Sub-Zero

by Robert W. Walker

  Tim shook his head in agreement. “Marie didn’t have an accent!”

  “I believe you could be quite right, Dr. Nevis,” said Walsh.

  “I know I’m right, young man,” replied Nevis. “And what is more, I believe Emily had more than a madman’s reason for wanting Mark Wertman killed.”

  The group looked to Wertman who only stared back in response.

  “Mark was one of the men who disagreed with and suppressed Joraski’s research,” said Ben Nevis authoritatively, pointing a long index finger at Wertman.

  Wertman did not get up but his voice bolted in anger, “Damn it, Ben, you know it was no one’s singlehanded decision to ignore Joraski’s research. The U.S. didn’t even control his funds! Russians on the Committee fought to see

  Joraski cut off. When he persisted again and again, and after his final condemnation of the international project called Iceman I, the U.S.S.R. saw to it that he was silenced for good.”

  “They had him committed,” said Nevis sadly. “And the rest of the scientific community sat idly by and said nothing.”

  “They issued research under his name, refuting all his own theories, and made a mockery of the man,” said Mark Wertman, shaking his head.

  “Phony research findings?” Joanna was shocked. “Why then was he out to get you?” Tim asked Mark. “I don’t understand,” Joanna joined in Tim’s confusion,

  Wertman breathed deeply. “Before the man was completely demoralized, he came to the Worldwide Climate Control people.”

  “Of which Mark was a prominent young member at the time,” said Ben.

  “Although 1 agreed with Joraski’s findings, I didn’t think them significant enough to alter our Iceman I project appreciably. He wanted all construction and glacier modification in Arctic areas to cease. No one on the committee, at that time, was willing to sacrifice the project for this man’s notions of impending doom. But I was the man to whom the responsibility of presenting his case to the committee fell. I recommended that his calculations be suppressed. I believed he was wrong. These were the same calculations she was babbling about.” When he finished Wertman indicated Emily Joraski.

  “So the man’s findings were ignored,” said Tim with a shrug. “Why not? His findings say that we are in for another freakin’ ice age, nothing serious. Nothing to get excited over. You didn’t believe him?”

  “None of us did!” shouted Mark. “The project was succeeding in every way. Its purpose was clear, to provide otherwise arid and tundra lands with fresh water. To do this, glaciers had to be brought under harness. That took power, nuclear power!”

  “1 was one of the scientists who worked with the Iceman I U.S. team,” said Ben Nevis, pulling at his white whiskers. “We contained the Arctic Ocean, bottled it up-so to speak-with a series of dams and locks. The cold water was pumped out in controlled fashion. This brought results in a matter of a few years, so that Alaska, East Siberia, China, Indo-China, Japan, and even the European and North American Continents enjoyed milder weather! The great wilderness stretches of the Northwest Territories above Canada, and Siberia were supporting grain productions unheard of! China was well on its way, for the first time in history to feeding her millions. The monsoons, now a thing of the past, came with regularity; and predictable amounts of rain-fall over India, China, and East Africa freed whole deserts from drought.”

  “Are you saying that the Bering Strait Dam and other such manmade controls in the Arctic caused the ice?” asked Tim, probing for Nevis’ meaning.

  “That was Joraski’s theory,” said Nevis simply. And then he added, “Isn’t that right, Mark?”

  Wertman groaned with the pain in his side and shoulder. Walsh had applied thick white bandages and plenty of gauze. Mark had no shirt on, and already the bandages were a dark red where he’d lost more blood.

  “His theory was that we were creating a marked rise in Arctic temperatures, the same as if the sun were to increase radiation at those latitudes. We had just as much evidence to show that we were not using that much nuclear power up there. Sure, we used nuclear subs, and reactors, but we sure as hell weren’t detonating neutron bombs to see what would happen!”

  “What did you use to melt the glaciers to make fresh water with?” Tim asked, and as if in afterthought, he continued. “And no matter what was used, weren’t you contributing to the increase in temperatures thereby decreasing the glacial ice?”

  Gary Hornell shouted, “Hey, wait a minute, this is crazy, talking about rising temperatures. Everything’s freezing over, including hell.”

  Tim shrugged, saying, “It stands to reason, Gary, that it takes a warm up to melt glaciers.”

  Ben Nevis, tugging gently at his white beard, interceded here. “The theory may strike you on the chin, young man, but there’s a certain, paradoxical logic to it all. Moderately higher temperatures across the wide expanse of the Arctic Ocean increases both evaporation from the seas and atmospheric circulation. This in turn carries heavier precipitation-more snow and ice-to the higher latitudes.”

  “Heating, rather than cooling, started all this?” said Joanna in surprise.

  “It encouraged massive Antarctic and Arctic ice surges, more and more icebergs, until shipping lanes were virtually obstacle courses,” said Nevis. “The warm Arctic encouraged more snow accumulation, which builds more ice sheets.”

  “You need fairly warm, moist air to manufacture snow,” said Tim expertly.

