‘It is indeed divine justice,’ agreed Jamal. ‘The Daingerfield engineer told us the flood from the ice dam will start a new ice age in America and Northern Europe.’ Jamal smiled as he remembered how they had tortured the fat, bespectacled engineer Chad Bolger into revealing everything he knew about Daingerfield Oil and its fracking wells.
‘And in our beloved land of Egypt, the mighty rivers will flow again and the lush gardens will return to the Sahara after an absence of six thousand years,’ said Rashid as he coughed into his handkerchief. His spittle was flecked with blood.
‘Indeed, God is merciful,’ agreed Jamal.
CHAPTER 31
The Canadian Tundra, March
Charlotte Shaw reapplied her lipstick as soon as the camera panned away from her face. The reporter from The World Today removed her headphones and brushed her flame-coloured hair into a lustrous plume before double-checking her image in a small mirror. She manoeuvred a lock of hair so it half-covered her right eye. Satisfied with her handiwork, she tapped the pilot of the chartered plane on the shoulder and pointed to a vast sinkhole in the Canadian tundra. She signalled they should fly lower so the camera crew could get a good shot of the catastrophe unfolding before their eyes. This was the culmination of eight months of investigative journalism and one she knew would make her a household name across the world. The camera filmed the monster sinkhole that had appeared on the empty plains of the Arctic tundra before it returned to focus on her pretty, botoxed features. Her expression tolerated no dissent and her tone conveyed moral outrage.
‘This has been the mildest winter ever recorded in the history of the Canadian Arctic and temperatures have already risen above freezing despite it being so early in the year,’ Shaw flicked a strand of hair from her face. The camera switched from her face and returned to the one-kilometre diameter sinkhole that was undulating beneath them like thick porridge on the boil.
Shaw continued her narration over the noise of the plane’s engine: ‘That strange flapping motion of the soil you can see below is caused by a large reservoir of methane gas rising through the soil and leaking into the atmosphere. The methane reservoir is the product of millions of years of rotting biomass that’s been trapped under layers of permafrost in the frozen tundra. The stench of rotten eggs from the decaying vegetation has even permeated our plane’s ventilation system and I can tell you, it’s unbearable.’ The plane banked away from the sinkhole and flew towards a second hole that was fifteen kilometres to the north.
‘Methane is a hundred times more potent than carbon dioxide,’ she continued, ‘and it’s belching into the atmosphere at an unimaginable rate, adding to the dangerous cocktail of greenhouse gases. The second sinkhole we are about to see is even bigger than the first and is leaking more hydrocarbon into the atmosphere than the equivalent of seven Deepwater Horizons. We have discovered at least two hundred similar sinkholes in the Canadian tundra and we believe there are hundreds more in the thawing wastelands of Siberia. If there is no hard winter next year and the tundra does not refreeze, the earth’s atmosphere will become unbreathable within eighteen months.’
Once more the camera returned to Shaw. ‘And who is to blame for this environmental catastrophe? The World Today’s viewers will be shocked to learn that one of America’s largest and most respected companies, Daingerfield Oil, has been fracking for gas in this fragile wilderness. It has cut corners and flouted the most basic environmental and safety standards in the name of profit for many years. CEO Rex Daingerfield and his executive management team have refused to answer our questions and have even threatened legal action to stop our report from going to air.’
Shaw paused and frowned into the camera to allow her words to sink in with her television viewers.
‘But not everyone in his company is as evasive as Rex Daingerfield. One man has had the moral fortitude to stand up for what is right and has agreed to blow the whistle on the whole rotten edifice.’
* * *
The World Today Television Studios, Texas
Charlotte Shaw congratulated herself on securing one of Rex Daingerfield’s most trusted senior managers as her whistleblower. Chuck Crawford’s reputation as a no-nonsense global operations director was renowned. Seated next to her, he was dressed in a dark blue business suit but wore a Houston Rockets baseball cap and crocodile skin cowboy boots.
