Pitt drove past Mount Vernon, then exited the main highway. At a small crossroad, he turned down a dirt road that meandered through the trees until ending at a small restaurant facing the Potomac River. Pitt parked the Auburn and turned off the motor as the heavy scent of Old Bay Seasoning filled the air.
“Best spiced crabs in the territory,” Pitt promised.
The restaurant was an old riverside home converted to a café, plainly decorated but with a cozy atmosphere. They were seated at a table overlooking the Potomac as a crowd of locals began filtering in.
“Loren tells me you are a research chemist at GWU,” Pitt said to Lisa, after ordering a round of beers and crab.
“Yes, I’m part of an environmental studies group looking at the global-warming problem,” she replied.
“If you ever get bored, NUMA can put you to work on some cutting-edge undersea research,” he offered with a smile. “We have a large team studying the effects of ocean warming and higher acidity levels. I just had a project review with a team studying carbon saturation in the oceans and possible means of boosting carbon absorption in deep water.”
“With all the focus on the atmosphere, I’m glad to see someone is paying attention to the oceans as well. It sounds like there might be some parallels with my research. I’m working on a project related to airborne carbon reduction. I’d love to see the results of your team’s work.”
“It’s just a preliminary report, but you might find it useful. I’ll send a copy to you. Or better yet, I’ll drop it off to you in the morning. I have an appearance to make on the Hill myself,” he added, rolling his eyes at Loren.
“All executive agencies must justify their annual budgets,” Loren replied. “Especially those run by renegade pirates.”
She laughed and gave Pitt a hug, then turned to her friend. “Lisa, you seemed anxious after the hearing today to discuss your research work. Tell me more about it.”
Lisa took a large swallow from her beer, then looked at Loren with trusting eyes.
“I haven’t spoken of this to anyone besides my lab assistant, but I believe we have hit upon a profound discovery.” She spoke in a quiet voice, as if afraid the neighboring diners might hear.
“Go on,” Loren urged, drawn close by Lisa’s demeanor.
“My research involves molecular manipulation of hydrocarbons. We’ve discovered an important catalyst that I believe will allow for artificial photosynthesis on a mass scale.”
“Do you mean like in plants? Converting light into energy?”
“Yes, you remember your botany. But just to make sure . . . Take that plant over there,” she said, pointing to a large Boston fern dangling in a planter by the window. “It captures light energy from the sun, water from the soil, and carbon dioxide from the air to produce carbohydrates, the fuel source for it to grow. Its only waste product is oxygen, which allows the rest of us to survive. That’s the basic cycle of photosynthesis.”
“Yet the actual process is so complicated, scientists have been unable to duplicate it,” Pitt said with growing interest.
Lisa sat quietly as the waitress appeared and unrolled a sheet of brown butcher paper on the table, then dumped a small mountain of steamed blue crabs in front of them. When they each began attacking a spiced crab with a wood mallet, she continued.
“You’re correct in the general sense. Elements of photosynthesis have been successfully duplicated, but none with anywhere near the efficiency seen in nature. The complexity is very real. That’s why the hundreds of scientists around the world working on artificial photosynthesis typically focus on a single component of the process.”
“Yourself included?” Loren asked.
“Myself included. The research at our lab has focused on the ability of plants to break down water molecules into their individual elements. If we can duplicate the process efficiently, and we’ll get there someday, then we’ll have an unlimited source of cheap hydrogen fuel at our disposal.”
“Your breakthrough is in another direction?” Loren asked.
“My focus has been on a reaction called Photosystem I, and the breakdown of carbon dioxide that occurs in the process.”
“What are the primary challenges?” Pitt asked.
Lisa tore into a second crab, sucking the meat out of a hind claw.
“These are delicious, by the way. The basic problem has been in developing an efficient means of triggering a chemical breakdown. Chlorophyll plays that role in nature, but it decomposes too quickly in the lab. The trick I pursued was to find an artificial catalyst that could break down carbon dioxide molecules.”
