Category Five

by Philip Donlay

  “You’re kidding me.” Lauren cocked her head and despite her anger she could feel the scientist in her begin to take over. Analytical thought began to override her emotional reluctance. The physics of both the hurricane and the detonation began to race through her mind.

  “They’ll be delivering the weapon from very high altitude,” Calvin continued. “The B-1 bomber will need some base line upper wind information to place the device exactly where it needs to be. That’s where you come in. You and Jonah.”

  “How ‘clean’ is this bomb?” Lauren asked, wanting to delay her participation. Part of her wanted to put as much distance from the operation as she could. But, another part of her wondered if they would get it right if she didn’t help.

  “It’s a hydrogen bomb, of course. It’s ninety-seven percent fusion. I’m told what little radiation there is will be sent high into the stratosphere.”

  Lauren nodded in agreement. “At least they got that part right.”

  “Would you please sit down and discuss this rationally?” Calvin gestured toward a chair. “I know you’re not thrilled with this; I’m not sure I am either. But it’s what we’re faced with. I’m asking for your help. You, as a professional.”

  “I’d feel better if you made it an order,” Lauren remarked, anger and exasperation in her voice.

  “Fine. It’s an order.”

  Lauren nodded. The small victory helped soothe her conflicted emotions. She continued to pace, far too agitated to sit still.

  “My original theory speculated that the device be detonated near the strongest point of the eye-wall. In Helena, as with most hurricanes in this hemisphere, the southeastern quadrant of the rotating storm is the most intense. You don’t want to allow the bomb to actually enter the storm itself. The up and down drafts will disrupt the trajectory. It’s important to maintain the drop in the relative calm of the eye itself.”

  “Go on.” Calvin began taking notes.

  “The initial blast will reach a temperature close to a million degrees centigrade, which is 10,000 times hotter than the surface of the sun. Everything it touches will be instantly vaporized in the expanding high-pressure gas bubble. As you know, the internal mechanism of a hurricane is relatively fragile, a delicate balance of temperature, winds, and pressure. The shock wave from the explosion expands outward at 100 times the speed of sound. The engine, or eye-wall of the hurricane, is gone in the blink of an eye. The severe low pressure is replaced with what we call an over-pressure event. It becomes a storm without a way to build or even sustain itself. In layman’s terms, we’re gutting Helena. In a flash of energy and light, Helena will die and all that will remain will be a disintegrating tropical storm mass.

  “So you have no doubt it will work?” Calvin stopped writing and looked up. “This bomb is big enough to gut the storm.”

  “I have lots of doubts. It will definitely alter Helena as we know it. But there is another danger. One I didn’t include in my paper.”

  Calvin looked at her expectantly.

  “Imagine this.” Lauren hesitated as she tried to recall the details. “As the bomb detonates, tons of water vapor will be pulled up into the gigantic mushroom cloud. Keep in mind, this bomb is twice as big as any ever set off. The surrounding water has been superheated from the fireball. If the force of the initial shock wave isn’t powerful enough to eliminate the rotation of the hurricane, then what we could create is a smaller, more intense storm center than we had before.”

  Calvin furrowed his brow.

  Using her hands, Lauren continued: “Picture a mushroom cloud, except it’s spinning. The heated water is now doing what it was doing before, except the ocean is near boiling. That energy could re-form into an incredibly intense storm. Smaller, yet its power could be off the scale. It could create some kind of mutant event. A hybrid storm—part hurricane, part tornado. It could have winds over 500 mph.”

  “No one said a thing about this possibility.” Calvin shook his head in dismay. “What are the odds we could be jumping from the frying pan into the fire?”

  Lauren shrugged, “Maybe fifteen to twenty percent. No one really knows.”

  “God damn it!” Calvin pulled himself up out of the chair and walked to his desk.

  Lauren watched as he tossed his pen down and glared at the phone. She wondered what was going through his mind. It surprised her that no one had mentioned the potentially negative side effect of the operation.

