Frozen Fire (43 page)

“Sam cultured colonies of organisms that consumed four hundred times their weight in atmospheric methane,” Marty said over Sam’s voice as he rose to his feet.

“You
what
?” Lucy demanded in unison with Tom. It was the first time they’d done anything simultaneously in more than a decade. Even Victoria Clark had straightened and was staring at Sam Briscoe.

Sam let out a heavy breath. “I developed a mutation of a methanotrophic microbe and cultured a colony of them. It was no—”

“Is this for real?” Lucy interrupted, pleased to see the cocky son of a bitch flinch from the question.

“Well, yeah, but it was in a lab—”

“You said that already. You’re the one who just finished giving us the doomsday version of things, Dr. Briscoe. How dare you hold back information that might present a solution?” she snapped. “Why wouldn’t it work outside of a lab?”

Lucy watched Sam’s eyes widen. “You can’t release millions of unknown microbes into the atmosphere.”

Her anger showing, Lucy dismissed his reply with an abrupt flick of her hand. “Of course we can. It’s been done for centuries. Mold spores, germs, cross-pollination, anthrax bombs—whether through biological warfare or burning leaves in the fall, microbes get released into the air all the time. And ‘unknown’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘deadly.’ Can you get me that paper, Dr. Briscoe?”

“Oh, hell—” Sam began.

“I can,” Marty said, deliberately not looking at Sam. “I can get it now, and the follow-up studies, if you have a computer with PC Anywhere on it.”

“No need. The paper is on my laptop. Somewhere,” Sam said grudgingly, reaching into the computer bag at his feet.

Lucy walked around her desk and half sat on the front of it. “Good. I want to see it. And the follow-ups, Dr. Collins. Dr. Briscoe, what quantities of microbes would be needed to get the process under way, and where would they be released?”

“Lady, with all due respect, you are some kind of crazy,” Sam muttered.

Lucy bit the inside of her lip to keep from smiling at his words. “No. Quite the opposite. As you’ve pointed out, we are facing imminent and ugly changes to a planet I happen to like the way it is. I need a viable proposal to take to the president in—” She glanced at her watch. “About twenty minutes.”

“You’re going to tell the president about this?”
Sam sputtered while tapping furiously on his keyboard, which was now humming and propped open on his lap. “Ma’am, this isn’t a viable solution. It’s old research done by a grad student. I did it for a grade, not to advance science.”

“Oh, shut the hell up, Sam. You were head-over-freaking-heels when it worked. And you were a grad student who already had a master’s in microbiology
and another one in chemistry, and you were pursuing a doctorate in atmospheric science,” Marty pointed out.

Sam shook his head in disgust and muttered something under his breath. A moment later he looked up at Lucy. “Can I get Wi-Fi here? What’s your e-mail address, Ms. Denton?”

He typed it in as she recited it, then he sat back with an air of resignation. “Can I say one more time, Ms. Denton, that you can’t just release clouds of microbes into the air. It’s . . . it’s so far beyond irresponsible that I don’t even know the word for it.”

“Bold?” she offered lightly.

“With all due respect, ma’am, I was thinkin’ more along the lines of ‘stupid.’”

Lucy didn’t so much as bat an eyelash at the word. After all, he could be right.

Sam shoved a hand through his hair and shook his head, exhaling his frustration loudly. “It might be something to consider later—”

“You’ve made it very clear that there is no ‘later,’ Dr. Briscoe,” Lucy pointed out.

“—but right now we don’t have a firm read on the methane that’s coming up. We know it’s not pure and we don’t know why, but we know for damn sure that microbes can mutate very quickly and in unpredictable ways. A release could spawn a whole slew of problems, or runaway reactions. If the Rus sians or the Iraqis suggested doing this, you’d call it germ warfare.”

“True, but if they did it on their own sovereign territory to save their own people, we wouldn’t be able to stop them.” Lucy raised an eyebrow. “Is the microbe you used considered a germ?”

“No. I used a strain of a tiny single-celled organism called ‘archaea.’”

“And this organism exists in nature?”

“Well, yes, but so does anthrax—” Sam sputtered.

“Tell me about it,” Lucy ordered calmly.

