5 Days to Landfall

by Robert Roy Britt

  Jonathan slid down the hallway. On his stomach, pleading eyes wide, he reached out with both hands for Jack and Amanda. An instantaneous moment seemed to take forever, and Jonathan slid out the hole in the wall.

  The vacuum settled, became an unbearable wind. Stronger than anything Amanda had ever experienced. But already it was changing direction as the storm raced north. Less of the wind funneled down the hall.

  Would be coming out of the southwest now. Sixteen floors up.

  “He’s gone,” Jack shouted.

  “Maybe not,” Amanda said. Jonathan hadn’t flown through the opening as Sleepy did. He’d just slid out. Amanda remembered what was out there. She put Sarah in a corner of the study, told her not to move, and crawled back into the hallway.

  ***

  Jack watched as Amanda dropped flat to her stomach and crawled quickly but cautiously down the hall. He followed her, hoping. The wall was broken out, torn and twisted as though a monster had walked through it in some B movie. Amanda stayed to the left side of the hall, wary of the hole. She braced herself against the remaining portion of the end wall with one arm, looked out. Jack did the same on the opposite side, but his fear of heights gripped him and he was barely able to look.

  Jonathan clung to a two-foot-wide steel catwalk, two feet beyond the hole in the wall and six feet down. He was alive, shivering, crying. The building offered just enough protection from the wind.

  For now. Will be out of the west in a moment. Blow him right off—

  “Jonathan!” Amanda shouted.

  The boy couldn’t hear her. Again, louder. Jonathan looked up. Amanda reached out a hand. Jonathan reached up. Not even close.

  “Stand up!”

  Jonathan braced himself, stood on shaky legs.

  Amanda leaned out, but she couldn’t reach his outstretched fingers. She ducked back into the hall.

  “You have to do it,” Amanda shouted.

  “Can’t. No way.”

  “Do it!”

  ***

  Jack looked down. Fear seized him. The roof of Chez Henri, below, spun like a scene change in a Batman episode. Jack closed his eyes. Steeled his nerves. He searched for a way to free the boy. Faces zipped through his mind like a flipbook.

  Bill Leaderman, Juan Rico, Sleepy.

  No more. No more death.

  He reached out but inches separated their fingers. “Don’t move!” He retreated into the hallway, back to the study and got PJ, who followed him back to the hole. Amanda braced her body against the left side of the wall, PJ against the other.

  Each took a hold of Jack’s belt.

  The wind had shifted, coming almost directly from the west and beginning to buffet the north side of the building where Jonathan was trapped.

  Jack had to quell his fear. He kept his eyes on Jonathan, whose face glowed blue-white with each flash of lightning in the otherwise dusk-like conditions. Jack let the sounds of the storm fill his mind. Symphony of low roars, high whistles, drumming of rain, background bass of thunder. Riffs of creaking, tearing, twisting.

  He leaned out into the storm.

  Jonathan reached up.

  Jonathan’s fingers touched Jack’s. Then a gust of wind nearly knocked the boy off the catwalk. He squatted, shifted his feet to regain his balance. Wrapped his arms around a vertical member of steel. Froze.

  “Reach!” Jack shouted. The boy didn’t move.

  The wind was full force now and strafed the elevator shaft.

  Jack looked down. Dizzy. He shook his head and reached out again. The shaft buckled. The catwalk lurched.

  Jonathan jumped toward Jack’s outstretched arm, gripped Jack’s wrist. Jack did the same.

  The elevator shaft screamed and peeled away from the side of the building. From the edge of his peripheral vision, Jack watched the tangle of steel disappear into the swirling wind and water below.

  Jonathan smacked into the building. He dangled from Jack’s arm. The wind tossed him side to side, a frantic pendulum of a human grandfather clock. Jack felt his legs going numb from the pressure of his belt.

  Amanda and PJ heaved. Jonathan swung wildly away from the wind. Jack reached out and got the boy’s other arm, pulled.

  Amanda gave the final tug that pulled Jack inside the building. Jack braced a foot against the tattered wall and pulled Jonathan in.

