End of the Beginning: Chapters 3 & 4
Chapter 3: July 8th
Northern China
Zhaohui Xing gazed across the river at the inferno that was eating the forest, its hungry flames arching from one horizon to another.
“The wind is changing direction toward us, and the fire is capable of jumping across the river, Ms. Xing. We must leave immediately”, the corporal accompanying her urgently stated.
“Understood,” was her cool response, as she turned and walked wearily toward the helicopter.
It had been a long month touring China and its neighbouring countries, preparing the report for the Central Committee, with the late-night calls with scientists in Europe and North America not helping. The prognosis just kept getting worse and China would have to intensify its already huge adaptation efforts; but this was not her biggest concern. It was becoming more and more apparent that a number of China’s neighbouring countries might not be able to withstand such rapid changes. The increased flooding and salt-water intrusions into stretches of Bangladesh and the Mekong Delta threatened hunger and displacement for tens of millions. India, with its 1.4 billion people, was experiencing repeated heat waves that decimated crops and threatened the lives of those who ventured outside during the day. Civil disobedience, and outright rioting, had already become a regular occurrence at foreign bottling plants that were accused of stealing India’s water. Then, there was North Korea – a marginal society at the best of times. Just one of three nuclear-armed countries that could become destabilized or turn on their neighbours in search of someone else to blame.
Born in the early years of the 1980’s, Zhaohui had been a witness to the transformation of China from a poor and weak nation, into a global powerhouse that threatened American global hegemony. Finally regaining its rightful place among nations, as it had prior to the industrial revolution and its humiliation by the Western powers. Climate change was both a threat and an opportunity. If China could deal with it better than the Americans, it may at last be able to gain unchallenged dominance within Asia. Such considerations were a long way from her early college years studying physics; a subject that she had spent much energy fighting for the right to study. After a few years, she had relented to her parents’ pressure and spent time working for one of the big banks using her skills to analyze financial risks, gaining an MBA through evening classes and becoming fascinated by the ever-changing relationships between nations. She was the kind of hybrid thinker that was a natural for the newly created Ministry of Eco-Social Risk Assessment and Planning and she had risen rapidly. Now heading the ministry, she was one of the most powerful people in China. Her petite figure seemed at odds with such power, but the intensity and strength of her gaze quickly clarified any confusion. Always immaculately dressed, the way she presented herself to the world exuded a calm power that demanded respect.
As the helicopter rose into the air, the entire North seemed to be on fire. Looking out through the open door, she saw a water bomber fly by, dropping its load on the edge of the fire in a feeble attempt to stem the flaming tongue’s advance.
Like a gnat trying to bring down an elephant, thought Zhaohui.
“We need the four dragons to stop this fire!” the corporal exclaimed, referring to the four mythical dragons that had taken water from the ocean to break a drought, and which had then, it was said, been transformed into China’s four great rivers.
“Perhaps it is too big a task even for them,” she replied.
The helicopter escaped above the smoke and turned south, travelling toward the capital. Mercifully, the winds were blowing toward the east today, keeping the smoke away from Beijing.
An hour later, Zhaohui stepped out of the helicopter onto the roof of the government building, happy to be back in Beijing at last. She huddled quickly over to the door, the helicopter’s propellers still whirring above her.
Shutting the door behind her, she called the elevator and took a moment to savor the quiet, air-conditioned vestibule. The lift arrived and she hurried back to her office, breezing by her assistant. “Good morning, Jia. I need to quickly catch up.”
“I was told that you should go to the president’s office as soon as you get in,” came the reply.
“Make me some tea, and don’t let them know that I am back yet,” she instructed.
Relaxing in her office sipping her tea she mentally prepared for the meeting with the president.
Fifteen minutes later, she felt ready and made her way to the president’s office. “You can go straight in; he is expecting you,” the president’s assistant said from behind her desk. Zhaohui parted the large doors and entered into the office beyond.
The president, walking over to a comfortable sofa sitting in front of his imposing desk, beckoned for her to join him for some tea.
Xiao Hufang belonged to the new type of Chinese leadership, born to a senior member of the party at the start of Deng Xiaoping’s reforms. Educated at both Oxford and Harvard, and with over a decade of experience working abroad, he was as comfortable conversing in English as in Mandarin. This background had raised suspicions about his loyalty within the party, but his fierce nationalism had shone through. “Just because I can understand and speak easily with the foreigner does not mean that I am not a true patriot,” he asserted. He enjoyed following up with a personalized version of Sun Tzu: “I know my enemy, and therefore, for every victory gained I will not also suffer a defeat.”
