5 Days to Landfall

by Robert Roy Britt

  She overlaid the red line representing the LORAX and gasped out loud. She headed straight for Frank Delaney’s office, closed the door behind her.

  “Frank. The LORAX’s track has moved into New England.”

  “Christ. But now the GFDL has it curving out to sea,” Delaney said. “Bermuda High is starting to weaken. The storm could slip right around it, nice and neat.”

  “That’d be nifty,” Amanda said. “If it happens.”

  “What’s LORAX thinking?”

  “Harvey has consolidated, pulled his arms in a little while he strengthened. He’s going to accelerate, plow ahead on the current course, not be swayed by the external steering winds.”

  “How fast?”

  Amanda pulled up a sea of numbers from the catalogues of her mind, studied them, eyes toward the ceiling. “Twenty-five by morning.”

  She could almost hear Delaney calculating in his head. “That gets it abreast of Hatteras before the high weakens…”

  “And shoots it straight up. Now, the LORAX barely touches Cape Cod, but it doesn’t take much of a difference to, well, you know.”

  “Amanda, you know we can’t go with an official forecast for anywhere in New England, let alone New York. Not with the information we have, especially not on the basis of a test model that disagrees with all the others. Christ, it’d be both our careers if we end up wrong and anybody ever found out.”

  “I agree that it’s too early for a warning, but we can issue a watch. Jeez, we’ve got a Cat 5 on our hands. We’ve got to do everything possible. And Frank?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t care about a damn career that much.”

  CHAPTER 24

  New York Times newsroom

  9:50 a.m.

  Walter Beasley was the kind of journalist Jack Corbin could do without. Beasley started as a copy boy in 1964 after graduating from NYU, and despite a general lack of news savvy managed to find himself in a deputy metro editor position. Even at the biggest newspapers the talent pool was thin, and there always seemed to be room for an astute ladder-climber to ascend a few rungs without a lot of talent.

  Beasley was thin and soft-spoken—some said sneaky was more like it—with a penchant for sloughing blame to those below and beside him in the hierarchy. He had pasty white skin all over except for a summer burn on his balding head. He wore Coke-bottle glasses that didn’t seem to help his eyesight too much.

  Jack walked into his editor’s office after having successfully avoiding him all week. Beasley, hunched forward and inches from his computer screen, didn’t look up. Jack sat down.

  “At least you were in the right spot this time, Mr. Corbin.”

  Beasley’s voice was high-pitched and nervous. Jack hated the voice. And it seemed slightly higher today. Jack couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something strange in it: Anxiety. Or fear.

  “Too close,” Jack said.

  “Yes. Well, you made it out alive.”

  It was a statement of fact. No pity, no congratulations. Jack waited.

  “I’ve procured you a seat on a Hurricane Hunter plane, Mr. Corbin.”

  “You what?” What the fuck? Are you trying to kill me?

  “You know, the gentlemen who fly into the storms. It’s an angle we haven’t done this year, and with such a busy season, it seems we ought to do a feature on them.”

  “But…” He was going to remind Beasley of his only two big fears in life—heights and flying—but he thought better of it.

  “But what?”

  Jack’s mind raced.

  “I got a tip from the business editor this morning. Looks like somebody might have sold short the shares of an insurance company just before Gert made landfall. I want to pursue it.”

  “That’s not a weather story. Let business handle it.”

  “OK, how about this: I should be on the ground to cover Harvey. It’s what I do.”

  “We’ll have a whole team of reporters on Harvey if it comes ashore. You’re the right person to give us a view from the air.”

  The right person. What the hell does that mean?

  Jack was tired. His muscles still ached from the fight with Gert. He admitted to himself that he wasn’t in the mood to chase into the maw of another storm, especially a Cat 5.

  Beasley waited for an answer.

  “When?”

  “You’re supposed to check in at Keesler Air Force Base tonight,” Beasley said. “Your flight leaves at midnight. I prefer that you get down there right away, get some color.”

