Iceapelago Read online

  Digging deep into his trousers’ pocket, he produced what for all intents was a normal golf ball, but one without a manufacturer’s logo. Instead it had a large green shamrock printed on the surface.

  Lars took the golf ball in his hand. He rubbed it gently. The feel and look of the ball were no different to what he usually played with.

  ‘Does the chip not get damaged with the impact of the golf club?’ asked Lars.

  ‘Ah, that’s another innovation,’ said Sean. ‘I’ve encased the chip in a durable thin-layered plastic cover that cushions the blow and does not affect the transponder.’

  ‘Fascinating, truly fascinating,’ said Lars. ‘I may have another use for this golf ball of yours.’

  ‘Tell me more.’

  ‘I’m a climate scientist, when I’m not playing golf and attending golf events,’ said Lars. ‘I lead a research group that’s doing work on the Greenland Ice Sheet and surrounding glaciers.’

  ‘Interesting what us golfers get up to in our spare time! Seriously though, what type of research?’

  ‘We’re trying to measure the extent of the ice melt across the Greenland Ice Sheet. It’s increasing at a great rate, but in a largely random manner. We want to be able to predict the pace, flow and direction of the meltwater with a much higher degree of accuracy.’

  ‘How can my golf ball help?’

  Sean sensed that he was about to get a business pitch right in the middle of the final stages of the world’s most prestigious golf event. He was conflicted. Watch the golf as he had planned, or listen to the Norwegian who was clearly agitated and excited?

  ‘I‘ve monitored the progress of the Greenland ice melt using various electronic devices and satellite images, but have never managed to track the flow rate and direction of the ice as it descends some three thousand metres from the apex of the ice sheet down multiple invisible crevasses into the Greenland Sea close to the North Atlantic to the East and to Baffin Bay to the West. Satellite tracking can assist us up to one hundred metres below the surface. But at lower depths we can’t get a reliable signal.’

  They fell silent as the Spanish golfer finished his putt for a double bogey. He scowled and frowned as he was no longer the tournament leader. A lip reader who could speak Spanish would have detected a few profanities directed at the poor caddie who was obviously to blame for his player’s mishap.

  Sean decided that listening was the best option, not that he had any choice.

  ‘Could your invention be adapted to serve as a detector of the flow of the meltwater beneath the Greenland Ice Sheet?’

  Sean smiled.

  ‘I think I may be able to help. In life, everything is possible. Nothing is impossible. We Irish are born optimists. Perhaps we might meet up after the golf for a beer and a bite?’

  ‘I know just the place,’ said Lars. ‘I’ll book a table at the French Market Grille. It’s a bit out of town. They do the best bowl of Jambalaya in these parts. Let’s meet at eight o’clock.’

  ‘Fine by me,’ said Sean.

  They abandoned their conversation as quickly as it had begun just as the next three ball moved onto the adjacent tee box amid loud roars from the partisan crowd chanting support for their American heroes. Europeans and others were second-rate golf citizens in Augusta.

  The restaurant was packed to capacity. As arranged they met at the bar and got their table with a minimum of delay. A four-piece bar band was playing with great gusto. The lead singer was obviously a fan of Neil Diamond. The noise of the music drowned out conversation from adjacent tables.

  ‘What will you have Sean?’

  ‘A bottle of Coors Light will do.’

  A waiter took the order.

  Sean observed that Lars was staring at his shirt and not for the first time. ‘You seem interested in my clothes, so I should explain. It the official jersey of the Galway Gaelic football team.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ replied Lars.

  ‘My county plays in an annual Gaelic football championship against the other thirty-one counties in Ireland. Everyone, and I mean everyone, supports the team and the best way to show your colours is to wear the colours. Maroon means Galway. I’ve three jerseys, by the way. This is my evening one.’

  ‘You’re a football fan?’ asked Lars.

  ‘A Gaelic football fan, yes, and a proud one at that.’

