Beneath the Ice

by Patrick Woodhead

  ‘I have put kettle on for tea,’ he replied. ‘Just one minute.’

  ‘Please . . .’

  ‘Of course,’ Dedov said, suddenly realising just how thirsty they all were. Rushing out of the room, he returned a few seconds later with three coffee-stained mugs brimming with tap water. Luca reached up, but his hands were trembling too much for him to be able to drink unaided. Instead, Dedov knelt at his side, gently helping him. He watched as the excess spilt across Luca’s chin but he didn’t stop drinking for a second, his throat bulging as he gulped down as much as he could.

  ‘Careful,’ Dedov warned, slowly pulling the mug away. ‘Too fast will make you sick.’

  Luca nodded, then looked towards Katz and Joel. Katz had immediately fallen asleep, while Joel still had not regained consciousness. His face was sheet white in the harsh neon lighting, while his breathing was shallow and weak.

  ‘Give the others water,’ Luca said, before his head dropped back down on to the floor. A second later he was asleep.

  Nearly six hours passed before Joel stirred.

  He cried out in panic as he came to, screaming a stream of unintelligible words. His eyes were wide, but there was a blankness to them, as though he wasn’t able to recognise anything he was seeing. Luca was sleeping right next to him and soon woke with all the commotion. It took several seconds for him to understand what was happening, before he reached across and tried to pin Joel down. By now his arms and legs were flailing widely and he had rolled off the couch where he had been laid and on to the hard floor.

  ‘Dedov!’ Luca shouted. ‘Help me!’

  The Russian arrived, panting from having sprinted down the corridor.

  ‘What is wrong with him?’

  ‘He was like that when I woke,’ Luca replied before turning his gaze back to Joel. ‘You’re safe,’ he said, repeating the words several times. ‘You’re back at GARI. Just take it easy.’

  Joel’s gaze fixed on him, but before he had time to speak his eyelids drifted closed and his body went limp again. Then there was only the sound of his snoring. Luca pulled away, slumping back against the side of the couch.

  ‘Jesus,’ he whispered, still trying to collect himself after such an abrupt awakening. ‘He needs to be in a proper medical facility. He has to get out of here.’

  Dedov stared at him for a moment before reaching across and hoisting Luca to his feet.

  ‘We have much to discuss,’ he said, leading him out towards the kitchenette and away from the others.

  After three cups of tea and nearly a loaf of toasted bread, Luca had successfully recounted the details of their journey. Throughout his entire monologue Dedov’s expression had remained set, his gaze only averted from Luca’s so that he could light the next in a near-continual stream of cigarettes. As Luca spoke, Dedov stared deep into his eyes, searching for the slightest tell that he might be inventing parts of the story, or indeed omitting others.

  The only time Dedov showed any emotion was when Luca recounted the story of Andy McBride’s death. Then he had slowly shut his eyes, repeating twice that it was such a senseless waste of a human life. For a long time afterwards both men remained silent, with only the sound of the kettle filament sizzling from lack of water filling the room.

  Eventually, Luca leant back in his chair.

  ‘So with the plane gone, there’s nothing to do but wait,’ he said. As he spoke, his eyes passed over the room, already finding it depressingly small.

  Dedov shook his bulbous head. ‘Plane is gone, but there is container ship. The Akademia Federov will be arriving in two days off the coast of Droning Maud Land. Now that you are here, we will catch this boat together.’

  Luca’s eyes suddenly filled with energy. ‘A boat? Why the hell didn’t you tell me that in the beginning?’

  ‘I wanted to hear what you had to say first.’

  Luca ignored him, too excited to deal with the Russian’s idiosyncrasies.

  ‘You’re sure there’s a boat coming? Like, a hundred per cent?’

  ‘I have already tried to reach them by radio, but am not yet successful.’

  Luca stood up, a disbelieving smile appearing on his face. Dedov’s news changed everything. For so long, he had been steeling himself to accept the reality that they would have to spend months in the darkness of Antarctica. Now it felt as if a crippling weight had just been lifted from him. They could be back in Cape Town in under a week!

