Dry Ice (31 page)

“Why?” Helena interrupted. “Flint’s core products are seeds, poison, and Frankenfood. Everything the environmental lobby loves to hate. What are they up to with weather manipulation?”

“They have a vertically integrated business model. In this case, it’s literally vertical—ground to sky. Besides the things you mentioned, Flint has farms, fisheries, you name it. If it’s edible, Flint has a hand in producing it. As such, they’ve gotten into a lot of risk management lately. They offer consulting—”

Helena barely refrained from laughing. “Okay, I’m a city girl to my core, but, Candy, risk management consulting? For
farmers
? I don’t even know what that means.”

“It can mean a lot of things.” Candy shrugged. “Advising farmers about the latest practices or products to avoid crop failures, blights, or diseases, whether they’re raising plants, animals, or fish. Flint also has a very low-key financial arm. Disaster insurance, weather derivatives, that sort of thing.”

Helena felt a chill settle at the back of her neck. “They use the financial markets to bet on natural disasters and the weather,” she said tightly. It wasn’t a question.

“Or against them,” Candy added. “It’s not a new thing, ma’am. Enron started doing it years ago.” She paused. “We know Flint is doing atmospheric testing. They built a base in Antarctica a few years ago, very hush-hush and state of the art. They persuaded Australia to hand over some strategic real estate, which really pissed off the Russians, who are already nearby, and the Chinese, who were negotiating for the same spot.”

“What’s the attraction?” Helena asked.

“Isolation, for one. It’s a thousand miles from any coastline. Very difficult to get to from anywhere. They have a fleet of planes—
Russian
planes—specially equipped to make long-haul flights, and flight crews that consist of ex-military personnel with polar flight experience. They typically fly out of Capetown, South Africa, instead of Christchurch, New Zealand, like nearly all other U.S. interests. In other words, they’ve been pretty obvious about not wanting anyone to know what they’re doing. That folds into what I think is the bigger reason for their secretiveness, which is that their little slice of heaven is critically near the South Geomagnetic Pole.”

“We have a base
at
the South Pole, don’t we?”

“Yes, we do, a small one. But the South Pole is just a geographic marker, and the ice it’s on moves about ten feet a year. Then there’s the South Magnetic Pole, which is somewhere in the Southern Sea off the Antarctic Peninsula. The pole I’m talking about, the one Flint is interested in, is the South Geomagnetic Pole, which is the best place on the planet to study—or interrupt—the earth’s natural electromagnetism. And the talent they have sequestered down there on the Ice is a stellar group, ma’am. They pilfered several of our people from HAARP.” She stopped. “Ms. President, do you know about HAARP?”

Helena met Candy’s clear gaze. It was as cold and hard as the ice she was talking about. Blond, pretty, confident,
Anglo
—women like Candy had always intimidated her. Granted, it was easier to shrug off these days than it had been in high school, and college, and early in her career. All she had to do was remind herself that she was the leader of the most powerful country on earth.

Helena merely lifted one eyebrow in response to her advisor’s question. “I do. I was on the House Intelligence Committee and was contacted regularly by the tinfoil-hat crowd.”

Others in the room twitched their mouths to avoid a smile. Candy grinned openly.

“Yeah, well, in this case, some of those Reynolds Wrap Wonders might be on to something. Flint’s Antarctic research station is called the Terrestrial Energy Southern Land Array, TESLA for short, which is kinda cute because in the early twentieth century, Nikola Tesla did all kinds of research on harnessing and directing ionospheric energy.”

Helena held up a hand. “Wait. That office of—what was it?”

“The Office of Ionospheric Monitoring,” Candy supplied.

“That’s it. Someone from that office is here, right?”

“He’s waiting in the wings over at the Pentagon.”

“What do they do?”

“I’ll get to them in a minute. If I could just explain something else first, Ms. President, with your permission.”

Helena nodded for her to continue.

“Nikola Tesla did a lot of oddball stuff, high-end, wow-factor research like building a lightning tower out on Long Island. But he also did some things that were less well known, even a little scary, like building a particle-beam weapon. He came up with the idea of using the earth itself as a transmitter for radio and other electromagnetic signals. That idea eventually morphed into the ELF grid in the upper Midwest.” Candy cocked her head questioningly, asking without asking if Helena knew what she was talking about.