  ‘I can see you have a lot of energy,’ said Lars.

  ‘And I’m innovative and a bit of an entrepreneur at the same time.’

  ‘Obviously, and a confident one as well, I suspect,’ said Lars with a smile.

  After they ordered their meal, they spent the next while engaged in small talk. Lars talked about his golf handicap, his family, Norway (of course) and his satisfaction that the Spanish golfer won the Masters despite his poor score at the twelfth hole. Sean also talked about his family background and his start-up business.

  Sean sensed that the serious business of the evening was approaching. However, the revellers singing the chorus of ‘Sweet Caroline’ rendered proper conversation impossible.

  Lars spoke as the band took a break. His tone was serious – a bit too serious for Sean’s liking.

  ‘Let me put my cards on the table, Sean. We barely know each other, yet I’m certain you can help me solve a puzzle that I’ve struggled with for the best part of a decade.’

  Lars emptied his bottle of Coors Light with a sense of purpose.

  ‘As I said earlier, I’ve been doing climate change research in Greenland since I left college. It’s a fascinating area for a scientist, but also quite frustrating as getting reliable evidence is a big problem.’

  ‘Please explain,’ said Sean helpfully.

  ‘I’ve two theories that, if proven correct, could alter the way everyone – even the American president – think of the impacts of climate change.’

  To Sean’s surprise, Lars pulled out a large map of Greenland from his coat pocket. It filled the table when he unfolded it.

  ‘Last year, during the summer months, there were ten earthquakes at the locations in the centre of Greenland marked here with an ‘X’. Many were above a three magnitude on the Richter scale. These incidents have little to do with tectonic plate movements, as Greenland is stable compared to its island neighbour Iceland. What appears to have happened is that once the glaciers move this generates seismic waves. Some of them are the size of Manhattan and a ten-metre jolt can happen within ten minutes. This is not a new phenomenon. Researchers have recorded such incidents over the past decade. What is different now is that the tremors are more frequent, more severe and concentrated at three known locations that are at the base and sides of the ice sheet. Most importantly, the tremors usually happen towards the end of the summer melt season.’

  ‘I don’t remember seeing any press reports about this,’ said Sean.

  ‘That’s the problem. Because they are not tectonic movements of the earth’s plates and no visible damage is caused, nobody died, these incidents have been swept under the proverbial scientific carpet.’

  ‘You need a carpet beater. Someone to shake off the dust,’ said Sean, trying to be sympathetic.

  ‘That’s one way of putting it,’ replied Lars.

  Lars knew he had to be careful how he explained the consequences of his research proposition to Sean.

  ‘My theory is that the melting ice across the centre of the Greenland Ice Sheet is carving out deep caverns just below the surface. The speed of the meltwater as it descends down ravines causes further erosion of the deep ice formations. As the meltwater flows down inside the glacier, it hollows out internal rivers and lakes of melted ice deep within the glacier. These lakes – some big, some small – are collapsing on top of one another. That’s the root cause of the tremors as millions of tonnes of water are displaced with each incident. The secondary effect is that there are now enorm
ous hidden caverns across the length and breadth of the Greenland Ice Sheet. Unseen by us, the Greenland Ice Sheet has already lost a significant amount of its volume.’

  ‘I can see why you’re a bit agitated,’ said Sean.

  ‘After five years of record high temperatures at the top of the glacier, an unprecedented volume of meltwater is drilling out much of the central parts of the Greenland Ice Sheet. If seismic events caused the collapse of the top sections of the ice sheet, or at the glaciers that are the front of the ice sheet at sea level, this will be a tipping point. A point beyond which only one conclusion is possible: the destruction of the Greenland Ice Sheet that was expected to take a thousand years to happen could occur within decades.’

  ‘That sounds a bit dramatic, Lars.’

  ‘It is,’ said Lars. ‘Once a tipping point is reached there is no going back.’

  ‘Scary,’ said Sean.

