Silent until now, Carroll was also getting agitated. He had not been briefed in advance about Project Eriador and was annoyed his scheduled research was going to be jeopardised.
‘We spent months preparing for the salinity test project. It now appears we’ll be playing second fiddle to your endeavours.’
He didn’t aim his comment at anyone in particular.
Gilmore saw that both research teams were taking sides. It was like the period just prior to a football match. He needed to defuse the situation before a few foul tackles went in. After all, he had overall responsibility for ensuring that everyone remembered the importance of teamwork in such a small vessel. His scientific passengers were still finding their feet in very cramped conditions, so some element of crankiness was inevitable.
‘Eugene, I can assure you we’ve enough space and equipment to conduct both projects simultaneously. We may be a bit more cramped compared to what you were expecting, but with a bit of patience we’ll all get our respective jobs done. The more we cooperate and coordinate the sooner we can all go home.’
Brennan was also aware of the rising sense of unease. He too wanted to calm things down. ‘I expect our Bell helicopter will be on regular trips to Galway so if anyone has to leave a bit early, I’m sure we’ll facilitate that.’
Many heads nodded approval.
To distract from the situation, Gilmore clicked on a hyperlink on the slide deck.
‘Here’s a live feed from a British ROV of shallow sub-sea volcanic activity on the sea floor close to Iceland, just five hundred kilometres north-west of here.’
Images of molten deep red lava and lava bombs lit up the room.
CHAPTER 4
Roque de los Muchachos
A lot had happened by noon the following day.
Within an hour of the brothers’ call with Mark Doyle, Marco Lesle, the head of the island’s Guardia Civil, was in touch by phone. He had consulted the La Palma Earthquake Emergency Response Plan that had not been used in decades. He was keen to find out how serious the threat was. It became very clear that a series of minor tremors wasn’t going to force him to trigger the Plan. This would have required all hotels and other accommodations across the island to evacuate their clients at the peak of the tourist season.
Lesle liked the quiet life, in so far as that was possible for a part-time police officer. His office on the pedestrianised Calle O’Daly in Santa Cruz de la Palma, while modest in terms of furniture and decoration, was a sanctuary of peace. Apart from an occasional gorse fire and the odd mountain rescue the Guardia Civil didn’t really do too much. And that’s the way he wanted it. His team had other jobs to attend to after all.
‘Señor Lesle,’ said Ros. ‘I really must stress that we need to have a channel of communication 24/7 with your team. The mountains don’t work nine to five. We need at least a dozen members from the Guardia Civil to be based at the locations we believe to be at most risk.’
‘Let me stop you there. I’ve just twenty officers to cover the whole island and this is the busiest time of the year. The best that I can do is to ask the mountain rescue volunteers that have two off-road jeeps to contact you.’
‘That would be helpful, Señor Lesle,’ said Ros, somewhat dismayed by Lesle’s failure to accept the seriousness of the situation. ‘Please instruct these teams to locate themselves in the National Park’s visitors’ centre. You might also prepare contingency plans to have the Guardia Civil resources coordinated from this base.’
‘The emergency plan hasn’t been activated. You need to realise that the part-time mountain rescue volunteers can only do their best. They are trained to take injured hikers off the mountains. They know nothing about earthquakes.’
The head of the island’s Guardia Civil believed he was one of the most important public servants on La Palma. A man who demanded and expected respect. And here he was taking instructions not only from an outsider, but from a young man who clearly had no idea how the chain of command worked. He was about to speak but was interrupted.
‘Señor Lesle,’ said Ros in a firmer tone. He could barely control his temper. ‘You need to tell all your colleagues in the Guardia Civil to expect a deteriorating situation. It’s highly probable that, if matters get worse, the Director General of the police in Madrid and not I will be directing you. All that I’m doing is letting you know what will be necessary. Be prepared to comply or justify, Señor Lesle.’