  ‘This is amazing news,’ he whispered. ‘Amazing!’

  He looked around the room. ‘But we’ve got to get packed up. Get everything ready.’

  ‘We have time to prepare,’ Dedov assured him, seeing his excitement. ‘We can drive tractor or even Ski-Doo to ice barrier. We have four machines in garaging unit and journey is no more than five hours. Maximum.’

  Luca’s smile widened. In just a few seconds everything seemed to be back on an even keel. As he stared at the Russian, he thought over the sequence of events in the last few days.

  ‘Would you have stayed?’ Luca asked eventually. ‘I mean, if we hadn’t got back here in time, would you have waited out the winter?’

  ‘I could lie to you and say yes, but the truth is that I had not decided.’

  Luca raised an eyebrow, appreciating the Russian’s honesty. For so long, he had harboured a multitude of suspicions about Dedov and yet, as on the first occasion they had met, he found himself wanting to believe everything this man said. Maybe it was just his manner, but it always seemed as if Dedov were telling the truth.

  ‘I want you to tell me something,’ Luca said finally. ‘Did you know what Pearl was planning? With the whole second drill site and the seed.’

  ‘Yes,’ Dedov replied evenly.

  ‘So why are you helping us? The last guy we met did everything he could to stop us from getting out and telling anyone about it.’

  ‘The man you met is called Vidar Stang,’ Dedov explained. ‘He is a very dangerous and troubled man. But all the same – he is devoted to this project.’

  He paused, fingers stroking his thick beard. ‘Whether you believe me or not, I am not such man. I work for Pearl because I am forced to. He holds my son hostage in America.’

  Luca stared at him sceptically, but found only a sad sincerity in Dedov’s eyes. They glazed over as the Russian’s thoughts turned to his only child.

  ‘He holds my son captive and I am not a strong enough man to sacrifice my family. For me, this is only thing left.’ He paused, sniffing loudly as he tried to shake off the image he had been sent of his son with Pearl in San Diego. ‘This is why I told you to go a different way across mountain and gave you satellite phone. I wanted you to find the second drill site and tell to the British government. I needed you to do it, because I cannot.’

  He puffed out his chest, accepting his own culpability. ‘But I made a mistake and forced you to shelter at Stang’s base. For this, you have my apology. I deceived you.’

  Luca remained silent. Every instinct told him that Dedov was telling the truth. He thought back to Bates and all that he had said about ‘the poet’ and his smuggling operation. None of that seemed to be connected to Pearl.

  ‘There’s something else,’ Luca said. ‘I need to ask you a question.’ The Russian nodded, signalling his acquiescence. ‘Did you smuggle uranium through this base?’

  Dedov recoiled in shock. ‘How did you hear about such things?’

  ‘Just answer the damn question.’

  Dedov thought for a moment, then reached forward and lit another cigarette. He blew the smoke up into the haze already there.

  ‘Regrettably, the answer is yes,’ he replied. ‘Nearly fifteen years ago, when I worked as a radio operator at Novolazarevskaya Station, my brother-in-law approached me. He was a big military man and proposed a way for us to make a fast buck. We did four shipments, but it was a long time ago and now, I assure you, this part of my life is over.’

  ‘When was the last shipment?’

  ‘I have already told y
ou!’ Dedov snapped, slamming his fist down on the table. ‘Last one was fifteen years ago, after the collapse of the Soviet Union. Now, everything is different. With Putin in charge, there is no smuggling, no uranium.’

  Luca thought back to Bates and the urgency with which he’d needed the spyware inserted in GARI’s main communication room. It seemed improbable that this had anything to do with Dedov’s smuggling days. It had to be connected to Pearl and the seed.

  Luca stared across the table. The time for secrets was over.

  ‘I asked the question because I was sent here for two reasons,’ he said. ‘The first was to get the scientists to the drill site. The second was to plug a certain type of spyware into the main computer here at GARI.’

  ‘Spyware?’