I’ve only been in office two months and have been busy rebuilding the nation’s economy, international reputation, and a few major cities. I might have missed a few details.

“Go on,” was all she said.

Candy nodded once. “Yes, ma’am. ELF stands for Extremely Low Frequency. It’s a range of radio frequencies in the electromagnetic spectrum that can be used to transmit messages over long distances. But instead of the regular sort of antennae, like dishes or dipoles, the physical system for ELF is a huge underground grid of transmitters that we use for, among other things, staying in contact with our submarines when they’re deeply submerged. The grid covers hundreds of square miles of the Upper Midwest because at those frequencies, the wavelengths are measurable in miles. The subs trail receivers a few miles long to pick up the transmissions—”

“Are you getting off track, Ms. Freeman?” Helena asked, feeling as if her brain were starting to swell and press against the inside of her forehead. Unfortunately, science had always had that effect on her.

“Yes, ma’am, a little. Okay, back to Tesla. The man, I mean. He also messed around at the other end of the spectrum—and again, I mean that literally. He pioneered the idea that the sky, the atmosphere itself, could be used as a giant transmitter to bounce signals around the earth. Fast signals traveling long distances with no interference. Well, we’ve tried that, and it works. It’s why we built HAARP.”

Candy tapped a long fingernail against the polished surface of the cherry conference table. “This is where the conspiracy-theory whackdoodles come into it. Their undies are in a permanent bunch. They swear that messing around in the atmosphere causes everything from the ozone hole to the Northern Lights, from earthquakes to erectile dysfunction and PMS. They say we use radio waves for mind control and weather as a weapon to punish uncooperative countries, and they get more creative from there.”

She paused and folded her manicured hands, with their hot-orange nails, in front of her on the heavy table. “Trouble is, some of what they say is close to accurate, ma’am, at least when it comes to HAARP. We think that at Flint’s TESLA base, they’ve taken it a few steps closer to the edge of woo-woo, that they actually
can
manipulate weather—move weather systems, stall them, even create them.”

Helena felt a disturbing flutter at the base of her throat as her pulse kicked up a few beats. She held up a hand, indicating Candy should pause, then motioned to the aide standing nearby. She scrawled
I want the Afghan report from SecDef Bonner ASAP
and nodded at the aide, who nodded back and immediately left the room.

The president returned her attention to Candy. “You think that Flint might be behind yesterday’s storms.” It wasn’t really a question.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The room was silent except for the soft susurrus of temperature-controlled air breezing through the ceiling vents and the very faint background hum of the white noise deliberately introduced as a security feature. Helena kept her eyes on Candy and the cloud of blond curls that framed her gracefully aging Barbie-doll face. The only thing that didn’t mesh with the national security advisor’s carefully constructed aura of ultimate femininity was the look in Candy’s eyes. It was unmistakably challenging, though not disrespectful.

“Why would Flint do it? This kind of destruction”—Helena motioned toward the screens—“can’t serve their interests. Besides that, it’s criminal. And if they transcend national borders…” She left the sentence unfinished.

“You’re right, Ms. President. It doesn’t make sense. They own or control a lot of the Central Valley. Their headquarters are in Connecticut. And there are reports that Croyden Flint and his family flew to Park City late this week for spring break and there’s a weird spring storm brewing there. That’s why we want to talk to Gianni Barone.”

“Couldn’t these just be unfortunate coincidences?” Helena asked after a moment.

“My staff and some other atmospheric agencies checked out the build-up to the storms. Weather is an inherently chaotic system and, therefore, vulnerable to an infinite number of variables that can effect changes with no warning, but these storms were all highly atypical. And our monitoring equipment picked up irregular and very powerful electromagnetic pulses coming from TESLA prior to each incident.”

Helena’s eyes trailed back to the large video monitors lining the walls. The devastation was almost incomprehensible. That it might have been deliberate made her mind reel. “Do I understand that you think these storms were somehow instigated by Flint’s equipment in Antarctica?” Helena asked carefully.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“But they’ve destroyed Flint holdings.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Helena looked at her deeply for a moment, not saying anything.
This is like
The Twilight Zone,
only weirder.