Ros hung up. The head of the Guardia Civil was incandescent. He threw his hat on the ground and screamed to himself. Nobody else was there to listen. ‘That stupid boy. Telling me my business.’ Lesle’s blood pressure rose. He paused and reflected on the conversation. He was an ill-tempered bombast, but a good listener underneath it. He had a gut instinct that before too long it would be ‘all hands on deck’. The dozens of pages of guidance in the Earthquake Emergency Response Plan would be of little use. Maybe the scientist was right to be cautious. He called the mountain rescue unit and without question their two jeeps drove to the visitors’ centre as instructed.
Simon and Ros reviewed the locations of all the remote monitors during the night and into the early hours. All were silent and not a quiver registered. They divided the mountains into six areas, each centred around a dormant volcano. The plan was that six teams would need to be ready to move once increased seismic or volcanic activity became apparent. They caught a few hours’ sleep.
True to his word Mark Doyle called as they were finishing up their breakfast. They put the call on speaker.
‘Guys, I’ve some good news and some bad news.’
‘Go with the bad first,’ said Simon.
‘NASA can’t commit any satellite support unless there are clear signs of a major emergency situation. Something to do with budget cuts and a higher priority being given to security surveillance in and around the Gulf of Hormuz.’
‘And the good news?’ asked Ros.
‘I believe you got a less than enthusiastic response from the Guardia Civil. I had anticipated that, so I spoke directly to a contact of mine who runs the defence air base next door on the Island of Tenerife. Should the mountains start shaking, as I suspect they will, then three military Sikorsky helicopters with paramedics and a team of a hundred marines will be provided for medevac and general support.’
‘Señor Lesle will be pleased,’ sniggered Simon.
Mark continued, ‘I’m making arrangements to have two of our state-of-the-art thermal imaging kits that are mounted on commercial drones couriered to your part of the world. I expect you’ll have delivery within thirty-six hours. Constant monitoring of the footprint of the National Park is the priority. When this kit arrives, we’ll need to deploy it immediately.’
‘So much for Damian’s drone,’ said Ros.
‘We’re ahead of you,’ said Simon. ‘We’ve procured thermal imaging capacity from a local tour guide who has just purchased what he believes is a state-of-the-art drone. This could be a good interim solution.’
‘Well done. Glad to see you are using your initiative.’
Ros slapped Simon on the back. ‘Now who’s a clever boy?’
‘There’s more news lads,’ said Mark. ‘You two, Maria and Claudine are to move immediately to the Observatory at Roque de los Muchachos that’s only a few klicks from your rather primitive base. I need our best assets under the same roof. I briefed Antonio Farillo, the Director at the ORM, about what we might expect. He was more than willing to help. If nothing else, it’s a safer environment and one that’s fully provisioned. He will provide you with access to his communications network, so we’ll be able to keep in regular touch on secure links. We need to set up a situations room and the ORM’s boardroom fits the bill quite nicely. In addition, the ORM’s logistics support crew will be at your disposal so straight away you have a small transport fleet at the ready.’
‘I’ve spoken, as you have,
to Carmen. I expect she will travel from La Gomera to La Palma on the afternoon ferry tomorrow. She will join you within twenty-four hours at the ORM.’
‘What about back-up?’ said Ros.
‘Will the girls be joining us? asked Simon softly.
‘Carmen assured me that she has access to a support team from the Instituto and once she deems it necessary, they will join you. That’s why I want you all under the same roof at the ORM. I’m packing my gear and expect to be on site within a day or so. It’s a long way from Hawaii to La Palma.’
‘Does all this suggest we’re in more serious trouble than we realise?’ said Simon.
‘Guys, if a series of minor tremors on La Palma was the only story, I would treat this as routine. But overnight we had more sea floor seismic activity out in the Mid-Atlantic Ridge. There’s on-going low-level readings on the other Canary Islands. Like you, I wouldn’t rule out that Mother Earth may be getting ready to give us a surprise. I hope she is not too angry. And I hope we’ve time to organise a response.’
