
Sam moved quickly to get out of the Otter. As he passed by Bessie, who was still strapped in her seat, he said, “I’ll take the knapsack with me, Bessie, if you and Freddie can bring the rest of the stuff.” He followed Staff Sergeant Ray out the door, jumped down onto the snow, pulled up his parka around his head, and strode rapidly toward the shack Caribou Air Services called its office. Parts and pieces of aircraft were strewn about the area. Freddie’s mechanics had to do a lot of their work outside now, since their original hangar had been sold to keep the business going. When they entered the office the Sergeant went immediately to the desk and handed a strip of paper to Sam.
“Here’s the number. The Prime Minister’s secretary said that he would probably be at a meeting when you called, but he gave her instructions to get him out. It sounds to me as though it’s pretty important.”
Sam asked, “Did she say why he was calling?”
“No. I asked if there was a message, but all she would tell me was that it was urgent to find you as soon as possible. Apparently they called your house, the Eskimo Inn, your office, and, from what I can gather, two or three other places in town. I guess your office told them you were out in the bush trapping.”
Sam picked up the phone and was soon through to the Prime Minister’s secretary. She said, “Oh, Mr. Allen, the Prime Minister will be very pleased we’ve finally got you. He’s just finishing the meeting. If you’ll hang on for a minute, I’ll let him know you’re on the line.”
As he waited for the Prime Minister, Sam looked out into the darkness toward the aircraft where he could see Bessie and Freddie unloading the tent, the portable stove and sleeping bags. As they reached the office, Porter came on the line. “Sam, how are you? I haven’t talked to you for a long time.”
Sam shifted from one foot to the other and said, “Hi, Bob — I mean, Prime Minister. I’m fine. How does it feel to be the Chief?”
“Well, being the Chief is sometimes good and sometimes bad. Today’s a bad day, Sam. I need your help, and I need it fast. I haven’t time to give you all the details, but the President of the United States has dumped a real problem in my lap. He’s given Canada an ultimatum. We have to agree to let the U.S. have all the gas it wants from the Arctic, and we have to give the Americans free access to the area so that they can get it out. On top of that, we have to guarantee to settle with the native people in the Northwest Territories and the Yukon immediately to get the bombings stopped. As you know probably better than anyone, I want to see us make a proper arrangement on native rights, and I’ve been trying to make plans for serious discussions, but with the pressure of everything else in Ottawa since I became Prime Minister I couldn’t move as quickly as I wanted.”
Sam broke in, “Yes, I know, Bob. The Indian Brotherhood and our organization and everybody else up here has been getting pretty uptight because nothing’s been going on, and the pipeline’s just about finished.”
“Yes, I know. That’s the problem. I don’t know who’s doing the bombing, and I don’t suppose you do either, but I imagine you can find out if you have to, since you’re the head man in the Mackenzie area. Somehow I’ve got to get a message to those people and let them know that we’re in a crisis and it’s imperative that they stop the sabotage immediately.
“I want you to pass the word along that if the native people are really interested in having a settlement, then they’re going to have to help me maintain the strongest possible bargaining position with the President. The deadline on the ultimatum is six o’clock tomorrow night. The blowing up of the pipe has got to be stopped now. There must be no explosions during that time.”
Sam’s smile had long since been replaced by a frown of concentration as he sorted out the implications of what the Prime Minister was saying. “Bob,” he said, “what if I can’t get the message through to the right people? What if there’s a blast between now and tomorrow night?”
“I don’t know what the consequences will be, Sam, except that