The Pole of Inaccessibility

  ***

  The same Russian official who had seen the first story in Der Spiegel now looked at the second. Despite the typical hyperbole that seemed to be the only manner in which that publication was capable of communicating, and the obvious misrepresentation of the photos, the grain of truth that he suspected was confirmed beyond doubt. They had a man on the ground there. Not even this paper would print something that they couldn’t back up, at least a little bit.

  “It appears as if we were correct,” he said to the junior minister who had been sent over. “Our people should be there any time now; perhaps they already are. We should have good information soon.”

  “It is amazing,” the young diplomat said. “How can they think that we will not contest this action? In the name of conservation, of course. If they do this, we will be left with little choice but to intervene.”

  “And they still continue to insist that we act irrationally. I confess that I share your consternation. What do we do now?” he asked.

  “I have been ordered to join you here so that you can contact them through this office. Because your position is generally considered by them not to be political in nature, we feel that we can express an ‘opinion’ that will get the message across without reflecting official policy or sounding overly threatening in nature.”

  “While, in fact, it is both,” the official clarified.

  “Exactly.”

  The man sighed heavily, not bothering to hide his distress. For a scientist to reach his position, there were many concessions that had to be made, and he had gone in with his eyes open. Despite his institutional atheism, he had to allow that a certain analogy fit. His soul had been sold long ago and now the evil one was coming to collect.

  “Very well,” he said. “When?”

  “Right now.”

  He steeled himself for the unfamiliar role of diplomatic negotiator when the intercom on his desk buzzed. He looked at it like it had materialized out of thin air.

  “Yes?” he asked, wondering who was foolish enough to interrupt him at this time.

  “Director Stoddard from the National Science Foundation is on line one,” the box announced. The two men looked at each other.

  “It may be that they know that we know and are attempting to preempt our making the first call so they can say that they were not trying to hide anything,” the junior minister said.

  “If we take the call, then that will have worked, wouldn’t it?” the official asked, hopefully.

  “You must not give them the chance,” the minister said. “Answer the call, then immediately inform them of our displeasure at what we have discovered.”

  “Very well.” He picked up the receiver. “Hello, Charles. Thank you for calling. It is a pleasure to hear you, especially since I was just preparing to call you myself.”

  On the other end of the line, the three men looked at each other.

  “You were?” Stoddard answered and then waited for a reply. The other two men gestured vigorously at him to keep talking, but it was too late.

  “Indeed, and I regret to inform you that we are most unhappy to learn about your country’s intended exploitation of the Antarctic continent. The treaty is intended to avoid this type of confrontation and it is very dangerous for your government to begin circumventing international law in this manner at this time. We have sent a group to your area to conduct a treaty inspection. I expect you will continue to comply with that portion of the agreement.”

  The Russian junior minister allowed his lower jaw to drop before recovering enough to gesture the other man to stop. The official put his hand over the mouthpiece.

  “You idiot! What are you doing?”

  “What you told me to do,” he answered. “What else?”

  “I told you to register an opinion of concern, not to declare World-War-Three. Calm down!” The minister held his breath, waiting for the reply.

  In Chuck Stoddard’s office, the three looked at each other. He pressed the mute button.

  “What the hell? These guys are pretty worked up,” he said.

  “More than they should be,” the Undersecretary said. “Have we missed something? They are like, ten steps down the road. Tell him that you have read the article, that it is completely false, and then tell him we know about his people and then about the accident. Try to settle him down.”

  “You say so,” Stoddard muttered skeptically. He pressed the button on the speakerphone to end mute.

  “Wait a minute,” the Attaché said. Stoddard pushed mute again. “That was as bellicose a statement as I’ve ever heard come directly from the Russian government. We can’t roll over on it. They will consider us weak and acting out of weakness. I agree that you need to calm him down, but you have to be firm while you do it.”

  “All right.” Stoddard pushed the button on the phone again. “Doctor, we have seen the story in the papers that you have certainly seen by now and I want to assure you that it is absolutely false. However, that does not give your government the right to interfere where our interests are concerned. This nation will not be dictated to. I hope we are clear on that.”

  The Undersecretary came half out of his seat, making a chopping motion with his hand across his throat. He mouthed the words, “Too strong!”

  In two rooms on opposite sides of the world, the diplomats who were tasked with diffusing what had appeared to be a minor international scuffle were now deeply regretting their choices in allowing scientific bureaucrats to carry out dialogue of a diplomatic nature. What should have been a simple conversation was rapidly escalating into a major incident. It was, however, too late to stop it and they had no choice but to see it through.

  “Dictate!” Stoddard’s Russian counterpart said over the phone. “You would lecture me on dictating a peoples’ destiny? The very act that you deny is an attempt to dictate our destiny to us. Our people will be at your camp shortly. I demand that your people disclose everything they are doing to them at that time. We will await their report.”

  “Doctor, that is, exactly the reason I have called you in the first place,” Stoddard said. “We have been in contact with the group that is in transit to the Beardmore camp. It seems that they have met with an accident. I can’t give you the complete details but we have two rescue teams on the way right now.” He told them what he knew about what had happened.

  The two Russians looked at each other in shock. What had started out as a complete disaster had suddenly taken a major turn for the worse.

  “Could you repeat that?” the Russian asked. Stoddard did. The Russian covered the mouthpiece again.

  “Could they have met with foul play?” the junior diplomat asked.

  “I am beginning to believe that anything is possible, but please, let’s not jump to any more terrible conclusions. We will know shortly if there are survivors. If there are, then they can tell us the truth. If there are not, then we will have to speculate.”

  “Very well then. I am sure, however, that we will take other action than just wait to hear what they say.”

  “And you are no doubt correct,” the Russian scientist said, relieved that someone else would be making those decisions. Into the phone he said tersely, “We will conclude now. Please contact us the instant that you have more information.”

  “You have my assurance,” Stoddard said. He, too, was relieved to be through.