Ice Age

by Brian Freemantle

  In addition to all of which was the fact that she’d also, for the past ten days, headed the team investigating the senility disease that killed everyone at Iultin.

  Raisa, a tall and therefore physically imposing woman, listened thrust forward in her chair, head bent, to the supposed airliner-intercepted radio exchanges from Siberia. When it finished she said, in self-absorbed disgust: ‘America got it – however they got it – but we didn’t even have a recording!’

  ‘Is it of any use?’

  Raisa gave a dismissive flick of her hand. ‘Frightened people, panicking. What do you expect me to learn from that!’

  Lyalin, an idealist whose embrace of the Russian reforms extended to a personal determination to be as uncompromisingly honest, as far as he was able, in his professional dealings as he was in his contentedly married private life, said: There might have been something!’ Why had he expected – hoped – that this encounter would be any different or better than others in the past?

  There wasn’t,’ the woman said, with another hand flick. ‘What do we know?’

  Lyalin made a gesture of his own, towards the now silent tape. That was personally handed to our Washington ambassador by the Secretary of State, after the conversation between the presidents. With the repeated invitation to join their investigation teams, which of course we intend to do.’

  ‘How soon after?’ demanded the blond, statuesque woman.

  Lyalin didn’t know. He said: ‘Two hours.’

  Raisa nodded, as if getting a confirmation. ‘What, precisely, does the ambassador say?’

  ‘That there’s been an outbreak in an American base in Antarctica, as well as Alaska. And deaths.’ He wasn’t going to enjoy any prolonged period with this autocratically demanding woman. He never did. Which wasn’t a consideration, simply a weary recognition.

  ‘How many?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  There was an impatient, pained sigh. ‘What about survivors?’

  ‘I don’t know that, either. If there are any, even.’

  ‘I’d like a survivor: need a survivor,’ said the woman, more in conversation with herself than Lyalin.

  She wasn’t thinking in terms of a human, living person, the man thought, just of something upon which she could experiment. ‘Neither the French nor the British have sent entire teams: just political and scientific observers …’

  ‘Does that mean we can’t?’ she broke in.

  ‘I’ve decided it’s only going to be the two of us, initially.’

  ‘You’ve decided!’ challenged the woman, at once.

  ‘Until we discover what the full situation is.’

  ‘It will mean I’m dependent upon American pathology … upon precisely what’s made available to me.’

  ‘We’re not there yet, don’t know what we can expect.’

  ‘I know what to expect from America!’ She came forward again, head bent in contemplation. ‘They haven’t got anything. That’s why they’ve approached us. For help.’

  Lyalin shifted, uncomfortable at the confused cynicism. ‘Aren’t we just as desperate?’

  The woman shook her bowed head, refusing an answer. ‘I don’t want them told everyone – even those who tried to run – died at Iultin. They’ll be readier to share whatever they’ve got if they think we’re managing to keep some alive.’

  There was, supposed Lyalin, some negotiating logic, but it offended him. ‘What have you discovered from our victims?’

  The woman’s head came up sharply, suspicious of an accusation. ‘We’re close.’

  She was lying, Lyalin decided at once. ‘To what?’

  ‘A diagnosis.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘It’s a virus we haven’t encountered before.’

  ‘What sort of virus? Caused by what?’

  ‘That’s what we’re still running tests to establish.’

  ‘It will be useful to let them know that,’ said Lyalin, to prompt a response.

  Raisa did not immediately reply. Then, smiling, she said: ‘Yes, it might.’

  She’d out-bluffed him, conceded Lyalin. And wanted him to try to bluff those already in Washington in the hope that they’d concede something instead of withholding. He said: ‘There’s been an outbreak of a horrifying disease which we need to be able to control but at the moment don’t. I want you to follow the principle of scientific knowledge and progress being achieved by freely open exchange; everyone being totally honest with everyone else.’

  Raisa’s lip visibly curled in contempt. ‘You concern yourself with politics. I’ll deal with science.’