  The roof was open, and the rain fell in buckets. An inch had already accumulated on the hardwood floor.

  Jack had forgotten that it was raining.

  Jonathan still held Jack’s wrist. He pulled himself into Jack, buried a small head in his chest. Amanda wrapped her arms around both of them for a second, then tugged at Jack to retreat into the study, which still had a roof over it. Sarah was curled up in the corner, shivering. Jack and Jonathan sat down next to Sarah. Amanda found a blanket in Juan Rico’s closet, sat down, and pulled the blanket around all four of them.

  ~ ~ ~

  Saturday, August 28

  CHAPTER 57

  Building 7,

  World Trade Center

  7:18 a.m.

  Like most of the emergency officials, Leonard Lassitor had spent the night at the Emergency Operations Center. For him, it had been a grueling night of feigning interest in the ongoing effort to protect the City, and that had exhausted him. But it was nearly over. And now he had the excuse he needed to get out: The mayor had asked Lassitor to hit the streets and inspect damage.

  Lassitor’s personal driver was on his way to pick him up. The mayor didn’t know, of course, that Lassitor would have the driver head north to the George Washington Bridge, the only route out of the City that was open. His driver would take him straight to Teterboro airport in North Jersey, the only airport in the region that was open. A commuter flight would get him to Washington. By the time anybody wondered where he was, he’d be on his way to the Dominican Republic.

  Lassitor smiled outwardly at his victory. He had helped to destroy the City and make Maximo rich. But the smile faded as he thought about the drugs he had been unable to retrieve from Walter Beasley’s boat. They were probably in the bottom of the Hudson now. Lassitor worried about how forgiving Maximo would be on that point, in light of all the money Lassitor had just helped him make. In truth, he knew that his contribution to the death and destruction was minor. Harvey had done most of the heavy lifting. And Maximo had probably done more to help himself by orchestrating the auto accidents on the outbound routes.

  Lassitor could have done more, if not for his meddling brother and the bothersome Amanda Cole. She was the one who called landfall despite the LORAX being down, then got the evacuation going, then stopped it just in time to save thousands of lives. Lassitor had never liked Amanda Cole, and now he despised her. He tried to let the emotion go. It was nearly time to leave, and soon he’d be sipping piña coladas and enjoying Dominican women. Amanda Cole would be a distant memory.

  He fidgeted, pretending to do paperwork that no longer mattered, while he waited for his driver. Leonard Lassitor smiled again, this time at the reason he had to wait: Getting around New York City was next to impossible for everyone this morning.

  CHAPTER 58

  Tribeca

  7:20 a.m.

  The sun shone brilliantly through the construction crane, a sick modern sculpture of twisted steel. The roof looked as though it had been peeled away by giant fingers. The south-facing windows were all blown out and there was a gaping hole at the end of the hallway.

  Jonathan wouldn’t speak. Nobody had said much yet. Amanda convinced Jack that they had to go out and take a look around. The boy needed to see the ground below the building to know that his father wasn’t waiting for him there. He had to have some evidence so he could understand what Amanda already knew.

  Amanda, Sarah, Jack, Jonathan and PJ descended the stairs and walked out into Washington Street, littered by a foot of river silt and tangled debris. Amanda led the way over tree branches and downed signs, through broken glass and around cars, all of which had been pu
lled toward the river when the surge retreated. The City was quiet, the air heavy with silence. A lone siren wailed in the distance. No other sounds. No rush of traffic. The walls of the buildings were discolored with silt well above the second-floor windows. A few people wandered aimlessly, some crying, some appearing to search, some just standing in a daze.

  Amanda led them around the corner to Watts Street. Jack wanted to look inside Chez Henri.

  “Later,” Amanda said. “The boy first.”

  The discoloration on the buildings became lower and lower as they walked uphill, away from the river and toward the Canal Street station. Cars lay on their sides, their tops, along the street and in it. A small blue car sat upside-down on top of a taxi.

  Another stood on end, leaning against a building. There was, as Amanda expected, no sign of Sleepy’s body. It was probably out to sea by now. They continued on toward the entrance to the subway station, familiar ground for Jonathan.