Lisa set down her food, then spoke in a low voice again. “That’s where I came up with a solution. Blundered upon it, actually. I left a rhodium sample in the test chamber by mistake and added to it another element called ruthenium. When combined with a light charge, the reaction was an immediate dimerization of the CO2 molecules into oxalate.”
Loren wiped the crab juice off her hands and took a sip of beer. “All of this chemistry is starting to make my head spin,” she complained.
“You sure it’s not the beer and the Bay Seasoning?” Pitt asked with a grin.
“I’m sorry,” Lisa said. “Most of my friends are biochemists, so I sometimes forget to take off my verbal lab coat.”
“Loren has a much better head for public policy than for science,” Pitt kidded. “You were mentioning the outcome of your experiment? ”
“In other words, the catalytic reaction converted the carbon dioxide into a simple compound. With further processing, we can get to a carbon-based fuel, such as ethanol. But the critical reaction was the actual breakdown of the carbon dioxide.”
The pile of crabs had been transformed into a mass of broken claws and empty shells. The middle-aged waitress deftly cleared away the mess and returned a short time later with coffee and key lime pie for the table.
“Forgive me, but I’m not sure I understand what you are saying,” Loren said between bites.
Lisa gazed out the window at some twinkling lights on the far side of the river.
“I’m quite certain that the application of my catalyst can be used to construct a high-output artificial-photosynthesis device.”
“Could it be expanded to industrial proportions?” Pitt asked.
Lisa nodded with a humble look. “I’m sure of it. All that is needed is some light, rhodium, and ruthenium to make it tick.”
Loren shook her head. “So what you’re saying is that we’ll be able to construct a facility that can filter carbon dioxide into a harmless substance? And the process can be applied to power plants and other industrial polluters?”
“Yes, that’s the prospect. But even more than that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Hundreds of facilities could be built. In terms of carbon reduction, it’d be like putting a pine forest in a box.”
“So you’re talking about actually reducing the existing levels of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere,” Pitt stated.
Lisa nodded again, her lips pursed tight.
Loren grabbed Lisa’s hand and squeezed it hard. “Then . . . you’ve found a genuine solution to global warming.” The words came out in a whisper.
Lisa looked sheepishly at her pie and nodded. “The process is sound. There’s still work ahead, but I see no reason why we can’t have a large-scale artificial-photosynthesis facility designed and built in a matter of months. All it will take is money and political support,” she said, looking at Loren.
Loren was too startled to eat her dessert. “But the hearings today,” she said. “Why didn’t Dr. Maxwell mention it?”
Lisa stared up at the fern. “I haven’t told him yet,” she replied quietly. “I only just made the discovery a few days ago. To be honest, I was a little overwhelmed at the findings. My research assistant convinced me not to tell Dr. Maxwell before the hearings, until we were sure about the results. We were both afraid of the potential media frenzy.”
“You w
ould have been right about that,” Pitt agreed.
“So do you still have doubts about the results?” Loren asked.
Lisa shook her head. “We’ve duplicated the results at least a dozen times, consistently. There is no question in my mind that the catalyst works.”
“Then it is time to act,” Loren urged. “Brief Maxwell tomorrow, and I’ll follow up with an innocuous hearing question. Then I’ll try and get us in to see the President.”
“The President?” Lisa blushed.
“Absolutely. We’ll need an Executive Order to put a crash production program into place until an emergency funding bill can be authorized. The President clearly understands the carbon problem. If the solution is within our grasp, I’m sure he will act immediately.”
Lisa fell silent, overcome by the ramifications. Finally, she nodded her head.
“You are right, of course. I’ll do it. Tomorrow.”
Pitt paid the bill, and the trio drifted out to the car. They drove home in relative silence, their thoughts absorbed with the magnitude of Lisa’s discovery. When Pitt pulled up in front of Lisa’s town house in Alexandria, Loren jumped out and gave her old friend a hug.
“I’m so proud of what you’ve done,” she said. “We used to joke about changing the world. Now you really have.” She smiled.
