25
Kathryn Lokke sat in the C130 airplane bundled tightly in her thick parka. Her hood was raised up barely fitting over the bulky headphones which allowed her to talk to the flight crew. A quick shiver ran down from her shoulders and she counted back the years since she had been in this kind of weather and temperature. Peering down through the side window, she watched the white surface of Antarctica speed beneath them as the plane headed for the main base at McMurdo.
The plane slowly pitched forward as the pilots began their descent. As the plane sank closer to the ground, Kathryn could see four giant supply tanks on the far end of the base, beyond the hundred or so buildings surrounding the three airfields. In the far distance she could make out the distant harbor with two giant supply ships motionless in the dark grey water. Even further still was a thin line extending into the distance, the McMurdo road to the South Pole.
The plane came in low over the white runway and gently touched down. Kathryn, and the thirty-four researchers behind her, sat forward and began gathering their things. The plane taxied off the runway and stopped in front of a small terminal building. Bags were grabbed and the passengers shuffled out and down the stairs. Several large vans were waiting to receive them and everyone scattered to the nearest vehicle, throwing their bag up into the roof rack and quickly jumping inside the heated interiors.
Once loaded, all of the vehicles headed out in a single file line, driving half a mile to a giant nondescript hanger. A large door opened as they approached, and all seven vehicles drove inside and parked. The door was quickly closed behind them.
Kathryn climbed out of the lead van and stepped down onto the building’s smooth concrete floor.
“Ms. Lokke?” asked a man approaching from the center of the hangar. His accent was distinctly New Zealand. “I’m Steven Anderson,” he said extending his hand.
Kathryn slipped off her glove and shook it. “Hi Steven, we meet at last,” she replied with a smile. “Thanks for all your team’s help on this.”
“Ah our pleasure,” Anderson nodded. “That ice quake scared the daylights out of us too. Besides,” he turned his head motioning behind him, “it’s nice to have the company.”
She turned and waved her staff over.
“Well, the good news,” Anderson said, “is that you’ve got the best weather possible. Should have clear skies for the next six or seven days. Probably get all the way up to minus 5 or 6 degrees Fahrenheit.”
“What a relief,” moaned Jason Haines, walking up behind Kathryn. Jason was one of the newest and youngest geologists to join the USGS. He had been there just thirteen months, yet was one of the first to volunteer for the trip.
She introduced the two and waited for the others. His team had assembled the two dozen snow mobiles and arranged for the transport planes that would drop the researchers, and all of their supplies, off at the Ronne Ice Shelf. Anderson’s team would act as their guides.
Anderson went over the plan explaining how Kathryn and her team would split up into ten groups and try to cover the length of the giant slide in five days, getting as much information as possible. At the end of the five days, they would have exact measurements on the extent of the slide, strata samplings for subsurface composition and density, any signs of lateral slide, and a host of other pieces of data. If all went well, it would arm Kathryn with enough hard data to show the White House just how dangerous this situation was.
Jason Haines, still standing next to Kathryn, raised his hand with a question. Anderson nodded and Haines spoke up. “How often are we to be in contact?”
Anderson spoke up to make sure he was heard by everyone. “Communication will be constant.” He motioned to several of his team members standing behind him. “As you know, each team of three will be accompanied by a guide. My men know the area well and are as comfortable in these conditions as anyone can be, if you want to call it comfortable.” Anderson’s accent projected a friendly tone, but he and all of the men had a hardened look that was all business. “A small supply outpost will be located on the shelf in a central location. Your guides will be talking to them every fifteen minutes with coordinates and a team status. It does not take long out here to freeze to death, so do not get lost. If any team is not heard from for more than twenty minutes, a reconnaissance crew will be dispatched immediately, and they will begin trying to reestablish contact while in transit.” Anderson paused for just a moment to make sure everyone was listening. He reminded Kathryn of a sergeant explaining a detailed exercise to his unit. “As soon as they reestablish contact they will turn around and head back to the outpost. If they do not reestablish contact, they will be to you within 30 minutes. If you see us coming across the ice stop and wave your arms as high as you can. It can be very hard to see, even with a very small amount of haze.” He looked over the small group. “Next question?”
Another of Kathryn’s team raised their hand, a woman named Ruppa Tadri, one of her best seismologists. She looked around shyly. “What if we need some…privacy?”
Anderson smiled. “This is the Antarctic. If you get lost and fall down a hole you may be dead before we find the hole. Believe me, you do not want privacy!” A nervous laugh ran through the group. “Don’t be shy, ladies and gentlemen, you may feel a little embarrassed at first, but it is far more important that we can see you at all times.” He paused again before continuing. “The good news is that we have excellent weather this week. If the wind is calm we will provide a small round tent for anyone feeling particularly self-conscious. And let me answer what is likely your next question, dig a deep hole and bury it. You can use this.” Anderson held up a small mountain climbing pick. “You will all have one of these and we will give you some basic instructions. I guarantee you will find this to be your best friend during your time on the shelf.” Anderson smiled again. “Next question?”
