ANTARCTIC FIRE: A Harry Crook Thriller - Conspiracy in the Antarctic

by Chris Geater

  “I stored them in an insulated container and then placed them in a freezer in the lab.”

  “A freezer in Antarctica, surely that's like taking coal to Newcastle?”

  “You’d think so, but it is common practice to play with organisms who’s survival depends on very low temperatures. I'm using the freezer to do some tests on the sample. Nobody has been this close to the type of extremophile in a controlled environment, it's very exciting.”

  Playing with fire took on a whole new meaning.

  “If they have adapted to the extreme low temperatures, why can't we cause them to adapt to normal temperatures, operate in water and separate oxygen and hydrogen?”

  “Interesting point. The sample I took from the Russian tube is an organism from a group called Glaciecola, it has the most potential for metabolising hydrogen, separating the two gasses in water, well, ice. It uses one of the hydrogen molecules as fuel and one oxygen molecule for biological function then discharges the remaining hydrogen into its surrounds. The problem is that its surrounds happen to be solid ice. Once you begin to raise the temperature in order for the gas to be harvested, the hydrogen fuel reaction that the organism burns to keep alive becomes warm. So warm that the organism can't survive and dies as you’ve experienced with the sample tube. Modern science has been unsuccessful in achieving any sort of meaningful progress.”

  “How would this contribute to Michael's demise?”

  “Well, you asked me to think like Stan Lee. Imagine if the scientific community made sufficient progress in this field to achieve the power output we discussed? What if some of these extremophiles were artificially manufactured to produce vast amounts of energy that could be harnessed?”

  “What, and Michael came in contact with it?” I said.

  “Remember, this is science fiction. Previous experiments with Glaciecola, as the ice began to melt the organisms temperature increased at a more rapid rate than the temperature of its surrounds. Plotting that temperature increase before the organism expired showed an exponential increase. If the organism remained alive and the surrounding water reached zero degrees then the temperature achieved would be astronomical!” Allan was getting right into it.

  “If I were to hold a handful of this organism while it was at the low temperature and allowed it to thaw in my hand, assuming that it didn't die, then it could burn me?” I asked getting into the mood.

  “Burn you! Theoretically the temperature would be in the vicinity of eight or nine hundred degrees. You would cease to exist.”

  “Hence our pipe and Michaels demise?”

  “Well, in Stan Lee’s world yes. As long as the organism has a supply of water and food there is no reason for it not to just continue its bioreaction. There is plenty of water and food in our bodies to keep the reaction going for a minute or so.”

  Fiction and fact were becoming blurred.

  “This isn't possible though Allan, right?”

  “No, it isn't. But hey, Apple wrist-watches Harry.”

  “Okay, so Steve gave us a brief picture, but we asked him for the opportunity to include you all in further discussions to nut out the details,” began Dr Jason Carmichael, head of the Australian Antarctic Division. “Dr Julie Brown joins me, for those who aren’t familiar with her position she is head of the Science Branch.”

  “Hi guys, just Julie, don't worry about the Dr bit,” she allowed.

  We sat in Steve’s office the next morning, a satellite connection through his office phone with a speaker slash microphone in the centre of our huddle.

  “Allan, could you shed some light?” Steve passed the ball nicely.

  “Right,” began Allan. “Well, with no evidence but a spectacular result anyway, I think we can be confident that the fire was an extremophilic reaction to thawing.”

  Silence from Tasmania, maybe they were expecting more, maybe they were experiencing myocardial infarctions? Either way the awkwardness drew on.

  Dr Julie gave a nervous giggle, “You’re joking right? That's the stuff of fantasy and theory, it's never been established.”

  “Why don’t you explain a little more for us,” Jason intervened.

  Allen went on to explain more about the extremophiles and gave a similar run down to the one I received only without the science fiction bits.

  “It’s feasible, scientifically credible and frankly the only explanation for the Russian fire and our experience yesterday in the laboratory building,” Allan concluded his lecture.

  “What about Michael Bentley, how would he have come in contact with the substance?” asked Steve.

  “I can't explain how but we all know the results,” Allan replied.

  “Dr Walker, would your knowledge of Michaels death line up with Allan’s explanation?” asked Jason.

  Natalie replied, “Yes, it makes sense. I don’t fully understand the limitations of the extremophiles to which Allan refers but as he said, the results speak for themselves. Michaels body was subject to a similar combustion process that the Russian vehicles and our borrowed sample tube.”

  “Allan, you are on secondment from the Defence Department, your speciality is climate?” Jason trying to get his head around a development that could sink his career.

  “True,” replied Allan. “Climate is one of the areas I specialise in but organisms surviving in extreme environments is my real specialty.”

  “You mean your assignment here is not climate change, it's these organisms, this combustion business?”

  “I have been tasked to look at that very phenomena, the sole reason for my deployment,” confessed Allan. The plot thickened, the silence had another go.

  “So, what, you’re here to invent bombs for our military?” Julie dripping with venom. To betray the environmental movement was one thing but to do it for the military was something else entirely.

