Swimming to Antarctica_ Tales of a Long-Distance Swimmer - Lynne Cox [118]
Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer. “David, what happened?” I said in a soft, soothing voice, ready to burst into tears myself.
He took a deep breath, and his voice quavered. “Gene Fisher just got a call from Bob Walsh in Moscow.” There was a catch in his voice; he paused and cleared his throat.
I thought I was going to lose it.
“The Soviets said yes. They said yes. Yes! You can do it!” He was crying again.
“Are you sure? Really sure?” I was completely stunned. With the news about the troop buildup on the border the day before, everything had become so much more uncertain.
“Yes. Yes. They said yes.” David was laughing now.
They said yes, I thought. Oh my God, now I’ve got to go the whole way. Oh my God.
Claire threw her arms around me, and we nearly landed on the floor.
“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you,” Karp added. “I was able to get Pat Omiak to agree to rent you the two boats for five hundred dollars. I told him it would really look bad if the Soviets came through and he didn’t. You’d better get back to the community center—Gene Fisher’s going to call you there.”
Claire and I ran back to the community center so fast that I can’t remember how we got there. We were gasping for air when we reached the third floor. When the crew saw us, they encircled us.
It was as if a lightning bolt struck everyone in the room at the same moment. The crew threw their arms into the air and exploded into jubilant cheers. It was a wonderfully strange feeling; all the pressure had suddenly been released, but there was no letdown. It was as if the pressure had been transformed into energy, and all of us were charged by it.
The doctors eagerly checked and packed their equipment. The journalists dictated stories, and the photographers snapped what seemed like hundreds of pictures. When Gene Fisher called, everyone clustered around the phone to listen in. Fisher’s normal monotone voice was filled with excitement. He said, “Let me read the telex from the Soviet Sports Committee: ‘Please inform where Miss Cox is at present time and what day until August 12 she intends to carry out the swim. We need exact Greenwich and Moscow time. We are ready to render assistance. Your group will be met at the international date line.’ The telex is signed by Alexander Kozlovsky, director of the Soviet Sports Committee.”
We’d planned to make the swim at eight o’clock tomorrow morning—or any of the following mornings, depending upon the weather. “We will signal the start of the crossing by releasing red, white, and blue balloons,” I said to Fisher. “If there is a problem, is there someone we can contact on Big Diomede?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t think there’s a telephone on Big Diomede.”
“That could be a problem. That means we have to contact Moscow, and that’s fourteen time zones from us, right? If we reach Moscow, how can we relay information to Big Diomede or how can they reach us?”
“Here is Kozlovsky’s number in Moscow. If there is a problem and I’m not reachable, contact him,” Fisher instructed.
“Gene, do you know why it took them so long to respond to our telex?”
“Kozlovsky said there was a breakdown in communication, and their security forces rejected our request.”
“How did he get them to change their minds?” I asked.
“Bob Walsh told Kozlovsky that you intended to swim with or without their approval. He said you would swim as far as they would permit. And it would be very embarrassing for Gorbachev if he didn’t allow the crossing, because opening the border symbolized glasnost. When Gorbachev saw the ABC tape he had Gramov, the head of the sports committee, put Kozlovsky in charge of the project. Kozlovsky said the visa requirements have been waived for the Inuit crew in your support boats. And he wants to know if there is anything