  “You’ve been doing your homework,” said Dr. Nevis. “Did you come across the fact that ice depends upon snow not only to fall but to fail to melt? Cold, dry Arctic air is, or was, always a poor snowmaker. With the help of an international team of scientists, and support from governments around the world, manhas created a warm Arctic.”

  “Project Iceman,” said Tim thoughtfully.

  “Of course,” seethed Joanna, “That’s why Emily continued to harp on the Iceman experimentation going on when she telephoned her threats.” Joanna glared at Mark Wertman. “You’ve been lying all along, about everything!”

  “An experiment? Someone’s damned experiment has caused all the death and destruction?” Herb Kennelly roared.

  “Inadvertently, I can assure you,” said Ben Nevis when Mark Wertman failed to answer the charge. “Inadvertently the northern Pacific and Atlantic Oceans were becoming the catalysts for catastrophe. First they filled them with glacial ice, to produce fresh water supplies for Siberia, China, and elsewhere. The evaporating ice sheets increased precipitation and snow. Over an expanded time period, no one could predict that the Westerlies, and particularly, the Jet Stream would be pushed into a persistent block which began to maintain snow, ice, and cold the way it once maintained rain and warmth, or a balance of power between the two.”

  “You haven’t anything to say about all this, Dr. Wertman?” Tim asked mockingly.

  “I’m afraid we learned too late that some of Joraski’s theories were accurate, that the last ice age was brought on by rising temperatures.”

  “Radiation levels were higher in the Arctic than anyone knew. Joraski found them dangerously high at times and made numerous reports and predictions based on this fact,” said Nevis, pacing before Wertman now. “Either no one took him seriously, or someone wanted him silenced. Now, it’s probably too late. Now we know Joraski was right. He theorized that higher arctic temperatures would create cold elsewhere. He warned that if the earth’s average annual temperatures were to decrease by three degrees, we would be hurled into an ice age! Further, we both know, Mark, that if the ice flows should meet or ever reach a little closer to the equator than they have managed so far, the new ice age will be virtuallyunstoppable.”

  “I can see why they labeled him a crackpot,” said Tim in deep thought.

  “Yeah,” agreed Joanna. “Who wants to hear facts like that? Like Gore’s film, rather inconvenient on the ear.”

  “Especially if the facts might harm a multi-million· dollar, international, peace time, cooperative venture?” aske
d Tim with a frown.

  “But even if Mark were the man who black balled Joraski’s report to the Worldwide Climate Control people, the others had a vote,” said Joanna. “And what about this Russian involvement? They stood to gain a lot by glacial modification.”

  “N0 doubt there were a lot of international trade-offs involved in the whole thing,” said Tim, and then looking directly into Mark’s eyes. “What did you stand to gain or regain? A seat on the WWCC?”

  “Is that why Emily Joraski hated you so much, Mark?” asked Joanna.

  “No,” answered Nevis. “It was Mark’s father, who first conceived Iceman One.”

  Wertman’s jaw was clenched tightly. “My father was trying to end a condition worse than this.”

  “Worse than this? What in hell is worse than this?” asked Tim.

  “Ben here knows,” said Mark simply.

  “What’s worse than ice, Ben?” Tim went to Nevis. “N0 ice,” answered Nevis. “Whole populations around the world were dying of starvation, disease, and drought during the years 2010 and 2014, Tim. We were in dire need of fresh water. Only the Arctic could provide it.”

  “Radiation levels had increased the world around,” said Wertman curtly. “No one cared to hear anymore horror stories about what might happen if there were a radiation leak or an explosion of a reactor somewhere, because it had been shown a million times over that such a catastrophe was near impossible-that reactors were not bombs sitting and waiting to be exploded by some careless employee or military man. What we didn’t take into consideration was the Arctic itself, the climate combining with the sudden heating. The running off of glacial ice added to the increase in environmental change.”

  “There’s more,” said Tim, his blue eyes flaring out from his handsome bearded face in anger. “There’s got to be more to it than what you say. Something you’re hiding.”

  “You picked a sharp boyfriend, here, Joanna,” Wertman said.

  “But his imagination outdistances his senses.”

  Joanna studied Mark’s reply but could not determine anything from it. Just then Wertman’s private line rang and Herb Kennelly picked it up. “Yea, yea, he’s here. Hold the line!” Kennelly thundered into the phone. To Wertman he said, “You know a guy named Fred Orme?”

  “Control tower director for the helipad,” said Wertman, getting to his feet and, without assistance, going to the desk phone.

  33

  “There’s no time left, Arlene,” Marlo was shouting now. “You’ll just have to do as I say! We haven’t any more options left. Steve’s our first concern, and you have to get him down!”

  Arlene was visibly shaken. She nodded slowly and tried to regain her composure. “All right.”

  “Put on my parka and the snow shoes after you tie Stephen into the basket. When you’re ready, I’ll lower the ladder. You’ll climb down first, and then reach in and carry the basket with you. It’s on a line, so if you drop it, it’ll be all right. But Steve’ll be happier if you’re holding on. Then climb down steady, not fast; and be careful. The wind is still rough out there, and that ice is going to cut into your eyes and face.”