  Luca shrugged. ‘I don’t know much about it, but a contact of mine in the British government gave me this job. He wanted to monitor all satellite communication coming out of this base and told me it was all to do with your smuggling.’

  Dedov paused for a moment, trying to process the information. ‘So, Snow Leopard. We deceived each other.’

  ‘Yeah. It looks that way.’

  ‘Then let us see what this spyware does on our computer.’

  Dragging back his chair and standing up, Dedov signalled for Luca to follow, leading him back along the narrow corridor to the base’s main communication room.

  It was small, with floor-to-ceiling shelving crammed with heavy radio transmission sets and wiring. It looked as though a physics professor had taken issue with most of the devices as almost all of them had their front faces stripped off, revealing the raw components and circuitry behind. Silver wire and the occasional crocodile clip ran in between, while to one side a large computer screen stood on top of an old-fashioned writing desk.

  Dedov heaved himself down on to the swivel chair. As he took hold of the mouse and opened up the email system, Luca peered closer. The writing was all in Russian Cyrillic.

  ‘You plugged in a memory stick?’ Dedov asked.

  ‘They said the programme would run itself and that it would help to crack the encrypted messages you were sending out.’

  Dedov shook his head at such fanciful notions. ‘I send no encryption, just normal email for normal Antarctica matters. Weather and such like.’

  He fell silent, leaning closer towards the dull glow of the screen as he scanned for any irregularities. His left hand hovered over the keyboard, occasionally holding down a command, while his right moved the mouse with surprising dexterity. Luca saw that he was scan reading all the emails in and out of the base, and the process continued for nearly fifteen minutes.

  All the while Luca stared blankly, unable to read the dense lines of text. The close heat of the room was starting to make him feel woozy and it was all he could do to stop his eyelids from drifting closed. He had slept so little in the last few days that as soon as he wasn’t actively focused on something, his body seemed to shut off. He felt his head gradually tilt down to his chest and his breathing start to slow. Just as he was slipping into a deep, comfortable sleep, he heard Dedov creak forward in his chair.

  ‘Mother of God,’ he hissed, prodding his finger on to the screen and leaving a circular grease mark.

  ‘What is it?’ Luca managed to say, widening his eyes.

  ‘I never sent this email,’ the Russian said, before scrolling through the sent items and stopping once again. ‘Nor this one.’

  ‘What do they say?’

  For a moment he didn’t respond. Instead he re-read the emails several times over. Finally he turned away from the screen. ‘They talk of extra drilling equipment and certain logistics. In short, they say that I am responsible for launching seed. That I am one who planned it all.’

  ‘But why would the British want people to believe that it was you?’

  Dedov stared at him. ‘I was hoping you could tell me that.’

  As he spoke the electricity suddenly flickered then cut out. There was a whir as the computers shut down and then only a faint ambient light reaching in through the double-glazed window. It was eerily calm and the sudden darkness made both men feel disorientated.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Dedov said. ‘We have back-up generator. It will start directly.’

  As if on cue, the lights flickered back on and suddenly everything returned to normal. With a sigh of relief, Luca was about to continue when the same thing happened again and the lights went out.

  Both of them waited once more, but this time nothing else happened. The darkness only deepened.

  ‘Don’t concern yourself,’ Dedov said. ‘This happens from time to time. Generators are still running in properly. But, in any case, we have plenty of spare parts.’

  Luca ignored him. ‘How many people got off Pearl’s helicopter?’ he asked suddenly.

  Dedov thought for a second, having briefly caught sight of the helicopter as it came into land.

  ‘Two. There was only Pearl and the woman pilot.’

  Even in the dim light, Luca could see the realisation dawn on his face.

  ‘You mean, Stang is here?’ Dedov asked in alarm.

  Luca stood up, feeling the same sense of dread wash over him that he had experienced in the old Soviet base. In the darkness Stang had crept up on him without a sound. Now Luca felt as though the man were standing right behind him again. Turning in his seat, he checked the door as if expecting to see those grey, merciless eyes once more.