  ‘I need the evidence to convince the governments of the countries around the North Atlantic, not just to invest in my research, but to pay more attention to what is happening. Tinkering at the edges and denying the science – the current policy of the Americans – is unsustainable, and wrong.’

  ‘Where do I fit in?’ said Sean still unclear as to what the sales pitch was.

  ‘We lack any evidence about the extent to which meltwater is hollowing out the innards of the Greenland Ice Sheet. We need to find out where surface meltwater goes once it descends into the bowels of the ice sheet. And we also need to know how and where the meltwater flows and its exit points and, critically, the speed – the flow rate – of the meltwater.’

  ‘So? How can I assist?’ probed Sean, wishing Lars would get to the point.

  ‘I need to know if you can manufacture a device, a golf ball, that can be tracked as it moves down the ice rivers that descend inside the ice sheet. Ideally, I need a device that will show me the direction and speed of descent of the summer ice-melt from multiple locations across the top of the Greenland Ice Sheet as the meltwater progresses to the Greenland and Baffin Seas, and onwards to the North Atlantic. Can you do that?’

  ‘Lars, my golf ball is a hardcore ball that was designed to be hit at significant speed by a golf club. What you are looking for is a softcore ball that can float.’

  ‘Exactly. Can you do that?’

  Lars’ eagerness was beginning to show. He was, as Sean suspected, a man in a hurry.

  ‘No reason why not. The technology I’ve developed for the outer surface would allow us to lighten the golf ball while not compromising its hardcore exterior. The shape, sturdiness and the density of the ball is not an issue to be honest.’

  ‘Two more beers please,’ said Lars to the waiter. He needed a drink.

  ‘What interests me most is the idea of developing a tracking function whereby a satellite could monitor the golf balls deep within the Greenland Ice Sheet,’ said Sean. ‘That, to my mind, is a technology fix that my engineers should be able to sort out. They love a challenge.’

  ‘How soon could you develop a prototype?’

  ‘What timescale do you have in mind?’

  ‘Ten weeks from today. I need to have these devices at my research base at the Summit Station ready to deploy no later than the third week in August.’

  ‘That’s a tall order Lars, regardless of the logistics.’

  ‘It may well be, but I can’t afford to let another summer season pass without this vital research being completed. While we can expand the programme next year, I need as many golf balls as possible this year. If this experiment works, we can ramp up the scale of the operation. But, as you have probably gathered by now, I’m desperate to make a start. Can you produce a thousand of these ice golf balls by any chance?’

  ‘I’ll do my best Lars. By the way, what’s the Summit Station?’

  ‘It’s a research facility located at the top of the Greenland Ice Sheet at 3,000 metres above sea level.’

  Lars eyes lit up with excitement. Sean clearly understood what he needed. Lars was thankful that serendipity had brought them together earlier in the day. Sean Pitcher was a man he needed to build a relationship with as a priority.

  ‘You have skin in the game Sean,’ said Lars. ‘I will explain in more detail later, but the data your golf ball devices will generate could have a profound effect on predicting weather forecasts in Ireland.’

  ‘What’s the connection?’

  ‘Our data, which has yet to be published, points to the Greenland meltwater pouring at record volumes into the North Atlantic. This pure water is mixing with the saline waters of the Gulf Stream.’

  ‘That gives us our temperate climate. That’s what I was told at school.’

  ‘Yes, the Gulf Stream gives Ireland and Western Europe much warmer summers than would otherwise be the case given your latitude.’

  Sean was discovering slowly but surely that Lars had a tendency to be long-winded.

  ‘We’ve evidence that the sub-surface dynamics that drive the Gulf Stream from the Caribbean towards north-west Europe have already stopped at many locations. Should the ice melt continue at its current pace, and perhaps intensify if seismic activity caused parts of the Greenland Ice Sheet to collapse, then unprecedented volumes of non-saline water would flow into the North Atlantic. When this happens – and it is only a matter of time – the benign effects of the Gulf Stream will slow down and eventually stop.’

