CHAPTER 42

Hours later, we arrived safely at Barneo.

The research station was amazing, especially after we’d spent the previous night in an igloo sleeping on hardpack snow. There were heated tents, a mess hall and kitchen, modules for storing scientific gear, and bio-toilets. All on a drifting ice floe that moved with the currents. There was also an airstrip—a floating runway for cargo planes to land on.

And because the floating ice is so thin, it eventually melts away, and the whole thing—the camp and the runway—has to be rebuilt every year!

North Pole drifting stations do all sorts of important stuff while they float around the Arctic Sea like slowly melting Popsicles. Scientists at Barneo monitor the ice pack, the temperature, the sea depth, the currents, the weather, and even the marine life. Best of all, this research station also had free Wi-Fi!

“They weren’t soldiers,” said Mom, tapping her watch, which was back online. “My sources tell me that Viktor Zolin sent out another two-man team of goons to track us. He ordered them to wear Russian military camo to scare us into thinking they were here on official business. Apparently, the teenage billionaire learned through intercepts of Russian military communications that we had survived our snowmobile adventure.”

“Why is Zolin after us?” I asked.

“Maybe he doesn’t want our documentary to ever make it to the web.”

“Why not?” said Beck. “Does he own the North Pole too? Did President Putin sell that to him also?”

Mom just shook her head. “I sure hope not.”

Later, we met up with some very cool explorers and researchers. Some, of course, were Russians and they were very nice. Very brainy too.

“Zolin Oil is extremely sloppy and accident-prone,” said Dr. Dimitry Zagorean over a mug of cocoa in the mess hall. “A disgrace to the Russian nation. Not too long ago, they were using lasers to cut through the ice and they sliced a pump pipe. The oil spill was contained quickly, but, trust me, it won’t be the last accident. Zolin cuts corners the same way they cut their own pipes!”

A researcher, a toxicologist named Dr. Andrew Pardue who had a very bushy beard with clumps of chunky peanut butter stuck in it, told us horror stories about the floating plastic we’d seen earlier.

“Sadly, I have discovered toxins I had never seen before in bears and reindeer,” said Dr. Pardue. “They are coming from the nonbiodegradable plastic being dumped into the oceans. Worse are the microbeads—tiny plastic particles found in shower gels, face scrubs, and smile-whitening toothpastes.”

Tommy got defensive. “Why’s everybody looking at me?”

“Ten million tons of plastic are dumped into rivers, lakes, and seas every year,” said another scientist, Dr. Casie Bowman. “Much of it drifts north and ends up in the bellies of polar bears.”

“So the bears are, like, eating face scrubs and toothpaste?” said Tommy.

“No, hon,” said Mom. “They’re probably just eating fish who ate the plastic that floated up from America.”

“And, of course,” said Dr. Bowman, “although many politicians and business tycoons will deny it, the polar ice cap is melting at an alarming rate. When ice melts, it turns into water. When water goes into the ocean, the sea level rises. When the sea level rises, the coastlines change.”

“So,” joked Dr. Pardue, “if you don’t own beachfront property, don’t worry. Pretty soon you will!”

After getting settled in our tents, Beck and I strolled outside to see what the sun looks like at midnight because, during the summer at the North Pole, it never really sets; it just sort of bounces off the horizon.

In the distance, we saw the two guys in camo we thought we’d lost during the crazy dogsled chase.

They were just standing there, not budging and not caring that it was a brisk 25 degrees out.

Either that or they were frozen stiff.

“You guys?” Mom called from her tent. “We just heard from Dad. The Enlightened Ones sent him another clue!”