His many travels had left him with some peculiar tastes, which he tended to keep private so as to not draw attention to his international background; scones with cream and jam, the Boston Red Sox, and Samuel Adams lager. His voice was calm and measured, portraying control and a deep intellect. A slight inflection in his voice, or a raised eyebrow, could bring a meeting to order. Not a man to be trifled with; and to be underestimated at great peril.
Zhaohui sat down next to Xiao. She was comfortable in his presence, as he had shown great respect for her knowledge and ability. He had also shown her support and compassion the previous year, when her mother had passed away. She often wondered if she reminded him of the younger sister that he had tragically lost as a teenager, also named Zhaohui.
“It’s good to see you again. You must be tired after all the travelling of the past month. I have missed our engaging talks.” Xiao paused to pour them some tea.
“It’s good to see you as well, Mr. President.”
“I apologize for not allowing you to rest,” he continued. “However, the U.N. Security Council has agreed to a joint meeting of the major powers to discuss the need for urgent actions on climate change. I need to know if their dire assessment of the situation is accurate.”
“The last month has been both very informative and very worrying. I would have to agree that urgent action is indeed required.”
They continued to discuss the matter and agreed that Zhaohui would travel to Russia with Chang Daofung, the Minister of Defence, to coordinate a joint position before the international summit.
Zhaohui stood up to leave.
“Given the severity of the actions that we may have to take,” spoke Xiao gravely, “this must not go beyond a very small circle. You are to discuss this only with Chang and myself.”
Den Helder, The Netherlands
Thomas Andrews looked across the water to the island, a couple of kilometres away. A barrier between it and the mainland was being constructed. “These new barriers will handle up to five feet of sea-level rise,” his Dutch colleague explained. “This should hopefully last us a few decades, at least, before we have to build bigger ones. Ironic isn’t it? We have too much water, and our friends to the south don’t have enough!”
Thomas nodded in agreement. “Yes, but just think what Alexandria will look like with the Mediterranean five feet higher.”
Thomas had spent the last month travelling around Europe as he worked on a special report for the heads of state that had been triggered by the breaching of the two-degree temperature limit earlier in the year. Wherever he looked, the acceleration in climate change was causing extensive problems. He was looking forward to getting back to the European Climate Research Alliance in Brussels and seeing his wife and family again. Being the lead scientific advisor to the European heads of state was surely good for the ego, but the extensive periods away from his family had grown tiresome.
He had the tall, bearded, quiet presence of an academic, accentuated by the thoughtful pauses between deliveries of succinct observations. His genius had rocketed him through the climate science community, but had also caused issues, as others had to take time to catch up with his intellectual leaps. Some were also envious of his abilities and rising fame, snidely referring to him as “the boy genius”. Academia could be as brutally competitive and political as any big company or political party, even when the future of humanity was at stake. Having a highly successful and beautiful French wife only seemed to deepen the envy of some of his colleagues. The Australian accent didn’t help, especially when he was speaking French it seemed. Fifteen years in Europe and dual nationality had still not made him feel fully welcomed in his new home.
Given the accelerating changes that were being observed in Greenland and Antarctica, Thomas quietly wondered whether the Dutch were building high enough. Would fifteen million Dutch refugees be added one day to the tens of millions from North Africa and the Middle East? The Netherlands constituted one side of a funnel, with England making up the other side, forcing the North Sea into a tighter and tighter space as it travelled south towards the English Channel - greatly increasing the storm surges coming from the north or northwest. In 1953 just such a storm, combined with high tides, had devastated the country and had led to the building of flood defences, which were now being raised to deal with climate-driven sea level rise.
Thomas felt the buzzing in his ear, and “Jean Bouchet”. He responded “answer”, then “Hello Jean?”
“Mr. Andrews, your presence is requested urgently by Monsieur Bouchet. What time could you be here?” Inquired Monsieur Bouchet’s assistant.
“I could be in Brussels in about four hours,” he replied.
“Good. I will book you in for 3:00 pm, please update me immediately if there are any delays,” the assistant said, ending the call.