“Thanks for giving me the courage to go forward,” Lisa replied. “Good night, Dirk,” she said, waving at Pitt.
“Don’t forget. I’ll see you in the morning with the ocean carbon report.”
After Loren climbed back into the car, Pitt slid the gearshift into first and sped down the street.
“Georgetown or the hangar?” he asked Loren.
She snuggled close to him. “The hangar tonight.”
Pitt smiled as he steered the Auburn toward Reagan National Airport. Though married, they still kept separate residences. Loren maintained a fashionable town house in Georgetown but spent most of her time at Pitt’s eclectic home.
Reaching the grounds of the airport, he drove down a dusty side road toward a dark, vacant section of the field. Passing through an electric gate, he pulled up in front of a dimly lit hangar that looked as if it had been collecting dust for several decades. Pitt pressed the security code on a wireless transmitter and watched as a side door to the hangar slid open. A bank of overhead lights popped on, revealing a glistening interior that resembled a transportation museum. Dozens of brightly polished antique cars were neatly aligned in the center of the building. Along one wall, a majestic Pullman railroad car sat parked on a set of steel tracks embedded in the floor. A rusty bathtub with an ancient outboard motor bolted to the side and a weathered and dilapidated semi-inflatable boat sat incongruously nearby. As Pitt pulled into the hangar, the Auburn’s headlights flashed on a pair of aircraft parked at the back of the building. One was an old Ford Tri-Motor and the other a sleek World War II Messerschmitt ME-162 jet. The planes, like many of the cars in the collection, were relics of past adventures. Even the bathtub and raft told a tale of peril and lost love that Pitt retained as sentimental reminders of life’s frailty.
Pitt parked the Auburn next to a 1921 Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost that was undergoing restoration and turned off the motor. As the garage door closed behind them, Loren turned to Pitt and asked, “What would my constituents think if they knew I was living in an abandoned aircraft hangar?”
“They’d probably feel pity for you and increase their campaign donations,” Pitt replied with a laugh.
He took her hand and led her up a spiral staircase to a loft apartment in one corner of the building. Loren had exerted her marriage rights and coerced Pitt to remodel the kitchen and add an extra room to the apartment, which she used as an exercise area and office. But she knew better than to touch the brass portholes, ship paintings, and other nautical artifacts that gave the residence a decidedly masculine tone.
“Do you really think Lisa’s discovery will be able to reverse global warming?” Loren asked, pouring two glasses of pinot noir from a bottle labeled Sea Smoke Botella.
“Given enough resources, there seems no reason to think that it can’t happen. Of course, going from the lab to real world production is always more problematic than people think. But if a working design already exists, then the hard part is done.”
Loren walked across the room and handed Pitt a glass. “Once the bombshell hits, it’s going to get pretty hectic,” she said, already dreading the demands on her time.
Pitt hooked an arm around her waist and drew her tight to him. “That’s all right,” he smiled with a yearning grin. “We’ve still got tonight before the wolves start howling.”
14
AFTER DROPPING LOREN AT THE AIRPORT METRO-RAIL station for a subway ride to the Hill, Pitt drove to the NUMA headquarters building, a tall glass structure that hugged the bank of the Potomac River. Collecting a copy of the research study on ocean carbon absorption, he returned to the Auburn and drove into D.C., turning northwest up Massachusetts Avenue. It was a beautiful spring day in the capital city. The oppressive heat and humidity of summer, when all were reminded that the city was built on a swamp, was still weeks away. The warm morning still felt comfortable driving in a convertible. Though he knew he should have left it safely tucked away in his hangar, Pitt couldn’t resist driving the topless Auburn one more time. The old car was remarkably nimble, and most of the surrounding traffic gave him plenty of leeway as they gawked at the sleek lines of the antique.
Pitt was every bit the anachronism he appeared to the passersby. His love of old planes and cars ran deep, as if he had grown up with the aged machines in another lifetime. The attraction nearly matched the draw of the sea and the mysteries that came with exploring the deep. A gnawing sense of restlessness swirled within him, always fueling the wanderlust. Perhaps it was his sense of history that set him apart, allowing him to solve the problems of the modern world by finding answers in the past.
