"Uh, Buenos Aires, Mr. Secretary."
Van Lynden gave Rosario a wry grin and a pat on the shoulder. "Well, that's a start."
With greenish flame flickering in the throats of its methane-burning scramjets, the big transport lifted off from Andrews and climbed out over the Atlantic and away from the setting sun. Leveling out at 75,000 feet, the Boeing accelerated smoothly through the sound barrier to its triple-sonic cruising speed and began tracking on the Speedbird South flight lane to Argentina.
In the airliner's comfortably appointed briefing lounge, introductions were being made.
"Mr. Secretary, this is Dr. Caroline Towers of the National Science Foundation, currently the director of the United States Antarctic Research Program."
Van Lynden found himself shaking hands with a slender, mid-fortyish, handsome woman in a conservative pantsuit. Her short brown hair appeared more sun bleached than graying and the hand he clasped was strong and work-roughened. Van Lynden suspected that whatever the doctor held her doctorate in, she wasn't of the test-tube-washing and paper-shuffling breed.
"Dr. Towers is the closest thing we have to a diplomatic representative to the Antarctic," Rosario added.
"Antarctic? As in the South Pole?"
"Yes, sir. That's our crisis point."
"Well, welcome aboard, Doctor. We don't often hear from your end of the world."
Dr. Towers gave an acknowledging nod. "Generally, we've been able to keep our problems in the family, as it were, Mr. Secretary. At least until now. I just hope that you'll be able to help us contain this current mess."
"I hope we can too, whatever it is," Van Lynden replied, dropping into one of the padded captain's chairs slotted around the conference table. "Can you and Steve bring me up to speed on the situation? Just the basics on this first run-through."
"I'm afraid it gets rather complex very rapidly," she replied, drawing the briefing-room control pad in front of her from across the table.
She touched a series of keys and a flatscreen set into the forward bulkhead lit up, displaying a high-resolution map of the Antarctic continent. The touch of another key expanded the upper left quadrant of the map until it filled the screen, zooming in on a mountainous, glacier-covered extension of land, reaching out like a stumpy tentacle toward the tip of South America.
"Mr. Secretary, this is the Antarctic Peninsula. The name is a comparatively recent compromise. For years, the British called it Graham Land. The Chileans called it O'Higgins Land. The Argentines referred to it as the San Martin Peninsula, and we called it the Palmer. Each nation marked it so on their own charts. No one would acknowledge any of the other names for fear of also acknowledging the associated territorial claim. Many of us at USARP had hoped that this kind of political posturing was no longer relevant. It appears we were wrong."
She manipulated the control pad again. Fifteen glowing dots appeared along the peninsula coastline and on several of the offshore islands. Flanking each was a small national-flag symbol.
"As you can see, several nations currently maintain research installations in the area. We have Palmer Station, Russia has Bellingshausen, and the Republic of Poland has Arktowsky. The others are equally divided between Argentina, Chile, and the United Kingdom.
"Palmer and the European stations are all comparatively small, operating with, oh, between six and twenty personnel, depending on the season. They are oriented primarily toward pure scientific research. The South American bases are larger, small colonies really, intended to reinforce the territorial claims of their respective governments."
"Just a moment, Doctor. Didn't the Antarctic Treaty of 1961 abrogate all territorial claims in that area?"
"No, Mr. Secretary, that's a popular misconception. The Treaty of 1961 places all territorial claims in abeyance for the duration of the treaty. None of the signing powers, including the United States, have ever disavowed their claims. Nor does the treaty prevent the involved nations from taking actions to reinforce those claims."
"Such as?"
"Issuing postmarks, assigning magistrates, producing Antarctic citizens."
"What?" Van Lynden and Rosario almost chorused the exclamation.
"At the Chilean bases, Mr. Secretary, I have met young people in their teens who, barring the occasional holiday, have spent their entire lives on the ice."
"That's incredible, Doctor."
"Not really, not if you think about it. Chile and Argentina have always had a profound interest in the Antarctic, a sense of 'manifest destiny' if you will. They take their claims there very seriously, apparently more so than we even imagined."
She returned her attention to the wallscreen. "At any rate, at approximately eight-thirty Washington time yesterday morning, Palmer Station" — the American flag next to one of the station symbols near the lower end of the peninsula flashed—"received a distress call from a small British research vessel lying off the British Antarctic Survey base in the South Orkney Islands."
A U.K. symbol blinked beyond the northeastern tip of the headland.
"They reported that Argentine troops were taking the station by force. When Palmer tried to get confirmation, neither the research ship nor the South Orkney base replied.
"Further investigation revealed that all of the BAS bases on the peninsula had gone off the air almost simultaneously. The station commander at Palmer then declared an emergency and notified our main installation at McMurdo Sound."
Dr. Towers glanced across the table at the Assistant Secretary of State. "At this point, I believe Mr. Rosario should take over."
Rosario nodded and picked up the narrative. "Upon being advised of the situation, the commanding admiral of Antarctic Support Command launched an immediate investigation. VXE-6, the Navy's polar-operations squadron, had a C-17 outfitted for photoreconnaissance on an ice-survey flight over the Weddell Sea and it was diverted to the South Orkneys. The aircraft was unable to contact the British either, so upon arrival, it descended to conduct a low-altitude observation pass over the base."
Rosario had taken over the control pad and now activated a second wallscreen. It began to flick through a series of film-frame blowups. There was a view of a scattering of white-clad men around a cluster of green-painted buildings. Another, closer view of a group of snow-camouflaged men, assault rifles clearly visible slung over their shoulders. A shot of a chunky, buff-bowed naval vessel, the autocannon on its foredeck up-angled and aimed at the camera. Finally, there was a photo of a small motor-sailor lying on its side in the ice-choked shallows, a line of shell holes punched into its hull.
"The troops are Argentine Marine Corps Buzo Tactico Special Forces. The ship is an Argentine navy icebreaker. Everything else should be pretty much self-explanatory.
"Our plane circled the area for several minutes, taking photographs and attempting to raise someone at the British station. Eventually, they were challenged and informed that they were violating Argentine national airspace. They were ordered to depart or be fired on."
"Just a minute, Steve. Dr. Towers, who would these islands belong to if the Antarctic territorial claims weren't in abeyance?"
The USARP Director shrugged her shoulders. "That's a very good question. Chile, Argentina, and Great Britain all claim the Antarctic Peninsula and its offshore islands. The British by right of first discovery and occupation. The South American states by proximity and occupation. Even the United States and Russia have potentially valid first-discovery claims. Conflicting boundaries and territorial-claim overlays are common throughout the continent, primarily due to the poor grade of cartography and record-keeping by the early explorers."