After another twenty minutes of questions and answers, Anderson led the team out the side of the hanger to another building a couple hundred yards away. The mess hall was anything but a mess hall. The dining area was over twenty thousand square feet and held dozens of comfortable chairs and tables. On the far side of the room was a large viewing area with four satellite televisions surrounded by almost as many couches. Half of the room was a giant sun room decorated with many different kinds of plants from all over the world. If Kathryn’s team was surprised at the dining area, they were stunned by the meals that came out of the kitchen, including salads loaded with fresh greens and vegetables, all grown locally in one of the McMurdo’s large hydroponic gardens. There was even fresh fruit from hydroponic citrus trees. This was clearly the hub of the station.
Tadri approached Kathryn with an empty plate. She was on her way back to the kitchen for seconds. “Kathryn, aren’t you going to eat anything?”
“Huh, oh right,” Kathryn replied absently. She realized that she had been thinking so much about the next several days that she was still standing in the same place, holding her plate.
“Are you alright?” Tadri asked.
“Oh…yes. Thanks. I’m just thinking about everything.”
Tadri smiled. “Well try to take a break. We have to be up at four a.m.”
She was right. Kathryn had to find a way to stop obsessing. They were barely going to get enough sleep as it was before an early morning breakfast and airlift. The last thing she needed was to be up half the night before heading into one of the toughest weeks she would have in years.
She patted Tadri on the arm and followed her into the kitchen.
The next morning after a large breakfast, Kathryn’s team assembled and boarded three of the same C130 aircraft they had arrived on. Each plane had been packed with three teams and their supplies. The last plane, which Kathryn was on, held a fourth team. Thirty minutes after boarding, the planes were airborne and headed for the ice shelf. The team members huddled together for warmth next to their bags and supplies which sat in front of eight large snowmobiles. Through the window, the sun was slowly rising
from the horizon where it remained during the night, low yet always in daylight during Antarctica’s summer months.
Kathryn looked around at the faces of her team. She was surprised to see an edge on their faces that they did not have the day before. Probably the acceptance that they were here now and there was no turning back. She felt a sense of pride that many of her researchers had volunteered to come when they heard the White House’s, or more specifically, the National Security Advisor Stevas’ response to her warning.
After a long two hours, she felt the familiar dip of the plane’s nose signaling a descent. The other two planes banked in opposite directions heading west and east to drop their teams further along the giant fissure.
Kathryn’s plane landed with a hard thud on the ice shelf which was flatter than the area closer to the crack. They came to a stop and the propellers slowed to an idling speed. Anderson’s men threw open the door and rolled a ladder outward for the exiting team. At the rear of the fuselage, they unlocked and opened a large custom door which allowed them to slide the snowmobiles out and down a steep ramp. Next were the food, bags, and fuel which also slid down the ramp with a hard thud. Kathryn’s guide was a large man named Andrew with light hair who, judging from his tattoos, appeared to be ex-military. He jumped out and helped pull the equipment out. Andrew gave a thumbs-up to the other crewmembers onboard and pulled the large sled of equipment toward one of the snowmobiles. Kathryn, Tadri, and their third member Pierre climbed down the metal folding ladder. Once their feet touched the ice, the ladder was quickly retracted back up into the open door behind them. They ran to Andrew who had clipped the supplies to the back of one of the snowmobiles with a large metal clasp.
Andrew climbed on and motioned to Kathryn who got on behind him. Pierre and Tadri climbed on the second snowmobile and both men started the engines. As Andrew led them away, the doors on the plane were closed. Less than a minute later the engines roared back to life, and the C130 began rolling forward.
As they sped toward the edge of the ice shelf, Kathryn looked back over her shoulder at Pierre and Tadri, and then at the plane in the distance which had just lifted back up into the air. From the time it touched down, the entire drop-off had taken less than ten minutes. She hoped the others would go as smoothly.
26
President Carr stood in the White House conference room, facing the large monitor with his arms folded across his chest. He watched the video of Keister and Clay speaking with Palin. Behind him around the large table sat Stevas, Miller, Langford, Clay, Keister, and his military chiefs. The video ended with Palin scooting his chair back and the screen came to an abrupt end, frozen on the last frame of the video. Carr remained staring at the picture as the room fell silent. He slowly began shaking his head. “What in the hell are we dealing with here?” he said, turning around. Carr leaned forward, putting his hands on the table. “I mean Jesus,” he raised his voice, “do we even know whether this man is a friend or not?!” He looked around the table. “Well?!”
Stevas spoke up. “We need to assume not.” He continued when the President looked at him. “We cannot be sure of anything which means we have to assume the worst. This ring is huge, far larger than they would need to bring just a thousand people through. I don’t believe for a minute they have been here long. I think they came through and got caught before they could bring whatever comes through next!”
“So you’re saying what then?” asked the President.
“I’m saying we need to take action while we still can.”
“And what kind of action are we talking about?”
Stevas glanced around the room. “We destroy the damn thing.”
Clay looked at Langford who managed to remain completely still.
