Bonereapers

by Jeanne Matthews

  “And you manage the seed vault, too?”

  “Ja, along with the Global Crop Diversity Trust and the Nordic Genetic Resource Center. We will only accept samples that have not previously been deposited. No duplicates.”

  She smiled. “Like Noah took on board the minimum number needed to reproduce.”

  He defrosted slightly. “Svalbard is sometimes likened to Noah’s ark. But copies of our seeds have to be stored in another gene bank somewhere else.”

  “What does CGIAR do?”

  “It brings together scientists from all over the world. They engage in research and collaborate to maintain international gene banks.”

  “Where do they get the seeds for their research?”

  “From the regional and national gene banks.”

  “Is a seed bank the same as a gene bank?”

  “It’s a type of gene bank. When those banks deposit samples with Svalbard, they must agree to make available samples from their own stocks.”

  Dinah did an auditory double-take. “So anyone who wants to experiment with a particular seed can simply request it from his local seed or gene bank?”

  “Ja. Provided the local bank has deposited a sample with Svalbard. That is what the agreement says.”

  “Do the individual farmers and gardeners who entrust their seeds to the regional seed banks know that?”

  His gaze turned glacial again. “What the local banks tell the farmers is outside my knowledge.”

  Dinah thought, you could drive a John Deere tractor through that loophole. It was tantamount to fraud. It was fraud if the depositor expected the DNA of his seeds to remain intact. The farmer gives stocks of his heirloom seeds to the local seed bank for safekeeping. The local seed bank gives a sample copy of those seeds to Svalbard to keep even safer for the next ten millennia. And then the local seed bank turns around and gives anyone who asks free access to whatever it wants.

  The senators showed up, Sheridan in a heavy, khaki-colored anorak that filled Dinah with envy, and Herr Dybdahl waved them outside to his waiting car. Having chastised the clerk at the front desk, Tipton gathered up the briefcases and tagged after the senators like a puppy.

  Halverson returned and he and Dinah waited for Jake Mahler and Val to wind up their confab. After five minutes or so, they appeared to call a truce. They sat in the foyer and put on their boots. They didn’t speak. When they were ready to go, Mahler gave Halverson the nod and he conducted them toward a large black SUV.

  Mahler said, “Sit up front with Peder, Dinah. Val and I haven’t finished our discussion.” He held open the front passenger door for her and the rear door for Valerie.

  When they were all inside and buckled up, Halverson cranked the engine and turned on the headlights. They broadcast a brilliant, high-intensity blue light that seemed to compass the entire length and width of the town. The weather had cleared and in the nebulous distance, Dinah could make out the silhouette of a range of low, snow-covered mountains. The outline of a ship was visible at the wharf. She assumed it was frozen in the ice until spring, but she didn’t break the interior ice to ask.

  In the back seat, Val lowered her voice to a whisper. She sounded keyed up and angry. Dinah caught a word here and there, something about a note, or maybe a vote.

  The SUV barreled past the polar bear warning sign, going too fast for the road conditions. In the refulgent blue lights, roadside mining artifacts littered the landscape. Halverson hit a clump of rock-hard snow and the undercarriage sounded as if it were being ripped apart.

  Mahler’s voice jumped. “Is he insane?”

  “It was unavoidable!” exclaimed Halverson.

  “I wasn’t talking to you. Just drive.” Mahler said something to Valerie in a hoarse whisper, “Don’t buy it” or “deny it.”

  Halverson barreled on, his eyes focused on the rear view mirror instead of the road. His driving focused Dinah’s mind on the perils of breaking down this far from town with a geneticist, a lawyer, and a CEO to get the car running again. The SUV bucked and slued, throwing its blue lights hither and thither across the barren hinterland. She gripped the grab handle and comforted herself that at least there were no trees to slam into.

  There was more whispering in the back seat and then Valerie said, quite distinctly, “Somebody’s playing us, Jake.”

  Dinah almost turned, but a shimmering greenish-turquoise fluorescence distracted her. The column of light soared three hundred feet into the sky. It was too geometrically perfect to be the northern lights.