  “I’m going to pass along what you’ve told me,” Calvin said wearily. “But to tell you the truth, I don’t think it will make much of a difference. The key question here is the exact detonation point within the storm. That’s what they want from us.”

  “I don’t know,” Lauren said, honestly. “It will all depend on the data we receive from Jonah, as well as information about the high altitude winds. If we could determine both within a few hours of when they want to set it off, it’ll give us the best chance to get it right.”

  Calvin nodded. “They’ve set 250 miles as the minimum distance from the coast. How soon will Helena reach that point?”

  Lauren picked a number off the top of her head. “I’d say sometime tomorrow, maybe around noon or so.”

  “You’re scheduled to go out on the Eco-Watch jet tomorrow, right?”

  “Yes. We’re going to test some equipment that should allow us to interface high altitude information from the Gulfstream, with data from Jonah. But with the same information, it would be easy for us to calculate the exact drop coordinates.”

  “Can you do that without any of your team being aware of what you’re doing? We don’t want anyone to know about this until afterward.”

  “What about the rest of the world? We aren’t going to start a war by setting off an H-bomb, are we?”

  “No. The president has spoken with the other nuclear-capable countries. To be honest, everyone is just as curious as we are if this will work.”

  “My God. What have I done?”

  “It’s not you, Lauren; someone else would have thought of this at some point. Focus on the devastation Helena is going to inflict on New York City. I’m told the emergency management teams are having trouble getting people to evacuate the shore areas. Millions of New Yorkers refuse to believe this storm will harm them. It’s going to be a slaughter.”

  Lauren felt defeated. She’d read countless papers on the psychological impact impending weather phenomena had on people. Denial was still the major reason people were killed in the path of severe weather. The section of the coast that was most vulnerable was an area that rarely saw deadly storms. The denial factor would be especially high. The loss of life could indeed be staggering.

  “I want you to take the rest of the day off. It’s important for you to be sharp in the morning. Who among your staff will be going with you?”

  “I think Dr. Simmons and I could handle all the telemetry readings.”

  “I’d like you to take Brent Whitaker. He’s as good with the computer models as anyone. It might be good to have him along.”

  “Fine. He’s been wanting some field duty.”

  “Inform them. I’m going to double check with Eco-Watch that the equipment is ready to go. What time do you want to be airborne?”

  “Make it an 0830 takeoff. We can get our readings and get out of there. I’d like to be back here before they do it…I want to watch it in real time from here in the lab.”

  “Consider it done.” Calvin moved to escort Lauren to the door. “Now get some rest.”

  Lauren nodded.

  “Now go—and not a word to anyone about what we discussed. Try to relax. If I need you I’ll reach you on your cell phone. Otherwise I don’t want to hear from you until we’re linked up in the morning from the Eco-Watch plane.”

  Lauren nodded and let herself out of the room. She resisted the temptation to slip into the control room and look at Helena. Instead, she went to her office and collected her things. She quickly called Carl and Brent to tell them about tomorrow’
s mission. Once she was finished she left the building. To the meteorologist in her, the muggy air outside spoke volumes about the coming storm—a storm that one way or the other was going to rewrite the history books. She tried to push her own historical footnote from her mind. What she really wanted right now was to go home.

  As Lauren negotiated the heavy traffic on I-95, she couldn’t shake the odd sensation of knowing that Helena would cease to exist tomorrow, or at least cease as they knew it. Lauren was so engrossed in her thoughts that she was mildly surprised at how quick the drive home had been. She pulled up in her driveway and shut off the car. It wasn’t until she’d opened the door and slid out into the muggy afternoon that she realized another car had pulled up behind hers.

  Terrified, Lauren instantly thought of the attempt on her life in Bermuda. She thought about bolting for the safety of the house, but instead froze, not wanting to lead anyone in to where her Mother and Abigail waited. Lauren held her breath as a young woman got out and walked toward her.

  “Excuse me.”

  “Who are you?” Lauren challenged.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you. My name is Erin Walker. I’m a writer for The Washington Post. I wonder if I might have a few words with you?”

