Cold War - Jerome Preisler [122]
Nimec left his explanation at that. Waylon seemed to know the stakes well enough on his own.
He also seemed to be still waiting to say something. And having a hard time getting it out.
“What haven’t I covered?” Nimec asked.
Waylon was quiet another few seconds.
“About Sprague,” he said then, struggling to control his emotions. “We want to give him some kind of service.”
Nimec looked at Waylon. How could that have failed to occur to him?
“Sure,” he said. “I mean, of course.” He expelled a breath. “Is there a chaplain on base?”
Waylon shook his head.
“MacTown has a fella who tours during the holiday season,” he said. “That’s about all.” He was thoughtful. “A lot of us on the ice, we get to feel religious without observing a particular religion. I don’t know why that is. Or maybe I do and can’t express it just right. But being here kind of shaves the differences between people. You step outside the buildings and tunnels, look at what’s around you, what nature’s really about, and you realize nobody’s any bigger or smaller in the big picture than anyone else.”
Waylon swallowed, then looked down the white spun-bonded bag containing his deceased comrade.
“We want a service, but don’t know what the hell kind we’re supposed to give him.”
Nimec was thoughtful in the cold silence of the utilidor chamber.
“We’ll figure something out,” he said.
Nimec was in Megan Breen’s office minutes after arising from the utilidor, his ECW outer garments doffed and stashed in a clothing locker.
“You get a callback from Gord yet?” he said.
Megan regarded him across her desk.
“Yes,” she said. “And he’s heard from the Secretary of State.”
“What’s Bowen’s reaction to what happened to us?”
“I suppose it falls somewhere between worry and utter astonishment,” she said. “But he’s conceded that we’re best able to deal with it ourselves for now.”
“Conceded?”
Megan nodded.
“He isn’t happy about it,” she said. “In the view of the United States we’re a commissioned government outpost that has come under enemy attack. At the same time, Article 1 of the Antarctic Treaty bars, and I quote, ‘all military activities, including weapons testing’ from the continent. It goes on to make an exception for military personnel and equipment used for scientific purposes, but that’s not pertinent. What is, is that the treaty was reinforced by the ’91 Madrid Protocol on Environmental Protection . . . and that they combine to put DoS in a logistic and political quandary. The U.S. doesn’t have a ready force anywhere close to us that could launch an effective search and counterstrike. And this is so off the board, no one’s ever contemplated a straightforward mechanism that would allow America to launch an armed venture.”
Nimec grunted.
“Not knowing who came at us makes it more complicated,” he said. “You have to wonder whether it’s a foreign government or an independent operator. Maybe even the same sons of bitches who put out a hit on the boss.”
“Agreed,” Megan said. “But let’s not jump ahead of ourselves. The outcome of Gord’s conversation with State is that we got what we wanted. They’re staying out of our way on this. Sword has been given an endorsement to act with broad discretion safeguarding Cold Corners against further threat, and it’s come from the highest level of government.”
Nimec looked at her.
“Deputy Pete,” he said.
Megan smiled thinly. “Something like that.”
Nimec nodded.
“I’m going to snag Russ Granger right away,” he said. “He had the snow-movers digging out his helicopter even before the wheels-down order was lifted this morning. Looks like he intends on flapping back to McMurdo, but there’s no chance he leaves base without taking