After he rang off, Ros and Simon made silent eye contact. They too knew that the dormant volcanoes of La Palma were about to make the news.
‘It is only a matter of time before Fox News and Sky will be broadcasting live from the island,’ said Simon.
‘Your amateur acting experience will make you a great spokesperson,’ replied Ros.
‘By the way, what is the relationship between the Instituto and GSN?’ asked Simon.
‘Simple. The GSN has clout, resources and global expertise. They call the shots when a pending global emergency is in the offing. Can you imagine what Carmen would have to do to get Sikorskys deployed here! Donkeys: yes, helicopters: no! The GSN has global experience so if activity escalates, they will know best what to do. Don’t forget there hasn’t been a serious earthquake or volcanic eruption in all of Spain for over a hundred years. We’ve a theoretical knowledge of our environment. Mark and the GSN deal with these natural events all over the world every day.’
The brothers knew that a move to the ORM made a lot of sense. It was an added bonus that it was a lot more comfortable and would mean a reunion for Simon and Maria. The ORM also had skin in the game because it was located at the edge of the Caldera de Taburiente at an elevation of 2,400 metres. The vast investment in this state-of-the-art astronomical facility was exposed. Its high-resolution telescopes provided one of the best places in the world to experience clear skies and to stargaze, but when it was built a gamble had been taken. It was known the facility was located close to a set of dormant volcanoes that could put the entire complex at risk.
Hotel Icefjord, Ilulissat
Lars Brun decided that it would be best if he was present when the Norwegian Air Force’s Lockheed C130 Hercules transporter landed at Ilulissat airport.
The recent extension of the runway at Ilulissat to accommodate wide bodied aircraft had an upside and a downside. The downside was that the quiet and quaint town of Ilulissat was now inundated – snowed under so to speak – with tourists. Direct flights from JFK, Toronto and European cities other than Copenhagen were a good idea in theory but, in reality, the local population could not cope with mass tourism. The indigenous Inuits, hunters by nature, now felt hunted.
As summer conditions were good, one of the De Havilland DHC-6 Twin Otter ski-planes that serviced the needs of Summit Station was pressed into action for the 382-kilometre journey to Ilulissat – a distance it would cover in a little under ninety minutes. It was an ideal transport option as it could take both cargo and fifteen passengers. Its powerful Pratt & Whitney turboprop engines allowed it to take off and land on short runways. It might be a noise bucket, but it provided basic comforts to research staff who were more than used to rough conditions.
At the Summit Station’s high elevation, the plane’s capacity to take off and the fuel it carried was very much determined by the weight of the passengers and cargo. Lars knew the drill. He stood on the weighing scales as the two Canadian pilots observed.
‘Ninety-one kilos. You have put on two kilos since you last flew.’
Patting his belly, one of the pilots joked, ‘Is this your eskimo bank account? Your hedge against hunger?’
Lars responded to the good-natured banter, ‘What do you expect when all we eat is meat and carbs! When is the last time we saw fruit in this place?’
‘That’s a feeble excuse! We’ll trim the aircraft to take account of the excess personal baggage.’
The pilots and Lars boarded the Twin Otter.
As the plane prepared to take off down the runway at the Summit Station Lars asked himself if this was a total waste of time, money and effort. Although he had to admit a bit of bias, the conclusion he reached was ‘no’ on all counts. For over a decade, scientists had been aware of the extent of the Greenland ice melt but could not predict patterns nor the impacts of what was happening, literally under their feet. Within two to three weeks they would all be wiser.
One of the benefits of heading up the research team at Summit Station was that he could take full advantage of every opportunity to fly on the Twin Otter. Wrapped in a wool blanket, he sat on the jump seat in the main cockpit, immediately behind the two pilots. He put on his oxygen mask, checked the radio communications and looked out. It was a rare clear day with excellent visibility. There were basic flight preparation routines and rules. The pilot confirmed the flight details with the control tower at Ilulissat. Once that was done the Twin Otter took off down the groomed runway. They were off the ground in under a hundred metres.