  Ahead, a boat lay on its side. Next to the boat was a body bag. And four other smaller bags. And an FBI agent.

  “Damn,” Jack said, his head cocked to one side to read the red script letters on the back of the boat. “Slow Times. That’s Beasley’s boat.”

  “What’s the FBI doing there?”

  “I don’t know,” Jack said. “Hang here for a minute. I’ll ask.”

  A familiar idea, unformed again, was tickling Amanda’s brain. Jack returned after a couple of minutes with a confused look on his face.

  “Drugs on the boat,” he said. “And a weird coincidence: Turns out the FBI guy is the same one who called me earlier in the week asking about Perez. Anyway, he wouldn’t tell me any more than that. But it makes no sense. Beasley was a heel, but I can’t believe he was into drugs.”

  Amanda felt a rush of adrenaline as a mass of confusing data put itself together in the scientific part of her brain. It was only a rough understanding—not unlike what she was used to experiencing with hurricanes. But just like the partial understanding she had of Hurricane Harvey yesterday morning, it was enough to go on. “You said Beasley was a friend of Lassitor?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Jack, Lassitor’s the one who was trying to stall the evacuation.”

  “He was what?”

  “You heard me. I’m sure of it now. And guess who he was working for?” Jack didn’t have to think long. “Maximo Perez.”

  “Yep. And you know what Perez does when he’s not betting on hurricanes. “

  “Drugs. But I don’t get how Beasley figures in.”

  “Don’t you see? You were the only reporter in the City who understood the hurricane threat. Lassitor knew that. He didn’t want you stirring the waters up or putting anything useful in the paper. He had Beasley get you out of town.”

  “Holy sh—” Jack looked at Sarah and Jonathan and stopped himself. “But why the drugs on the boat?”

  “Can’t say. Haven’t figured that far yet. But I bet it ties the two together. There’s a lot that I don’t quite get, but I’d bet my winnings from Harvey that it’s Lassitor.”

  “So I guess I should tell the FBI guy.”

  “No,” Amanda said firmly. “I want to get to the EOC first. Lassitor should still be there. His ass is mine.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “No. Just me this time. They won’t let you in, anyway.”

  “How will you get in?”

  Amanda just grinned.

  ***

  The guard near the elevator only smiled and nodded as Amanda breezed past him.

  She rode the elevator alone to the twenty-third floor of Building 7.

  At the entrance to the Emergency Operations Center she found two droopy security guards who looked like they’d been on duty all night. She moved purposely past them without incident, then once she was a safe distance inside the room she looked over her shoulder at them. “You might want to wake up,” she said. “There’s going to be a little trouble.”

  She headed straight for the mayor’s office. She spotted him from a distance, talking to Leonard Lassitor. Lassitor was putting his coat on. The door was closed.

  Amanda opened it and walked in.

  Lassitor was buttoning his coat. He gave her a sharp look, and began moving toward the door. Amanda stepped in front of him, closed the door behind her.

  She felt closer to physical violence than she’d ever been before. She hadn’t prepared herself for this part of the confrontation. Up to now, Hurricane Harvey had dictated her actions, and she had just done what seemed scientifically necessary to make it through everything the storm had thrown her way. She stared at Lassitor with a hatred that welled up from deep within. It was a new feeling for Amanda Cole, and it made her feel dirty. But it also gave her strength. Leonard Lassitor had killed people, she was nearly certain. Her hatred was deserved.

  “Well,” the mayor said in a tired monotone. “I’m not surprised. What should I do now?”

  Amanda let the hatred shoot through her, then she let it slip away, and the rational scientific part of her brain took over again. “Arrest him.” She spoke with confidence and pointed at Lassitor.

  “It’s been a long night, Ms. Cole,” Lassitor said impatiently. “Excuse me. I’ve got to go out and serve the City some more.”

  “Wait,” the mayor said, standing.

  Amanda spoke to the mayor. “Where’d he tell you he was yesterday morning?”

  Lassitor answered: “This is New York. I got mugged, now I really must go.”

