Arctic Fire (6 page)

“
Yankee Clipper
, this is McCarran
International, you are requested to change your flight plan and
return here immediately.”

Pike sighed, like he didn’t know that was
coming. No good deed goes unpunished he thought, it was time to pay
the piper now. “McCarran, this is
Yankee Clipper
, roger on
your request, ETA in thirty minutes.” Pike banked his Sabre around
and passed over the swarm of police cars and the two news
helicopters that were hovering over the scene. He circled one more
time then pointed the
Clipper’s
nose towards Las Vegas. At
least he’d be there in time for the evening buffet,
if
he
wasn’t in jail.

Chapter
Six

The bright red helicopter with the flashy logo
of a large number eight inside a diamond, and the catchy phrase
“News You Can Trust,” circled high overhead, swarming like locust
with the other dozen or so news station helicopters. Below, twice
that many number of boats of assorted sizes filled the crowded
waters. You could tell who the big news stations were by the size
of the yachts they had chartered to cover the event.

The big three major American news networks each
had chartered large, spacious yachts, sleek and modern with
well-appointed interiors, projecting a sense of power, authority
and believability when they flashed to their news anchors seated
inside, surrounded by teak and polished brass.

The British and French networks, having a more
classic sense of style, showed up with their own yachts. Older,
traditional looking vessels with straight bowlines that parted the
water rather than slashing at it like the stiletto bows of their
American counter-parts. But they too projected their own image of a
regal, elegant time gone by when you could trust what you
heard.

From there, the rest of the circling boats
ranged in size, depending on the bank accounts of the news stations
renting them. They varied from the family cabin cruiser to the
weekend runabout and the YouTube amateur trying to make the next
big viral video.

A few of the larger yachts came close to each
other, each skipper displaying his seamanship in a show of
one-upmanship. Not to be outdone, a few of the smaller speedboats
intentionally soaked their neighbors in their wake, but all in all,
it was an almost carnival-like atmosphere as everyone jockeyed for
the best angle, the best shot to show their audience.

And at the center of this three-ring news circus
was a huge iceberg, half a mile long and nearly that wide… being
towed by ten oceangoing tugs.

A tanned and
well-manicured hand picked
up the remote off the podium and turned off the huge projection
screen covering one wall of the conference room. Another button was
pushed and the automatic shades silently began to rise, revealing a
sweeping, panoramic view of the New York City skyline. The room had
the look and feel of a lounge of a five star hotel rather than that
of a corporate meeting room. Thirty-five wingback chairs surrounded
the podium in a semi-circle; all crafted from the finest
leather.

Each of the chairs had been pre-assigned by
random selection. Nationally syndicated columnists or TV
personalities seen by millions every day could find themselves
sitting next to a reporter whose last story could have been on who
attended the most resent Rotary Club meeting in Small Town USA.
Breaking the usual status quo like this was a practice that their
host was well known for. He said he enjoyed the possibilities that
it opened by defying the status quo. But despite their fame, or
lack of it, every guest found on their chair a personalized press
release and their favorite drink waiting for them on the solid oak
cocktail tables that were nestled between the chairs. All the
chairs were full, save one. The press release sat untouched in the
chair and the frosted mug of root beer was getting warm.

As the lights and shades came up, so did the
intensity and the anticipation in the room. All eyes shifted away
from the screen and now concentrated on the man behind the podium.
The room, the entire building, which he owned, reflected the
presence of the man now standing before them. Physically, he was
commanding, standing slightly less than six feet four inches. His
dark brown hair was neatly trimmed, as was his Clark Gable
mustache. By the age of twenty-five, he had made his first million
in technologies; by thirty-five he had branched out and
diversified. He had oil investments in the Middle East, textile
plants in the Far East, manufacturing facilities throughout Europe,
and agricultural interests in South America, with his technology
division based in the United States. At the ripe old age of
thirty-nine, Nigel Cain had become one of the ten richest men in
the world.

“Thank you all for coming.” Cain said, his voice
relaxed and friendly, yet projecting an air of authority and
control. “That was the scene five years ago,” he continued,
pointing at the screen with the remote. “As you know, the purpose
of moving the iceberg was to bring safe, affordable, clean water to
impoverished third world countries whose populations have either
outstripped their ability to provide fresh water for drinking and
farming, or whose economies have been ravaged by drought.”

Nearly every hand in the place rose like a
classroom full of third graders, each one eager to have the teacher
call on them first. Cain quickly scanned the room and picked a
reporter sitting in the third row. The man was in his early
forties, with graying hair that gave him an air of distinction. His
glasses were five years out of style and out of habit, he pushed
them up off the bridge of his nose before he raised his hand.

“Mr. Taylor, you have a question? For those of
you who don’t know, Mr. Taylor is from the
St. Helens
Chronicle
, covering the news for us in the greater Portland
metropolitan area in the great Pacific Northwest.”

Taylor was in shock, surprised that Cain had
actually chosen him over the famous news anchor that was sitting to
his right, let alone knowing his name. Suddenly he felt very
self-conscious as every eye in the room was on him. He cleared his
throat and prayed his voice didn’t crack as he asked his
question.

“Yes Mr. Cain.” No cracks. “You said the purpose
was to bring ‘affordable’ water to these countries. Isn’t it true
that you lost nearly ten million dollars on this venture with very
little results?”

Cain smiled warmly and with a hint of
satisfaction. It’s the kind of smile you see on a gambler playing
blackjack as the house stays on 19 and he just drew a ten of
diamonds for 20. “Thank you Mr. Taylor, I couldn’t have asked for a
better segue question even if I had written it myself.” Light
laughter floated around the room.

