Dominic Conlon - Arctic Firepath

‘What happened?’

‘After a year or two they asked me to join them on the ground.’

‘And did you?’

Sean eyed Khostov. ‘I did. But it’s a long story.’

Khostov opened the palm of his hands. ‘We’ve got plenty of time.’

Sean drew a hand through his hair, unsure where to start. ‘I trained for the SAS.’

‘I have heard of them, your Special Air Service. They’re widely admired in Russia — though no-one in the military would admit to that.’

‘After a bit, I found I enjoyed the company. Sure, the work was difficult, but the blokes I met would do anything for you in a fight.’ Sean laughed. ‘They’d steal your food and your brew if you weren’t looking, but when it came down to the wire, they would give their lives to protect you.’ Sean reflected a moment. ‘And you would do the same for them.’

‘When I talk to some of my friends in the military, they tell me it is like a family.’

‘That’s how it was for me. I guess that’s why I stayed on so long. Then one thing led to another, and I wound up working for a clandestine part of British Intelligence.’

‘You sound like you’ve been there a while.’

‘Too long.’

‘Did you ever think about retiring?’

Sean hesitated. ‘Actually yes. I plan to leave sometime in the next six months.’

‘That will be a big step, no?

‘Yes. But now I’ve given my notice, I’m looking forward to it.’

‘So there is somebody — to go to?’

Sean reached for the St. Christopher medal in his pocket. Before he left he had called Natasha, but there was no answer on her mobile. Maybe she was in the middle of moving, and too busy to return his calls. He felt guilty at not being there to help her with the move, but he was puzzled she had not contacted him by now. ‘I don’t mean to be rude Alexei, but I do think you should try to get some rest.’

Khostov waved his hand in the air. ‘I had a rest at your wonderful place at Brampdon Manor. It’s like an old fashioned English hotel,’ he mused. ‘I felt I was on holiday after an exciting adventure.’

Sean glanced at him sideways to check if he was being serious. He was. ‘Well your little adventure nearly got you killed. And two men in Paris died coming after you.’

Khostov appeared crestfallen. ‘I am sorry. I didn’t intend to make little of your efforts to protect me. Those people were evil.’

They sipped their coffee in silence for a few moments, and Sean turned his attention to the job ahead. ‘How does something like a meltdown happen?’ Sean asked.

Khostov looked at Sean carefully, as though he were leading him to a trap. ‘Why do you ask?’

He shrugged. ‘Just curious really.’

Khostov took a deep breath and held it for a count of ten, then faced Sean. ‘Accidents happen. More often than not the cause is human error. You know, I have worked in nuclear physics all my life. That’s why I’ve devoted a lot of my career into making these systems safer — safer for the operators, and for the general public.’

‘So what went wrong here?’

‘People, Sean. Greedy, grasping, penny pinching people. I designed a complete safety backup system for this type of Pressurised Water Reactor. In order to shave costs from the project and to increase output power, the manufacturer removed the steel cladding. To compensate, the water jacket surrounding the core had to be increased in diameter. The water acts as a neutron-absorbing shield. But if the water is lost in an accident, the operators will receive a fatal dose.’

‘I see’ remarked Sean sombrely, not really understanding.

Khostov surveyed the large cargo bay. ‘That’s not the worst of it. These types of reactors are more complicated and expensive to build than conventional ones. Because it’s more complex, we have to take greater precautions when it comes to safety. So we develop several safety systems. The idea is that if there’s a problem with the first one, the second comes into play. And if that doesn’t work, the third one becomes operational, and so on.’

‘How many did you design into it?’

‘Four. Then some accountant took a look at the project cost and put a pen through the fourth. They had no idea what they were doing. With one stroke they shaved over 50 million roubles.’ Khostov brought his gaze back to Sean. ‘And probably cost the lives of countless people.’

‘At my briefing I was told it might cause a lot more deaths — nearly the whole of the Arctic could be contaminated.’

Khostov paused. ‘Yes and no.’

Sean regarded Alexei. ‘Which is it?’

‘It is true that if the melt were to react with the salt water, there would be an enormous explosion which would send radioactive elements into the atmosphere. But the engineers I spoke to managed to partially operate the second safety backup system. We have a little more time.’

‘How much?’

‘A few hours.’ Khostov shrugged. ‘We should arrive before then.’

’Supposing you’re not able to fix the second system?’

‘I will have to implement the third mechanism. It contains an aqueous solution of cadmium-nitrate which can be fed directly into the core.’

‘You don’t sound sure it will succeed.’

‘It’s awkward and needs several hours for mounting and start-up. It is very complex, and hasn’t been tested exhaustively.’

‘So it could fail?’

Khostov nodded. ‘In reality, it probably will.’

‘Jesus, Alexei. You’re not giving me much confidence.’

Alexei studied Sean. ‘I am telling you the truth. I am also saying, in all modesty, that I am the only person on the planet who has a hope of making it work.’

The British PM chose an anteroom in the Finanzministerium for the meeting. While he was in Vienna for the summit, he knew that most of the real business would be conducted in rooms such as this one — away from the Baroque elegance of the hall where ministers from the wealthiest seven countries of the world discussed mutual and global energy issues.

There was a knock and the PM’s bodyguard looked for approval to allow the person in. A man entered and handed two envelopes to the British PM. As he turned to leave, Terrance Ashdown motioned for him to stay.

Ashdown believed he knew what was in the envelopes. The day before he had issued invitations to the President of America and the President of Russia. In the letter he requested a private meeting for this evening. The PM thought the Russian response would be a polite refusal, but he was confident of the American President’s acceptance. After all, had he not agreed to the loan of Khostov?

He opened the Russian envelope. As expected it contained a courteous answer, declining his request. He opened the second letter, and his face fell. The text was longer, more flowery and apologetic. But the content was the same; the American President declined, citing pressure of work.

The PM sighed. While he had not expected Donahue to renege, the PM was prepared. He opened a drawer in the desk. Inside were four envelopes placed in two piles, separated by a thin pink ribbon. The PM chose the left pile, and handed both letters to the waiting messenger. ‘Please deliver these to the named recipients immediately.

They contained a much more strongly worded missive; the PM’s request for a meeting was not optional. Unless both Presidents attended he would announce a press conference where he would tell the world what dirty tricks Russia and America had perpetrated to secure their interests in the Arctic.

The PM sat back, regarding the ornate grandfather clock. It was a big gamble, and he still didn’t have all the information he needed for the meeting. Ashdown fretted; he was reliant on the security service to provide a significant bargaining counter before 8 pm. He reached for the telephone.