Sam let out a heavy breath. “Archaea are all over the place. They were originally thought to live only in hostile environments, but they don’t. The type I worked with is anaerobic, which means it thrives in oxygen-deficient environments.”

“How can releasing that into the atmosphere work? Won’t they die?” Tom Taylor interrupted.

Sam looked at him. “I’ve been trying to make it clear that that methane plume
is
oxygen deficient. The organism I worked with absorbs the
methane and almost completely oxidizes it, and doesn’t take eight years to do it.”

“How fast?” Lucy asked crisply.

“Oh, hell. Director Denton, don’t pursue this,” Sam pleaded. “It amounts to atmospheric engineering. It’s Frankenstein stuff. We don’t know the risks.”

“But we do know the risks of not pursuing it, Dr. Briscoe.
How fast?
”

“I don’t have any idea how fast the breakdown would happen in the atmosphere. I can only tell you what I observed in a setting controlled for temperature, humidity, and pressure. The mutation I worked with was what you’d now call a ‘designer bug.’ It doesn’t have a natural environment, unless you consider a petri dish a natural environment.” He spread his hands to indicate that he was finished. “It’s all detailed in my paper.”

“What is it called?”

“Methyljonesium.”

Lucy nodded. “Excellent. I’ll need you to compile a list of every researcher in the country who might have colonies available.”

Sam blinked at her. “I have no idea who’s working on it. This paper is nearly ten years old.”

“Did you destroy the colony when you finished the paper?” Lucy demanded.

“No, I handed it off to—”

“Well, track down whoever has the original colony and get it back,” she said simply, and watched Sam’s face change from incredulity to outright disbelief.

“You’re serious.”

“Yes, I am,” she replied.

Victoria Clark stood up and crossed the room, then turned to look at Sam. “How long would it take to culture enough of them to deploy?”

“
Deploy?
Can we just hold on a God-damned minute here?” Sam burst out and flung himself to his feet, holding on to his laptop with one hand. “Ms. Clark, Director Denton, and whatever the hell your name is—” Sam gestured wildly toward Tom Taylor, and Lucy had to bite back an inappropriate laugh. “You just heard about this a few minutes ago and don’t know anything but what I’ve told you. You can’t ‘deploy’ these critters into the atmosphere—”

“Dr. Briscoe,” Lucy interrupted, giving him a look intended to freeze the blood in his veins. “You’ve made your position on this matter perfectly
clear. Obviously, this scenario is subject to further review and, while I appreciate your input, the decision about what to do is not yours to make. I need more facts before I mention anything to the president.”

“Okay, here’s a fact. Dropping a bomb into a methane cloud will—”

“You’re getting ahead of me, Dr. Briscoe. I never said anything about a bomb,” Lucy replied calmly. “Given what you said earlier about pressure differentials and aircraft, I inferred that the reduced density of the methane-filled air column would cause a rocket’s casing to disintegrate. The sudden change in pressure would just sort of pop the rivets, so to speak. Wouldn’t it?”

Sam stared back at her. “It might.”

“So we could feasibly deploy rockets carrying payloads of microbes rather than warheads, couldn’t we? With some sort of nonreactive propellant to help disperse the microbes if needed.”

He nodded slowly.

“Excellent.” Lucy turned to Marty. “Pull together that list of researchers, Dr. Collins. And, by the way, thank you very much for bringing the subject to our attention.” She scanned the faces in the room. “Now, unfortunately, I have to close this meeting and head to the White House to meet with the president. Ms. Clark, I’d like you to continue trying to get through to Taino. Let me know instantly if you do. Dr. Briscoe, I need you to continue monitoring that plume and figuring out how best to eliminate it.”

Everyone nodded silently, with the exception of Sam, who glared at her with something close to loathing. Lucy pressed a button on her phone console and instantly her office door opened and her assistant stepped in with a smile and began to usher everyone out.

6:30
P.M.
, Sunday, October 26, Bolling Air Force Base, Washington, D.C.

As they were being led down the hushed corridor, a still righteously pissedoff Sam ended up walking by himself, a few feet behind Marty and Victoria Clark, who were following Lucy Denton’s aide. As furious as Sam was at Marty and what that so-called best friend had just done, Sam knew he had to get over it. And it was probably a good thing that they weren’t somewhere private, or they’d most likely both have black eyes about now. There was no mistaking that Marty was mad as hell that he’d had to be the one to bring up that old research paper—and that everyone but the paper’s author was jumping on it.

