“And they trust you?” The Sergeant challenged.
Miguel’s laugh was as predatory as his smile. “It is my trust they respect. They trust what I will do if I am displeased.” He turned towards the air conditioned comfort of the SUV, and remarked over his shoulder. “Tell them what to do. They will obey.”
The Sergeant watched Miguel’s confident retreat, and thought, I will deal with that scum before the day is out. His hand moved to rest on his sidearm. The coming chaos will see many deaths, some from the red sea, some from other causes.
Miguel watched the Sergeant through the tinted windshield, as the Sergeant stared at his silhouette through the glass.
“I know you. I know of you. They call you the Snake.” Miguel spoke softly to himself. The massive dark skinned Sergeant’s sleeves were rolled up against the heat, revealing rattle snake tattoo’s that coiled around both sinewy arms starting at his shoulders, the head of the snake revealed on the back of each hand.
“They say your strike is deadly. I know what you are thinking right now. That’s not very nice after I offered to drive. Shame on you.” His hand went confidently to the Glock under his left arm.
Bayboro Harbor
St. Petersburg, Florida
Several black SUV’s rushing in line seems to have become the favored mode of transportation for drug dealer’s, Federal agents and politicians. These four black SUV’s with tinted windows cut through traffic like a knife, led by two motorcycle cops, indicating the passengers were the latter, not the former.
All cross street traffic was stopped by local police to allow their unencumbered passage. They were forced to slow only when they reached the Coast Guard base perimeter that was surrounded by media vans from around the world. The news that the base was ground zero for the United States response tripled the number of reporters outside the gates, in turn requiring a huge increase in Navy SP’s to keep order and base entry and egress secure. The SP’s were now flanked by Marines. Ooh Rah.
Quickly through the gate, the vehicles pulled behind the administration building, out of camera view, and passengers began to disembark. It was quite a unique assembly Secretary of State John Waxman led the way into the building, followed by Secret Service Agents, the Secretary of the Navy, the Surgeon General, assorted scientists, the head of the EPA, and a less than jovial Sherrod Simpson. flanked by two FBI agents. The Head of the CDC was not yet in handcuffs.
Lt. Jemison met the procession at the door, saluting smartly. “This way, sir.” Briskly, they made their way to Commander Phillips office. Two armed SP’s stood outside the closed office door. The Lieutenant led them straight in.
“Mr. Secretary.” The Commander greeted the group.
“Commander Phillips.” The Secretary shook hands with Phillips.
“Please be seated.” The Secretary took a seat at the head of the table, the others from Washington and Commander Phillips group found seats. Sherrod Simpson was directed to a chair apart from the conference table, the FBI agents standing just behind. Sherrod looked apprehensive and uncomfortable with the arrangements.
Commander Phillips introduced his team: Dr. Kate, Thuy, and a much subdued Jimmy Falcone, recently released from his “24-hour facility tour” of the base. Secretary Waxman started the meeting.
“The Media has coined the catchy name Red Tide to describe the events that have unfolded these past few days. Rather appropriate, I think. And it’s my understanding this eclectic group came together 36 hours ago. I have been briefed on Commander Phillips role in creating this group, and what this group has accomplished in a very short time. For now, I would appreciate hearing from each of you your perspective’s on what we can do to stop the blooms northward migration.”
Sherrod Simpson rose from his outlier position, desperate to position himself as a contributor to a solution within the group, “Mr. Secretary, if I may…”
“You may not, sir. You are here because you are the Director of the CDC, and can direct CDC assets if needed. You are also the person responsible for closing the health investigation for the Mobile events without having identified the source of the illness, for what I have learned were political reasons. I’ve been brought up to speed on the FBI investigation into your personal financial practices relating to the CDC Foundation donations.“
The Secretary continued. “In the two days since you called off the investigation, 150 people have died, over 700 hospitalized, and a significant area of the Gulf ecosystem has been turned into a second Dead Sea.
“In those same two days, three people in this room who were not previously connected in any way managed to come together, save three victims lives, identify and locate the threat, trace its origins to a liquid fertilizer spill in Tampa, and explain how it was transported to the coast of Mexico by a Loop Eddy.
“And to put a cherry on top, they created a national news story that has brought the catastrophe to the light of day, and focused the attention and resources of two continents on this crisis.
“They took action despite YOUR authority! I just pray they’re smart enough to have come up with a solution. So sit down. I want to hear what they have to say.”
Waxman directed his attention to Kate. “Dr. O’Neal, what are your thoughts on containing the spread of infection, and treating the victims?”
“Well Mr. Secretary, rapid treatment with powerful antibiotics have knocked back the infection in the three victims we were able to save. I say knocked back, not cured. It is likely permanent lung function may never return to normal, pre-exposure levels. New respiratory infections will continue to spread so long as the bloom exists. If it continues to hug the coast of Mexico, potential casualties will begin to grow geometrically. Coastal populations must be evacuated inland.”
“How far?”
