Roman Ice

by Dave Bartell

  “Darwin, what the hell is going on?”

  “Ah…,” he began.

  She continued as if she did not hear him.

  “The police were here earlier this morning informing me of a break-in in my lab. They told me the big diamond was stolen and were talking to you since you were the last person in the lab. I would have called earlier, but someone said I should see an article in the BBC.”

  “I put the diamond back in the safe last night and told the police,” he said.

  “So who took it?”

  “I have no idea,” he said.

  “What about this article?”

  “The reporter called me after I left the lab last night.”

  “I thought we agreed that you would not talk to anyone without clearing it with me first.”

  “I know, but she already had all the details from Assa.”

  “Assa cleared her story with me first,” she said.

  “I didn’t give her anything new. She asked me to confirm details.”

  “Nothing new?! You’re now the center of attention. What the hell do you call this?” She read from the article:

  A new researcher on the dig, Darwin Lacroix, suggested that Roman explorers sought new sources to exploit. “We only know the history left to us. Iceland is far from ancient Rome, but it could have been a stopover point from Britannia. It’s plausible they could have found North America and, if they perished on this frontier, their story would never have made it to the Roman history books.”

  “As if diamonds don’t attract enough attention, you go on with this crazy idea that the Romans found New York,” she said, her voice rising a few decibels.

  “But I didn’t say that,” he defended.

  “You should have known better, Darwin. Reporters get paid for copy that sells papers. I thought you were smarter than this,” she said.

  Darwin braced for more and said, “I dunno. I guess I got caught up in the excitement of the discovery.” He winced at the sting of her last remark.

  “Dammit, Darwin. This is exactly the publicity that’s making my life hell. The university already wants to take over control of the dig. I’m barely holding onto it as is.”

  “I’m sorry,” was all he could think of saying.

  “Sorry? Is that what you said to the London Police too?”

  “No, I…” His brain raced to find words.

  “Look, Darwin, I can’t have someone who’s not a team player.” She paused. “I know Barry says he trusts you, but you’re no longer allowed on the site until this… situation is figured out. Iceland is small and my reputation is at stake,” she said.

  “Understood,” said Darwin.

  But he understood none of it. The next morning he kept turning over the events in his mind while he drove to the airport to pick up Zac. He could not explain the missing diamond. Nor could he figure out Eyrún. He thought about the after dinner kiss two nights ago and felt his neck tingle where her fingers had run through his hair.

  What the hell’s going on? First she backs out of dinner and now she’s not replying to my texts. He thumped the steering wheel with one fist. Yesterday he stayed in the hotel room catching up on email and drafting a course syllabus for the fall. He ordered room service and watched movies. At least he was well rested and his mind fresh, but none of this was going as he had expected. He needed a friend, and Zac’s plane was due in twenty minutes.

  Darwin was also thinking he and Zac needed to break away on their own while the Icelanders argued about what to do. He envied Zac’s sense of humor and capacity to shrug off irritating things. He used to accuse Zac of not being serious enough until he learned of Zac’s PhD from the Colorado School of Mines following the U.S. Military Academy and rising to captain in Special Forces.

  34

  Eyrún arrived early at the offices of Stjörnu Energy to outline her presentation before meeting Páll Tómasson, founder and CEO. She had decided that this lava tube discovery could make her career.

  Lights clicked on as she walked to her desk. While energy was abundant in Iceland due to the geothermal capacity, Stjörnu Energy advocated wise energy use. She hated the term smart-energy. Energy behaved like water; when you opened a valve, it moved.

  She opened her laptop and stared at the picture of her family while she waited for the wireless network connection. In it she stood between her father and sister in front of Oxford College, where she was to attend in the fall of that year. She had insisted on visiting before accepting, and the family scraped their savings together for a vacation to Oxford and London. Her sister, Sigrún (or Siggy), always the artist, would not relax until they visited Poet’s Corner in Westminster Abbey.

  Eyrún was more fascinated with the building and how the builders created towering walls a thousand years ago. Her father, an engineer, explained how they used basic geometry concepts to lay the foundations and support the vaulted ceilings.

  That was a month before the explosion. Her dad and his team were placing sensors inside a glacier when a volcanic build up vaporized the water below them. The blast also killed Eyrún’s dreams of Oxford.

  She remembered feeling lost for months. He would listen to her teenaged confusion without judgement. They thought alike, and she loved having him explain how things worked. A tear welled in one eye as the familiar world-collapsing feeling pressed inward.

  While the scholarship was generous, her mother experienced a breakdown that left her unable to make breakfast, let alone work, and Siggy had just entered high school. Someone had to take their dad’s place. Her mom could barely log into her mobile. Eyrún never understood how two people so opposite could make a life together.

  Get ahold of yourself. Focus. You have a job to do she thought as her laptop connected. Staying busy filled the hole left by her father’s absence. She had worked three menial jobs while attending the University of Iceland. While her mother coped by staring out windows, Eyrún buried herself in education and work. After getting her Masters and PhD, she worked her way up the ladder at Stjörnu Energy and was also paying for Siggy’s medical school—at Oxford.