Handsome in a rugged, weatherbeaten kind of way, Shaw thought, watching him from the corner of her eye while the make-up artist powdered her nose once again.
The studio director counted down and lifted his thumb to let Shaw know they were live. She leaned in towards the camera and spoke in breathless tones to her television audience of twenty million.
‘Today, we broadcast an exposé into one of the most disturbing environmental scandals in modern history,’ she began, leaning further towards the camera. ‘We tried to get an interview with the man at the centre of the scandal, Mr Rex Daingerfield, but he is rumoured to be hiding from our journalists on his luxury yacht somewhere off the coast of Australia. However, joining me in the studio is a senior employee who has worked at Daingerfield Oil for many years. Chuck Crawford has a twenty-year history in the fracking industry. Welcome, Mr Crawford. Do you feel any personal guilt about your own particular role in the fracking industry?’
The visual cut to camera two and zoomed in on Crawford. ‘Charlotte, I have dedicated my entire career to the safe extraction of oil and gas from some of the most difficult ecosystems on the planet. My record on safety and care for the environment is second to none.’
‘Then who is to blame for the proliferation of sinkholes in the Canadian tundra?’
‘I have advised Daingerfield’s executive directors about the environmental hazards of drilling so close to the Arctic ice shelf many times, Charlotte, but frankly they don’t listen to me.’
‘Do you agree with the scientists who are claiming the billions of tons of methane gushing from the sinkholes are propelling the earth to a dangerous environmental tipping point that could endanger life on earth?’
Crawford allowed himself a chuckle. ‘No, Charlotte, I don’t. These are alarmist stories put out by sensationalist media and the left-wing lunatic fringe. Fortunately, quality shows like yours do not subscribe to such theories. The last report I read on the environment showed average temperatures in the Antarctic region dropped by half a degree in the last two years. So much for global warming.’
‘So, you don’t believe the use of fossil fuels are having any impact on the environment?’
‘The oil industry is a soft target for those who are against jobs and growth. Fossil fuels are still the cheapest and most reliable forms of energy in the world.’
‘The Canadian tundra has been frozen since the last ice age. So what is causing it to melt now if it’s not carbon emissions?’
‘Charlotte, I have first-hand experience of working in extreme climates all round the world. Every so often, you get a warm winter and everyone panics. But the next year everything freezes back over. It’s the natural cycle of events. I was in the Arctic for most of last winter and I can tell you it was still pretty cold.’
‘But you have told me in private you have some disturbing views about your colleagues at Daingerfield Oil.’
‘That’s right, Charlotte. As an operations director, I have been appalled by the safety standards of some of Daingerfield’s fracking wells. I have complained about the lax procedures at the rigs I have worked on for years.’
‘Can you give me some specific examples, Mr Crawford?’
‘The good men who work on the rigs are not to blame, Miss Shaw. It’s the shoddy supplies they receive from procurement, including substandard cement and faulty valves and gaskets that make our rigs unsafe. Unfortunately, my repeated complaints to procurement were met with stony silence.’
Shaw was propelled to a new level of outrage. ‘That’s a serious allegation, Mr Crawford. Why haven’t you reported this to the authorities?’
‘No-
one will collaborate with me. They are too frightened they might lose their bonuses.’
‘Some people might be asking why you have come forward now, Mr Crawford. Are you trying to save your own skin while others in the company shoulder the blame for this scandal?’
Crawford laughed as if the thought had never entered his mind. ‘Nothing could be further from the truth, Miss Shaw. In fact, I have some exclusive news for your viewers.’
‘Oh, really?’ Charlotte’s heart skipped a beat on hearing her favourite word – ‘exclusive’.
‘Yes, really. I have already contacted Dangerfield Oil’s board of directors and offered to sort out this unholy mess while Rex Daingerfield considers his future on his yacht. I believe the company needs a real oilman like myself at the helm during these difficult times. So, watch this space, Miss Crawford, watch this space.’