“Twenty miles to be safe, more if the toxic air does not dissipate once over land and is no longer absorbing additional toxins emitted from the bloom at sea.” She responded. “Everything from Ciudad Madero in Mexico, to Houston. I would start now, Mr. Secretary.”
“That’s a thousand miles of coastline! The population in that area living within 20 miles of the coast must be 15 or 20 million people!” The Secretary exclaimed.
“22 million to be precise. Many thousands have already left or are in the process of leaving. It’s going to take many days to evacuate that many people to safety, and once out of harm’s way…, house them, feed them, and maintain order.” Kate was not painting a very pretty picture.
Secretary Waxman scanned the faces at the table for alternatives. The Surgeon General looked down at his hands, avoiding eye contact. He turned to Thuy.
“Mr. Piseth, you are the expert on algae blooms in the Gulf. Why has this bloom not dissipated like other blooms along our coast? I understand they happen every year, but always disperse after a few weeks or a month at most. Why not this time?”
Thuy was not used to speaking to large groups, and certainly not commanding a room. He took a deep breath to calm himself, and began.
“Mr. Secretary, previous algae blooms on coast very much smaller than Red Tide off Mexico. Maybe by factor of many thousands. Red Tide grow massive due to extreme water temperature and fertilizer fuel infusion. Bloom kept intact by strong circular eddy all way across Gulf. These three factors not normal occur all same time. Perfect storm.”
“But how and why do blooms dissipate normally?” the Secretary asked.
“Blooms break up when one or more of three growth factors eliminate, eliminated.” Thuy corrected his grammar. ”Water temperature, fuel from sun or other source, and turbulence. This Red Tide edges already eroding.”
“How do we get it to erode faster?” The Secretary needed answers.
“Add copper sulfate, and stir it up.” All heads swiveled to Jimmy Falcone. Of all the people to suggest a solution, Jimmy was the least expected to do so. His reputation was to create problems for the establishment, not solve them.
“OK, look, I own a patch of land outside Atlanta with
a couple acre lake. The damn thing develops algae every year when it gets hotter than hell in July and August. When we get a sizable summer thunder storm, algae explodes across the lake. Left untreated for three to four days, and the lake turns into a green slime petri dish. My kids can’t swim when my ex decides to let me see them. I have a contract with an outfit called the Lake Doctors who come out and spray copper sulfate on the water surface before the algae starts to kill the fish.”
Jimmy looked at the stunned faces around the conference table, and gestured with his hands as he continued. “What? It ain’t rocket science.”
“Mr. Falcone is it? I don’t think you can compare a 5-acre lake to a 100-mile long algae bloom in the ocean.” The Secretary was obviously skeptical.
“Why not? It’s just a great big-ass lake, if you ask me.” Jimmy replied. “You have dozens of planes that spray crap on wildfires all over the west. You have crop dusters spraying corn and soy fields all across the southeast. There are millions of lakes and ponds all around this country that use chemicals to kill algae that they buy from thousands of suppliers. Let’s stop shitting our pants around conference tables and fight this damn thing.”
The Secretary intended to shut this down to pursue more rational ideas, “Mr. Falcone, thank you for your input, but I hardly…
“Wait! He correct.” Thuy spoke up. Copper sulfate kill algae on contact.”
“Won’t that kill aquatic life as well?” The head of the EPA spoke for the first time.
Thuy answered. “Algae already kill fish. Oxygen depleted from water near surface by decaying algae floating on surface. We kill algae, we stop fish kill. Algae die and sink to ocean bottom. Decaying algae can’t harm fish in deep water. Too diluted. Water become re-oxygenated quickly by wind and waves.
“If we fly planes very low to spray copper sulfate along coast, then agitate bloom with shallow draft ships to break up blanket effect, we accelerate dilution. Need lots of planes and shallow draft ships all coordinated.” Thuy suggested.
Turning to the Secretary of the Navy, Secretary Waxman asked, “Paul, what assets do we have in the area?”
The Secretary of the Navy, Paul Newkirk spoke. “We have Coast Guard frigates and drug interdiction fast boats from the Southern Command, and air assets from Bayboro and Pensacola. We can call up the Air National Guard from Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia and Florida. We need to fit mid-sized transport craft with tanks to spray the chemicals.”
“How long that take to fit tanks?” Thuy asked.
“I don’t exactly know?” the Navy Secretary responded. “A couple days, perhaps a week or more. Then there’s the chemicals. That could take a couple more days.”
“Too slow!” Thuy interjected. “Current 2 to 3 km per hour. In two days, bloom move 200 km north. Be on Houston and Galveston.”
“Did everyone miss the words ‘crop dusters’ from my last comment? Why do military types always think they must use their great big toys to solve every problem?” Jimmy, a peacemaker at heart spoke up.
