“I got in a slight fender bender on a rocky road,” he replied.

“We’ve tracked the information on the jet tail number that you phoned in about,” Yaeger said.

“It can wait. Fixing the sea buoy data is more important.”

“I can multitask with the best of them,” Max offered with a touch of indignation.

“She’s running a test that will take twenty minutes,” Yaeger explained. “We can exercise her until the results come back.”

Turning to the holograph image, he said, “Max, bring up the data on the Canadian Gulfstream jet.”

“The aircraft is a brand-new Gulfstream G650 eighteen-passenger jet, manufactured in 2009. According to Canadian aeronautical records, the tail number C-FTGI is registered to Terra Green Industries, of Vancouver, British Columbia. Terra Green is a privately held company, chaired by a man named Mitchell Goyette.”

“Hence the TGI in the tail number,” Yaeger said. “At least he didn’t flaunt his personal initials, like most filthy rich jet owners.”

“Goyette,” Pitt mused. “Isn’t he big into green energy?”

“His holdings include wind farms, geothermal and hydroelectric power plants, and a small number of solar panel fields,” Max recited.

“Being privately held tends to obscure things,” Yaeger said, “so we did a little digging. Found over two dozen other entities that trace their ownership to Terra Green. Turns out, a number of the holdings were related to gas, oil, and mining exploration activities, particularly in the Athabasca region of Alberta.”

“So Terra Green is apparently not all that green,” Pitt quipped.

“It’s worse than that. Another Terra Green subsidiary apparently controls a recently discovered natural gas field in the Melville Sound. Its value could conceivably outweigh his other holdings combined. We also found an interesting nautical link to NUMA. It seems that over the past few years, Terra Green has contracted for the construction of several big icebreakers from a Mississippi Gulf shipyard, along with a number of very large LNG and bulk-carrier barges. It was the same yard that built our last research ship, which was delayed in launching due in part to their work for Terra Green.”

“Yes, the Lowden Shipyard in New Orleans,” Pitt recalled. “I saw one of those barges in dry dock. It was a massive thing. I wonder what they’re transporting?”

“I have not attempted to locate the vessels, but I can try if you like,” Max said.

Pitt shook his head. “Probably not important. Max, can you determine if Terra Green is conducting any research related to artificial photosynthesis or other countermeasures to greenhouse gas emissions?”

Max stood motionless as she scanned her databases for published research reports and news releases.

“I find no references to Terra Green and artificial photosynthesis. They operate a small research facility devoted to solar research and have published work in carbon sequestration. The company has in fact just opened a carbon sequestration facility in Kitimat, British Columbia. The company is known to be in discussions with the Canadian government to build an unknown number of additional sequestration facilities across the country.”

“Kitimat? I just received an e-mail from Summer, who was writing from there,” Yaeger said.

“Yes, the kids apparently stopped there for a few days on their way down the Inside Passage testing the local sea alkalinity,” Pitt said.

“Do you think the carbon sequestration plants figure in as a motive to halt Lisa Lane’s research?” Yaeger asked.

“I can’t say, but it could be a possibility. It’s clear that Goyette is after the ruthenium.” He explained his visit to the Miners Co-op and the chance encounter with the man he’d seen at the GWU lab. He recited the portion of the journal entry he had read, and pulled out his notes for Yaeger.

“Max, last time we talked, you indicated that there was little, if any, mining of ruthenium taking place,” he said.

“That’s correct, just a small quantity of low-grade ore being produced from a mine in Bolivia.”

“The mining Co-op has a finite inventory left. Do you have any data on potential deposits in the Arctic?”

Max stood motionless for a moment, then shook her head. “No, sir. I find no mention in any recorded surveys or mining claims that I have access to, which mostly date from the 1960s.”

Pitt eyed his journal notes, then said, “I have a record from 1917 that a quantity of ruthenium called Black Kobluna was obtained some sixty-eight years earlier by a number of Adelaide Peninsula Inuit. Does that mean anything to you, Max?”

“I’m sorry, sir, I still don’t find any relevant mining references,” she replied, a hurt look in her transparent eyes.

“She never calls me sir,” Yaeger muttered quietly.

Max ignored Yaeger as she tried to generate an added response to Pitt.

“The Adelaide Peninsula is located on the north coast of Nunavut, just to the south of King William Island. The peninsula is considered an essentially uninhabited landmass, historically occupied at certain seasons by small groups of migrating Inuit.”

“Max, what is meant by the term ‘Black Kobluna’?” Yaeger asked.

Max hesitated while accessing a linguistics database at Stanford University. She then tipped her head at Yaeger and Pitt with a confused look on her face.

“It is a contradictory phrase,” she said.

“Please explain,” requested Yaeger.

“Kobluna is an Inuit term for ‘white man.’ Hence it is a mixed translation of ‘black white man.’ ”

“Contradictory, indeed,” Yaeger said. “Perhaps it means a white man dressed in black or vice versa.”

“Possibly,” Pitt said. “But that was a remote section of the Arctic. I’m not sure a white or black man had even set foot there by that point in time. Isn’t that true, Max?”

“You are nearly correct. Initial exploration and mapping of the Canadian Arctic came in a British-inspired quest for a northwest passage to the Pacific Ocean. A large portion of the western and eastern regions of the Canadian Arctic had been well charted by the mid-nineteenth century. The middle regions, including a number of passages around Adelaide Peninsula, were in fact some of the last areas charted.”

Pitt glanced at his notes from the Miners Co-op. “The record indicates that the Inuit recovered the ruthenium in or around 1849.”

“The historical record shows that an expedition under the guise of the Hudson’s Bay Company surveyed a region of North American coastline in the vicinity between 1837 and 1839.”

“That’s a little too early,” Yaeger remarked.

“The next known forays were made by John Rae in 1851, during his search for survivors of the Franklin Expedition. He was known to have traveled along the southeast coast of Victoria Island, which is still approximately a hundred miles from the Adelaide Peninsula. It was not until 1859 that the area was reached again, this time by Francis McClintock, who visited nearby King William Island, just north of Adelaide, during another search for Franklin.”

“That’s a little late in the game,” said Yaeger.

“But there’s Franklin,” Pitt said, searching his memory. “When did he sail into those waters and where was he lost?”

“The Franklin Expedition sailed from England in 1845. They wintered the first year at Beechey Island, then traveled south until becoming trapped in the ice off King William Island. The expedition ships were abandoned in the spring of 1848, with the entire crew later dying onshore sometime later.”

Pitt mulled the dates in his head, then thanked Max for the information. The holographic woman nodded and turned aside, resuming her software test calculations.

“If Franklin’s men left their ships in 1848 well north of the peninsula, it doesn’t figure they would be lugging some minerals around with them,” remarked Yaeger.

“It’s possible that the Inuit erred in the date,” Pitt replied. “The other point to consider is Max’s comment about the Adelaide Peninsula being an Inuit migration stop. Just because the Inuit were known to camp on the peninsula doesn’t mean that it’s where they acquired the mineral.”