Clive Cussler - Arctic Drift

Though not the product of a rags-to-riches story, Goyette had parlayed a family land inheritance into a small fortune when a power company solicited a portion of the site for a proposed hydroelectric project. Goyette astutely negotiated a percentage of the power revenues for use of the land, correctly predicting the insatiable power demands of a booming Vancouver. He leveraged one investment after another, acquiring mineral and logging rights, thermal power resources, and his own hydroelectric plants. A powerful publicity campaign carefully focused on his alternative energy holdings and painted him as a man of the people in order to increase his negotiating strength with the government powers. With his assets privately held, few knew of his major holdings in gas, coal, and oil properties, and the complete hypocrisy of his carefully cultivated image.

Goyette watched as the Sikorsky S-76 hovered briefly, then touched its wheels down onto a wide circular landing pad. The twin engines were shut down, then the copilot climbed out and opened the side passenger door. A short man with shiny silver hair stepped out and held his head low under the swirling rotor blades, as two aides followed him close behind.

“Mr. Prime Minister, welcome to Kitimat and our new Terra Green facility,” Goyette greeted with an extrawide smile. “How was your flight?”

“That’s one plush bird. I’m just glad the rain let up so we could enjoy the view.” The Canadian Prime Minister, a polished man in his own right named Barrett, reached over and shook Goyette’s hand. “Good to see you again, Mitch. And thanks for the lift. I didn’t realize that you were also abducting one of my own cabinet members.”

He motioned toward a droopy-eyed man with a receding hairline who stepped off the chopper and approached the group.

“Natural Resources Minister Jameson was instrumental in approving our facility here,” Goyette beamed. “Welcome to the finished product,” he added, turning to Jameson.

The resources minister didn’t return the exuberance. With a forced grin, he replied, “I’m happy to see the facility operational.”

“The first of many, with your help,” Goyette said, winking at the Prime Minister.

“Yes, your firm’s capital planning director tells us that you already have a site under development in New Brunswick.” Barrett pointed back toward the helicopter.

“My capital planning director?” Goyette asked in a confused tone. He followed the Prime Minister’s gaze and turned toward the helicopter. Another man exited the side door and stretched his arms skyward. He crinkled his dark eyes at a fleeting burst of sunlight, then ran a hand through his short-cropped hair. The tailored blue suit he wore failed to hide his muscular build but passed the mark for corporate executive attire. Goyette had to fight to keep his jaw from dropping as the man approached.

“Mr. Goyette”—he grinned with a self-confident smile—“I have the papers on our Vancouver property divestiture for your signature.” He tapped a leather satchel held under one arm for effect.

“Excellent,” Goyette snorted, regaining his composure at the sight of his hired hit man strolling off his private helicopter. “Why don’t you wait in the plant manager’s office, and we’ll attend to it shortly.”

Goyette turned and hurriedly escorted the Prime Minister into the white tent. Wine and hors d’oeuvres were served to the accompaniment of a string quartet before Goyette led the dignitaries to the entrance of the sequestration facility. A droll-faced engineer identified as the plant manager took charge of the group and led them on a short tour. They walked through two large pump stations, then moved outside, where the plant manager pointed out several mammoth holding tanks that were partially concealed in the surrounding pines.

“The carbon dioxide is pumped as a liquid from Alberta and received into the holding tanks,” the manager explained. “It is then pumped under pressure into the ground beneath us. An eight-hundred-meter well was dug here, driving through a thick layer of caprock until reaching a porous sedimentary formation filled with brine. It is the ideal geology to hold CO 2and virtually impervious to surface leakage.”

“What would happen if an earthquake should strike here?” the Prime Minister asked.

“We are at least thirty miles from the nearest known fault line, so the odds of a large quake occurring here are quite remote. And at the depths we are storing the product, there is virtually no chance of an accidental release from a geological event.”

“And exactly how much of the Athabasca refineries’ carbon dioxide output are we sequestering here?”

“Just a fraction, I’m afraid. We’ll need many more facilities to absorb the full output from the oil sand fields and allow them to operate at peak production again.”

Goyette capitalized on the line of questioning to insert a sales pitch. “As you know, Alberta oil production has had to face serious cutbacks because of the tighter carbon emission mandate. The situation is equally dire for the coal-fired power plants back east. The economic impact to the country will be enormous. But you are standing at the heart of the solution. We’ve already scouted more locations in the region that are suitable for sequestration facilities. All we need is your help to move forward.”

“Perhaps, but I’m not sure I like the idea of British Columbia’s coastline being a receptacle for Alberta’s industrial pollution,” the Prime Minister said drily. A product of Vancouver, he still had a homegrown pride in his native province.

“Don’t forget the tax that British Columbia imposes for each metric ton of carbon transferred across its border, a fraction of which goes back to the federal coffers. The fact is, it is a safe moneymaking play for the province. Plus, you may have noticed our dock facility.” Goyette pointed to a huge covered building across the grounds that sat adjacent to a small inlet. “We have a five-hundred-foot covered dock capable of accommodating tanker ships that can carry liquid CO 2. We’re already receiving shipments and intend to show that we can process carbon waste from Vancouver industry, as well as logging and mining businesses up and down the coast. Allow us to build similar facilities across the country and we’ll be able to manage a large portion of our national carbon quotas. And with excess capacity built into the new coastal facilities, we can even bury American and Chinese carbon at a nice profit.”

The politician’s eyes glimmered at the prospect of additional revenues flowing to the government’s ledgers.

“The technology, it is perfectly safe?” he asked.

“We’re not talking nuclear waste here, sir. This facility was built as a prototype and has been operating flawlessly for several weeks now. Mr. Prime Minister, it is a no-lose proposition. I build and operate the plants, and ensure their safety. The government just gives me the go-ahead and receives a cut off the top.”

“And there is plenty left for you?”

“I’ll get by,” Goyette replied, roaring like a hyena. “All I need is the continued site and pipeline approvals from you and the resources minister. And that won’t be a problem, will it, Minister Jameson?”

Jameson looked at Goyette with a beaten subservience. “I should think there is little to interrupt our trusting relationship,” he replied.

“Very well,” Barrett said. “Send me your draft proposals and I’ll run it past my advisers. Now, where’s some more of that fine champagne? ”

As the group made their way back to the refreshment tent, Goyette quietly pulled the resources minster aside.

“I trust you received delivery of the BMW?” Goyette asked with a sharklike grin.