“So are we talking about big mistakes or are we talking about eco-terrorism?”

“Eco-terrorism,” Candy said with no hesitation. “A man named Greg Simpson has been running the TESLA installation since its inception. He used to run a program at HAARP and has been on intelligence radar screens for years. He’s meticulous, bright, and very, very driven. He’s a JASON,” Candy explained, mentioning the little-known, elite group of hand-picked scientists who consult for the government on everything from nuclear weaponry to … whatever the government wants them to investigate. “A few years back, Flint offered him a blank check and full control of the TESLA project. He walked away from HAARP without a backward glance. Bottom line, ma’am: he’s got more than just brains in his head, he’s got a lot of classified information in there, too, bundled up with a lot of ego and attitude.”

“Meaning what?”

“He could be susceptible to compromise or temptation.”

“Is he stable?”

“No.”

“Dangerous?”

“Could be. There’s a lot of firepower down there.”

Helena tried to keep her mind off the anger pulsing in her blood. “You said that the Pentagon has made use of the equipment down there. What for?”

“Thank you for asking, ma’am. Let me introduce you to someone who may have an answer to that.” Candy picked up one of the remotes on the table in front of her and pointed it at the only dark monitor in the room. The screen lit up with the larger-than-life-size image of an impassive face of a graying, crew-cutted man with one star on the collar of his Navy uniform.

“President Hernandez, I’d like to present Vice-Admiral Deekins, acting director of the Office of Ionospheric Monitoring. Admiral, your commander in chief,” Candy said, drawing out the last words.

The man rose to his feet and saluted. “Good morning, ma’am.”

“Good morning. Be seated, Admiral Deekins, and please accept my condolences on the death of your colleague.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Helena murmured, “Ms. Freeman, please continue.”

“Admiral, we were discussing the storms that trashed Connecticut and California recently. They’re something of a sensation on the weather wonk websites. What can you contribute to the discussion? Has your group found any atmospheric anomalies linked to them?”

“No, ma’am.”

Helena felt a flicker of annoyance at the terse, confident reply and glanced at Candy’s face, which was unchanged.

Either she’s really good, or she’s setting him up. Or both.

Helena returned her gaze to the screen.

“Nothing, admiral?” Candy asked.

“No, ma’am.”

“Are you familiar with Flint AgroChemical’s TESLA facility, admiral? In Antarctica.”

“I’ve heard of it.”

“Could you explain to us what it does?”

“It’s a private concern operating within another nation’s sovereign territory. I believe they conduct atmospheric research. I don’t have any more specific knowledge than that.”

“Admiral Medev was speaking with a Flint executive when he died. Why? Does your office work with Flint?” Candy snapped, her tone as sharp as the shard from a broken bottle.

The admiral’s cold eyes and clenched jaw betrayed his irritation. He was clearly not used to being addressed in such a way. “To the best of my recollection, this office does not. Perhaps they were friends.”

Candy opened a file on the table in front of her, then leaned back in her chair, one slim, braceletted arm resting easily on the table. “Could be. Admiral Medev and Mr. Barone worked at HAARP for a few overlapping years. As did the man who designed and runs TESLA, Dr. Greg Simpson. Please tell the president what HAARP is and does, admiral.”

“Ms. President, HAARP is a large dipole antenna array in rural Alaska that utilizes the ionosphere as a conduit for transmitting military communications.”

“Is that all, admiral?” Candy asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I could be more technical, but if you’re not intimately familiar with what riometers and digisondes do and how fluxgate and induction magnetometers work, there’s no point in that. If you want me to validate all the nonsense about HAARP that’s on the Internet, I can’t do that.”

“Is TESLA just HAARP 2.0?”

“I can’t say, Ms. Freeman. You’d have to ask someone at Flint.”

“Thank you, admiral.” With a click from the remote, the screen went dark. Candy turned to Helena. “Ms. President, I assure you that HAARP is more than a glorified radio station.”