Well, damn, shouldn’t that say something to you, Methane Man? If
I
don’t buy in to the idea that the microbes are the solution, how the hell can anyone else?

Sam shook his head. It was just like Marty to pull shit like this. For all his rigorous research and geeky habits, Marty Collins had always had the soul of a tree hugger, whereas Sam had always considered himself a reality-based scientist—and had told Marty so on many occasions. While Sam’s choice of terms had been intended to annoy the hell out of his friend, the
terminology hadn’t been entirely facetious. The conversation that had just taken place was proof of it.

“Whatever the microbes might do, it probably won’t be as bad as what the methane will most certainly do if left unchecked.”

Sam jerked his head up to see that Victoria Clark was walking beside him. “Excuse me, Ms. Clark. Was I thinking out loud?” he asked, surprised.

She was probably one of the quietest people he’d ever met, and undeniably striking, even when she was obviously exhausted as she was now. He’d had a hard time looking away from those eyes of hers every time he’d glanced at her.

Victoria gave him a tired smile and shook her head. “No. You didn’t say anything. I just thought that there was probably only one thing on your mind at the moment.”

“Dozens, actually, but they’re all related,” he admitted.

“I know you’re not in favor of releasing the microbes, but is that because you think it won’t work?” she asked softly.

“Mostly.” He shrugged and let out an exasperated breath. “I have no idea if it will work. That question—this scenario—this wasn’t anywhere near what I was thinking when I did the research and wrote that paper. I mean, there was no thought of those bugs ever havin’ any practical, large-scale application.” He shook his head. “Even discussin’ the microbes further is goin’ to get Lucy Denton’s or the president’s hopes up, and that’s a huge mistake. We’re not talkin’ about a small thing here. We’re talking about a major release into the atmosphere—Ms. Clark, it’s too much of a long shot to work.”

“Releasing the microbes is the only solution on the table, Dr. Briscoe.”

“Call me Sam,” he said absently, and held the door open for her as they entered the conference room a few steps behind Marty and the aide.

“Thank you.” She waited for him as he closed the door behind himself. “The microbes are natural; they’re not a manufactured organism, and you said all they do is eat methane. What damage could they do, other than to die without consuming the methane?”

“I don’t know. Mutate. Replicate. Infiltrate other systems or organisms. Even if it works, there
will
be negative side effects, Ms. Clark. It’s just impossible to know how bad they’ll be.”

“They could be negligible.”

“They could be.”

“Sounds like there’s no reason not to give it a try then.” Victoria looked
him straight in the eyes and he found it hard to look away or even blink. “I’ve never been accused of being an optimist, Sam. I’ve spent my career studying the dark side of things and preventing worst-case scenarios from happening. But I think this is a chance we have to take. Work with us. There isn’t any alternative.”

“For me, or for the methane?”

“Either.”

He was quiet for a minute. “Any chance you know what’s in that methane?”

Victoria’s expression zeroed back to neutrality before she answered. “What do you mean?”

“We all know it’s not pure. You would have done analyses on it before going into a full-scale drilling operation. What’s corrupting it?”

“What I know won’t help you,” she said after a brief pause. She set her briefcase on the table.

“Try me.”

She hesitated again, then met his eyes. “We injected a chemical into the deposit to stabilize the methane hydrate and keep it in a solid state as we removed it. That’s all I can tell you. It was developed in-house and I don’t know what’s in it. Only a few people do—” She stopped and Sam could see a muscle move in her cheek as she clenched her jaw.

“And in all likelihood, all of those people are dead,” she finished. “All I can tell you is that the compound was named dennisium. I don’t know its chemical composition or properties.”

Fucking great
. “That’s all the more reason we shouldn’t mess around with microbes, Ms. Clark,” he muttered. “The strain I used was very fast-growin’. How it might interact with that dennisium is a total crap shoot. Microbes are fussy in some ways but, on a microbial scale, there will be lots of variation in environmental parameters within that plume and there’s no way of tellin’ which ones will be hospitable. The organisms could form new mutations faster than you can blink. And not just one mutation. Could be lots of different ones. Nasty ones.”