Larry Bond - Dangerous Ground

“But we found canisters that were leaking,” Jerry protested.

“It isn’t spreading. They’re small leaks and our sampling so far shows that the effect is highly localized. The radiation hasn’t even reached the shore. Right now”—and she emphasized the word—”it’s not even a threat to Novaya Zemlya, much less continental Russia, even much less Europe or the rest of the world.”

Jerry smiled grimly. “So Dr. Patterson not only wants to find new radioactive waste that’s been dumped since the Russians said they stopped, but she needs to find waste that has been spreading, big time.”

“And she hasn’t found either yet.” Davis leaned closer and spoke softly. “Last night she told me that she had simply assumed the sites would be polluting the area nearby. She didn’t believe the Russian or the other reports that suggested the problem was not as severe as first thought. Now she’s wondering if she will find what she needs.”

“It’s only been three days,” Jerry replied just as softly. “We’ve got two more weeks of surveying.”

“She’s not a patient person, and like I said, she just assumed the radiation would be spreading. In her business, she has to be certain of things. Now she’s not sure of anything. She’s getting scared, and she’ll be pushing us all very hard until she finds what she needs.”

And Patterson did push hard. After they finished searching Oga Guba, Memphis headed north for Tsivol’ska Guba. In 1966, the nuclear-powered icebreaker Lenin suffered a nuclear accident that killed thirty sailors. It took six years to repair her and she received a new propulsion plant. Her three old reactors were removed and dumped in the bay in 1967, along with a container loaded with damaged fuel elements.

Dr. Patterson was especially interested in the last item. “The last survey was twenty years ago. We’re going over every inch of the damn thing. We’ll compare the new data with the earlier survey results and see if it’s leaked at all.” At her direction, Davis used Dewy to thoroughly photograph every surface and then sample the seabed on two sides.

The radiation from the Lenin reactors was extremely high, nearly 100 rem per hour. Davidson whistled when he saw the readings and muttered in awe, “That must have been one hell of an accident.” An understatement if there ever was one, but one everybody could agree with. And yet, despite the clear evidence of significant activity, neither the reactor compartment nor the spent fuel containers showed an appreciable leakage into the nearby environment.

Tsivol’ska Guba was larger and it took six sorties over three days to cover it. They found more spent solid waste canisters, a few pumps, piping, and some junked machinery, but everything was either listed in the various reports — or looked like it should have been. Jerry saw Patterson’s frustration grow. After that came Sedov Guba.

During the transit north, Hardy asked Patterson if he could read the various reports she was referring to, so that he could “get smarter on the problem.” With obvious delight, she handed him four sizable documents and offered to discuss them with him at his convenience. She beamed over the idea that Hardy was finally coming around and becoming more environmentally aware.

MEMPHIS arrived at Sedov Guba on the fourth of June and the search procedure was started all over again. The Yablokov report listed a collection of spent fuel canisters there, and after locating and surveying that site, Jerry and Emily flew another six collection sorties covering most of the bay.

While they found a lot of material, including solid waste canisters, a few fuel rods, and even a discarded experimental reactor vessel, it was all consistent with the Russian documentation. Everything they found had been there for decades, and while there was some leakage from corroded containers, the contamination hadn’t gone very far. Like the other sites, the radiological problem appeared to be very localized.

Patterson was not getting what she needed and her desperation grew. She started taking water samples every six hours, hoping that leeched radioactive material might be collecting in pockets of water in the bay. She even talked to the Engineer, Lieutenant Commander Ho, about ways of increasing the sensitivity of the tests, on the theory that the pollution was there, but at extremely low levels.

On Wednesday the eighth, with Sedov Guba finished, the crew stood down from ROV operations for a day. Jerry was still excused from watch-standing, and he used the time to catch up on the jungle of paperwork that had flourished on his desk. The stack took up so much of his desk that he moved the whole mess to the wardroom, where he could spread it out on the table.

Emily Davis was already at work when Jerry came into the wardroom, but she quickly made room for him and his mountain of paper. Her half of the table was covered by a chart, printouts of the local tide tables, and a couple of textbooks on nuclear chemistry. “What’s this about?” Jerry asked.

“It’s another one of her ‘ideas,’” Davis explained cynically. “She wants me to see if currents or tides could be carrying the leaking waste in toward shore.”

“And that would explain the low levels elsewhere in the bays?”

“She hopes so.” Davis shrugged. “It’s not my area of expertise, and I don’t have the best references, but I’ve never heard of that phenomenon. It’s not supported by the other documents, and from what I can tell the local tides are all different. To suggest that this might be what’s been happening in all three of the bays we’ve searched, just doesn’t make any sense. She’s pretty desperate. Right now she’s in her stateroom tearing apart every environmental report she’s brought with her, looking for anything that will help.”

“Help prove her point?” Jerry asked.

“If she doesn’t come back with enough new evidence of environmental abuses by the Soviets or the Russians, then she’s finished. Her career as a presidential adviser will be over.”

Jerry settled down to his paperwork while Emily continued hers. His stuff was routine admin, though, and it couldn’t hold his attention. He considered Patterson’s problems and his own.

If she did not find what she needed, would the mission be considered a failure? Memphis had been sent to survey the area and collect samples. On a reconnaissance mission, there were usually no expectations. You went, you looked, and then you reported what you saw. This mission had been ordered because of what some people expected to find. Political reputations would be gained or lost based on their patrol report.

And frankly, Jerry wasn’t interested in being a part of a hyped claim of impending environmental disaster. Personally, he was glad that the contents of the drums and casks and waste containers hadn’t spread. It was just bad news for people who had said with such certainty that it had. They wanted a stick to beat the Russians with, and they hadn’t found one yet.

Patterson had staked her political and scientific reputation on proving a point. She’d made a promise to her boss, who happened to be the President of the United States. It was a strong reminder of why the military stayed out of politics.

On Thursday, the ninth of June, Memphis moved slowly into Techeniye Guba, the northernmost and last of the four bays they were to search. The crew was in good spirits, looking forward to starting for home in a few days.

Two previously surveyed sites, a lighter full of waste and a discarded reactor compartment, were located and verified. Like the other locations they’d already examined, there was little sign of the waste having spread.