  Allan laughed, “This is about clean energy, an organism that can produce hydrogen and heat, energy. The uncontrolled combustion and resultant explosions are obstacles to us, we want to harness and control. You should be onboard with that, something worth pursuing.”

  Nobody replied so Allan continued. “Imagine a microorganism, one easily manufactured that is capable of naturally separating hydrogen and oxygen. Hydrogen as a fuel produces four times the amount of energy than diesel fuel, one litre of water contains 1235 litres of Hydrogen and 622 litres of Oxygen, it's a game changer. We could use the hydrogen to produce electricity and as you know the exhaust from burning hydrogen is water vapour. Currently it’s not possible but feasible enough to pursue.”

  The virtual meeting continued with much less tension and disgust once the Hobart connection settled down and began to see the potential for our little organism. There was some discussion as to why the sample tube was taken to Davis in the first place but Steve dodged around the questions. In the end they seemed happy enough. A decision was made to return the pipe to the Ranvic Glacier and hope that the Russians hadn't been back to retrieve the rest of their equipment.

  Nine months of the year Davis operated two helicopters. For expediency one was allocated to return the Russian tube post haste. Scott the helo pilot, Steve and myself carried out the sortie and arrived at the site only to discover that the second vehicle had been recovered along with all the paraphernalia. Other than holes in the ice the area was clean. Steve made an executive decision to carry on to Progress and return the piece of equipment to them. We would explain that we found it on the glacier and assumed that it belonged to them. The details of its time in Davis would be left out.

  The short fifteen minute flight to Progress gave the pilot time to gain authority from the Progress station to land at their helo pad. In preparation for landing, the aircraft turned into the wind revealing through my window the Chinese station Zhongshan, plenty of activity. Several rugged up Russians met the aircraft at the pad and helped us unload the tube from its mounts on one side of the skids. The station leader, Veodore invited us to morning tea Russian style in appreciation for o
ur considerate gesture.

  The station was everything you would expect. Had I been asked to describe the station prior to arriving, given my dealings with the Russian mindset and comparing it to Australian priorities I would have been spot on. The buildings were less numerous but larger and unlike Davis served multiple purposes. One stood out as a recent addition, pale yellow, modern and quite large. Obsolete machinery and portable buildings lay around the base rusting and crumbling in contrast to the new, bright equipment lined up neatly. Fuel drums, tanks and old round timber cable drums scattered and covered in ice. Power lines ran haphazardly from leaning poles to the occupied areas. It made me appreciate the effort made by people in Davis to keep our station ship shape.

  The accommodation building, the largest on the station housed a comfortable cafe. Veodore insisted we enjoy a small vodka followed by strong black coffee and sweet honey pastries. After introductions he regaled us with a sad story of diesel leaks and large Kharkovchanka vehicles that caught on fire during a warmer than average Antarctic day.

  Andrey, one of the four men seated with us spoke to Veodore in Russian suggesting he ask us when and where we found the tube. Russian is my favourite languages and I was almost fluent which gave me a few seconds to prepare an answer once the question was interpreted.

  “We noticed it while carrying out a training exercise on the Ranvic Glacier,” I stepped in before Steve. “Not far from where your vehicles came to grief. We weren't sure what to do with it so we took it to Davis with the intention of returning to Progress at the first available opportunity.”

  The Russian speaking member of the party muttered, "Yerunda," which literally translates to ‘bollocks’.

  Veodore glanced at him and shook his head slightly and turned back to us smiling, “We are grateful,” he said. “Helping each other is what spirit of Antarctica is all about. When we stumble on Australian machinery we will do exactly as you have.” I bet they will. They all knew what was going on yet didn't want to make it an issue, maybe just taking the focus off the tube and its contents.

  “Very sad about your technician, no?” Veodore probed.

  Steve looked up sharply, “You know about that?”

  “Ahh, yes, tragic news travels fast, men talk, it is how these things go.”

  “Funny coincidence, one of your men bursting into flames, one of ours, what are the chances?” I threw in.

  Steve looked at me confused, Veodore and his comrades looked at me a little differently.

  “They know about this?” gasped Andrey in Russian accusing Veodore.

  Veodore attempted a smile, “You must be mistaken, ‘burst into flames’?” he laughed nervously. “More rumours as men talk, how you say, skuttlebutt?”

  I smiled at him, “Yes, skuttlebutt, that must be what it is.” The icy polar atmosphere prevailed.

  Veodore stood and we all followed suit. Empty vodka glasses next to the half full coffee ceramics rattled from the speed at which the standing took place.

  “You must forgive us,” Veodore composed. “We must be getting to our work.” He spoke to one of his comrades in Russian ensuring we went straight to the helicopter.

  Veodore, “Ovdei will accompany you to transport, we are grateful for our pipe, thank you.” They walked off.

  “What’s this about a Russian catching fire?” Steve asked through the helo intercom and our headphones. “Were you making it up?”

  “No, one of their scientists was found somewhere on the ice burnt to a crisp. Apparently it was no surprise to them.”

  “How do you know that, where do you get your information from?”

  I kept silent, the pilot didn't need to hear anymore, I would fill Steve in when we returned to Davis.

  Steve and I sat in his office, door closed. I fed him an altered reality to ensure my cover remained credible. Handy that he should know really, I needed more room to freely move around.

