Dry Ice

by Evans, Bill; Jameson, Marianna

  She let out a short laugh. “A little bit? You said two years, minimum, with an option to extend it. That’s a long time on the Ice,” she pointed out. “It’s not like you want me to give up Paris for Manhattan. You want me to give up my life in Paris to park myself in the middle of the East Antarctic Plateau. Quel bummer.”

  “You like being on the Ice.”

  “Liked. I’m older now and not as boy-crazy. And I have a heightened respect for creature comforts.”

  “TESLA is more comfortable than you can imagine. We need you, Tess.”

  She gave him a sidelong glance as they stopped at another intersection. “I don’t think you’ve fully described that need. In fact, there are a lot of things you haven’t described fully.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like what is Flint doing in Antarctica anyway?” she asked softly, aware of the crowd around them. “The company started out hawking seeds and fertilizer, then Frankenfood, and then got into wind power before wind power was cool.”

  Gianni smiled but didn’t answer until they began to move with traffic again. “The company has always been ahead of the curve,” he replied, his voice casual and even a little amused.

  “That’s one way of putting it. Way back when, Flint would have had its pick of places to set up a wind farm test bed. Tarifa, Spain. Foote Creek Rim, Wyoming. Kenya’s Chalbi Desert. Or any of a dozen other places from southern New Zealand to western Ireland to the coast of Norway.” She paused and gave him a pointed look. “But Flint didn’t choose any of those places, all of which are logical places for wind farms. It chose a scrappy, scrubby part of West Texas.”

  He replied smoothly, “Where’s the challenge in setting up a test you know you’ll pass? Besides, Flint had determined that it would be smart to put an energy generation facility near some place that needs lots of energy. And the Dallas/Fort Worth area was booming.”

  Tess rolled her eyes at him. “You never struck me as a Kool-Aid drinker, Gianni, but it sounds like you’ve developed a taste for it. Are you telling me that Croyden Flint put adventure ahead of profits?”

  “How about ahead of immediate profits? The primary issue then was applied research, Tess, not municipal power generation. That was considered a side benefit.”

  “One that paid off.”

  He grinned. “In spades. Flint’s investment in research is always well rewarded by the new technologies it develops.”

  “So now the old man wants to conquer the last frontier?” Tess asked.

  “There aren’t too many challenges left on this planet. Naturally, we’re looking into deep-sea exploration and exploitation, but…” Gianni shrugged expansively. “Flint strategists aren’t stupid. With TESLA, we’ve capitalized on all that has gone before on the Ice—the invention of self-correcting support pillars with hydraulic lifts so installations don’t get buried. Flying in materials just like the U.S. did when it built its big base near the Pole back in the late nineties. Hugely expensive, but worth it, to be in the best place to do what we need to do. So now we’re the leaders of the pack. The rest of the installations on the Ice are stuck in the last century, doing passive research, observational research. We’re doing the big stuff.”

  “The Belgians—”

  “The Belgians.” He snorted dismissively, almost under his breath. “You know what they’re crowing about? That their new installation uses solar power supplemented by wind. That it generates zero emissions. You’d think they invented—”

  “Hey, just a minute. They invited me to view the mock-up. It’s an impressive station. How can you knock it? What are you doing differently at TESLA?” Tess asked.

  “Plenty. Why would anyone use solar panels on the Ice?” He shook his head in derision. “It’s dark for nearly half the year, but the panels still have to be maintained. We, on the other hand, are fully supported by wind. Thirty high-yield vertical turbines running twenty-four/seven, capturing winds that routinely top forty and frequently exceed one hundred miles per hour. And it’s all converted to hydrogen. Fuel cells do the rest.” He paused and Tess gave him what he was waiting for: wide-eyed admiration. She realized her mouth was even hanging open just the slightest bit, and shut it immediately.

  Gianni grinned at her and took her elbow. “I thought you’d be impressed.”

  “Well … yeah,” she stammered as he steered her across the wide boulevard.

  “We’re at the bleeding edge of science and we have an endless source of clean power, Tess. That can’t be too far off your idea of paradise. And we want you to run it.” He paused and she let the compliment and all of its implications run through her.