  “It’s the vault,” said Val.

  “Damn it, slow down,” growled Mahler.

  Halverson slowed and they all inclined their heads for a good view. From their angle of approach, the vault appeared as a triangular wedge protruding out of the side of a mountain. Or the prow of a huge, iced-in ship.

  Val said, “The roof and entrance are inlaid with steel mirrors and prisms and a mass of fiber-optic cables to reflect the polar light for miles around. The objective was to make it glow in the moonlight and sparkle in the midnight sun. If asteroids were to wipe out everyone who knows about the vault, it will stand out like a beacon and lure new people to investigate. It was designed by Dyveke Sanne. If it lasts as long as the Norwegians say it will, his name will go down with the Pharaohs who built the pyramids.”

  “Looks like Dr. No’s bunker,” said Mahler.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Halverson parked behind Herr Dybdahl’s car. They donned their coats and gloves and plodded through deep snow to get to a partially shoveled concrete walkway that climbed toward the entrance.

  Dinah didn’t think she’d need the balaclava just walking between the car and the door, but the wind ripped off her hood and blasted her face. Her hair lashed around her eyes and she covered her ears with her hands. Mahler pulled the hood back onto her head.

  “Thanks,” she said through chattering teeth.

  They were greeted at the entrance by an armed member of some branch or other of the Norwegian military. Herr Dybdahl, the videographer, and the senators, looking cold and crabby, were clearly tired of waiting. Only Tipton appeared bouncy and chipper.

  “Let’s get this show on the road,” said Sheridan.

  The guard unlocked the gate and motioned them through.

  “Follow me.” Dybdahl led the way. “This first section isn’t completely sealed off from outside air and you must mind your step. As the permafrost walls thaw and refreeze, water drips onto the floor and it becomes slippery.”

  “The permafrost acts as a natural insulation,” added Halverson.

  Dybdahl rattled off facts and figures like a docent. “There are four steel-reinforced, air-locked doors in the tunnel before you reach the actual vaults. The walls are three meters thick and there is twenty-four hour video surveillance operated from Sweden. It is, how do you say in English…?”

  “Impregnable,” said Valerie, her breath escaping in a long white plume.

  “Yes,” said Dybdahl. “It is designed to function without any human intervention.”

  Valerie’s boots skidded on the icy concrete and Mahler caught her before she went down.

  Dybdahl unlocked the second door and they proceeded into a long metal tube. Dinah’s face tautened from the cold. Her nostrils hurt and she fought down a nascent feeling of claustrophobia.

  “How many seeds do you have at present?” asked Mahler.

  “Approximately twenty million varieties. We have fifteen hundred varieties of Peruvian potatoes, alone.” Dybdahl obviously knew the contents of his vault down to the last pip.

  Some twenty yards ahead, a folding table had been set up with a photographer’s screen behind it.

  Dybdahl said, “We have chosen this place for the video. Peder Halverson will log in the seeds as you present them and Rolf will videotape each prese
ntation.”

  “I’ll help Rolf set things up,” said Tipton. He removed the packets of American seeds from the briefcases and lined them up on the table.

  Rolf adjusted his light meter and shouldered his camcorder. “Ready when you are.”

  “Go ahead and log in the Hawaiian stuff, Peder,” said Valerie. “No need to film that.”

  “If it’s not on film,” said Keyes, “Norris will think we dumped his blue state’s contribution on the side of the road.” He looked back and saw Dinah. “Come on, Dinah. Say a few words into the camera about what it is you’re depositing.”

  Dinah felt trapped, in more ways than one. She stepped forward, took the packet of seeds from Tipton, and looked into the camera. She would have delivered a caveat to the world’s gardeners if she thought it would ever be seen or heard. But it wouldn’t and, anyway, Norris was counting on her to act in a responsible way on his behalf. She said, “These are offshoots of the hapai banana donated by the Hawaiian Seed Savers Exchange. The hapai produces a sweet, ball-shaped banana. It was known as the “pregnant” banana because it grows inside the trunk of the tree and is ripe when the trunk becomes swollen. The hapai was one of the few varieties that women were allowed to eat during the period of Hawaiian history when kapu laws put many foods off limits to women. These offshoots should be stored in your cryopreservation chamber and kept extra cold.” She handed the packet to Halverson and stood aside.