“Mr. Taylor, unlike a politician, I will answer
your question directly.” More chuckles. “To be precise, I lost 10.3
million dollars, and yes, less than 15 percent of the iceberg’s
potential translated into usable water. But, that was mostly a
publicity stunt, meant to raise the public’s awareness of the
plight of third world countries and the devastating effects of
droughts and the shifting weather patterns caused by global
warming.”

Cain paused for moment, his demeanor becoming
more serious. “But now, this country, the greatest nation on the
face of the earth, has begun to feel some of the very same effects
of devastating droughts that our third world neighbors have felt.
We have major reservoirs in several states drying up and already
states are gearing up for the upcoming legal battles, preparing for
the ‘water wars’ that will surely happen if we run out of
water.”

Cain placed both hands on the podium and leaned
slightly forward, a wrinkle of concern creasing his tanned brow.
Completely gone was the conversational language he had used
earlier; he now spoke with more purpose and thought, as if each
word spoken was more important than the last, building to a
monumental truth. “What do think would happen to the economy of the
United States if we ran out of water? Impossible you say?

“Devastating droughts have already hit the
south, threatening millions in Georgia and Florida; reservoirs in
upper New York State have dropped to record lows and in the west,
the Sierra Nevada snow-pack is melting faster than ever. The
government reports that 36 states could face water shortages within
the next five to seven years. Even if only a few states had to
ration water, the economic turmoil would ripple through the entire
country.

“And if the economy of this great country
crumbles, so goes the entire world.” Cain paused for a moment,
letting the silence punctuate his point, looking slowly around the
room. “Now I know I’ve painted a bleak picture, full of doom and
gloom…” Cain paused and took a deep breath, then suddenly
straightened up as he continued in a lighter tone, “…but I had to
make some use of my acting 101 class in college.” Nervous smiles
and laughter fell flat against the floor.

“But fear not, where there’s a shadow, there’s a
light, where there’s a will
and
technology, there is a way.”
With a nod of his head, the window blinds began to lower again and
the lights dimmed. At the same time, six men came from behind the
podium wheeling in a table that was fifteen feet long and five feet
wide. It was draped with a white satin cloth that hung down to the
floor, revealing nothing that was underneath.

“Many say that oil is the life blood of modern
society and that oil, not love is what makes the world go round.
I’m certainly not going to argue the fact that oil and love are
important things but let me put it to you this way. Man has
survived centuries without oil but how long can he survive without
water? Days, not centuries. Water is used not only for us to drink
and bathe in but it grows the very food we eat, and it too, along
with oil helps turns the wheels of industry.

“The United States uses more water than any
other nation in the world. The average American uses about 100
gallons of water a day, compared to the average in India which is
just fourteen gallons—and the numbers go up from there. You’re
probably saying to yourself that you don’t drink that much water…
especially if there’s a cold beer around.” Just then someone in the
back of the room yelled “Hear, Hear!” Everyone in the room laughed
and Cain smiled as he continued. “That’s right my friend, but did
you know that it takes 1500 gallons of water to produce just one
barrel of beer? And that Big Mac or Whopper some of you will have
for lunch today? One gallon of water to process it. But these
numbers are only the beginning.”

Cain now came around from the back of the podium
and stood beside it, leaning on it with his left elbow, gesturing
with his right hand. “Remember earlier, I said that water, not oil,
is what makes the world go round? Well, it takes 1851 gallons of
water to refine that one barrel of oil. It takes over 39,000
gallons of water to make just one car and a staggering 62,000
gallons to make one ton of steel.” Cain paused and picked up a
glass of water and swirled the ice cubes around. The clinking
sounds of the cubes filtered to the back of the room and the light
refracted off the ice and the crystal glass, sending shards of
light out, glittering like light bouncing off a disco ball. He took
a big drink and let out a satisfying, “Ahhhh.”

“Again, pardon me for my earlier theatrics as I
don’t mean to cause alarm,” he paused as he set the glass back
down, “…but the alarms have already sounded with the banners
warning us of global warming.” He stopped again and held up his
hands in mock surrender. “Don’t worry, this is not another speech
about global warming, but the threat here is very real.”

Cain stepped away from the podium and walked
slowly back and forth as he continued to speak, like a preacher
giving his Sunday morning sermon. “What you see before you is not
the
solution but just one of many. It will realize the dream
that was begun five years ago with the first iceberg, to give
developing and drought stricken countries a chance not only to help
their people to survive but to overcome. And it will allow
countries like ours to safeguard our own citizens and maintain our
position of world leadership.

Even as we speak,” Cain continued as he stepped
down from the podium and moved toward the covered table. “The
prototype is being constructed and in fact, is nearly complete.
Cain grabbed the cloth and yanked it off with the flair of a
magician revealing that he had just made his lovely assistant
disappear. At the same moment, spotlights shown down, illuminating
the case as if it were a great revelation from God Himself.

Cain quietly slipped back up to the podium while
the crowd slowly gathered around the case. Cain enjoyed studying
their faces as they gasped at the display. Most were duly impressed
although they didn’t fully realize or understand what they were
looking at. A few faces were filled with wonder and he could see
their minds racing. They too didn’t fully comprehend but they had
the idea, they got the concept. And a few, to his disappointment,
actually looked bored. They were the same dull people who lived out
their same dull lives day after day. He actually felt sorry for
them; they were the people cursed with no imagination. Black and
white is all they would ever understand.

The case contained a highly detailed ocean
diorama, built by the finest model makers that Hollywood had to
offer. In the center of the case was a huge oblong man-made
iceberg. Buried deep within the block of ice were the hulls of four
ships, equally spaced and connected together by steel beams.
Running throughout the entire length and breadth of the block were
a myriad of pipes, flowing from the ships like wires running out of
an old fashion switchboard. There were also mazes of tunnels carved
out in the interior, making it look like a giant, elaborate ant
farm.