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Three Gorges Dam

Page 28

by Thomas V. Harris


  Between 1400 and the mid-1600s, Xiling Gorge had four large earthquakes. One of them was a 6.5. There was a relatively quiet period for the next two hundred years. However, the area has been active again since 1880, including a 5.5.

  “I didn’t know about this.”

  “Neither did Rocky.”

  “Did you tell him?”

  “The whole nine yards.”

  “How did he react?”

  “That was the surprising part. He didn’t.”

  “It’s because the Chinese aren’t concerned about an R-6.”

  “They should be. I reminded him about a 6.1 Guangdong comparator. It wrecked the dam’s powerhouse and caused an eighty-meter crack on the summit.”

  “That should’ve gotten his attention.”

  “Make sure he appreciates R-6 isn’t the upper limit. Reservoirs deeper than a hundred meters increase the upper range by one to two points. Do the math for him. Your recent 6.5—plus 2 points for reservoir impact—equal 8.5. That’s a hundred times stronger than what you felt. Even a 7.5 would be a tenfold jump.”

  “Did you convince him the convergence zone is right next door?”

  “He understands that damage can be worse outside the epicenter—but only as an abstract proposition. He still has a gut instinct it won’t happen here.”

  “How specific did you get?”

  “I told him a Xiling quake could collapse the wall.”

  “You’ve made progress.”

  “Not with top management.”

  “Did he say anything about them?”

  “The CEO has his hand in every pocket.”

  “I’ll set up a meeting.”

  “And do what?” she asks.

  “Educate the board members.”

  “All of whom he selected.”

  “I know what we’re up against.”

  “Get real, Michael. They won’t decommission the dam.”

  “How about lowering the reservoir?”

  “They’d have to cut the level in half.”

  “I forgot that part.”

  “You’ll never change their minds.”

  “When you tell them—”

  “I won’t be there.”

  “We’ll do it before you leave.”

  “Scheduling isn’t the problem.”

  “We’re talking in circles.”

  “His CEO won’t listen to a woman.”

  “Did Rocky say that?”

  “Don’t make a fuss.”

  “The geology is critical.”

  “My participation isn’t. Nigel can explain our findings.”

  “He is way too shaggy for the Chinese.”

  “I can tame his locks.”

  “Does he own any dress clothes?”

  “You have such a snazzy wardrobe. How about—”

  “If you stop laughing, I’ll loan him a coat and tie.”

  The Bell is entering the convergence zone.

  Kylie slips off her sandals and pushes them to one side.

  “Ready for lunch, Mr. Brannigan?”

  He’s looking at her feet. Her toe and fingernail polish match her blouse. Brannigan is so preoccupied with her fashion statement that he didn’t hear what she said.

  “Michael?”

  “Sorry. What does the chef recommend?”

  “The only sandwich on her menu. Chicken on multigrain.”

  He is about to say, “You remembered,” but catches himself in time. “That’s my favorite. Thanks.”

  Kylie covers her capris with a towel before arranging his sandwich on a paper plate. Brannigan is about to lift one of the finger-length strips when she raps his knuckles with a fork. She adds the finishing touches—steamed asparagus, chips, and a pickle—and after placing a napkin on his knee announces, “Lunch is served.”

  He samples the main course and smiles his approval.

  “This is the ultimate pilot-friendly sandwich.”

  “You’re easy to please. How about something to drink?”

  “What are the choices?”

  “Cola or cola.”

  “Either one is fine.”

  He samples the reverse-engineered Chinese coke then leans it against his thigh. She reclaims the can, takes a few sips, and returns the cola to its resting place.

  “Sorry, Michael. I should’ve asked.”

  “About what?”

  “Whether you’d mind sharing your drink?”

  “It’s too late now. We already have.”

  “If you want a separate—”

  “This one is fine.”

  She brushes the crumbs off his shirt and catches them with her other hand. His chest is tingling when she says, “Rocky is a neatnik.”

  “He certainly is. I’ll vacuum when we get back.”

  “Can you think and eat at the same time?”

  “I’ll give it a try. Tell me about the local geology.”

  “We’ve already covered the three major faults.”

  “I understand the problem.”

  “Did I mention the smaller cracks?”

  “You called them a spiderweb.”

  “They extend all the way to the dam. Every time a plate moves it stresses the adjacent faults. That has the potential to trigger a domino effect.”

  “What are the odds of a major eruption?”

  “Over the next ten years?”

  “That isn’t much of a window. Quadruple that.”

  “The Xiling faults have been compressing for decades. They could go off at any time.” She points at the south bank. “Do you see that mountain?”

  “It’s hard to miss. What am I looking for?”

  “The steepness and overhang. Both have a negative impact on seismic stability.” She looks at the higher elevations. “Drat. The peaks are buried in the mist.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I get the general idea.”

  She wiggles his plate. “Don’t you like my sandwich?”

  “It’s very tasty.”

  “Why didn’t you finish it?”

  “Your horror story ruined my appetite.”

  “Sorry about that. Next time—”

  “—Next time, I’ll take you to dinner.”