Within minutes, Thomas was seated comfortably in his car, as it drove him south to Brussels. He had the car dial his friend Otto at the ministry to find what was going on, but Otto had no knowledge of anything out of the ordinary. Very strange, as Otto usually knew about everything that was going on in Brussels. Arriving at the imposing E.U. Commission building, Thomas took control of the car and parked it. He made his way up to the top floor and to the office of the President. He was a little early, so the assistant offered him a cup of coffee and a luxurious sofa to relax upon. He accepted both.
“Thomas, good to see you!” The President smiled as he ushered him into the office. Walking through the door, Thomas was surprised to see the German Chancellor, Brune Schmidt.
“Hello, Thomas. Pleasure to meet you,” she said as she held out her hand. They shook hands, exchanged pleasantries, and took their seats amongst the sofa and chairs in the middle of the room.
The President’s towering presence made Thomas a little uncomfortable, especially since at 6 foot 2, he was used to being one of the tallest in the room. Jean Bouchet seemed ungainly in his height. His gift was ferocious intelligence, which was evident even behind the ever-calm brown eyes.
The German Chancellor cut a much more diminutive figure, but she had the tenaciousness, and aggression, of a pit-bull, housed inside a body reminiscent of a kind aunt; a very perplexing combination.
“What we are about to discuss cannot be shared with anyone else,” Jean began. “The U.N. Security Council has requested a meeting to discuss what is being called a climate emergency. The scale of the actions required may result in a fundamental reorientation of the economy, together with possible geo-engineering activities. Such things would, of course, create severe social and political strains across Europe. Seems the Russians are saying that we have triggered multiple tipping points and that we have to act rapidly before we lose any ability to recover the situation. Do you think that they are over-exaggerating the situation?”
Thomas paused to take in what he had just heard. “What the Russians are saying is very credible. We are seeing acceleration in changes in many areas; especially concerning ice loss and increases in natural carbon emissions. The reduction in Chinese air pollution has also created more warming than projected. All of this points to a faster temperature rise than we had assumed.”
Jean and Brune exchanged concerned looks and nodded.
“Then it seems that we have to have the meeting and deliberate the agonizing options,” Jean decided. Looking at Thomas, “You will be the scientific lead for the pre-meetings, and Guiseppe Albert will be the eco-social lead. We will arrange for the two of you to liaise with your U.S. counterparts before the meeting. Do understand however, that the E.U. will be taking an independent position. You will be working directly with the two of us until we have worked out a viable position that can be discussed with the other leaders.”
Thomas was flattered to be given such a great level of responsibility, but also felt some annoyance at having to work with Guiseppe; the man was an arrogant, manipulative jerk, whom he disliked intensely. It hadn’t helped when Thomas’s wife, after meeting him at a business function, had called Guiseppe “quite charming”, with what seemed to be a glint in her eye.
New Delhi, India
Venkata loosened his tie a little more. He was used to hot weather, having grown up in Varanasi where the summer heat regularly topped 40 degrees centigrade, but 50 degrees was extreme even for him. The months of endless heat and drought had turned the country into an oven, desiccating much of it. In his home state it was even hotter, with temperatures topping the 53-degree mark.
Venkata’s tall, wiry frame, short hair and bespectacled face, suited the scientist-bureaucrat that he had become. His life had turned out very differently to the one that he had envisaged for himself when he first graduated from Stanford. He had traded in his dreams of a Nobel Prize for the power to make real changes within society. He had swapped the halls of academia for those of government, replacing his predecessor – who was “business-friendly”, but scientifically and factually challenged – as head of the Ministry for Environment, Forestry and Climate Change.
Sitting with some of his colleagues, enjoying a well-earned rest from his hectic schedule, he took a sip of his tea.
“We may now have more carbon emissions than the United States, but per person, they still have nearly four times our emissions!” Exclaimed the bombastic minister of health. “They need to reduce theirs to make room for us to move our population out of poverty. When the choice is between having clean drinking water in Uttar Pradesh, and using an electric clothes dryer in San Francisco, it’s pretty obvious who should be making the sacrifices.”