  She had promised herself that she would relax after Siggy finished med school. To do that; however, she needed lots of money. She hated losing her dream and vowed it would never happen to her sister. Eyrún prided herself on self-reliance and getting things done, but it was time to call in a favor.

  Páll was to lead the work party the day of the explosion and, when his daughter required an emergency appendectomy, Eyrún’s father stepped in for him. Páll had promised to “do anything I can to help.”

  Today was that day.

  After an hour, Eyrún had her story together and walked over to Páll’s office. Stjörnu Energy was commercializing a nascent technology that used the geothermal electricity and flue gas from its power plants to manufacture methanol by fusing CO2 with hydrogen. This created the combined benefit of fueling cars and sucking greenhouse gases out of the atmosphere.

  Production was ramping up and three in ten Iceland cars now ran on Stjörnu Energy methanol. But the company needed cheaper access to European markets to become profitable.

  “Good morning, Páll,” said Eyrún, knocking on his open office door frame.

  “Eyrún! Good morning. You’re in early,” said Páll, walking around from his desk. They embraced.

  “Coffee?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’d love some,” she said, and they walked to the kitchen.

  “How is your mother and… um…?”

  “Haukur,” Eyrún filled in. “They’re great. He’s a nice man. They’re leaving on a holiday to Brazil next week.”

  “That’s wonderful. Cappuccino or latte?”

  “Latte.”

  “Good. That makes two,” he said. An earthy burnt aroma filled the room, and they caught up on gossip as Páll completed the drinks.

  “Now, what brings you in so early?” he asked as they walked back to his office.

  “We found a lava tube from an ancient erup
tion,” she said.

  “All of Iceland sits on lava tubes. What’s different about this one?” he said.

  “This one’s enormous, over eight meters in diameter and very smooth. The lava marks indicate multiple eruptions that carbon dating shows to be as far back as seventy-three thousand years and the last eruption about six thousand years ago. Its length is another thing,” she said.

  “How far does it go?”

  “The longest lava tube we know of is in Hawaii, at about sixty kilometers. We followed this one for about three kilometers under the seabed before turning back. It’s watertight and showed no signs of ending. Even more perplexing are symbols on the tube walls that one archeologist say are Roman.”

  “I read that BBC story about diamonds. Is this the same tube?”

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “What about the symbols?”

  “The archeologist who found them, a guy named Darwin, says they’re the same as symbols he found on some old Roman scrolls that document lava tubes in Herculaneum, near Mt. Vesuvius.”

  “That sounds circumstantial.”

  “I agree, but we also found a handprint just below the symbols.”

  “Could have been left by anyone,” said Páll.

  “It could, except this was made with mud and it carbon dated to seventy-five BCE, plus or minus ten years.”

  Páll raised his eyebrows.

  “I know,” she said. “That’s what got me curious. That and Darwin has a crazy theory.”

  His phone chirped, and he glanced at it. “I have a call in five minutes with the energy minister and I have to prepare. Tell me quickly. I have time later today to talk in more detail.”

  Damn, this is my project. Eyrún felt her heart thump and took in a breath. Greta Ólafsdottir, Minister of Industry and Commerce, also sat on Stjörnu Energy’s board of directors. Eyrún knew Greta was a better manipulator of relationships than she was a geologist. Relax, she told herself. Use her to back this up. The timing is perfect.

  Eyrún plowed ahead. “I’m working on getting Darwin’s research, but he says the diamonds were carried by a group of Romans who traveled in this lava tube in the first century. He says the tube is as large as it is for the entire distance—that is, all the way to the UK.”

  “That’s some wild hypothesis, Eyrún,” said Páll, leaning back in his chair, hands folded behind his head. “Not really your style.”

  “Why do you suppose the energy minister called you?” she said. “I heard she was in a meeting yesterday about the discovery. She’s shrewd and knows your reputation.”

  “Hmmm. What do you propose? Net it out for me,” he said, leaning forward again.

  “You said we need cheaper, more reliable access to European markets. Suppose we could use this lava tube for power transmission or even a methanol pipeline? And Continental Europe is a mere thirty kilometers across the English Channel. Listen to what Greta has to say. Consider what it would mean to own the rights to energy transportation to Europe. This could give us the breakout success you’ve been looking for. I’ll outline it when we meet this afternoon,” she said.

  “Okay. I have time at three,” he said, scanning his mobile. It rang as soon as he finished the entry.

  “Hello,” he said to the caller, then mouthed to Eyrún, “It’s her.”

  Eyrún stood and closed the door on her way out and listened for a few moments.

  “Things have never been better, Greta. How are you?… I’ve been busy preparing for the board meeting… No, I only read that newspaper bit about the diamond theft… What did they find?”

  She walked away when she heard Páll say, “That’s very interesting.”

  Stjörnu Energy would return billions of króna to investors if the company hit it big. Eyrún smiled, imagining her own shares trading at triple digits.

  At 3:00 Eyrún stood outside Páll’s glass-walled office. He wiggled two fingers indicating a couple minutes. She walked to the kitchen for a glass of water. Her low heels drummed on the salvaged wood floor.

  “How did it go with Greta?” asked Eyrún when she returned to Páll’s office.