“When you’re a hammer, I guess everything looks like a nail. Look, before he left us, my father was a small farmer and amateur pilot. He would earn extra money crop dusting all over northern Florida up into Georgia. With his little single seater, he could dust 400 acres in less than 10 minutes. Put a couple dozen of those planes with experienced pilots in a cavalry charge formation flying in a straight line, they could cover a swath of ocean 5 miles wide and 20 miles long in that same 10 minutes.
“Unless my public school education fails me, that bloom is around 2,500 square miles in size. One pass of the Falcone Flying Circus will neutralize the algae in 100 square miles. 25 passes and that shit’s gone.” Jimmy was on a roll.
“Cavalry formation? Falcone Flying Circus?” The Secretary of the Navy was a Naval Aviator and flew Phantom fighter bombers off carriers in his early career.
“Yeah, you know. Line em’ up abreast and charge. Whatever you fyboys call that.” Jimmy was quite cavalier with his grandiose idea.
“Can it work, Mr. Piseth?” asked Secretary Waxman.
“Yes.” Thuy answered.
Commander Phillips warmed to the plan, and spoke up. “We could set up refueling stations at 25 mile intervals inland of the coast to refuel planes and replenish chemicals. Those single seaters are designed to land on pastures not much larger than a postage stamp. Top speeds are around 170 miles per hour. Each formation could fly two to three sorties in 8 hours.”
“Just hang on a second, everyone.” The Secretary of the Navy was far from convinced. “You do realize that you are talking about gathering a bunch of civilian pilots with no instrument flying certifications, asking them to fly to Mexico on a moment’s notice to land on a patch of sand somewhere.
“Once there, we’re going to fuel them up and load em’ with chemicals and send them out to sea, where they will have to maintain a tight wingtip formation without crashing into each other, and repeat that flight for days on end. Pardon my French, but this has FUBAR written all over it!”
“What is FUBAR?” Thuy leaned close to ask Lieutenant Jimeson.
“Fucked up beyond all recognition.” The Lieutenant whispered. “It’s a technical military term used quite frequently to describe complex situations.”
“If they don’t crash during landing and taking off, don’t crash into each other trying to maintain a formation, or crash into the ocean where they’ll either die on impact, drown, or suffocate from the toxic air, this is a great plan.
“People, they are visual flyers, not instrument rated. They fly alone over corn fields, not in large group formations. Christ on a crutch, they’ll probably just fly over the same damn patch of ocean not able to tell where they sprayed their last trip. Half will be dead after the first sortie.” The Secretary of the Navy actually threw his pen across the table in frustration, and tossed himself back in his chair.
“Then we put our pilots in the planes.” Commander Phillips looked his commanding officer eye to eye.
“Each flight is manned by Coast Guard or Navy pilots. They are already trained in formation and instrument flying, and will simply need to know how to operate the spraying mechanism They fly low and slow.” Phillips explained. “Bright orange buoys are dropped at 200 yard intervals they can line up on.”
“We add colorant to copper sulfate chemicals. Hits red algae and changes color. They can see their progress. Suggest colorant not be red.” Thuy added.
“We fit each pilot with a radio headset and air filtering respirator to ensure they don’t inhale toxic fumes over the water.” Dr. Kate chimed in. “And hazmat suits.”
“We fly in daylight only if possible, one formation over the water at a time. Coast Guard fast boats spaced out along the algae to quick rescue any pilot forced to ditch. My people will be fitted in Hazmat suits and respirators. We also put a combat air patrol overhead with rescue choppers,” Phillips chimed in.
“I’ll assemble medical teams to be in each helo. I’ll be in one myself.” Kate added.
“And we only accept volunteers who have been informed in detail of the dangers they will face.” Jimmy spoke up.
The Secretary of State looked around the conference room at the faces of the group-, military, medical and civilian. These people were serious, and willing to put their asses on the line. He looked to the ceiling, then at the bloom progress chart on the wall. Over a 100 miles of Mexican coast was redlined, and it is moving north. He took a deep breath.
“I’ll either be known as the man who saved the Gulf, or the biggest fool to ever grace this office. Admiral, Commander Phillips, Mr. Piseth, Dr. O’Neal, and God, strike me down for saying it, you too, Mr. Falcone. Make it happen. You’re in charge of this operation from this moment forward, under Commander Phillips direction.”
“What the…! In charge of what?” Jimmy jumped from his chair. “I don’t want to be in charge of anything or anyone! For Christ’s sake, I don’t even want to be in charge of myself!”
Galveston, Texas
“How’s the pilot recruitment coming, Lieutenant?” Commander Phillips asked.
“As you know, we asked for volunteers from all our military air bases close to the hot zone, regardless of branch of service. Texas, Louisiana, and Florida, sir. It wasn’t difficult, everyone in a flight suit volunteered. Port Isabel, Laguna Vista, all the way up the coast to Corpus Christi are under evacuation orders. That’s the real nightmare. “
“The Mexican government is having a tough time, too. That’s a lot of coastline that needs evacuated.” The commander responded. “What about the planes?”
Red Tide Page 8