  “My background is similar to yours Steve, and consequently I was asked to look into this affair. Even though the Antarctic Division employed me, in reality I work for Comcare.”

  Comcare are the regulators for unusual locations like Antarctica. They regulate the Federal Work Health and Safety Act. Smurf’s briefing provided that little handy bit of intel.

  “Is head office aware of this?”

  “No, and frankly I think it prudent if they weren’t informed.”

  “This incident with the Russian scientist, is that recent?”

  “Yes, just prior to Michael’s. Not common knowledge as you can appreciate, even Peter isn't aware.”

  “What are you investigating, negligence, industrial accident, breaches of the Act?”

  “We’re not sure Steve, the whole situation is unorthodox.”

  "What were the similarities to Michaels demise, did the Russian self combust? What details do we have?"

  "We are not sure regarding the details, from what we gather there were no witnesses. All we know is they located their scientist some distance from Progress incinerated and melted into the ice. It's a fair statement that these incidents are not coincidental."

  "What is if it's a disease, a bacteria that could infect us? What if these men died from a rare as yet undiscovered organism which turns our bodies into torches?"

  Steve's imagination took off, panic settled into his face as he contemplated something extraordinary and alien which he had allowed into Davis.

  "Unlikely Steve, although a one hundred percent mortality rate is impressive."

  An ashen pallor crept up from his neck, my enjoyment increased at his expense, I'm not a nice guy.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Popping open my laptop that evening I noticed an email from sputnik@yahoo, the address used by an old enemy and friend Len when covert contact was required. Full name Vasily Mikhailovich Yezov, KGB, now the SVR or Russian Foreign Intelligence. Over the years we interacted, initially here in Australia not long after my recruitment at university by ASIS and later in foreign countries where we mutually ‘assisted’ each another during our dubious missions operating on behalf of our respective governments. We kept in contact and as a result Len helped to expose an illegal nuclear fuel waste storage facility constructed in the remote Australian Gibson Desert a couple of years ago.

  The message was brief:

  Dear Harry, Our mutual friend suggested I contact you. Please call at your earliest opportunity, the number as usual. Your friend Vasily.

  Due to my position on the station I had been issued with a code that once punched into the phone in my room I could access the satellite comms.

  “Len, hows the Bolshoi treating you?” I asked.

  “Hurry, how nice to hear from you. The nursing institution allows phone calls? I am surprised, senior members of our society are not so privileged.”

  We got down to brass tacks.

  Len led, “No surprise to see your name on communication from upset scientist Hurry. When is your name not used in vain?”

  Veodore and Andrey didn't muck around.

  “Sensitive people, your academics Len. What appears to be the problem?”

  “My colleagues very high up the ladder are showing much interest. They know who you are now Hurry, you must realise this? Visiting our base, upsetting the locals, the bag has let the cat out as you say.” English colloquialisms were never his thing. “Your photo arrived before the helicopter took off from Progress and our people took no time to identify that plain yet obvious face of yours.”

  “You’d think eminent soviet scientists would have better things to do,” I suggested.

  “These unusual occurrences, people catching fire, they are distracted. But why are you involved? Don’t you have innocent husband to chase?” Len asked.

  We went back a long way, owed our lives to each other. Bond and trust cemented in the trenches of espionage.

  “There’s something going on here Len, a lot of incendiary activity and definitely not coincidental.”

  “How much do you know about ex
tremophiles Hurry?” Ahh, cats and bags.

  “Quite a bit Len.”

  “I was afraid of that,” he sighed.

  “I have been asked to travel to the Progress station, make a visit on behalf of my masters. They understand our past, I am very unlucky man.” That's not what he said when I saved his life in Thailand.

  “What's going on Len?”

  “I will talk to you again soon Hurry, keep your eye on email.” He was gone.

  Cages had been rattled. The volatile microorganism connection now obvious but why so important? Understandable as a scientific discovery but Len worked for the SVR, not the Antarctic Research Institute. Covert foreign operations were his specialty, usually involving measures with which most would be uncomfortable.

  Over a bottle of vodka one evening he shared one such operation. Four Soviet diplomats were kidnapped by a militant group calling themselves the Islamic Liberation Organisation originally part of the Muslim Brotherhood, one of the diplomats was killed. Len and his colleagues identified the terrorists, located their families and relatives and took many of them hostage. One of the hostages had his testicles removed and sent to the militants with a note suggesting more family jewels were to follow. Apparently the Russians enjoyed a kidnapping free season of over twenty years as a direct result.

  I called Smurf and filled him in.

  “I suggested Len contact you direct. But you’re right Harris, not the typical project for him, he’s rather senior for this type of thing. One hopes he will shed some light on the subject.”

  “Why doesn't he just come and see you?”

  “Len and you have history, it's natural that he would contact you. But there is more to this than meets the eye, must be a very delicate situation. The fact that the people at Progress took the time to ID you after your visit is also unusual, something tells me there are more than scientists there, must be for an important reason.”

  “I have something else for you,” Smurf continued. “A good friend of mine indicated that our old mutual organisation has an interest in Antarctica.”