The scenery at 3,000 metres above the ice sheet was stunning.
Across the horizon to the south there were over fifty white peaks, many unclimbed, protruding above a hazy dirty cloud base. Only the highest peak wore a cloud cap. A crown for the king towering in his turret over his troops. This was God’s place, where mountains, summits, rivers and lakes had no names. Undiscovered remoteness. Wide open nothingness. Pure beauty. An untamed and untended land. While a lot could be seen, he knew there was much more that lay beneath.
Just after take-off the terrain below had been full of ridges of what can best be described as dirty ice. There was growing evidence that the top layers of the ice sheet comprised deposits of volcanic dust from Iceland’s volcanoes as well as brown industrial particulates pollution from Canadian and American cities. How this affected the snow-white colour of the surface was no longer a matter of debate. Lars was more surprised when he noticed small but identifiable pools of deep blue water at regular intervals. As far as he could see from 2,000 metres up, there were channels of water spreading out from these pools.
As the Twin Otter descended into Ilulissat airport over the ice sheet, the views were nothing short of spectacular. What struck Lars, when they were still some distance from the coast, were the great number of blue lakes dotted all over. Many of the larger lakes were over two hundred metres wide and had what appeared to be tails – rivers of azure blue meltwater that disappeared under the ice sheet.
The morning fog that usually hung thick over the low-lying coastal areas had been burnt away. The jagged high edge at the rear of the Jacobshavn Glacier was the dominant feature as they approached the airport. Behind the glacier lay a thirty kilometre stretch of icebergs waiting their turn to join the warmer waters of the Baffin Sea to the west. Tides arm-wrestled the pack ice. The land and the frozen sea were as still as a painting.
As the plane flew lower over the side of the glacier the scenery changed dramatically. One thousand metres below the landscape was radically different. The brown clay, fields of moss and creeping white lichens and soiled grey boulders defined the seashore. The fields were infused with Niviarsiaq, the ‘Young Girl’, Greenland’s national flower and other perennial flora. There was a veritable palette of vegetation. The freezing blue-black Arctic waters were full of icebergs of all shapes, hues and sizes playing with each other in slow motion. Calm but vorac
ious sentinels. The light winds blew chunks of blue-white ice across the bay. The high sloping mountains close to the shoreline were mirrored in the water. It was hard to believe that once Greenland was lush with ancient poplars, chestnuts and conifers.
I should have brought my camera, thought Lars.
Apart from the small town of Ilulissat some five kilometres ahead, there was no visible sign of habitation. This part of Greenland was barren. The nearest Inuit village, Qaanaaq, was seventy-five kilometres to the north. This was a traditional Greenland settlement, where people depended on what nature afforded them. It was a slow way of life where few Western influences penetrated.
The Twin Otter glided in like a large snow albatross. Lars pushed back against his seat and the plane landed with a bump, lurched, slowed and slid to a stop, and in doing so pushed the limits of luck and physics. This was just another effortless, routine school run for the Canadian pilots. Although they didn’t let Lars know, their priority was to catch the second half of an ice hockey play-off in the airport crews’ TV room where their team, the Toronto Maple Leafs, were locked in mortal combat against the unfancied Ottawa Senators. Professional hockey, after all, was a religion that demanded total devotion from its believers. The post-flight de-brief could wait.
Later, Lars supped some hot vegetable soup in a mug with the base manager in the control tower as they watched the C130 Hercules loop over the airfield against an almost clear blue sky. This four-engine turboprop transport aircraft, much favoured by the military across the world, was as comfortable landing on unprepared runways as it was on a fully tarmacked one. The Air Traffic Controller gave permission to land. It wasn’t as busy as Heathrow or JFK, but standard operational protocols had to be respected. The plane taxied up at a distance from the terminal building and the piercing roars of its engines subsided. It was a behemoth beside the much smaller De Havilland DHC-8 200 series aircraft used by Greenland Air and Air Connect Iceland.
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