  “Night flight?”

  “They make the rules. That’s when they had a slot. Seems it’s getting to be a rather popular assignment for journalists.”

  “I get one big vacation after all this, right?”

  “Of course,” Beasley said in the high voice. He looked down, indicating the conversation was over.

  CHAPTER 25

  7 World Trade Center,

  Manhattan

  10:00 a.m.

  A hurricane watch had been issued for New York City. Not a warning, just a watch. The vast emergency command and control center might have filled up, but it was the second time in a week that a watch had been issued. Emergency officials knew the drill, and they’d just been through this part.

  Leonard Lassitor, the City’s weather emergency coordinator, did a quick head count: About half the people who should have been on the twenty-third floor had actually showed up. That suited him just fine.

  The PC on his desk cast an ethereal glow into the dimly lit corner office.

  Leonard Lassitor typed nhctest1 into the password field. He didn’t know if the password, given out to emergency coordinators during a demonstration of the LORAX during the National Hurricane Conference back in April, would still work. He hit his return key.

  The LORAX home page came up. Lassitor smiled. He chose “72-hour forecast” from the menu. A map of the Atlantic scrolled onto his screen. A red line headed toward northern Florida, curved upward and out to sea, but not before brushing the eastern edge of Long Island.

  “Sonofabitch,” Lassitor whispered. Amanda Cole was looking at the LORAX. That’s why she had called and told him to keep an eye on Harvey. From the Hurricane Conference, Lassitor knew something of the LORAX’s capabilities. It was expected to eventually become the premier program in the Hurricane Center’s suite of models. In a year or two, after full testing.

  She’s watching it right now.

  Leonard Lassitor had no soft spot for Amanda Cole, but he knew she was good at her job, that she’d designed the LORAX, and that she was a hotshot forecaster.

  Now that Amanda was using the LORAX, Lassitor would have to revise the plan a bit. He picked his phone up.

  CHAPTER 26

  National Hurricane Center

  11:45 a.m.

  Hurricane Harvey was picking up speed, moving north at eighteen miles an hour. The storm was holding strength, but all the models predicted a gradual weakening as Harvey moved into cooler waters during the next twenty-four hours. Frank Delaney stopped by Amanda’s cubicle, which overflowed with rough sketches on large sheets of white paper.

  “You’re going to use markers and paper? Why not use the computer graphics? The guys can have them camera ready in no time.”

  “Because then the networks control how it’s presented,” Amanda said. “You ever notice how television graphics are often beautiful, but don’t tell you anything if they aren’t accompanied by an explanation? Just arrows and colors. Noise, really.”

  She wanted her explanation to be simple. She wanted Hurricane Harvey to unfold before people’s eyes, so the threat would become real, not just a pretty picture.

  “Your call.” Delaney shrugged. “Just one thing. I know you’re going to make it clear that the Northeast is in danger. I want you to. But the models still don’t point that way.”

  Amanda stood up and looked around to make sure nobody was within earshot. “LORAX does.”

  “The watch already ex
tends north to Massachusetts, per your suggestion. I’m not going to issue a warning unless we get something on the GFDL. Not this afternoon or this evening, anyway. Just do me one favor: Don’t say New York, OK?”

  “I won’t say New York.”

  Delaney nodded. “Listen. One last thing. I got a call from Goddard. Somebody used the old test access account and peeked at the LORAX.”

  “Who?”

  “No way to know,” Delaney said. “All we have is the domain name that somehow tells us it was a computer within the New York City government. Could have been the mayor, could have been a sanitation worker.”

  “Jeez, I can’t believe they didn’t deactivate it. This is spooky. You think it’s related to the blip in the GFDL?”

  “I don’t see how. Anyway, it’s been deactivated now. Just thought I’d mention it. Hey, how’s Sarah doing?”

  Amanda had mixed emotions about the change of subject. She sighed. “She’s OK. Misses me. But I talked to her earlier and she seems to be having a good time.”

  “You OK with it?”

