The multiple beams scanned the bay, taking in the scared faces of the forty-fi ve other men. Roman noticed that the hold was not large. There was an open hatchway on the stern bulkhead in addition to the locked hatch through which they had entered. Two high coils of thick mooring line were stacked in one corner, while a small mountain of tires lined one bulkhead. The grimy, worn tires were extra hull bumpers, used to line the barge when at dock. As he took inventory, Roman heard the powerful diesel engines of the adjacent icebreaker fire up and then idle with a deep rumble.

Roman turned his light toward the crew of the Polar Dawn. “Is the captain amongst you?” he asked.

A distinguished-looking man with a gray Vandyke beard stepped forward.

“I’m Murdock, ex-captain of the Polar Dawn.”

Roman introduced himself and recited his mission orders. Murdock cut him off.

“Captain, it was an admirable effort to rescue us. But pardon me if I don’t thank you for freeing us from the hands of the Canadian Mounties,” he said drily, waving an arm around the dank confinement.

“We were obviously not anticipating outside interference,” Roman replied. “Do you know who these people are?”

“I might well ask you the same question,” Murdock replied. “I know that a private firm runs these icebreakers as commercial escort ships under license from the Canadian government. They evidently own the barges, too. Why they would have armed security and an interest in taking us hostage, I have no clue.”

Roman was equally stumped. His pre-mission intelligence outlined no threats besides the Canadian Navy and the Mounted Police. It just didn’t make sense.

The men heard the icebreaker’s engines throttle higher, then felt a slight jar as the lead ship pulled away from the dock, towing the barge with it. After clearing the port waters, the engine revolutions increased again, and the confined men could begin to feel the barge pitch and roll as they entered the choppy waters of Coronation Gulf.

“Captain, any speculation as to where they might be taking us?” Roman asked.

Murdock shrugged. “We are a considerable distance from any significant points of civilization. I wouldn’t think that they would leave Canadian waters, but that could still leave us in for a long, cold ride.”

Roman heard some grunting and kicking across the hold and shined his light up the entry steps. On the landing, Sergeant Bojorquez was wrestling with the door, slamming his weight against the hatch lever, before releasing a string of profanities. Noting the beam of light on him, he straightened up and faced Roman.

“No-go on the door, sir. The outside lever is chained tight. We’d need a blowtorch to get this thing off.”

“Thanks, Sergeant.” Roman turned to Murdock. “Is there another way out of here?”

Murdock pointed to the open hatchway facing the stern.