  Lauren eyed the woman. She didn’t appear threatening.

  “Please,” Erin continued. “It will only take a few minutes of your time.”

  “I don’t have anything to say to you.” Lauren reached into her purse for her phone. She quickly scrolled down until she found the number for Calvin’s direct line. She positioned her finger on the send button. If she needed help, Calvin would be her best hope.

  “Oh, but I think you do.”

  “Any inquiries from the press need to be approved through my office,” Lauren turned as if to dismiss the reporter.

  “I’m not writing about the DIA,” Erin said quietly. “I’m writing about Donovan Nash.”

  Lauren froze. How did this woman connect her to Donovan? How did she find out where she lived? She thought of Abigail inside the house. The last thing she wanted was for Donovan to read in the newspaper that he was a father. Lauren turned to face her questioner.

  “I have no idea what it is you’re after. But I only know Mr. Nash professionally.”

  “Look,” Erin let out a breath. “I’m doing a story about Donovan Nash the person. Not the man behind Eco-Watch. I know you were involved with him. Now, I can write about the relationship with your help…or I can do it without. Your choice. But I’d think you’d want to make sure your voice was heard?”

  Lauren’s heart pounded in her chest. “I’m sorry, but you’re wasting your time. I’ve never been involved with Mr. Nash. Now I’d appreciate it if you’d leave.”

  “Are you sure that’s the position you want to take?”

  “There isn’t any other position. You’re chasing ghosts.”

  “Interesting choice of words.”

  Lauren had no idea what the woman’s cryptic response meant.

  “Here’s my business card,” Erin continued. “I can’t tell you everything I know right now. But in a few days when you read about Mr. Nash in the Post—you may want to call me. We can sit down and talk then.”

  Lauren took the card, surprised at the confidence in the reporter’s tone. She watched as the woman strode back to her car.

  “I’ll be expecting your call,” Erin called over her shoulder.

  Lauren looked down at the card, then at her phone. She pushed the button, and moments later Calvin answered.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Donovan eased the gearshift smoothly into second, then released the clutch on the speeding Porsche. The transmission whined and the low-slung sports car slowed magnificently. Feeling the warm wind through his hair, Donovan touched the gas pedal and moved with the car through the sharp corner. The stereo belted out the loud driving guitar of Jimi Hendrix. He gunned the engine, absorbed with the sheer power of the 5.5 liter, ten-cylinder motor. Finally, he tapped the brake and fishtailed the last thirty feet to the driveway of his estate. With a final flurry, he accelerated down the long driveway and finished with a tire squealing half turn to a stop. He switched off the ignition and noticed William’s Jaguar parked near the garage.

  Donovan pulled himself out of the car and hurried to the house to find William. He called out, but there wasn’t any response. From the kitchen window, he spotted the immaculately dressed older man down near the cemetery. William’s head was bowed, and in his hand was a large bouquet of flowers.

  Donovan quietly walked out the back door and went to join his friend. It had been a long time since they’d both been here together. It brought back the memories of his mother’s funeral. Then his thoughts drifted to the day he’d asked William to help him cease being Robert Huntington. It somehow seemed fitting they were here together again, eighteen years later, as all of their work was crashing down around them.

  Donovan approached, making sure he made enough noise to alert William of his presence, since he didn’t want to startle him. William turned and looked as he came closer. Donovan could see tears in his eyes.

  “I thought you’d be out here,” William said, his voice cracking with emotion. “It’s been far too long since I came to pay my respects.”

  “The flowers look nice.” Donovan could see that William had laid a bouquet on both his mother’s and his father’s graves.

  “You know,” William mused out loud. “I remember the first time your father invited me out here. It was in the early ‘50s, ‘52 I think.”

  “It must have been beautiful then. I’m afraid I haven’t kept up Mom’s gardens like she would have,” Donovan said, with a small measure of guilt. “She really knew how to brighten up a house.”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “We gave it a good go, didn’t we?”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t catch this sooner. We might have been able to stop this reporter.”