  “You were with your brother.” She watched his face.

  Lassitor’s eyes narrowed. His jaw quivered for an instant. It was all she needed. “Beasley’s dead. They found the drugs on his boat. FBI has it tied to you.” The last part was a lie, but he wouldn’t know that and it generated the desired response.

  “Shit,” Lassitor mumbled softly.

  It was just loud enough for the mayor to hear. The security guards were at the door. The mayor waved them in. Then he pointed at Lassitor.

  In Leonard Lassitor’s eyes, Amanda saw something like the death of a dream, one that had so consumed the man that he didn’t even resist as his hands were cuffed.

  ~ ~ ~

  EXCERPTED FROM HURRICANE HARVEY: CHRONICLE OF DEATH AND DESTRUCTION, BY NICHOLAS K. GRAY (2000)

  The death toll from Hurricane Harvey was remarkably low given the utter lack of preparedness throughout the Northeast, most notably in New York City. Though the totals are high in comparison to other modem-era hurricanes, they must be viewed under the light of circumstance: the highest winds at landfall of any storm since Camille in 1969 combined with a population largely ignorant to the dangers.

  In all, nearly 7,000 people perished. An unknown, but presumably high percentage of those deaths were people who chose to ignore evacuation orders, or those who tried to evacuate when it was too late. The highest concentration of casualties was in New York (especially south-facing beaches of Brooklyn, Queens and Long Island) and along the Jersey Shore. Fewer than 200 deaths were reported in the rest of the Northeast, mostly in Connecticut.

  The dollar cost of the storm is another story, one that will be adjusted for years to come as insurance companies battle resulting lawsuits and scholars argue over what to include. Conservative estimates to date, however, put property damage alone at more than $200 billion. (Compare that to Hurricane Andrew, the 1992 Florida storm that caused, in today’s dollars, less than $30 billion in damage.) Nobody has begun to calculate the overall costs of the storm (lawsuits, lost business, etc.) which will likely dwarf the property damage. Some examples:

  Two weeks after the storm, there was still no rail service into or out of New York City, the lines hampered by flooded tunnels and destroyed tracks, especially in the New Jersey Meadowlands.

  Intracity subway lines were functioning on a limited basis. Streets, many of which were torn up and have yet to be repaired, were overcrowded beyond anything New Yorkers ever imagined.

  Dozens of basement-level parking
garages, including the one beneath the World Trade Center, were still brimming with water and unusable.

  Entire neighborhoods along the south-facing shores of Brooklyn are gone.

  The area’s major bridges all reopened within a week of the storm, but every single auto tunnel leading to and from Manhattan was still closed to traffic and there were no firm estimates on when they would re-open.

  None of the area seaports were functional. Significant maritime shipping may never return to New York Harbor as the major shipping lines have been forced to contract with other Eastern ports.

  Air traffic has suffered nearly as much. Parts of JFK International Airport were under more than eleven feet of water. Most of the resulting silt and debris has still not been cleared. The control tower was heavily damaged by wind and several hangars were destroyed. The first flights are not expected to begin for another four to six weeks. LaGuardia suffered similar damage and is closed indefinitely.

  CHAPTER 59

  In the skies west of Manhattan

  Early September, 1999

  8:42 a.m.

  Amanda bent her head to peer out the window on the far side of the plane. The jet banked sharply and the New York City skyline disappeared from her view, leaving only the thin blue of a perfect late-summer sky.

  The plane bound for Miami was the first flight to leave Newark airport in two weeks.

  Sarah had her headphones on, listening to Winnie the Pooh on tape. Amanda draped her left arm around the girl and leaned over to Jack, who sat across the aisle.

  “They picked up Maximo Perez,” Jack said. “Lassitor buckled, told the Feds everything in exchange for partial immunity.”

  “I’m surprised,” Amanda said. “Dominican officials aren’t usually so cooperative, right?”

  “No. But Perez kind of wrote his own sentence. Seems he tried to shut up the local official, some guy named Santino, by kidnapping his daughter. Didn’t go over too well.”