  ‘He must be going for the generators,’ Luca blurted out. Jumping up from his seat, he sprinted down the corridor, ricocheting against the sidewalls in the gloom. He heard Dedov bellow behind him, but kept running until he slammed into the storm-sealed door at the end. Heaving it back on its hinges, he felt the cold rush in, tensing every muscle in his body.

  There, on the other end of the gangplank in the second module, was the generator house. At first Luca just stared, but then he saw a flicker of orange and the first flames come creeping round the seals in the door. Just as he was about to venture out on to the gangplank, there was a loud crack as the window in the generator house suddenly shattered from heat. Inside, a fire was raging.

  Dedov arrived next to him, staring at the same scene.

  ‘If we miss that boat,’ Luca said, ‘we’re dead men. We can’t survive the winter now.’

  Dedov grabbed hold of his shoulder, pulling him away from the entrance and sealing the door.

  ‘Get back inside,’ he hissed. ‘He’ll be coming for us.’

  Chapter 29

  OVER ONE HUNDRED and twenty delegates from the combined signatories of the Antarctic Treaty sat around a colossal U-shaped table in the ballroom of the Dorchester Hotel in London. The unprecedented events occurring in the Southern Ocean had forced every nation to send a representative and now, a long line of placards with their names neatly stencilled in black ink ran the length of the table. They had been printed with such haste that two were spelt incorrectly, while another was missing altogether.

  Behind the seated men and women was a small army of underlings positioned on faux-gilt and red velvet stacking chairs from the ballroom stock. They lined the periphery with their laptops balanced awkwardly on their knees, rising every few minutes to shuttle messages forward to the official representatives or talk on the sidelines in hurried whispers on their cell phones.

  Normally, a general malaise of tedium and political manoeuvring typified such gatherings, but today was different. There was a fervoured sense of purpose among the group, made worse by the stream of outright accusations that flowed across the table as the two main players attempted to absolve themselves from any blame.

  As the delegates’ shouts echoed against the intricately corniced ceiling, an American with silver hair and a heavily lined face stared out from the low stage at the front of the room. His slow, penetrating eyes took in the array of emotions that were reflected on the delegates’ faces. There was anger and disbelief, sadness and outright indignation; the scale of the environmental disaster they
faced was greater than any of them could ever have imagined.

  Eventually his gaze turned a full ninety degrees and settled on Eleanor Page, sitting just out of sight at one side of the stage. She had been watching quietly for the last two hours. With a nod of her head, she signalled for him to proceed with the prepared statement.

  Tapping the microphone several times, the American managed to restore a semblance of order.

  ‘After due consideration, the United States of America concurs with the Chilean proposal,’ he said. Sensing what was coming, silence gripped the room. ‘We support their motion that the Antarctic Treaty be suspended in its entirety pending a review.’

  The announcement was greeted by shock. When the Chileans had tabled the motion nearly an hour ago, it had been met with incredulity and all but dismissed out of hand. But now the Americans had just added their weight to it, and in so doing had made it all but certain that it would be passed.

  In just a few hours a treaty that had remained in effect for over sixty years would be dismantled. It had survived the pressures of the Cold War when Russia and America had skirted the continent, building science bases in lieu of military ones, and had competed in every indirect way imaginable. But always they had respected the ban on the commercialisation and militarisation of the seventh continent. And by extension the same adherence had rippled out across all the other nations vying for position in their wake. Against all odds, the Antarctic Treaty had worked.

  ‘In light of the unprecedented environmental damage we have seen,’ the American continued, switching his focus to the Russian delegation seated opposite, ‘we propose to send our fleet immediately to the Southern Ocean, to make an initial assessment and begin doing what we can to reverse this terrible tragedy.’

  As if to remind the assembly what he was referring to, he glanced behind him at an enormous projector screen. A satellite image depicted the Southern Ocean and a basic outline of the Antarctic coastline. A rough boundary line had been overlaid depicting the extent of the de-oxygenated water. It covered thousands of square miles of ocean, spreading out like a great stain on the face of the planet.