  He transferred the packet into a thick silver envelope and labeled it with the name and provenance of the seed and the date of deposit. He then logged the entry into a laptop computer.

  “I’ll go next,” said Keyes. “Mind if I place the seeds into the envelope, myself, Peder? American viewers like to see the do-it-yourself spirit at work.”

  “Brilliant,” enthused Tipton.

  Keyes took the packet Tipton handed him and smiled into the camera. “Everybody knows that the first Thanksgiving was celebrated in Plymouth, Massachusetts, in sixteen-twenty-one. Those early American pilgrims didn’t have the opportunity to enjoy pumpkin pie at their first meal, but they soon learned that the land in which they had settled grows the finest pumpkins in the world. On behalf of the Great State of Massachusetts, I hereby donate these seeds so that future generations will never be deprived of this wonderful food.” He inserted the seed packet into the vault’s heavy-duty, silver envelope and folded over the self-sealing flap. In a seemingly heartfelt coda, he said, “Senator Sheridan and I would have preferred to store these American seeds in an American seed bank in Alaska, or there are some pretty cold places in Senator Sheridan’s home state of Montana. But given the enormity of our national debt, that isn’t feasible unless and until we embark on a domestic policy that makes use of America’s God-given natural resources.” He smiled like a Kennedy. “Until that time, Norway is our friend and ally and the Svalbard facility is a superb alternative. We support it wholeheartedly.”

  “Oh, that was beautiful,” said Tipton.

  Keyes passed the envelope to Halverson and clapped Sheridan on the back. “All right, Colt. You’re on.”

  Sheridan picked up his seed packet and faced the camera. “Montana wheat is the plumpest, cleanest, highest…highest quality grain that…grain that…” he faltered and rubbed his forehead.

  “Are you all right?” Keyes asked in a worried voice. “We can’t bring a teleprompter in here. Did you memorize the speech Val gave you?”

  “It doesn’t have to be verbatim,” said Valerie, giving Sheridan’s arm an encouraging shake. “The object is to sound natural, Colt. If you make a mistake, you can do it again. Right, Tip?”

  “Oh, right. It’ll be edited and ultra-professional. We’ll be using a clip on your website and in your campaign video. Whitney and I are assembling a collage of your most compelling TV moments.”

  “Take two,” said Rolf.

  Sheridan moved heavily, as if he weren’t quite awake. “Montana wheat is the highest quality, most nutritional grain in the world. It is the pride…we take great pride in…”

  “Our soil ecology and nutrient replacement programs,” prompted Valerie.

  “…our soil ecology and nutrient replacement programs and abundant harvests that permit us to export…we export…”

  There was a long pause.

  “Eighty percent,” cued Tipton.

  Valerie took charge like a protective stage mother. “He has a thousand things on his mind. Let’s start all over again, Colt. Shall we? Let’s take it from the top?”

  “Thanks, Val.” He smiled. “Montana wheat is the plumpest, highest quality, most nutritional…”

  “Take three,” said Rolf.

  Dinah didn’t know what was screwing up Sheridan’s concentration, but she felt the walls of the tube closing in on her. It wasn’t that the space was too small or the ceiling too low. It was the thickness of the walls surrounding this tube, the ice that formed on the hinges of the airlocked doors, the feeling of containment. Her heart was pounding. Sheridan’s words seemed to come from far away. She hugged her arms around her body. All she could think about was the cold and the fear of being buried alive in this cave for ten thousand years, like a living seed sealed up in an airtight, moisture-proof plastic envelope.

  She couldn’t stand another take, not another minute. She had to get out from under the weight of this mountain. She turned and bolted headlong down the corridor, skidding, catching herself, not stopping until she ran up against the door.