  “It’s okay.” Donovan patted William on the back and pulled away. “I made a deal with her. I’m going to give her the exclusive story. In return, she’s going to help us find the person who is pointing at Eco-Watch as the source of the DIA leaks. It’s a fair trade. Eco-Watch survives. I think Michael will make a great Director of Operations, don’t you? I’ve also been giving a great deal of thought about what you said about Lauren. Maybe it is time to talk to her…explain everything.”

  “Oh son…” William cast his eyes downward, reaching into his inside coat pocket. “I’m afraid I have bad news.”

  “What? Nothing’s happened to Michael or Lauren, has it?” Donovan’s eyes grew wide.

  William shook his head and handed Donovan an envelope.

  “Is this from the tail we have on Erin?”

  “Yes. After Erin left you, she went straight home. A short time later she left again.”

  Donovan slid a finger against the seal and pulled out a photo. He felt as if he’d been struck with a wrecking ball. Lauren was standing and talking with Erin.

  “I’m told the meeting only lasted a few minutes and the exchange seemed to be somewhat combative in nature. We of course have no way of knowing what was said. Erin went home afterwards and to my knowledge is still there.”

  Donovan couldn’t believe Erin’s source was Lauren. The betrayal was too huge to grasp: the woman he loved had reached out and destroyed him once again. Donovan lowered his head. No wonder she wouldn’t talk to him yesterday on the plane. He’d saved her life and she was stabbing him, and Eco-Watch, in the back. Donovan let the photo drop from his hand.

  “I’m sorry, son.”

  “Me, too.”

  “I think maybe a drink is in order.”

  Donovan looked at William. There seemed like there should be a thousand things to say, to do. But he felt immobilized with the certain knowledge that the death of Donovan Nash was going to be slow and painful.

  “How could she?” Donovan lowered his head. “I just want to get this over with. How much legal trouble do you
think there’ll be? I did crash a plane. Fake my own death. I’ve got to think some district attorney somewhere will want to try to make a name for himself.”

  “Leave that to me. I’ll make it as painless as possible. We’ll issue a statement when the news breaks. My guess is the statute of limitations is in play here. In no time at all you’ll be free to do whatever you wish.”

  “Thanks.” Donovan stood straight and fought to gather his emotions. He swayed like he’d been punched. “I will take you up on that drink. You still have any of those Cuban cigars left? The ones I brought you last month?”

  “Of course,” William nodded. “I always carry a few in the car. Would you like me to get them?”

  “Let me. You’re in charge of the drinks. I need to put the Porsche away, then I think I’d really enjoy a good smoke out on the patio.”

  William cupped his hands together. “Wonderful idea. What would you like?”

  “Maybe a Hemlock, straight up.”

  “I was thinking about something a touch more soothing,” William replied, calmly. “Maybe some cognac? Or a dry martini?”

  Donovan felt an inkling of relief at their exchange. It was like a breath of normalcy in the middle of his own personal tempest.

  “I’ll have a cognac. I think there’s an unopened bottle in the cabinet above the bar.”

  “I’ll find it and meet you out back.” William started to go, then turned and tossed his keys to Donovan. “The cigars are inside the glove box; you’ll see the small humidor. There should be a lighter also.”

  “Got it.” Donovan went out into the oppressive heat of the evening. The clouds had thickened; a light breeze blew from the northeast. It occurred to him that he hadn’t watched a single weather report all day. There seemed to be an urgency in the atmosphere, as if charged with a forbidding energy. He stopped and studied the sky. The birds were flitting anxiously from tree to tree. He knew they could also feel the coming storm.

  Donovan stored and covered the Porsche. He checked the doors, even though he knew Helena was poised to strike far to the north. Northern Virginia could see some heavy wind and rain. He went to William’s car and retrieved the humidor. Walking back to the main house he thought of the connection between Erin Walker and the storm brewing unseen in the distance. Two destructive entities were at work, and each was going to leave a trail of destruction and pain in its path.