***
The Director of the Russian science program, whose job was to oversee operations in Antarctica, took the memo because all reports that had to do with the program came through him, especially those with possible political ramifications. In much the same manner as his American counterparts, his job was mainly political. True, he was a scientist, but one whose lifestyle was guaranteed by the government, so their agenda was his agenda. He lived a far better life as a bureaucrat than as a professor. His main priorities were keeping the appearance of cooperation under the treaty in the forefront, avoiding embarrassing situations, and finally, actually doing science that would make good copy for the worldwide media.
He read the news clipping with skepticism. These environmental groups were all crazy, he thought. They were all comprised of the offspring of a pampered and morally bankrupt middle class, looking for something to be passionate about. He immediately recognized the photos for what they were, ice cores. Still, why would they publish this? Crazy though they might be, they weren’t given to tabloid-style fabrications of the ludicrous. They clung tightly to whatever credibility they could muster. He pondered.
As he stirred his tea, he looked at the pictures again. It looked like a project a European group had done a couple of years previously, in Greenland he thought. Where could this story have come from? Why now? The German paper specifically stated that the information that the Americans were exploring for oil in the Antarctic, was acquired by a watchdog group on location, and then independently corroborated. The second part, independent corroboration, could just be fabrication, but then again, so could the original story. One of the two statements, however, had to have had at least a grain of truth to it, regardless of how exaggerated it might be.
Could it be that the Americans were going to start exploring, he wondered? Why not? A thousand reasons, not least of which was the fact that even if one could locate a source, the cost and logistics of removing it were prohibitive. If it weren’t, every country with a hint of a claim would have descended like locusts years ago. Wars would have been fought over territorial claims. But, he thought, what if someone was absolutely determined to mine the continent at any cost? It could be done. And why would one expend an unrecoverable sum of capital to extract mineral deposits when it was available at a lesser price? They wouldn’t, unless it wasn’t available anywhere else at any price. And that, he knew, was an experience the Americans had so recently not enjoyed. Interesting. He wrote a few lines on a piece of plain white paper and called his assistant.
“Get a telex to Vostok with this immediately,” he said. The assistant read the note while standing in front of the desk. He held the note without moving, but after he read it a second time, he raised his eyes to look over his spectacles at his boss.
“Just send it. Please?”