  Reminded, Lyalin said: ‘For every obvious reason nothing is being made public’

  The renewed suspicion came at once. ‘Washington’s decision?’

  ‘There are three countries involved, apart from us,’ said Lyalin.

  ‘We’re going to them. We’re dependent on their pathology. And they decide when – and if – there’s to be any public awareness.’

  She’d already decided it was a contest. Them and us, them and us, thought Lyalin: out-dated, out-of-touch attitudes. ‘You’re prejudging a great many things; forming a lot of conclusions on very little factual evidence.’

  ‘I’ve already told you, I’m a realist.’

  It was probably pointless at this stage – at any stage – but he had to make some effort to curb this arrogance. ‘Then let me remind you of a much more necessary reality. As your science minister, taking you into a very uncertain and difficult situation, I want you at least to remain scientifically open minded. I don’t know, yet, how we are going to work and until we do – even after we do – I want you at all times to acknowledge and observe my authority. If I decide the Americans and the British and the French are totally co-operating with us, then I – and you – will in turn totally co-operate with them. The race is to find a cause and a cure, not to pass a winning post first.’

  Raisa was too affronted for any immediate response. When she did she said: ‘Has it occurred to you that we’ve been invited because of my reputation in my particular science?’

  Now a reply was Lyalin’s difficulty, his breath almost literally taken away by the conceit. ‘No,’ he said, soft-voiced in his vehemence. ‘It hasn’t occurred to me. Neither do I think it’s true: even remotely possible. We’ve been invited because the Americans know we’ve been affected, as they have, and they want the maximum input. I’ve chosen you – no one else – because of your proven expertise and because you’ve headed the lultin medical investigation. The Americans didn’t ask for you, by name: have no idea, yet, that you’re the person coming with me …’

  Raisa Orlov’s tight-together lips weren’t any longer curled. They made a thin line bisecting a face bright red with rage and her hands were clenched into white fists in her lap.

  ‘… So,’ concluded Lyalin. ‘Are you quite clear how I intend we should work and conduct ourselves in Washington?’

  ‘Yes.’ The answer was begrudging, like everything else about the woman.

  ‘That’s good. I don’t want – won’t have – any misunderstandings between us.’ He’d confirmed an enemy, Lyalin accepted: one, he guessed, who’d even undermine him if she got the opportunity. It was a distracting awareness he could have done without, as he could have done without the woman herself. But Raisa Ivanova Orlov was the Russian scientific leader in her field. It was, of course, unthinkable to tell her the financial reason for being completely open with America. As she’d rightly said, his was the political responsibility.

  They got together – in Stoddart’s temporary office this time – variously disorientated by the delaying intrusion of the politicians, Geraldine and Dupuy with more immediate personal reason to be unsettled than Stoddart, who was simply irritated by the confrontation with Paul Spencer. Stoddart was glad he’d taken the precaution he had with what he’d judged to be personal to the relatives of the dead rescue group.

  Taking the lead, no longer with any hesitation, Stoddart sa
id: ‘OK, let’s talk through where we are: what we might think we’ve already got to help us here—’ Leaders lead, others follow, he thought. ‘For my part, for my science, a common denominator between the two Poles certainly seems to be the higher than average warming. And if it was warmer at Noatak, I think we can assume the same applied at Iultin.’

  ‘So this could be your vindication,’ declared Pelham, at once. Seeing Geraldine’s frown the scientist said: ‘Jack’s our foremost global warming guru; upsets a lot of people with warnings of a climatic apocalypse.’

  Geraldine, who in her scientific past had met professional carping, recognized the underlying ridicule. ‘They’re going to be even more upset if he is right. I’m not suggesting it’s the direct cause of what we’re looking for here, but genetically the sun’s ultraviolet does bring about oxidization. And oxidization can trigger the ageing process.’