  ‘You are kidding me?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ said Lars. ‘Something similar happened some twelve thousand years ago, not a long time in geological terms. There is evidence that the glaciers of Central Canada melted and burst into the North Atlantic through the Gulf of Saint Lawrence. Over time, a mere few decades, the Gulf Stream stopped. The Ice Age arrived with sea ice coverage as far south as northern Spain.’

  ‘You’re not suggesting something similar will happen?’

  ‘There is no evidence to substantiate such a calamity. What we know is that freshwater ice-melt, is lighter than salty water which means that it floats on the surface of the ocean and in so doing disturbs the normal sinking of dense, cold saltwater to the ocean floor.’

  Sean nodded but looked like he didn’t fully grasp the nuances, so Lars kept going with his explanation.

  ‘Your golf balls will help us determine the velocity of the meltwater and track its progress within the Greenland Ice Sheet. The volume of ice-melt that passed through the Gulf of Saint Lawrence all those years ago was, conservatively, not even a third of what the Greenland Ice Sheet could off-load into the North Atlantic.’

  Lars looked Sean straight in the eye.

  ‘When that happens, you’ll need more than full thermals all year round. The prospect of such a cataclysmic change in the Gulf Stream’s influence over the weather will have profound effects on the economies and societies of the countries of north-west Europe.’

  Sean rubbed his beard vigorously. What have I gotten myself into? Far too late for such questions, he thought to himself. All this talk about climate chaos is perhaps real.

  ‘Another round of beers please.’

  The waiter duly obliged. Judging by their sad demeanour, he sensed these customers wouldn’t be going anywhere soon.

  Glencairn

  The gardens of Glencairn House were full to capacity on the occasion of the garden party to celebrate the King’s official birthday. The Wicklow grey granite exterior, rolling lawns, rose beds and imposing porticos provided the ideal setting. Judging by the buzz of good-natured chatter and laughter, everyone was enjoying the balmy summer’s evening. Marquees were set up on the fringes of the main garden where generous amounts of sponsors’ alcohol and food were available. Serving staff mingled effortlessly among the guests. A six-piece army band played a selection of military airs at a short distance from the main crowd that comprised a who’s who of Dublin’s political, social and business elites, w
ith a fair share of journalists as well. The official residence of the British Ambassador to Ireland since the 1950s was being put to good use, yet again.

  Billy van Os observed the scene while standing aback from the window in the Japanese room located on the first floor of the building. The room was dominated by a tapestry representing the rising and the setting of the sun and a portrait of the King. As the resident Defence Attaché, or ‘spy’ to the layman, he liked to stay out of sight. He could see but could not be seen. After all, his profession was one of the oldest and required discretion.

  This was his second posting to Ireland, the first being during the height of the ‘Troubles’, the thirty-year conflict that had impacted both Northern Ireland and the South. His hands-on style in one notorious operation in Dublin, where he was technically supposed to be an observer, required that he was extracted out of the jurisdiction at short notice with his American CIA counterpart. That was a long time ago, a distant memory for some. His involvement in a bombing and that of his American colleague were dead-ended by the police on both sides of the Irish Sea. The operation was all but forgotten, despite the traditional enquiry into the fatalities that came to no conclusions. Given his track record, he really didn’t want to be back in Ireland despite the many intervening years. But, as this was his last posting before his imminent retirement, he had no choice in the matter. Sure, nobody would remember him after such a long period. Old spies never die, they just fade away.

  He had a different mission this evening. On checking the guest list, he discovered his target had accepted the Ambassador’s invitation as he had known he would. The profile on file suggested his target was a bit of a bon viveur. He observed patiently and tried to spot him among the mass of people mingling below. He didn’t have to wait too long. The Irish loved parties and were uncharacteristically punctual in attending one of the more sought-after invitations of the year.