The sea ice had encroached closer to the mainland as they sailed east, gradually constricting the open waterway to less than thirty miles as they approached the Amundsen Gulf, south of Banks Island. Passing the five-hundred-mile mark from Alaska, Murdock was surprised that they still hadn’t encountered any Canadian picket vessels. He had been briefed that two Canadian Coast Guard vessels regularly patrolled the Amundsen Gulf, picking up any eastbound freighters that hadn’t paid their passage fees.

“Victoria Island coming into view,” Wilkes announced.

All eyes on the bridge strained to make out the tundra-covered island through a damp gray haze. Larger than the state of Kansas, the huge island pressed a four-hundred-mile-long coastline opposite the North American mainland. The waterway ahead of the Polar Dawn constricted again as they entered the Dolphin and Union Strait, named for two small boats used by Franklin on an earlier Arctic expedition. The ice shelf crept off both shorelines, narrowing the open seaway through the strait to less than ten miles. The Polar Dawn could easily shove through the adjacent meter-thick ice if necessary, but the ship kept to the ice-f ree path melted by the warm spring weather.

The Polar Dawn forged another hundred miles through the narrowing strait as its second Arctic night in Canadian waters approached. Murdock had just returned to the bridge after a late dinner when the radar operator announced first one and then another surface contact.

“They’re both stationary at the moment,” the operator said. “One’s to the north, the other almost directly south. We’ll run right between them on our current heading.”

“Our picket has finally appeared,” Murdock said quietly.

As they approached the two vessels, a larger ship appeared on the radar some ten miles ahead. The sentry vessels remained silent as the Polar Dawn cruised past, one on either flank. As the Coast Guard ship moved on unchallenged, Murdock stepped over to the radar station and peered over the operator’s shoulder. With a measure of chagrin, he watched as the two vessels slowly departed their stations and gradually fell in line behind his own ship.

“It appears we may have trouble passing Go and collecting our two hundred dollars,” he said to Wilkes.

“The radio is still silent,” the exec observed. “Maybe they’re just bored.”

A hazy dusk had settled over the strait, painting the distant shoreline of Victoria Island a deep purple. Murdock tried to observe the ship ahead through a pair of binoculars but could only make out a dark gray mass from the bow profile. The captain adjusted course slightly, so as to pass the ship on his port side with plenty of leeway. But he would never get the chance.