“Destroy the ring?” asked Miller, sitting across from him.
Stevas nodded. “Shut down the portal. Destroy it and by doing so we cut them off.”
Clay could not believe his ears. He looked at the military brass at the end of the table, and they seemed as un-phased as Langford. Was Clay the only one who thought Stevas had just gone off the deep end?
“Just like that?” replied Miller.
“That’s right,” Stevas said, looking back to the President. “Look, we have to be preemptive here. If we do it right we close down any possibility they have to attack us and with luck we trap them here as leverage.” The President did not answer. He was considering Stevas’ point. “At the very least that buys us time.”
Miller frowned. “Time for what?”
“To prepare, in case they come back. A defense, for Christ sake!”
Miller remained skeptical. “Wait a minute, how do they come back if we destroy this thing on our end?”
Stevas looked surprised by the question. He clearly did not have an answer. In fact, Clay wondered if he had even considered that. How could the President be listening to this man? Clay cleared his throat and everyone in the room turned to him.
“Excuse me,” he said slowly. “But I think we may be overlooking some things here.” Stevas gave him a cold stare, but Clay ignored him and asked the question anyway. “Surely we don’t believe they would be incapable of returning if we destroyed the ring. After all they got here before without a ring on this side. We don’t know how they would, but if they did come back shouldn’t we expect them to be a little…upset?”
Stevas’ stare grew even colder.
“And shouldn’t we be concerned at the ramifications of destroying this portal?”
Stevas looked hard at Clay when he replied. “Our experts don’t think there will be any negative side effects. We’re just pulling the plug.”
Miller broke in. “Who? Who doesn’t think so?”
Stevas turned to Miller with a slow and deliberate reply. “Experts.”
Langford looked at Stevas. “And how are you envisioning we destroy this ring?”
The Naval chief, Bruce Bishop, leaned forward at the other end of the table. “Subs.” Everyone turned to Bishop. “We can have the ring surrounded with two dozen Trident submarines inside of twenty-four hours.”
Clay’s heart sank. This sounded like something that had already been planned out and they were now just trying to sound objective for formality.
“They probably have some kind of defense, so launching a large number of torpedoes gives us the best chance of getting through. The intent is to do just enough damage to stop it from spinning.”
Everyone turned to the President who had remained quiet. He looked down thinking and finally raised his head. “Any other opinions?”
Clay had to keep himself from jumping out of his chair. “Uh…yes sir,” he said raising his hand. “How about not doing that?” It was not meant to be funny, but Clay could see Langford’s smirk out of the corner of his eye. Clay looked at the others. “I don’t understand. We know virtually nothing about this man, or these people, yet we are willing to start a war because we think they are going to attack us?”
“Tell me Mr. Clay,” said the President as he straightened, “how would you explain yourself to the country, to the world, if you are wrong? How would you explain it to them if we are attacked and you did nothing with what little time you had available?”
In his mind, the chance of an imminent attack was low and based on virtually no information. In fact, the information Stevas chose to cite was handpicked from everything else they knew. He denied the claim on how long they had been here, but he happily accepted as fact that the portal was from another planet. He would not accept the idea that they were here for a more benign reason, but he certainly accepted that there was a small number of them. He was choosing specific items to make his case and throwing out the rest, all while using everyone’s fear of the small chance he was right. Clay suspected he simply wanted to attack, but why?
“Mr. President,” Langford interrupted, putting a cautious hand on the table next to Clay’s. “I think what John is getting at here is to remind us that we make the best decisions when we have the m
ost accurate information. In this case, we have very little information which means any decision we make now could easily be a bad one.”
“Sir,” Clay continued, “a lot of our information to date suggests there may be other possibilities here, and not all necessarily dangerous.”
“Which means what?” Stevas chided from across the table. “We give them the benefit of the doubt?”
Neither Langford nor Clay even bothered to look at Stevas. Instead they kept their attention on the President. “Not the benefit of the doubt sir, just time to gather more information and make the best decision possible.”
“Alright,” said the President. “Then get me some more information.”
“Yes sir,” Langford replied.
“I presume you’re referring to this remote sub of yours?” he asked.
Langford nodded. “We think it may hold significantly more information on it.”
“Do we know where it is?” the President asked.
Langford looked at Clay who nodded. “Yes sir.”
The President leaned forward again onto the table, leveling his gaze directly at Clay. “Then go get it!”
27
The K-955 submersible was the smallest and fastest submarine in the Navy. Designed primarily for research and recovery, the small craft housed a maximum of four people which left two empty seats behind Clay and Caesare. Together inside, they ran through a complete systems check. The water from outside sloshed up over the forward window while they bobbed back and forth on the surface of the Caribbean Sea.
Several miles from where they were hoping to find the Triton II was as far as Captain Emerson was willing to get with the Pathfinder. He could not believe it when he read his instructions from the Pentagon that Clay and Caesare were headed back out. Emerson and his crew barely had time to accept the transfer of the K-955 from a sister ship before the helicopter dropped the two men back onto his foredeck. He greeted them by simply shaking his head.
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