  As soon as they reached the sidewalk, Tess moved out of the throng of early-evening foot traffic and leaned back against a sun-and-shadow-dappled wall, brushing away the fingers of a twining vine attempting to entangle themselves in her hair. Trying to keep her game face on was too much effort and she finally let herself laugh, releasing the slightly stunned, slightly disbelieving joy that was bubbling through her brain and bloodstream. In a minute, she scaled it back to a broad smile.

  This is it.

  This was the opportunity she’d always hoped for and never thought she’d get. To be research director of TESLA, the most advanced weather research station in the world. It was akin to being handed your most improbable dream. She’d have absolute authority, absolute power—

  I’ll be the first person it won’t corrupt absolutely. No. I’ll be the first person it won’t corrupt, period.

  Tess closed her eyes and tilted her face to the warmth of the setting sun, letting herself become lost in the swarm of thoughts rushing through her mind. If she took charge of TESLA, she’d be able to put into practice all the ideas and ideals she’d been working toward for her entire career. She wouldn’t just hypothesize, research, and teach; she could do. Make the world better, one stricken place at a time. She’d be able to prove to the naysayers, like that sneering little Austrian, that she knew exactly what she was talking about.

  Cool triumph shot through her like quicksilver and she returned her gaze to Gianni, who stood next to her wearing a smile that bore its own brand of victory.

  “The look on your face right now is one I’ve only seen in films. Usually lit by a warm spotlight and backed by a choir of angels. Or maybe just a flock of cartoon bluebirds flying in a holding pattern around your head,” he said with a laugh. “Actually, you look like you could use a cigarette.”

  “It’s that bad, is it?” she replied, unable to hide her delight.

  “Worse.” He paused. “So can I take that look as a yes?” he asked softly.

  “Oh, man.” Tess let out a breath on a laugh. “I … oh, man, Gianni. I need to think about this—”

  He shook his head, his smile fading, and glanced down at his feet. “Think about what? Whether you really want what you’ve worked toward for twenty years?” he asked, sharp exasperation edging his quiet words. “Don’t overanalyze this, Tess. It’s simple. We want Greg out and you in.” He shook his head again and raised his gaze to her face, his expression bemused. “You surprise me. I thought you’d jump at the chance to—” He broke off and shrugged.

  The unspoken reminder of her troubled history with Greg Simpson delivered a sharp nick to Tess’s ego, causing her excitement to dim. She took a quick, deep breath.

  “Oh. It’s been years since I’ve even thought of that … of him, Gianni,” she said, as casually as she could manage. She pushed away from the wall and together they re-entered the stream of pedestrians. “I’ve never believed in revenge. In fact, I think it’s pointless. So, while I’m overwhelmed at your offer, the thought of replacing Greg holds no particular thrill for me.”

  “You sound out of breath. Are we walking too fast?”

  You jerk. This is not the way to persuade me. “I’m fine,” she replied, forcing herself to return to her natural state of calm.

  “Tess, Croyden has been looking for a way to bring you on board ever since that first grant pr
oposal you wrote.”

  She looked at him. “That was years ago. He saw it?”

  “He reviews all of them. He’s the one who makes the final decisions on every grant.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “You do now.” He paused. “The bottom line, Tess, is that we want a change in the direction down there, and we want that change to be you. It’s as simple as that.”

  “Gianni, nothing is ever that simple. I can understand why you want me in; tell me why you want Greg out. He’s been there, what, six years? What’s he doing wrong?”

  “He’s done nothing wrong,” Gianni replied smoothly. “We just want him back at headquarters to head up a new project.”

  “Don’t blow smoke up my skirt,” Tess snapped, her delight of a moment ago completely gone. “He’ll never agree to leave the Ice for a corner office in some suburban hell. Besides, it’s April. You can’t get there from here at this time of year. The travel window slammed shut well over a month ago.”

  “We can reopen it,” he replied without hesitation. “Our fleet, our pilots … it’s a non-issue.”