  “That might be interesting.”

  “We could talk about something other than geology.”

  “Wowie kazowie. Like what?”

  His mind is racing. “Australian rules rugby.”

  “My favorite sport. Does dinner include drinks?”

  “Unless you get too rowdy.”

  “I won’t make any promises.”

  “What are you looking for?” he asks.

  “Do you have a piece of paper?”

  He motions with his thumb. “Behind the seats. Inside my pouch.” She finds one of his business cards and prints the name of her hotel across the back. “Is this good enough or would you like an email?”

  He stuffs it in his pocket. “This’ll work.”

  “I was right. You are the traditional sort.”

  “That I am, milady. Where should we eat?”

  “Do you like Italian?”

  “In Hubei Province?”

  “I know a place.”

  “I’m game. When should we do it?”

  “How about tonight?”

  “Okay by me. But aren’t you visiting your mother?”

  “Vice versa. Things are really grim in Shanghai.”

  “When is she coming?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon.”

  “If you’re busy, I can pick her up.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll be there anyway.”

  “I’m open tonight. When and where should we meet?”

  “How about seven forty-five at my hotel?”

  “I’ll make a reservation.”

  “Would you like some dessert?”

  “You must’ve gotten an ‘A’ in Home Ec.”

  “Nope. But I did win a few math and science medals.” Kylie lays a bayberry pie on her lap. She cuts him a large piece and puts it on
a new plate. “There’s only one downside to this masterpiece.”

  “The calories?”

  “You can afford them.”

  “It could stain my shirt.”

  “Not if you’re careful. But eating it requires both hands.”

  He puts a forkful in his mouth. “Did you make this?”

  “Sadly, pies aren’t my specialty. What’s the verdict?”

  “Delicious . . . Wait a minute—”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Aren’t you clever.”

  “Was that a compliment?”

  “You want to fly the Bell.”

  “Rocky lets me.”

  “That didn’t sound like a denial.”

  “You’ll beg me for a second piece.”

  “What would your doctor say?”

  “He’ll be thrilled I have a chaperone.”

  “In that case, how can I object?”

  She reaches for her phone. “I’ll call Rocky.”

  “It’s not necessary.”

  “We better get his permission.”

  “You don’t need to ask.”

  “If he’s angry, I’ll blame you.”

  “He won’t be.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Your name came up at this week’s meeting.”

  “With the staff engineers?”

  “It was during a break. Two guys were claiming to be the dam’s best pilot. Rocky ended their debate. He said it wasn’t even close. You were.”

  “Goodness gracious. Better than you?”

  “Apparently.”

  “That isn’t possible.”

  “How long can you play hooky?”

  “As long as you’ll let me. I’ll text Nigel to cover my desk.”

  “Let’s explore Witches Gorge.”

  “You’re a good guy, Mr. Brannigan.”

  “No big deal. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “I could nosedive into the reservoir and kill us both.”

  He compares that to living without her.

  “All things considered, not a bad way to go.”

  CHAPTER 45

  BRANNIGAN ARRIVED EARLY at Trattoria Raffaele.

  His table isn’t one he would normally accept, much less request. It’s in the far corner, jammed against the back wall, next to the kitchen. Tonight is different. He wants to be as far away from other customers as possible.

  He and Kylie spent an enjoyable afternoon together. But he has the sinking feeling tonight won’t end well. Her six o’clock text reinforced his concern. Pushing his empty beer glass aside, he makes another attempt to read between the lines.

  Michael

  Don’t come to the hotel.

  I’ll meet you at the restaurant.

  See you at 8.

  Kylie

  The college-age waitress interrupts his thoughts. Her English surprised him until she mentioned she was a languages major.

  “Would you like another Peroni, Mr. Brannigan?”

  “I’ll try a Menabrea this time.”

  “Certainly. Anything else?”

  “No, thanks. I’ll wait until my friend arrives.”

  He likes the restaurant. The vinyl tablecloth and paper napkins don’t detract from its Campanian charm. The dark paneling, soft lights, and posters remind him of how much he enjoys visiting southern Italy. The food should be outstanding. The Chinese paid a Neapolitan cuisinier a large bonus to relocate his restaurant. Even the libations are first-rate. The trattoria serves five different Italian beers and has an impressive wine cellar.

  It seemed dinnertime would never come.

  Brannigan accompanied Kylie to her office after their excursion. He chatted briefly with her crew, drank a Yanjing, and called the restaurant. He downed another beer in his room then caught some Zzzzs. When the alarm went off, he hopped out of bed, almost too excited about their evening together. He worked off some of his nervous energy decorating a package. His secretary went to his condo earlier in the week, found the box in his bedroom closet, and brought it to Global’s shipping department. Despite the distance, it arrived on time. He’s certain it will make Kylie happy.

  He took a long shower before putting himself together. He wasn’t sure what to wear. A suit seemed overly formal. A golf shirt too casual. He tried on a wilder combination before settling on his blue blazer, gray slacks, and red Venticinque tie.