Pitt located the GWU Environmental Research and Technology Lab on a quiet side street off Rock Creek Park, not far from the Lebanese embassy. He happened upon a parking spot in front of the three-story brick building and walked to the entrance with the ocean study tucked under his arm. The lobby guard signed him in with a visitor’s badge, then gave him directions to Lisa’s office on the second floor.
Pitt took the elevator, waiting first for a janitor in a gray jumpsuit to push a trash cart out of the lift. A broad-shouldered man with dark eyes, the janitor gave Pitt a penetrating gaze before smiling good-naturedly as he passed by. Pitt pushed the button for the second floor and stood patiently as the cables pulled the elevator compartment skyward. He heard a muffled ding as the elevator approached the second floor, but before the doors slid open a massive concussion slammed him to the floor.
The detonation was centered over a hundred feet away, yet it shook the entire building like an earthquake. Pitt felt the elevator rattle and sway before the power failed and the compartment turned black. Rubbing a knot on the back of his head, he gingerly pulled himself to his feet and groped for the control panel. None of the buttons triggered a response. Sliding his hands along the door, he pressed his fingertips into the center seam and wedged open the inner doors. A few inches beyond, the outer doors to the second story rose a foot above the floor of the elevator. Pitt reached over and forced open the outer doors and climbed up onto the second-floor landing, stepping into a scene of chaos.
An emergency alarm blared with a deafening din, drowning out numerous shouting voices. A thick cloud of dust hung in the air, choking the breath for several minutes. Through the smoky haze, Pitt saw a crowd of people fighting their way down a nearby stairwell. The damage appeared most severe along a main corridor that stretched in front of him. The explosion had not been powerful enough to structurally damage the building but had blown out scores of windows and several interior walls. Looking past the immediate congestion, Pitt grimly realized that Lisa’s lab was near the heart of the blast.
He made his way down the h
allway, giving way to a group of coughing scientists caked in dust. The ground crunched underfoot as he passed the shattered remains of a hallway window. A pale-looking woman staggered out of an office with a bleeding hand, and Pitt stopped and helped her wrap a scarf around the wound.
“Which one is Lisa Lane’s office?” he asked.
The woman pointed toward a gaping hole on the left side of the corridor, then shuffled off to the stairwell.
Pitt approached the jagged hole where a doorway had stood and stepped into the bay. A thick cloud of white smoke still hung in the air, slowly drifting out the shattered remains of a picture window that faced the street. Through the vacant window, he could hear the sirens of approaching fire rescue vehicles.
The lab itself was a jumbled mass of smoldering electronics and debris. Pitt noted an old Bunsen burner embedded into a side wall from the force of the blast. The smoking remains and punctured walls confirmed what he had feared. Lisa’s lab had indeed been the epicenter of the explosion. The walls still stood and the furnishings had not been obliterated, so it was clearly not a completely debilitating blast. Pitt guessed there would be no fatalities in the rest of the building. But any occupants of the lab were probably not so lucky.
Pitt quickly scoured the room, calling out Lisa’s name as he picked through the debris. He nearly missed her, just catching sight of a dust-covered shoe protruding beneath a fallen cabinet door. He quickly pulled the cabinet aside to reveal Lisa lying in a crumpled heap. Her lower left leg was twisted at an unnatural angle, and her blouse was soaked in blood. But her listless eyes turned and gazed up at Pitt, then blinked in acknowledgment.
“Didn’t they teach you to stay away from chemical experiments that go boom?” Pitt said with a forced smile.
He ran his hand along her blood-wet shoulder until finding a large sliver of glass jutting from her blouse. It appeared loose, so he yanked it out with a quick tug, then applied pressure with the palm of his hand to the stem the bleeding. Lisa grimaced briefly, then passed out.
Arctic Drift (A Dirk Pitt Novel, #20) Page 8