Firespill by Ian Slater Page A

that a single spark from an electrical malfunction aboard the destroyer may have set advance sections of the slick ablaze. The Coast Guard has said it will release more details as they become available.”
    Cronkite again. “Our reporter in Juneau, Alaska, tells us that if the northerly winds increase—as the forecast for the area promises—then the firespill could threaten the entire Pacific coastline. While the slick would normally be swept northwards by the Alaskan Current, these winds could push much of it southwards, since wind rather than currents is the prime mover of spills. The possible extent of the fire can be approximated by comparing it with a recent spill of only ten thousand gallons in the Gulf of St. Lawrence. This covered an area one hundred miles in diameter in only twenty-four hours—a rate of spread of almost three feet per second. The Alaska spill is sixty thousand times as big—and burning. The flames, experts explain, will reduce both the viscosity of the oil and the surface tension of the sea. This makes it much easier for the oil to spread even faster. In addition, the firespill will soon join up with and so ignite a particularly heavily polluted area off Sitka. The sea here is filled with oil, natural seepage from the sea bottom as well as oil from ships which have used the area as a dumping ground for bilge waste, contrary to international law. If the firespill is not stopped, in seven days it could cover an area equal to that of Florida. Over 55, 000 square miles.”
    The President got up from his chair. “Christ—” he began, then turned to Jean Roche. “That’s enough.”
    She turned the set off. The President took a fresh cup of coffee from an aide and asked no one in particular, “Are they right about that destroyer—did it start the fire?”
    Henricks already had the report in his hand. “Don’t know, Mr. President. It seems the only logical answer, although someone at EPA says that it could just as easily have been a lightning strike. As Cronkite said, the weather is about to change. A ship out there is like a tree in a desert. If lightning hits the ship itself, no great problem, but the destroyer could have attracted lightning around her. Maybe that’s what set it off.”
    The President sighed and looked down at his coffee cup. “How many men?”
    Henricks glanced at the file again. “On the destroyer? Two hundred and fifty, sir. It was on CBS after the main report—a news flash.”
    The President looked up at Jean, then at Henricks. “Sweet Jesus. What about our tanker?”
    An aide whispered to Henricks and handed him a telex message. Henricks looked grave. “Last report the navy had from the Russians says that they only picked up one survivor.”
    The President stirred his coffee and asked quietly, “And the Russians?”
    “Last we heard they radioed the Coast Guard that they were listing badly but still afloat. Trouble is, we haven’t been able to contact them for several hours. We’re still trying. They’re probably sending whatever messages they can direct to the Soviet Union—in code, knowing the Ruskies. The navy suggests we contact Moscow if we want to know any more.”
    “All right. Have someone call Premier Krestinsky.”
    “Hot line?” asked Henricks.
    “No, no. Don’t want to scare anyone. Priority will do. I just want to convey our official condolences—and maybe there’s just a chance that a few more of our boys have been picked up.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Within five minutes the Kremlin was on the line.
    “Mr. Premier.”
    “Mr. President.”
    The Russian Premier’s deep, gravelly voice was followed by that of his interpreter.
    “Mr. President, I am very grieved to hear of the loss of so many Americans aboard the tanker.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Premier. I would like to express my regrets also at the danger your people are in and—”
    Krestinsky’s voice came on the line. The Russian interpreter spoke. “Excuse us for a moment please, Mr.