  ‘What positive, empirical evidence is there of warming?’ demanded the Frenchman, so anxious to get everything – even the most unarguable – recorded, that he wasn’t disturbed by the incredulous looks from Stoddart and the woman.

  ‘It’s established,’ declared Stoddart flatly. ‘There’s British research that 1999 was their hottest year since their records began, globally it’s likely to be one of the four hottest. The prediction is that by 2100 global temperatures will increase by as much as four degrees. One of several effects, causing flooding sufficient to wipe out coastal cities like New York and Tokyo – all coastal cities in fact – would be substantial thawing of the Antarctic. As it is, studies at the University of Washington have found from analysing nuclear submarine radar data that Arctic and Greenland sea ice has, in the past forty years, melted by as much as forty per cent.’ He paused. ‘I’m not proposing we overstress it.’

  ‘I wasn’t arguing we shouldn’t,’ retreated Pelham, overwhelmed. ‘Something we should also note is that Lebrun’s blindness, which is now almost total, is ADM – macular degeneration – and not glaucoma. ADM’s an old people’s disease, a build-up of dead cells within the eye. Ultraviolet light is again suggested the most likely cause for its onset.’ He spoke directly at Dupuy. ‘I’ve given him as much progesterone as I safely can. It doesn’t seem to be having any slowing effect. He’s got two days, maybe less …’

  ‘What about insulin?’ demanded Dupuy.

  ‘He’s not diabetic. Insulin would kill him even quicker. We can’t save him: we don’t know how to.’

  Dupuy visibly winced. Geraldine was surprised at the man’s apparent inability to remain clinically uninvolved, as she had been surprised by his initial reaction at seeing the dying climatologist. Briskly she said: ‘Let’s talk more about this warming. There also seems to be a commonality with bug infestation. What’s the thinking about an emergence – a mutation maybe – of an infection-carrying insect or parasite?’ She made a general, sweeping motion with her hand. ‘The trypanosoma gambiense, for instance, which is endemic to Africa and causes encephalitis lethargica, sleeping sickness. My understanding is that both the North and South Poles were once sub-tropical. Our victims talk of extreme tiredness. Could something have survived in the frozen tundra and been released by the warming?’

  Stoddart said: ‘Let’s not forget the Vostok discovery. Or the survivability of scorpions. I don’t see why not –’ he looked at Dupuy – ‘with so much empircal evidence it’s not impossible to imagine that something from the Antarctic’s tropical past could simply be in suspended animation.’

  ‘I would have expected to find a spore of something like sleeping sickness in the victims’ blood,’ cautioned Pelham. ‘We haven’t found anything to account for the respiratory problems, either.’

  ‘Haven’t we already agreed you wouldn’t know what you’re looking for in a mutation?’ reminded Dupuy.

  ‘It’s something to take on board,’ accepted the installation director, although too obviously without any conviction.

  Stoddart sat trying to assess what was, in fact, their first proper, impression-exchanging session. He wished there had been more upon which to base any one, single impression, rather than so many generalities.

  ‘What about physical evidence of insect or lice infestation?’ pressed the Frenchman. ‘The sleeping sickness parasite is mostly carried by the tsetse fly.’

  ‘We still haven’t found anything,’ insisted Pelham. ‘The chemical fibre tests aren’t completed yet. And the tsetse is as big as a house fly: we’d have certainly found that – or anything like it – on the first, visual examination.’

  ‘I’d like to have tissue samples from those who’ve died to compare genetically with those who’ve lived,’ announced Geraldine. She smiled at Stoddart. ‘You think you could spare a hair or two?’

  Stoddart smiled back. ‘I guess. What are you looking for?’

  ‘Mutants,’ said Geraldine, simply. ‘In 1999 the European Institute of Oncology in Milan found that mice lacking the gene for protein p66shc had a forty per cent increase in lifespan expectation. The mutation made them more resistant to the oxidization I mentioned earlier; in simple terms it removed any obstruction to natural, body immunology cell repair or replacement.’