  “Let me out! I can’t breathe!”

  Behind her, Sheridan exploded. “Christ! Does that mean I have to start all over again?”

  “Somebody shut her up.” Valerie’s voice reverberated behind her. “Jake, get her out, will you? It’s all right, Colt. Once more. You’ve got it down pat, now.”

  “Help! Please open the door.”

  After what felt like ten thousand years, the door opened and Dinah rushed into the first section. Another locked door lay ahead of her. The sterile, permafrost walls increased her panic. She bent double and took several deep breaths.

  Mahler took hold of her arm. “Take it easy. I’ll get you out.”

  She wasn’t sure what he did, but the guard opened the first door and she stumbled out into the open and drew in a lung full of burning, icy air that made her wheeze.

  “Are you okay?” Mahler sounded genuinely concerned.

  “I will be.” She pulled herself together. “I can usually control myself better. Sorry if I messed up the filming.”

  “They’ll get it done. Come on. Let’s go back to the car.”

  She hunched her shoulders against the wind and made a dash for it. Mahler was surprisingly fast for a stocky man. He beat her to the car and held open the front passenger door for her. She slid in and he ran around and jumped into the driver’s seat.

  Halverson had left the keys in the car and Mahler started the engine and turned up the heater. “Brrr. People who live in this godforsaken place have got to have antifreeze in their veins.”

  She said, “I feel as if my blood’s congealed.”

  “It’s hell for a man like me with no hair on his head.” He laughed. “Mind if I smoke?”

  “Go ahead.”

  He rolled down the window an inch, lit a Winston with a gold lighter, and leaned his head back on the headrest. “I can’t wait to get back to civilization and that means at least thirty degrees above zero.”

  “You’ve been to Longyearbyen before, right?”

  “Only once, in the summer. Val’s been here a number of times since the vault opened in oh-eight. She speaks the language like a native. I’ve made our case to the agricultural ministries in most of the capitals of Europe, but Val’s the face of Tillcorp in Norway.”

  “She seems more focused on Senator Sheridan’s campaign than Tillcorp’s business.”

  �
��If Colt makes it to the White House, it’ll be a boon for companies like ours. He’s a pragmatist. He doesn’t put his head in the sand about climate change. It’s here and it’s already making a difference in what kinds of crops can be grown and where. Colt understands the potential of genetically modified foods to solve a lot of the world’s problems. He has to tread carefully when he talks about it, but Val can help him make GM products more palatable to the folks in Peoria. Whit Keyes wants to drill off the Atlantic coast and she made that sound palatable even to the Massachusetts liberals.”

  “Was she his attorney or his campaign manager?”

  “Both. She did a lot of what that Teilhard kid does now. But after a while, Whit was depending on her for everything.”

  “And you took her away from him.” Dinah wondered how much Mahler depended on Val. Their communications seemed a bit bumpy. “Will Sheridan take her away from you?”

  “Probably.” He laughed. “She’s a great wartime consigliere. She might be more of a loose cannon in peace time.” He took a drag off his cigarette and blew the smoke out the window. “Val seems to think you pose a danger to our, how shall I say? To our aspirations in Norway.”

  Dinah’s heart rate had returned to normal and she was beginning to warm up. But there was a suggestion of menace in his voice that chilled her all over again. “I don’t see how I could pose a danger to a multi-national company like Tillcorp.”

  “Over the years I’ve learned that big trouble can come in small packages. And Val’s a worrier. She’s noticed that you’re a little too chummy with people who may not have our best interests at heart. Brander Aagaard, Erika Sheridan, and word has it that you were socializing with Inspector Ramberg last night.”

  Her neck prickled. Who could have seen her with Aagaard at the Kaffe & Kantine, or with Thor at the Løssluppen? Erika said that Mahler and his guards spied on her. Were they spying on Dinah, too? She tried to sound blasé. “Senator Frye accused Senator Sheridan of being paranoid, but I think Valerie’s the one who’s paranoid.”