68
“You redecorated,” Hallie said.
There was a chair in front of Graeter’s desk, and the walls looked different, cleaner. He glanced at his watch — his one watch. “There’s some time before flyout,” he said. “I need to make sure I understand what happened before you go. So many different pieces. Some I still don’t get. This report is going to be a real royal bitch.”
Saturday had passed without a weather window for flying. Today, Sunday, the temperature had risen to minus fifty-six and was supposed to stay in that range for eight hours. Between his administrative work and her sleeping, this was the first time they’d been able to spend time together. Graeter handed Hallie a mug of black coffee, poured from a brewer he had placed on a table that had appeared behind his desk. She sipped, grimaced.
“Navy coffee,” Graeter chuckled. “Cures all ills.”
“Probably melts spoons, too. How did it go with Doc?” she asked.
“The idea of life surrounded by psychopaths in a supermax where bright lights burn twenty-four/seven terrified him. He spilled a lot of beans, but here’s the gist: he, Merritt, Blaine, and Guillotte were working for an international group called Triage. From what I can gather, these are not card-carrying members of the lunatic fringe. They’re legitimate scientists from around the world. We’ll probably never get all of them. But three guys were at the top. One was David Gerrin. Mean anything to you?”
“No.”
“It did to me. He’s director of the Office of Antarctic Programs at NSF, no less. You said Merritt told you what they were planning to do.”
“They wanted to ‘save the planet’—her term — using an engineered pathogen to sterilize millions of women without their knowledge or consent,” Hallie said. “The last group of female Polies flying out were going to be their disease vectors. Doc infected them here over the last week or so. Before winterover, they would fly out to countries all over the world. It would spread exponentially, like any cold virus. But the streptococcus bacteria had been engineered to seek and modify ovarian cells.”
“They could do that?”
“Sure. The genetic engineering would have been challenging, but definitely possible. Twenty years ago they were joining genes from flounders and tomatoes to keep them from freezing, after all. The science has come a long way since then.”
“And Emily Durant was killed because of what she learned about Triage from Blaine?” Graeter asked.
“Yes. On the video log she said that she had asked both Merritt and Doc if they knew anything about Triage. Blaine was already aware of what she knew. One would probably have been enough. Three sealed her fate.”
“Tell me again what got you here?”
“They couldn’t just haul in any old scientist. That might have looked suspicious, especially on such short notice. They needed a female from North America. The fact that I matched Em’s qualifications and could get here fast sealed the deal.”
“Fida was killed because they were afraid Emily had told him about Triage, too,” he said.
“Right.”
“That still leaves Lanahan and Montalban and Bacon.”
“Merritt said no one was supposed to die. I can believe that. But there are always unintended consequences. Did Doc give up the other two?”
“Ian Kendall is a Brit. Retired now, but worked with Crick, the DNA guy. Jean-Claude Belleveau is a doctor in New Delhi.”
“That’s incredible,” she said. “I mean, I believe you. But men like those doing something like this? I just can’t understand it.”
“You know as well as I do that things are going to hell here. And I don’t mean Pole.”
“Earth.”
“Right. There are an awful lot of people out there sick to death of governments fucking up or doing nothing.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
“So some capable people taking it on themselves — doesn’t surprise me that much. I would bet good money there are more out there.”
“It’s scary when you think how close they came.”
He picked up his mug, put it down again, looked at her. “Listen, I need to say this: if you hadn’t kept digging about Durant’s death, those infected women would probably have been on the plane out of here today.”
“You’d have figured things out and stopped them.”
“Maybe. I’d like to think so, anyway. But honestly, I’m not sure.”
She didn’t argue. Time would pass, and he would see the truth. Better to let him find it himself. But his mention of the women reminded her of something.
“I understand that the standard rapid strep test worked on this strain, so we know which women are carrying the infection. But I got busy packing and lost track after that. What’s the situation now?”
“The women have to stay at Pole until they’re not contagious. One month, minimum. That does mean they’ll be here for winterover. Not an easy thing, but no way to avoid it.”
“So are all those women going to end up sterile?”
“No. The bad news was that everybody got sick,” he said. “But the good news is that to test for the Krauss gene, you only need a cheek swab. Seven out of thirty-six carried the gene. And as you already know, you were not one.”
“Just luck of the draw,” Hallie said. “But a close call.”
“Speaking of those, did you find out how they sabotaged your dry suit?”
“They didn’t. The suit’s knees were reinforced with carbon-fiber patches. I think that extremophile was metabolizing them.” She reflected for a moment. “Damned good thing Emily didn’t have that style suit, come to think of it.”
“Why didn’t it start metabolizing you? Like Blaine?”
“Nothing known can survive in pure argon gas.”
“So that thing won’t be saving the earth.”
“Afraid not.” She sipped coffee. “What happened to the picture on your wall?”
“She was living in my head rent-free. I moved her out.”
“How’s that feel?”
“Like cool water in a desert.”
“What about them?” The young sailors’ framed photos were no longer on his desk.
He smiled. With sadness, but a smile. “I laid them to rest.”
“They’d be happy,” she said. “For you.”
“You think?”
“Absolutely.” Talking about the dead young sailors had reminded Hallie of Emily. Her eyes grew hot. She looked away, then back again. “I’m going to set the record straight for Emily. She will be honored. The courage it took to dive that hellhole four times. I couldn’t have done it.” Hallie just shook her head. “And so much else.”
“Figured you would. Set the record straight, I mean.”
Neither spoke for a time. Then she said, “Think you’ll stay at Pole?”
“Have to, through the winter. After that …” He shrugged. “We’ll see.” He looked at his watch again, then directly at her. “I don’t say this to many people. You’re special. I’m glad to have met you.”
“And I you,” she said. “God. Look at me tearing up.” She wiped her eyes. “Did you hear that?”
“Can’t miss a One-thirty on final. You’d better hustle. They won’t do much more than a touch-and-go when it’s this cold.”
He came around from behind his desk and stuck out his hand. She put hers on his shoulders, kissed him on the cheek, and gave him a hug. “Take good care of yourself, Zack.” She patted his arm and turned for the door.
“I’ll buy you and your friend a good dinner when I get back.”
“I’d like that. He would, too.”
On her way out, she got a close look at the new picture on the wall by the door. It was a submarine surfacing, its black bow shooting skyward through a white collar of foam.