Cull. Stafford Ray

      “Unfortunately?”

      “Yes, unfortunately. We take a ton of coal out of the seam. It’s about eighty percent carbon, so that combines with oxygen to form just under three tons of carbon dioxide. As a liquid, it is about the same volume as three tons of coal. So, you dig out one ton and have to find space to bury three. Are you with me?”

      “Yes,” Harry laughed. “I guess so, go on.”

      “Right,” Andy smiled, taking a swig of his wine, now nearing the end of his first glass. “Just as well, or we might as well go straight to the sticky date pudding and talk about Gridiron.”

      “No,” Harry encouraged. “No, I really am interested.” He paused in his eating and held Andy’s gaze to stress his interest.

      “Part of the system works. We’re pumping liquid CO2 into depleted oil wells. Th

      at works, but it also pushes more oil out. Enough said, but the big one is sequestration in other structures that are not necessarily liquid sealable. Still with me?”

      Harry nodded his affirmative.

      “Now, that makes it potentially able to store about thirty percent of carbon dioxide produced. That’s if we can keep it as a liquid, so,” he grimaced, “it can never be the complete answer. And,” he added, “so few sites are suitable, we’re looking at less than twenty percent.”

      “So why pursue it?”

      “Depends on what you want out of it, I guess.”

      “What do you want?”

      “Me?” he laughed. “I’d like to dump the whole stupid idea, but we’re being directed to reach targets our minister has announced. Political targets. Twenty percent reduction by whatever year our masters think keeps the electorate happy. Nothing to do with reality, you know!”

      “Obviously,” Harry agreed. “But with the UN talking zero emissions, why aren’t you researching that?”

      “Nobody here’s working on zero emissions. If we include leakage from coal seam gas wells, emissions are rising and will continue to rise. While we burn coal and oil, we can never reach zero emissions and to abandon those two babies is politically untenable. Only the Greens are talking zero emissions.”

      “Why? The technology’s there, isn’t it?”

      “Of course,” he answered. “But there’s no money. Look! We’re being directed here to make the old fuels clean. Money being invested in renewables has been withdrawn, so we do what we are paid to do…flog dead horses!” He took another sip of his Riesling.

      “There will always be leakage, so if and when we eventually decide to go for zero emissions, it’ll no longer be an option. In the long term, we can’t stop it escaping. There’s only one way to go. Straight to nuclear and/or renewables now, but don’t quote me.”

      “Why not?”

      The answer came in his expression, but he said, “Look mate, if you hang around the unemployment office you’ll find plenty of people there asking those sorts of questions.”

      He took another swig of wine, looked around to check their privacy, then continued, “It gets worse. There are vent sites. If those vent sites pass through ground water, there’ll be acidification, and the same goes with soils, so yes, it’s a serious complication, but like everyone else around here, if I start talking about that, I’ll be looking for another job.”

      Harry wondered what the official position was. “Andy, what’s the department saying about this?”

      “Th e department! We had a great department head named Bob Bouffler. Great guy and straight but he’s gone and now we have this pansy who wouldn’t know his arse from his elbow!” He laughed. “But he does know where to lick!”

      “What happened to Bouffler? Resign?”

      “Mate,” he answered. “Nobody knows, or nobody’s saying. He just disappeared and the word is it’s unhealthy to ask. OK?”

      All the food had disappeared with most of the bottle of wine. Harry was aware his friend had said too much for his own good, the wine fuelling his resentment.

      “Thanks for that Andy,” he said softly. “What you say stays with me.” He smiled his reassurance. “Of course I’ll use it, but no names. OK?”

      Andy’s half-smile conveyed his doubt, so Harry continued, “We’re all working within political guidelines. We can only play with the toys we’re given.”

      He looked at Andy’s glass. “Another drink?”

      “No, thanks mate,” he said, pushing himself unsteadily back from the table. “I think I’ve had enough.”

      He stood and extracted a card from his wallet. “Here’s my card. Give me a call at the office anytime and I’ll give you the official tour.”

      “Thanks Andy, I really appreciate this. I’ll see how much time I have. OK?”

      Andy nodded as Harry guided him to where they had met.

      “Thanks for lunch,” Andy slurred. “See you later.” His careful pacing towards the foyer did not disguise his condition.

      “In vino veritas,” Harry murmured, as he followed him into the afternoon freeze and hailed a waiting taxi. He had to hurry. Only an hour until his meeting with Mulaney.

      He directed the driver to take him back to the Hyatt where an official limousine would be awaiting his pleasure. On the way he thought over Andy’s disclosures.

      ‘So, the truth is not safe for some,’ he thought wryly.

      The sun seemed even less warming as he wondered what he could say to Mulaney to get him to Camp David and admitted to himself he would rather Mulaney didn’t come.