* * *
The Grand Ballroom, Willard Intercontinental Hotel, Washington DC
Two blocks to the east of the White House in Washington DC, eighty representatives of the great and the good filed into the charming, sophisticated Willard Intercontinental Hotel and made their way to the sumptuous conference room where a cocktail function awaited them. Sam gaped at the splendid room with its buttercup yellow and pale blue hues. Bevelled mirrors, crystal chandeliers and hand-painted landscapes decorated the upper tier balcony that overlooked the impressive meeting space.
It was a white-tie affair to reflect the status of the people in the room and the sombre nature of the events that had been exposed on The World Today. Two monarchs, four national presidents, two field marshals and fifteen chief executives from the world’s largest companies mingled with Nobel prize winners, university deans and gifted code-breaking mathematicians. They chatted and sipped on Mint Julep and Lime Rickey cocktails brought in on trays from the adjacent Round Robin bar by elegant waiters. They watched as their host for the evening, Curtis Silverwood, took to a dais and went through the elaborate rituals of The Brandenburg Group.
Silverwood summoned the five invited guests – three men and two women – to the dais and introduced them to the group as people of high moral calibre and aspiring young leaders of society. Polite applause followed their introductions. As custom dictated, Silverwood handed each guest a pair of white silk gloves. Also donning a pair of gloves, he picked up the group’s priceless two hundred and forty-page manuscript from a table next to the dais and held it up. ‘This book,’ he explained, ‘was written by the famous seventeenth-century physician and futurologist, Sapientus. The book is either a cipher containing dark secrets and prophesies from the age of Enlightenment, or an elaborate hoax, but it has baffled the world’s brightest minds for centuries. I invite each of you to inspect it.’
Silverwood placed the book on the table and beckoned the first guest to take a seat. He was a man in his late twenties who had founded one of the most successful global social media companies. ‘Please study the book for twenty minutes and then advise us whether you think the book is a hoax, or the answer to many of the world’s mysteries written in an undiscovered language or cipher.’
The young entrepreneur donned his white gloves and leafed through the pages of the manuscript. A wry smile appeared on his face as he glanced at the obscure pictures and symbols. He had made a career out of developing complex code for his social media company and this challenge was right up his street. He was determined to use every second of his allotted time to make a favourable impression on his illustrious audience.
While the social media prodigy absorbed himself in his task, Silverwood returned to his position on the elevated stage. Two leather chairs and a small table were positioned below a large screen. Silverwood sat in the chair on the right; the chair to his left was empty.
‘Ladies and gentlemen. Unfortunately, our new chairman has been unavoidably detained and he has asked me to start proceedings without him.’ Silverwood wore a grave expression on his handsome features as he addressed some of the world’s most powerful men and women. ‘Our esteemed scientists have confirmed our most dire fears. If the release of methane from the two hundred sinkholes in the Canadian tundra continues to flow at the current rate of two billion tons per hour, life on earth will be extinguished within eighteen months. We are seeing two new sinkholes develop in the tundra every day.’
The Irish prime minister raised his hand. ‘Have you included the Siberian methane flows?’
‘Our man in the Kremlin is trying to find that out for us. He suspects the situation is even worse there, but Putin is keeping things under wraps.’
‘What is the current global financial situation?’ asked the former Vice President of the United States, Herbert Winslow.
Silverwood peered over his spectacles and paused, to emphasise the severity of the situation. ‘Share prices around the world have dropped thirty per cent since news of the sinkholes reached the press and there has been rioting in Rio de Janeiro, South London and Bangalore. We have reports the internet has crashed in many parts of the world and the governments of both China and Russia have put their armed forces on high alert.’ Silverwood paused again for effect.
‘Let me get this straight,’ said Winslow. ‘Methane is pouring into the earth’s atmosphere at the rate of two billion tons per hour. Methane is one hundred times more potent than carbon dioxide and the situation may be even worse in Russia.’
‘That’s a fair summary, sir.’
‘How do we stop it?’