  “She needs to know her father. Spend time with him. Yeah, I’m OK with it. Just hurts like hell.”

  “Hang in there,” Delaney offered. “She’ll be home soon.”

  ***

  Amanda was surprised to see Greg Chen show up just before three p.m.; he’d pulled the overnight and wasn’t due back in until eleven.

  She stood and said hello and noticed that two other forecasters who weren’t supposed to be in were across the room getting coffee. They all knew history was barreling toward the East Coast. The lure was too strong.

  A fresh batch of reconnaissance data was on Amanda’s AWIPS computer. She sat down and began studying it while Chen turned his computers on.

  “What’s the pressure?” Chen asked. His quick pace and sharp tone was of one who’d decided to take charge. Amanda bristled.

  “Extrap of 913, up from 909 this morning.” It was good news, meant that Harvey was finally beginning to weaken. She smiled at the knowledge that it would be a drop of rain on Chen’s parade.

  “Rising. Too bad. It was just starting to get interesting.”

  Amanda closed her eyes before she rolled them, so that Chen wouldn’t see her disgust. “Still plenty healthy, though,” she said. “Core temperature is ten degrees above the eyewall. Humidity in the eye holding steady at eighty-seven percent.”

  “Good. Structure?”

  “Let me see.” She read on. “Closed wall, blue sky above. Circular, six miles across.”

  Harvey’s eye was completely surrounded by a ring of thunderstorms. The eye formed a perfect circle with a small diameter. All indications of a healthy storm.

  “I like this storm,” Chen said. “Could run north on us. Of course, that could make me—er, us—look bad. Whenever they run north it spells trouble. You know, last winter I did a review of all my forecasts for the past fifteen years. I worked back from landfall and looked at the forecast I’d made twenty-four hours prior, then had the computer figure out what I was close on and what I missed, you know, location, direction, strength. You know what my biggest error was on all storms north of Hatteras?”

  “Speed,” Amanda said without hesitation.

  Chen’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “How’d you know?”

  “I did the same study two years ago, but included all of the forecasters at the center.” Amanda shrugged. “I was curious.”

  “Well, yes, I suppose that was a smart thing to do. Um, so you know we have basically no clue how much this thing will accelerate.”

  “We have a clue. A lot. It will accelerate a lot.”

  Chen frowned. “I don’t like the GFDL right now. You know, I pulled your LORAX up before I issued the eight o’clock, and it’s…”

  “It’s just in the test phase.” Amanda tried to sound firm. The way he had emphasized LORAX was as if it tasted bad in his mouth. Her project was a sore spot for Chen, who wasn’t on the small team producing the new model.

  He tried again. “I realize its performance isn’t proven, but it did well with Gert, and with Harvey it’s been right on the money so far.”

  “It’s not in the forecast suite.”

  “But this is a helluva storm. And I might be the one on duty when the critical bulletin goes out. Has Frank seen it?”

  “Greg.” Amanda was standing.

  “Yeah?”

  Her phone rang. She ignored it, looked Chen straight in the eye. “LORAX is just in the test phase. Don’t ask me any more, OK?”

  Chen squinted, then his face relaxed and tilted slightly upward as realization dawned. He smiled wide, blinked long and nodded once.

  Prick. She picked up her phone.

  “Amanda… Hi, it’s Jack.”

  “Jack. Where are you?”

  “On my way to Biloxi.”

  “Why, for God’s sake?”

  “I’m not really sure. My editor booked me a flight with the Hurricane Hunters. I get to see Harvey from the inside.”

  “I thought you were afraid of flying?”

  “I am.”

  “Well, don’t worry. Those guys are the best. It might get a little bumpy. Well, OK, it might get real bumpy. But it’s safe.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “Why in the world did he want you in the air instead of on the ground? This is the biggest storm in decades.”

  “I don’t really know,” Jack said. “It felt like he was trying to get rid of me. Probably more like he just doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing.”

