Beneath the Dark Ice

“Yes I have, Aimee. We have a number of research stations down there, and I spent a few weeks at our McMurdo base one spring. Beautiful country; cold, but beautiful, so pack your woollies.” He smiled at her and his cheek creased along an old scar.

She smiled back and realised she was still a little unsettled about Tom and nervous about the trip. She was thankful that he would be down there; he made her feel safe.

“Jack, I wasn’t clear on whether we’d all go together or you’ll meet us down there.”

“Ahh, these old bones feel the cold too easily now. I won’t be there, but you will be met on route when you arrive down in Australia. I’ll be sending my best man and a few HAWCs.” They got to the stairs and Hammerson turned to shake her hand. “Don’t worry, Aimee; they’ll look after you. Good luck and see you in a week.”

A week, no problem, Aimee thought. She glanced at the elevator, changed her mind and followed Hammerson down the stairs.

Five

“Chyort vozmi; now I get my information!” Viktor Petrov, Resources and Energy Minister for the Russian Federation, read the security squawk from one of the dozens of their American sleeper agents with frustration and growing anger; he had just left a surprise meeting with President Volkov where he had been severely ambushed. He knew there was going to be trouble when the President had refused to shake his offered hand and had come around his desk to stand mere inches from Petrov’s face — a sign this was to be more a confrontation than a meeting.

President Vladimir Volkov was ex-KGB and had earned the name “Little Wolf” on account of both his small stature and terrifying presence. What he lacked in height he more than made up for with a blood-chilling ferocity; the Little Wolf was a predator whose bite was much worse than his bark.

Petrov wiped his brow and took several deep breaths. He still felt sickened by his own feebleness but had been pinned by the President’s mesmerising gaze. Those eyes — almost colourless and unblinking. He just knew his legs had been shaking. Damn him for having better information sources than he did. Petrov remembered the chilling exchange and again felt a wave of nausea pass over him.

“Russia is a giant hungry bear, Petrov. It must be fed constantly so it slumbers and remains docile. If it is not it will grow weak and get eaten by another hungry bear, or it will rear up and tear its masters to pieces before devouring them.” The President stood close and looked at different points on Petrov’s face, watching the beads of perspiration fatten and then slide down his cheeks and neck to disappear into his tight, yellowing shirt collar. Petrov stood mute, not knowing whether he should respond to the cryptic little analogy or simply nod. He decided to do neither.

“Do you know what we must feed our hungry bear, comrade Petrov? What the Americans feed theirs, or the Chinese or the Europeans… Oil, lots of oil; the very blood of the earth. Tell me, how much oil do we have locked away in the soil beneath our feet, Petrov?”

Petrov didn’t like where this was going. “About sixty billion barrels, President Volkov.”

“And how much do the Americans have?”

Petrov stood a little straighter, “Less than a third of that of Mother Russia, comrade President.”

“And if the Americans run out of oil before us, that is a good thing, da? But what will happen if Russia runs out before America? What will our giant bear do to us, dear friend Petrov?”

“Impossible, with their rate of consumption and volatile relationship with the Middle East, they will be using horse-drawn carts within twelve years.”

“I see. How much oil do you think they will find down in Antarctica, comrade?”

“What? They would never touch it; they are signatories to—”

“Svoloch! They are already on their way now!”

Petrov, bludgeoned by the ferocity of the Russian curse, had an urgent need to use the bathroom. He suddenly felt very small before this man who only came up to his nose and he wanted to be out of this room and his presence immediately. The President brought his face even closer to Petrov’s until he was no more than an inch from his nose. The cold grey eyes bored deep into Petrov’s very core.

“When we next speak you will tell me what you are doing about the American secret mission in Antarctica and why you should remain my Energy Minister, da? Do svidanja, comrade Petrov.”

The Energy Minister’s name was spat out like an obscenity and the President turned away from Viktor Petrov, signalling the meeting was over. On shaky legs Petrov wobbled towards the door and as he put his hand out to open it, he heard a final chilling warning from the President. “The bear feeds on incompetent ministers first, comrade Petrov.”

Petrov went out through the door quickly for a large man, only just managing to close it and get his hand over his mouth before the bile hit the back of his teeth.

In the soft burgundy leather chair Viktor Petrov finally felt his heart rate returning to normal. The small bottle of Stolichnaya Elit was half empty on his desk and he felt he could finally think clearly enough to organise his plans. The first thing he would do was find the agent who had delivered his information to the President before he had given it to him and see he spent his next assignment on the Afghani border; perhaps that would teach the little koshka to recognise his priorities.

Petrov read the security paper again. The Americans were preparing a research team to investigate a possible sub-strata oil find in the Antarctic; no wonder the President had been so explosive.

He knew that if they could in any way secure and exploit the find it would destroy the carefully crafted plans that Russia had been building slowly over the last decade. Russia was once a contender to be the supreme superpower in the world and jostled with the United States over dominance in armaments and the space race. It had an army that shook the ground when it paraded its military might through Red Square. Now it had descended into a corrupt and bloated pretend-capitalist nation that had watched its soldiers boil cabbage to eat from their helmets. But as Energy Minister, Petrov was well aware that Russia was sleeping on gold. Locked beneath its soil were an estimated sixty billion barrels of oil and twenty-one trillion cubic feet of natural gas. As the world around them became ever hungrier for oil and the Middle Eastern countries became more fractious with the West, the price of the black gold went through the roof.

Russia was the second largest oil producer and largest natural gas producer in the world. It had more than it could use domestically so could sell millions of barrels. Petrov didn’t have to negotiate better prices for the oil; he merely had to threaten to withhold supply and Russia’s customers came back magically with more to spend. This booming resource revenue once again allowed a Russian leader to square his shoulders and look the United States in the eye.

Petrov had been at the radio interview when President Volkov had gone so far as to hint that they would price their oil in Euros and move away from using dollars — the Americans could only grind their teeth. They knew that the dollar-based global oil trade gave the United States carte blanche to print dollars without sparking inflation — to fund huge expenses on wars, military build-ups, as well as cut taxes. This suggestion was immediately seized upon by Iran, the world’s number five oil producer and even by the United States’ traditional ally Saudi Arabia. And of course the Europeans would like nothing better than to see another needle in the eye of the United States.

Eventually the American President would have to knock on Vladimir Volkov’s door and the terms of trade would be all Russian. Petrov took another sip of the expensive vodka and leaned back into the leather of his chair. Everything would go to plan, unless the United States could somehow secure an unclaimed source of petroleum or natural gas reserve, then all their careful machinations could be destroyed.

He sipped again and swirled the alcohol around in his mouth. On face value, the Antarctic was off limits to all nations. It was earth’s last uninhabited continent; nearly six million square miles with more than ninety-eight per cent of them ice covered. Every Energy Minister around the world looked hungrily at the continent but was held in check by an agreement signed decades ago that prohibited military activity and mining but allowed scientific research. This treaty was largely policed by Australia, being the closest nation.

Petrov knew that when push came to shove, the Americans had a way of bending the interpretation of the rules to allow them to act and get what they needed. With the United States’ huge resource requirements and the oil-producing nations of the world becoming increasingly hostile towards them, they would find a way. Added to