  ‘Is it possible to create that mutation artificially?’ demanded Stoddart quickly.

  Geraldine smiled again, although sadly. ‘Medical science is brilliant at creating the fittest mice in the history of the world. As far as I remember, Milan didn’t discover what caused the mutation. Genetically the problem is transforming and transferring the technology from animals to humans. Britain’s contribution to the Human Genome Project is coming from the Sanger Centre at Cambridge. That’s where we entirely decoded human chromosome 22 and where I want molecular biologists to see if they can find any gene differences between the victims and survivors. And check as well to see what progress there’s been in Milan. Problem with that is we know it happens, but not why.’

  ‘How difficult is that, technically?’ pressed Stoddart.

  Geraldine wished she could meet the obvious expectation. Instead she said: ‘Think of it this way. Tear each page out of a dozen copies of the Encyclopaedia Britannica. Then rip each page up into little bits and put them all in a bran tub and mix them up, like a tombola. And after that, invite someone who doesn’t read or speak English to stick all the pieces back together, in the proper, readable order.’

  ‘Is that supposed to make sense?’ protested Stoddart.

  ‘It wouldn’t – couldn’t – without automated gene-sequencing computers running twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week,’ accepted Geraldine. ‘There’s twenty-three different chromosomes in the double helix, between them comprising three billion DNA bases. Apart from chromosome 22, we don’t know in which proper order those three billion bases should be – although we’re learning all the time – but which isn’t helped by there being far more junk, non-functioning DNAs – deoxyribucleic acids – than there are those that have a purpose. But which can affect those that do. And which therefore we need to identify and put in their sequential order to understand their function and the illness and afflictions they can cause or affect.’

  ‘It’s not viable even to attempt,’ dismissed Dupuy.

  Geraldine looked at the Frenchman in renewed open astonishment. ‘If I didn’t think it was viable I wouldn’t suggest it. And if you’ve got a better, quicker idea I’d like to hear it. I’ve been talking general genetic research –’ she nodded towards Stoddart – ‘which I thought was the guidance I’d been asked to give. All the discoveries I’ve mentioned give us a starting point. It’s an obvious route for us to go, not an impossible one!’

  Dupuy flushed. ‘If you recommend it then of course I support it.’

  ‘I do recommend it.’

  Pelham’s question – ‘What about leaks?’ – was too obviously an attempted buffer between the two of them and Stoddard acknowledged it should have been him who made it, having allowed the irritation to grow.

  ‘Independent scientific tests, examination, have got to be
conducted!’ said Geraldine, impatient again. ‘The risk of any genetic leaks is surely more a question for America – and your scientists who want to patent their gene research for commercial benefit – than for the United Kingdom which has accepted the principles of the Genome Project to make every discovery freely available on the internet!’ Pull back, Geraldine told herself.

  If Pelham was offended by her outspokenness he gave no outward indication. He said: ‘I’ve been thinking about the burning of both our stations: particularly in Alaska where the ice was so thin they were bringing up tundra in which this infection might have been held. If that’s where it did come from, torching it will have melted, conceivably releasing, even more. Why don’t we send people back – properly suited this time – to extract more samples and specimens that can be properly, scientifically examined?’

  ‘I think that’s a brilliant idea,’ said Geraldine, at once and meaning it.

  ‘So do I,’ said Stoddart, just as sincerely. ‘And I think we need to leave static climate monitoring, particularly temperature equipment, at both sites.’

  ‘I hope I didn’t upset anyone,’ said Geraldine. She was the only one left with Stoddart. The Frenchman had gone back to talk to the dying Henri Lebrun and Pelham to organize tissue specimens.

  ‘No one seemed to be.’ Stoddart would have been surprised if they weren’t. He thought he might have been if she’d come back at him as she had to the other two men. It shouldn’t be a question, he corrected himself. They were supposed to be a professional, dispassionate group among whom irritable spats had to be expected. He supposed, as its nominal, so far unchallenged chairman, he should be the placating mediator.