The Girl in the Ice BY Lotte Hammer
PROLOGUE
There is a price to be paid for everything.
And perhaps the price for centuries of ruthless exploitation of nature was being paid in Disko Bay in Greenland—or a small down payment anyway before the really big instalments fell due, thought the German Chancellor as she stared out over the fjord.
Denmark’s Minister for the Environment involuntarily followed the direction of the chancellor’s gaze. The journalist who was interviewing them did the same. The view was breathtaking. Ice floes of all sizes rocked sluggishly in the chill blue water. The glacier above formed a rugged white wall that reflected the summer sun and made the observers squint. Occasionally an iceberg calved, with a deep rumbling sound that carried through the clear air and echoed around the bay.
After a while the journalist cleared his throat. He wanted an answer to his last question and was discreetly trying to resume the conversation, but as the chancellor kept silent he addressed the Danish minister, this time in English.
“Why is it necessary to go all the way to Greenland to understand global warming? What can the world’s decision-makers learn here that they can’t just as well learn at home?”
The minister smiled obligingly while she polished her answer. It was clear that the world’s decision-makers did not include her but rather her guest, which was reasonable but also made the topic sensitive. She was used to hearing this argument. After she’d given a guided tour to a handful of American senators a few months ago, the Danish opposition had accused her of climate-change tourism. In a way the journalist was right. The chancellor did not need to go almost four thousand kilometres from Berlin to Ilulissat in order to realise that the polar ice was melting. Anyone comparing satellite photos of the North Pole today and ten years ago would understand that immediately. The South Pole too for that matter. The important thing was what could be done to reverse the process—or, more realistically, limit the damage—and neither the glacier nor the satellite had an answer to that.
The chancellor turned her head and observed them with a teasing smile, apparently just as eager for the minister’s reply as the journalist was. The minister indulged herself in a moment’s paranoia, wondering if the two Germans were trying to stitch her up. Feeling hot and flustered, she unzipped her fleece-lined jacket. She hated being put on the spot like this. Besides leading a nation of eighty-three million people, her guest had a PhD in quantum chemistry.
The zipper stuck, which gave her a few extra seconds to consider her response. Then she said honestly, “Nothing.”
“Then why are we here?”
She briefly considered telling the journalist about the roughly four thousand Greenlandic whalers whose ancient livelihood was now ruined by temperature rises twice as high as in the rest of the world. But that would be a mistake. Her climate conference was meant to be dealing with the problem on a global basis; she must steer clear of suggesting that she put Greenland’s interests first. Instead she diverted the question, saying only, “Because politicians are people too, and no one forgets this scenery, right?”
The journalist seemed to agree with this and the chancellor smiled broadly, both of them apparently satisfied with the answer. The minister thought this lightening of the mood might be her way in. They were walking back towards the waiting helicopter. This would probably be her last chance to discuss the politics of climate change with the chancellor. If she could be persuaded to back them at next year’s conference in Copenhagen it would be a major coup. But until now the German leader had concentrated purely on their experience of climate change and left politics off the agenda. The person she had talked with most was the glaciologist accompanying them.
The minister’s hopes were dashed when in the helicopter too the chancellor sought out the scientist. She made sure that he sat next to her as they flew over the ice cap, and soon the two of them were deeply immersed in a scientific conversation, which the minister with her limited German had a hard time following. She felt her eyelids grow heavy and had to pinch her arm to stop herself from falling asleep. The scene glimpsed through the helicopter’s windows was a uniform white, and the official by her side was already napping. From time to time he let out little grunts. She considered nudging him but fished a magazine out of her bag instead and started reading it listlessly, only to succumb to sleep herself after a short time.
The minister was jolted awake an hour later. The glaciologist was shouting and gesturing wildly. The chancellor had stood up in her seat and was gesturing out of the window, commanding the helicopter to fly back. After a while the pilot turned back.