  “Close the door, Eyrún,” he said.

  “Bad news?” she asked, taking a seat at the small conference table opposite him.

  “No. The contrary. You’re right. Greta heard rumors about a big discovery at the university and knows you’ve been to the dig. She called to ask what we know about it.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “I told her that you were leading our exploration of the site. I asked her what rumors, and she mentioned the same thing you said about the Romans and diamonds. She said nothing about the tube going to Europe, though.”

  Eyrún took in a deep breath to keep centered. “Do you trust her?”

  “Mostly. She’s on our board. Why do you ask?”

  Eyrún thought fast. Páll was a family friend, but he was also CEO, and she knew his success depended on support from Greta’s ministry. Iceland was a small country, and the government had become hypersensitive since the banking failures in the late 2000s. She needed to push him into acting fast.

  “I sense we’re not the only ones interested in this discovery,” she said.

  “How so?”

  “Darwin mentioned working with a diamond mining consortium in Europe and someone is traveling here soon,” she said, hoping the fabrication would work.

  Páll pinched his lips between his fingers as he thought. After a moment he said, “Here’s what we need to do, then. Next Tuesday there’s a meeting at the University. I’m not sure who will be there, but Greta mentioned other interested parties. I’ll send you and Sveinn, as he has more experience dealing with politics.”

  Sveinn Halgason was Vice President of Corporate Development and a deal maker. She knew Páll liked him because he excelled at brokering partnerships and bringing investments to Stjörnu.

  “What about Darwin?” she asked.

  “Greta said he won’t be at the meeting; the university people think he’s a nuisance.”

  “But isn’t this his discovery?” she asked, trying to sound objective.

  “He sounds like a treasure hunter. Study history and look at old maps and you make connections with everything. Greta did some checking up on him and found out his family has been making wild claims about Roman tunnels for decades.”

  “He seems like a nice guy,” she said.

  “They usually are. I’m sorry, Eyrún, he’s doubtless just another fortune hunter,” he said, placing a hand on hers in a fatherly manner. “And he’s an outsider, not from Iceland. They discovered the tube on a University dig. You would have found it. I’ve known you a long time. You’re brilliant and hard working.”

  “Possibly,” she said. More like probably, she thought. It wasn’t hard to find once we looked.

  “I know you would have.” He withdrew his hand and sat up at a more businesslike distance.

  “What’s our objective for the meeting?” asked Eyrún.

  “We need to be the commercial lead in any expedition. Sveinn will see to that. You’re the volcanologist and know the risks. I need you to separate facts from fiction,” he said.

  35

  The Dig Site

  That afternoon Darwin and Zac drove up to the dig. They stopped at the farm where Hilmar said they could hide the car in his barn.

  “Hilmar, this is Zac,” said Darwin.

  “Nice to meet you, sir,” said Zac, shaking Hilmar’s hand.

  “You work with your hands,” said Hilmar.

  “Some. I don’t spend as much time as I used to in field research, but we still drill our fair share of holes,” said Zac.

  “Thanks for letting us keep the car here. I’d rather not telegraph to people what we’re up to,” said Darwin.

  “That’s okay. I can almost hear the political posturing in Reykjavík on who will claim credit and how this will put Iceland back on the map. It’s all bullshit. Now, go find something.”

 
Darwin and Zac walked from the farm across the Ring Road under a sky pregnant with moisture and threatening delivery. The last couple days had been interspersed with expedition planning and trips to mountaineering shops in Reykjavík. Darwin was happy to have something to distract him from the morass brought on by the diamond theft.

  They proved him innocent of robbery when the ID badge used to gain access to the Archeology building was reported stolen. The police and the university apologized, but Kristín’s words still stung. Worse, Eyrún said she was busy. Maybe she thinks I’m a thief? Another thought popped up about her competing against him for the tube discovery. She had told him her ideas about using lava tubes for energy production. He brushed it aside. No way. She’s not like that… is she?

  “C’mon, Darwin,” yelled Zac.

  He had lagged a few strides behind and sped up as large rain drops smacked into the soil. By the time they got underground, the rain was hissing like a viper, its wet breath chased them deeper into the relative safety of the tube.

  “Whew,” said Zac, bent over, hands on knees.

  “Good timing. No one will follow us in that,” said Darwin.

  “You sure?”

  “It’s Sunday, and no one works the site on Mondays. Even if they come out and guess we’ve gone under, we’ll be a long way out.”

  They reached the lava tube in less than five minutes. Darwin adjusted his backpack and turned to the noise behind him. Zac stamped the ground testing the hip belt that bore the weight of the trailer, a single-wheeled, one-person rig used for trekking heavy loads. A significant part of their short journey was to test the gear. In a full expedition, each person would have to haul about a hundred pounds, much of it water and it would be impractical to shoulder that much strain.

  “Ready?” Darwin asked.

  “I was born ready,” said Zac. His trailer groaned as the frame flexed under the load. Its sloshing water echoed in the tubular space. The floor sloped downward and after the first thousand meters then descended more gradually. They carried as much equipment as they could, such as carbon monoxide sensors and oxygen for emergencies.