  Right. If they have no fear of death. Tess refrained from rolling her eyes. “Who’s his second in command? Why couldn’t that person run it?”

  “It’s Nik Forde.”

  The faint, remembered heat of an old romance warmed her face. “Oh.”

  “Is that a problem? Didn’t your paths cross at HAARP before you, um, left?”

  They not only crossed, they merged. She cleared her throat. “Of course it’s not a problem. I know Nik. He’s a smart guy. Why isn’t he taking over? He’s already there.”

  “Nik isn’t a leader. You are.”

  “I’m not a leader. I’ve never led anything in my life,” she countered.

  “Maybe. But you were the only one of the post-docs who stood up to Greg—”

  “That didn’t happen for any noble reason, Gianni. It was an exercise in thoroughly justified, if slightly irrational, anger,” she pointed out.

  “No matter. You stood up to him when the rest of us, including Nik, sucked up to him and cowered if he so much as looked at us. If that doesn’t make you a leader, it at least makes you a hero.”

  The overblown praise goosed her ego, and Tess tried not to laugh as they came to a stop at the curb. “I’m definitely not a hero, Gianni. Quit reading so many comic books. So, okay, last chance. If you really want me down there, you have to give me a good reason. A real reason.”

  Gianni didn’t answer right away. They crossed the street and he gently steered her toward a small cluster of tables outside a bistro. They sat at a distance from the other patrons and after they’d ordered drinks, he met her eyes.

  “Okay, Tess. You never heard this and I never said it,” he began quietly. “For the past few years, some strange things have been happening in places they shouldn’t and I think—no, I know—Greg is behind them.”

  The grave look in Gianni’s eyes made Tess’s breath catch in her throat and his words triggered an uncomfortably hot churn in her stomach. “What kinds of things?”

  His gaze skimmed over her face before he answered her. “Bad things. Political things. Things we never authorized and never would authorize, Tess.”

  “You think he’s … gone rogue?” she asked, unconsciously dropping her voice to a whisper.

  Gianni shrugged, then nodded slowly. “Could be. I’ve been fielding some odd requests from NOAA and NASA in the last few months. A few weeks ago, I got invited to speak to some program sponsors at the Naval Research Lab.”

  “Invited?”

  “The request didn’t leave me any room to refuse, but it was worded more politely than a subpoena.” His voice was tight.

  “Which program sponsors?”

  He looked at her and lifted his glass to his lips, saying nothing.

  “HAARP?” Tess asked, picking up the wineglass that had been placed in front of her. She didn’t realize her hands were shaking until some of the wine sloshed over the side. She set it down and folded her hands, pressing them into her lap as she watched Gianni’s face. There was nothing lighthearted about his expression now.

  Gianni nodded.

  “Why did they want to talk to you?” she asked.

  “Seems they’re not getting the sort of results from their equipment that they’re used to.”

  A thrill shot through Tess. She rested an elbow on the patterned metal of the tabletop and set her chin onto her balled fist. “So, either they’re being interfered with…”

  “Or?” Gianni prompted her when she didn’t continue.

  “Or … it’s ludicrous, Gianni. I can’t even say it,” she protested, leaning back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest.

  “I want to hear it. Say it, Tess.”

  “Or the properties of the ionosphere have changed,” she finished quietly.

  Gianni lifted an olive out of the small dish the waiter had left on the table. “Have been changed,” he said before popping it into his mouth. “Greg’s taken your research on plasma boundaries and warped it, taken your solar proton response algorithms and bastardized them. He’s doing everything your esteemed opponent was talking about today.”

  “Why?” she hissed, outraged.

  “You tell me. Personal profit? Because he can?” Gianni shrugged and reached for another olive. “You may not be the only person who could go to TESLA and change things, but you’re the only person I’d trust to do it. Greg used your ideas to let the genie out of the bottle, Tess. You’re the only one who can put it back.”

  * * *

  It was approaching midnight when Gianni climbed out of the small launch onto the landing deck of the enormous power yacht Game Changer, which was moored within view of his hotel overlooking the marina at Portomaso. He walked up the steps to the main deck and entered the large saloon with easy familiarity. The barefoot gray-haired man across the room rose from his chair with a smile, extending his hand as he greeted Gianni with genuine delight.