  “Why didn’t you tell him no?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe because I’ve been missing so many stories this summer. This one, flying into this giant beast, will be a shoo-in. And, to tell the truth, I’m not much in the mood to go swimming again right away.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Amanda said. “And I’m glad you won’t. Go swimming, that is. Hey, did you learn any more about the insurance thing?”

  “Haven’t had much time, but I did a little digging. GLIC could be in trouble. Hard to tell. How badly they fare probably depends on lawsuits as much as anything else. Property damage is quantifiable, a known risk. Lawsuits have virtually no ceiling.”

  “Lawsuits over what?”

  “Say somebody dies in a place that was supposed to be safe. A shelter or something. Family sues for wrongful death. Insurance company might settle out of court, but they’re still stuck.”

  “I get it,” Amanda said.

  “Another unknown is what’s called business interruption, or stream of revenue insurance. Commercial policies. GLIC doesn’t seem to have too many policies like that. But that idea made me curious, and I found another company that is heavily weighted with commercial policies. Planes, trains, ships and big buildings. Outfit called PrimeCo.”

  “But the trade wasn’t made on PrimeCo,” she said.

  “PrimeCo’s policies aren’t in the Carolinas.”

  “Aha. Let me guess.”

  “You got it,” Jack said. “So, what’s your feeling on Harvey right now?”

  “That he’s huge. I’m glad you wrote about it today. Nice job, by the way.”

  “Thanks. Still think the City has a shot?”

  “Yep. Maybe I should sell short some shares of PrimeCo.”

  “I think you might go to jail for that,” Jack said. “My sources aren’t exactly giving out public information.”

  “OK, I’ll keep my money in the bank. When do you take off?”

  “Midnight. If I get back in time, I’ll call you, get one last guestimate out of you, maybe chase the storm on the ground.”

  “If you don’t catch me here, try my cell phone,” Amanda said.

  “Where will you be?”

  “I’m worried about my dad. I’m going to head up there, fetch him if I need to. I’ll stay with Rico.”

  “Now I know where Harvey’s going,” Jack said. “I’ll call you if I get the chance.”

  “OK, good. Jack?”

  �
��Yeah?”

  “Be careful. I’d like to see you in one piece when this is over.”

  “Me too,” Jack said. “I mean… I want to see you.”

  “On the other side, then.”

  “Like Play-Doh.”

  Greg Chen was leaning over her cubicle. Amanda hated it when he eavesdropped, which he usually did.

  “I hear you talking about PrimeCo?”

  “Forget it.”

  “I know about that company. What’s your interest in—”

  “I said forget it, Greg. I’ve got a lot to do before the TV shoot.”

  “OK. OK.” He raised his hands and patted the air, retreated into his own space and disappeared behind the cubicle wall. “I was just curious.”

  ***

  Dozens of lights blazed in her eyes. NBC, ABC, CBS, FOX, the Weather Channel and CNN all crowded into a conference room in the Bunker. Frank Delaney said they were going to make an instant celebrity of Amanda.

  She sat next to a large easel with sheets of white paper, a black marker pen in one hand and a red one in the other. Five microphones crowded the table in front of her. Cables snaked throughout the room. On the first sheet of paper, she had drawn a decent outline of the United States with a green pen. On it she had labeled Charleston, Cape Hatteras and New York.

  After a half-hour of fiddling with lights and cords and microphones and plugs, during which time Amanda repeatedly refused make-up, the crews were ready. The cameras rolled.

  Amanda drew a large red circle well off the coast of Florida. “This is Hurricane Harvey,” she said. To the right and slightly above, further out in the Atlantic, she drew a black circle. “This is the Bermuda High, an area of above-average atmospheric pressure. Winds rotate clockwise around it as they are pushed outward.” She drew an arrow to indicate the direction. “Harvey is curving around the edge of these winds.”

  Then, over the Midwest, she drew another black circle roughly level with the Bermuda High. “Another area of high pressure is moving east across the country.” She drew an arrow pointing to the right.