  Arlene struggled to get out of the copilot’s seat with Stephen in her arms. Stephen sensed her fear and began to cry. He was hungry and tired, though they’d rested comfortably in the warm cabin of the helicopter.

  Marlo had shared some chocolates and cookies with them, as they sat in the middle of the expressway waiting for an opportune moment to ascend. They had flown out to O’Hare airport, but there were damaged and wrecked air vehicles of all sorts on the runways, and they could not get ground clearance there. Now, darkness was upon them.

  Though the copilot seat swiveled, Arlene’s bandaged leg was still giving her some pain, and Stephen’s kicking and crying didn’t help. She knew the moment she made her move for the rear of the compartment, Stephen would begin to react from fear, hunger, and tiredness. In a crouch, she hurried back to the hatch which Marlo opened automatically from his pilot’s seat. Another button would send the strong, thick rope ladder over the side. Arlene ignored her child’s piercing cries and the outstretched little arms that implored her to reach down and pick him up again, as she strapped him into the basket beside the hatch. In the next instant, she saw the rope ladder suddenly come to life, moving like a snake. She watched it descend into the surrounding blue-white of snow and shadows below. It fell like an anchor going over the side of a ship.

  “Stephen’s ready!” she called out to Mario.

  Marlo was cursing under his breath. “What in hell happened to Orme and Wertman? Where are they?”

  Arlene, crouching, came up behind Marlo and shouted again, “I’m ready, I think!”

  “Oh, great,” said Marlo. “Is the boy tied in tight?” She nodded, coming around to face him. “How are you going to get down?”

  “I’ll be okay as soon as Wertman and Orme arrive with the others. If I turn off the blades and set her down without their locking me on the port, the helicopter will be toppled over the side.”

  They gazed for some time into one another’s eyes.

  “You’re really something, you know that,” she said.

  “Oh, sure, I know that,” he kidded. Then, seriously, he said, “I wish we’d met sooner. I think you’re beautiful.”

  Her eyes began to tear. Marlo protested, but she bent over and kissed him full on the lips.

  “Hey, hey,” Marlo was still protesting when she stopped. “Get going now.”

  “A little thanks shouldn’t be so hard to accept,” she said.

  “It isn’t! Not that kind of thanks,” he said, his eyes beaming. And then he was all business again as he felt himself blushing. “As soon as you touch ground-or snow, I should say-you’ll see a door with a light over it, just ahead of the copter. Keep low. The wind from the storm and the helicopter will rake you right over if you aren’t careful. There’ll be stairs. They’ll take you to the Observation Deck. Get some strong men out here to help me out, okay? Try to get Wertman. He’ll get that pad clear for me.”

  Arlene nodded automatically to all of Marlo’s words. They’d gone over the plan several times now. “You’re the bravest man I’ve ever known,” she said.

  “Except for Stephen, maybe,” laughed Marlo. “Those Icemen are all brave.”

  She nodded. “Please, please be careful.”

  “I’ll be sipping coffee with you down below soon. Don’t worry.”

  “Coffee,” she nodded several times, still crying. “Get, now!” he shouted.

  She laughed nervously, and kissed him once more quickly before dashing out of his sight and back to Stephen. She balked only a moment, looking down the ominous, open hatchway, seeing the heavy rope ladder swaying madly in the wind.

  “Hurry Arlene!” Marlo shouted back to her.

  Arlene shouted back, “We’re off!” She’d planted her feet firmly on the ladder and lowered herself down to the waist. She hefted a still smiling, laughing Stephen in the basket. Then with a final look at the back of Marlo’s curly head, she disappeared below the hatch.

  Marlo looked over his shoulder and saw that they had gone. “Careful!” he shouted out to them.

  Outside the copter, the biting, cold wind hit her full in the face, though she’d covered her head with the hood. Stephen continued to wail, but the noise of the helicopter drowned him out. She held onto Stephen’s basket with one hand and the ladder with the other, but she was finding the going impossible. She’d have to lower Stephen down and then climb down herself. She did so, her heart aching to see her child on the end of the lifeline, the little carriage basket swaying recklessly in the wind. But it had to be done.

  She took the ladder steps too fast and slipped at one rung, losing her balance and dropping two feet before she was able to stop the fall. She’d grabbed onto the rope and burned her hands badly. Her leg was charged with an electric, pulsating pain. She knew the bleeding was beginning again. Each time she looked up to the belly of the helicopter above,
its little hatchway open and light flooding down, she thought of Marlo up there alone.

  Arlene looked down to see how much further she had to go. It was difficult to judge. Heights made her dizzy. The helicopter ride had made her sick to her stomach. But as she gazed below, a relief took hold of her. A man in a wild west looking coat was unstrapping the bands around her son, and getting him out of the basket to take him to safety. Other men stood around the ladder now and held it steady. She could move down now with more ease. In a moment she felt helping hands on her legs and shoulder, steadying her. She heard someone shouting orders and believed it was the man Marlo wanted there, Mark Wertman.