  His summerweight khakis were wrinkled and his silk shirt untucked and open-necked, but Croyden Flint’s distinguished bearing and smooth, cultured voice bespoke his education and social rank. He was an American aristocrat, one of the last of that rarified breed descended from the pioneers of America’s Gilded Age.

  “Gianni, good to see you.”

  The older man’s hand was warm and dry, his grip firm.

  “Thank you, sir. It’s a pleasure to see you again,” Gianni said with just the right mixture of respect and obsequiousness.

  “Have a seat. How did your conversation go with Dr. Beauchamp?”

  “I’m pleased to report that she’s agreed to come on board, Mr. Flint. I’ve already notified the office. We’ll smooth things over for her with the university, maintain her apartment in Paris for her.” He shrugged. “Whatever it takes for her to be comfortable with the move. She’ll be with me when I return to Connecticut in two days,” Gianni said, letting a smile cross his mouth. “She should be at TESLA within three weeks.”

  The chairman of Flint AgroChemical laughed heartily and clapped Gianni on the shoulder, then turned to cross the room. “Excellent. This will teach that damned Pentagon bomb-jockey Medev to try an end run around me. What does she know about the situation?”

  “Enough to get her down there,” Gianni replied, feeling relaxed for the first time in more than a month. “I had to tell her more than I intended to, but not enough to spook her.”

  “She’s okay with it?”

  “Not entirely. She’s clearly uncomfortable at the thought of what Simpson might be doing, and she’s got a do-gooder streak that she has trouble fighting. The point is, sir, that she’s agreed to go and doesn’t have any illusions about what she’ll face when she gets there. She knows Nik Forde from her days at HAARP.”

  “Is that a good thing?”

  “I don’t think it’s a bad thing,” Gianni answered with a shrug.

  “And Simpson?” the chairman asked, pouring two
large drinks from a faceted crystal decanter that sparkled in the low light as if it were encrusted with diamonds.

  “I’ll have safeguards in place before I tell him, and that won’t be until Tess is in the air, en route from Capetown.”

  Nodding his approval, the older man recrossed the room to hand Gianni a heavy snifter that fit perfectly into his cupped palm.

  “Thank you, sir.” Gianni paused to inhale the rich, heady aroma of the cognac. The fumes alone were intoxicating, holding within them the sweet, musty scent of decadence and extreme wealth.

  Still in robust health at the age of seventy-two, the chairman was known for never drinking anything younger than he was. It was rumored that the cognac the old man kept on the yacht was nearly two hundred years old, rescued by his grandfather during World War I from a château that was later destroyed by the Germans.

  I don’t care how old it is; sharing it with him is nothing more than I deserve.

  Enjoying a private sense of entitlement, Gianni waited until his host had taken a sip before indulging himself.

  The chairman resettled himself in his chair and gestured for Gianni to do the same. “After you tell Simpson he’s done, then what?”

  “TESLA personnel will be informed of the change and, when Tess arrives, there will be a peaceful handover. She’ll have Tate from Legal and Bamberger from HR with her, and two assistants—”

  “Assistants?” Croyden raised an eyebrow.

  “Security,” Gianni said, his voice clipped. “Because it’s a long flight from Capetown to the interior, there will be two crews on the plane. Dr. Simpson will be on the return flight, which will take off as soon as they’ve refueled. We don’t expect them to be on the ground for more than two hours.”

  Croyden was silent for a long moment, staring at the deep amber fluid swirling in his glass. “How well do you know Simpson?”

  “Pretty well, sir. I worked for him for ten years at HAARP.”

  “So you know what a nut he can be. And you think it will be that easy to get him out of TESLA? That he’ll just go along without a fight?” Croyden asked, not hiding his skepticism.

  “We hope it will be, sir, but we’re prepared for some pushback. That’s why we’re sending Security, just to be on the safe side. They’ll all be low-key, though, and won’t make themselves known unless there’s a need for it.”