‘That’s an interesting question, Mr Vice President. There is no technology in existence that can reverse the melting of the tundra.’
‘So we sit on our asses and hope for a harsh winter?’
‘That seems to be our best option.’
‘But the chances of a harsh winter with all this methane around are slim, right?’
‘That’s a reasonable assumption.’
There were gasps from the audience as they realised how critical the situation had become.
‘Have we put in place any measures to protect the financial markets?’ the former Vice President persisted.
‘I think I can take this one,’ said the chairman of the giant investment bank McAlister Brothers. ‘Our stock traders see this downward trend as a once-in-a-lifetime buying opportunity. History shows the market always bounces back. For banks with deep pockets and nerves of steel there are big profits to be made. We’ve even got a billion-dollar short position on the major oil companies.’
The chief executive officer of European Petroleum could not contain his anger. ‘That’s typical of the parasitic banking community. Here we are facing the worst crisis in our history and the greedy, grasping banks are stabbing the oil industry in the back.’
‘Well, you did rather bring this catastrophe on your own heads. You can’t expect the banks to sit on their hands when there’s money to be made. We have a responsibility to our shareholders, after all.’
Silverwood peered over his half-moon glasses at the feuding industrialists. ‘Gentlemen, may I remind you our first duty is to save humanity from extinction. Profiting from the crisis can wait till another day. Does anyone have any useful suggestions?’ Silverwood asked. He looked around the room as the assembled great and the good avoided eye contact. A few pulled out their mobile phones to check their emails and texts.
‘No? It’s therefore my duty to inform this esteemed body of men and women that The Brandenburg Group will form a de facto world government and execute our business continuity plan. The future of mankind depends upon us taking informed, balanced and decisive action.’
There was silence around the room as everyone absorbed the enormous implications of the decision that had been made.
The social media entrepreneur who had been studying the Sapientus manuscript rose to his feet. ‘I have something to say,’ he said.
The assembled delegates looked in astonishment at the bravado of the young guest at such a pivotal moment in the history of the world.
‘Yes, Mr Berghof?’ responded Silv
erwood.
‘It’s obvious this manuscript is nothing but a fake.’
Silverwood smiled patiently. ‘We were discussing the formation of a new world government. But you may as well tell us how have you come to that conclusion.’
‘I can’t make head nor tail of it. There’s no logic or pattern to the symbols. Anyone can tell it’s utter gibberish, concocted by a disturbed mind.’
‘Thank you for your valuable insight, Mr Berghof. Please pass the manuscript to Professor Nyström on your left.’
Sam listened to the proceedings with a growing sense of disquiet at the self-serving behaviour of the men and women who had appointed themselves as the guardians of humanity. His phone vibrated in his pocket and he stole a glance at the screen. It was a text from Cantara who had flown in from London that morning.
‘Sam, I’m outside the main entrance of The Willard. I have urgent news. You must meet me there now.’
Sam slid the phone back in his pocket and made a subtle exit from the Grand Ballroom.
CHAPTER 32
Sam gaped in astonishment at his half-brother Jack, whom he had assumed was either still fighting for survival in the White Desert, or dead. A dozen different emotions raced through his body. The last time Sam had seen his brother, he had been in a sniper’s nest with a high-powered rifle in his hands. He wanted to embrace Jack, but knew his emotionally stunted brother would be embarrassed if he did so in the presence of Cantara.
‘Now then, Sam,’ said Jack. He stared at his feet and kicked at a cigarette butt discarded by a careless passer-by.
Cantara had bought Jack clean, stylish clothes and his blond hair had been cut short. Jack looked younger than his seventeen years, but there was no hiding his gaunt appearance brought on by months of living on the edge of survival.
‘Jack,’ Sam acknowledged with a nod of his head, still feeling unable to embrace his brother. ‘I believe you’ve been keeping interesting company since Uncle Roy’s funeral?’
The Last Oracle: A Climate Fiction Thriller (Sam Jardine Crime Thrillers Book 3) Page 24