“Don’t you have an electric clothes dryer, Sanjay?” quipped Venkata, causing the others around the table to smirk despite the health minister’s stony glare. “We will get nowhere with empty rhetoric,” Venkata continued, “and must be realistic in our position with the other countries. What happens when 250 million Bangladeshis attempt to get into India, as their country disappears in the face of rising seas? With the acceleration of sea-level rise that we are seeing, that could be upon us within a decade. We fought a war 60 years ago to free that country in the face of such a mass migration. Are we supposed to build a wall this time? Or help them build flood defenses like the Dutch have? At home we have children dying of heat stroke while fetching water from the well, and an increasingly unpredictable monsoon causing havoc for our farmers. On our western border we have the Pakistani nation imploding, and ready to fight to the death over water rights. Let’s remember that they have a ‘first strike’ nuclear policy. The result could make the post-partition ethnic cleansing pale in comparison. The only way forward is to take drastic action, before climate change accelerates beyond our ability to bring things under control.”
Heads nodded around the table. Even the health minister had to agree with Venkata’s points.
“I agree, Venkata,” the home affairs minister responded. “But it will be a very difficult sell to the Indian people. Any such thoughts must be kept within a very small group until we are ready to implement and have complete cooperation from all the media channels.” Mahavir Ganesh was the polar opposite of Venkata: rotund and tall, with a presence that could make anyone feel comfortable. To feel such comfort though, was to miss the searing intelligence and cold calculation that lay behind the welcoming eyes and soft smiling mouth. He was the perfect political operator. Even the many that he had vanquished, on his way to senior political power, still liked and respected him.
“To conquer another while maintaining good relations may be tiresome, but highly conducive to a long career in politics”, was one of the insights that he had shared with Venkata, while introducing him to his beloved single malt scotches. They had become good friends at university, and Mahavir had helped facilitate the upward trajectory of Venkata’s government career. He understood the need for someone with such clarity of thought in the upper levels of government during these increasingly difficult and complex times. “But Sanjay also makes some good points about the sheer hypocrisy of the United States, as well as many of the other rich countries,” Mahavir continued. “A reasonable position does not preclude calling out others’ issues. We must further drastically reduce emissions at the global level, but not at the cost of supplicating India to the Americans. This will be the position that Venkata and I will take to the meeting that the Security Council has asked for.”
Venkata nodded in support as Mahavir reclined in his seat and surveyed those around the table.
Chapter 4: July 10th
Pevek, Northern Siberia, Russia
Olga looked out of the plane’s window. Below her, she could see the light reflected from the waterlogged, thawing permafrost, and in the distance, she could see the smoke from the expanding forest fires. It was with a heavy heart that she travelled northwards, to identify the body of her beloved daughter. Dmitry squeezed her hand and looked at her compassionately. There were no words that could alleviate the pain that Olga felt right now. Images of Natalya as a child, such a beautiful child, sprang forth endlessly from her memory. They were so real, as if they had happened yesterday. She fought back the tears; the depth of her pain was to be kept private.
“It will be a bumpy landing,” the pilot’s voice filled the cabin. “Please make sure that your seatbelts are fully fastened.” Everything here rested on permafrost; permafrost that was melting and subsiding. The runway was well maintained but could always deliver the odd surprise to an unwitting pilot. The plane bounced along the runway to a stop.
Pevek, what a dump! Dmitry thought to himself.
In the prime of the Soviet Union, the city had boasted a population of over 13,000. Workers travelled north to take advantage of the many benefits that the communist state provided to workers there. Now the town had dwindled to less than 5,000, many of which were trapped by an inability to put together enough money to escape. Its abandoned buildings sat as a testament to the town’s decay and decline.
The heat hit them as they stepped off the plane, warmer than it had been in Moscow. Over thirty degrees centigrade on the Arctic coast! Olga and Dmitry left the plane under the scorching sun and jumped into an SUV for the drive to the port. The twenty kilometre drive seemed endless as they crawled through the barren landscape. Finally reaching the port, they were greeted by the leader of the recovery mission.
“Ms. Shaposhnikova, Minister Yukovsky, welcome to Pevek. Ms. Shaposhnikova, please accept my sincerest condolences. I wish that we could have met under better circumstances,” he said.
“Please take me to my daughter,” Olga replied softly. They were led into a squat concrete building and then into a large room. It had many metal tables with sheets covering what were presumably, bodies. Olga shivered in the hastily improvised cold room. The mission leader motioned over to a specific table, and Olga headed toward it with trepidation. Once at the table, she grasped Dmitry’s hand tightly and nodded. The sheet was partially lifted, exposing the head of her beloved Natalya. Olga shut her eyes at the sight and felt Dmitry’s strong arms brace her. She opened her tear-filled eyes, collected herself, and uttered, “yes, that is my daughter.”