  He called a floral shop near the restaurant and confirmed its inventory included his favorite flowers. The owner intermixed them with fillers, primarily dusty miller greens, baby’s breath, and bouvardia. The end result was a luxurious bouquet.

  The reservation turned out to be unnecessary.

  It’s a weekday night and the area’s foremost—and only—Italian restaurant is half full. He’s been fretting over his flowers since he arrived. They’re overpowering on a table for two. He’s also anxious about a broader issue. Under the circumstances, his giving Kylie any bouquet—large or small—might make her uncomfortable.

  His server comes over and asks how he’s doing. She points to the flowers and gives him two thumbs up. That does it. He’ll stash them in his car. He’s about to grab the vase when his decision becomes moot. Kylie is walking through the front door.

  She catches his eye, waves, and heads toward their table. He stands up and has a full view of her red blouse and blue skirt. Her lip blush matches her ruby earrings, necklace, and handbag. His choice of flowers seems prescient.

  “Any trouble getting here?” she asks.

  “Not a bit. Smooth sailing the whole way.” He’s about to compliment her outfit when he thinks better of it and conveys a more reserved greeting. “I’m impressed. You’re early.”

  “I expect a credit next time I’m late.”

  “Putting women on the clock. What a great idea.”

  “Make that happen and you’ll rule the world.”

  “Is this table all right?”

  “Do the others have orchids and scarlet peonies?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Then this’ll have to do.”

  Their server returns with a fresh beer and a glass of red wine.

  “Welcome back, Ms. Ryan.”

  “Thanks, Li-Li. What am I drinking?”

  “Gaja Barbaresco 2007. Compliments of the chef. He said you’d appreciate its dense structure and complex finish.”

  “Tell Raffaele, Grazie mille.”

  Kylie samples the wine. “Rafa was right. It’s very nuanced.”

  “He’ll be glad you like it.”

  Li-Li hands them menus and goes back to the kitchen.

  “How about a toast, Michael?”

  He raises his beer. “To seismic tranquility.”

  “That would end my career.”

  “What was I thinking?” Lifting his beer a second time, he plagiarizes a phrase from his last fortune cookie. “To friendship and understanding.”

  She clinks their glasses together. “I can drink to that.”

  “Is the wine really that . . . whatever?”

  “It’s very good. Try some.”

  “No, thanks. I wouldn’t appreciate—”

  “Be nice.”

  “—The subtlety.”

  “Well done.”

  “That was a stab in the dark.”

  “How much do you know about wine?”

  “It’s made from grapes.”

  “You’re quite the connoisseur.”

  Brannigan studied Greek in high school and knows what oenology means. But he has zero interest in the subject matter. All he really cares about is why Kylie didn’t want him to pick her up at the hotel. He can’t come right out and ask, so he nibbles around the edges. “How was the rest of your afternoon?”

  “Two of my guys got into a scrape.”

  “What were they fighting about?”

  “The usual. A local girl.”

  “Were they throwing punches?”

  “Haymakers.”

  “Who
broke it up?”

  “Their den mother.”

  “Smart move. They wouldn’t hit a woman.”

  “Not when she has a black belt.”

  “Thanks for the warning. I’ll mind my p’s and q’s.”

  “Much obliged. I don’t enjoy thrashing older men.”

  “Did your techs bury the hatchet?”

  “It’s too late for that.”

  “Do they have a history?”

  “Not before this girl.”

  “When did it start?”

  “The night I went to Shanghai.”

  “How will you prevent a rubber match?”

  “They’re going home tomorrow morning.”

  “If they get in trouble at the airport—”

  “They won’t. I’m babysitting their departure.”

  Li-Li is back at their table. “Would you like to hear about our specials?”

  Kylie nods her head. He answers, “Sure.”

  They agree to split their entrées. As Li-Li writes down their choices, Brannigan realizes he may have ordered too soon. Their first dinner together went late into the evening. He doesn’t want tonight to be any different.

  He hopes he’s speaking for both of them. “We’re not in a hurry.”

  Li-Li jots down a note on her pad. “We won’t prepare the main course until you’re ready.”

  “That’s perfect,” Brannigan replies. Li-Li leaves and returns their menus to the front of the restaurant.

  “Last piece of business, Michael. I promise.”

  “I don’t mind talking about work.”

  “That flashing light—”

  “I never saw it.”

  “My techs noticed something else up there.”

  “Same place?”

  “East of that, and a little lower.”

  “What was it?”

  “They couldn’t tell, but it was moving.”

  “It might’ve been a large animal.”

  “You’re probably right . . .” Kylie’s voice trails off. She slides the vase closer and stares blankly at the bouquet.

  “I appreciate your joining me tonight.”

  She forces a smile. “Thanks for inviting me.”

  Kylie has already emptied her wineglass. The server—she’s on her way to the kitchen—stops at their table. “Can I freshen your drinks?”

  “I’d like another Gaja. Taller this time.”

  “Mr. Brannigan?”

  “No, thanks. I’m good.”

  When the server leaves, Brannigan tries a different RF.

 

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