The Savants

by Patrick Kendrick

  Vice President Proger was visibly upset, his face red; his collar suddenly appeared to be too tight. “Who gives a flap doodle about any of that crap?” he heatedly interjected. “We know it was a nuclear device. Hell, it caused a foot-high tidal surge that almost flooded the southern states along the eastern seaboard, and the resultant fish kill was definitely from radiation. We’re getting Geiger readings high enough for us to have closed the beaches throughout the Carolinas and Georgia.”

  “Excuse me, gentlemen,” said President Cooper. “What is a bhangmeter, and who is responsible for monitoring the—what did you call it—Vela project?”

  The scientists looked at each other worriedly, not sure which one should address the President. Finally, a bushy-haired man with intense dark eyes enlarged by thick lenses, Dr. Carl Edwards, an astrophysicist working with the Air Force, stood up sheepishly and cleared his throat. “Er…uh…bhangmeters, Mr. President, are the silicon photodiode sensors that are capable of monitoring light levels over sub-millisecond intervals. They are not very much different than the new adaptive optic lenses we are using in our Starfire Project, the…uh, laser-powered telescope project at Kirtland Air Force Base in New Mexico, though more primitive, of course.” He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a handkerchief and carefully, slowly, wiped the lenses of his glasses before continuing. “Still, they can detect a nuclear explosion within three thousand miles if they catch its unique signature: a short, intense flash, lasting about a millisecond, followed by a more prolonged but less intense emission of light. There is no natural phenomenon known that can produce this signature. And the answer to the second part of your questions is: we were. The United States originally funded the Vela project and are responsible for it, though the project has not been funded for some time…”

  “Let’s not start pointing fingers here,” cautioned Proger. “We agreed our primary mission for meeting here today was to assess what we are going to do if the fault line continues to deteriorate, and find out who was responsible for setting off the damn bomb in the first place. Are they going to do it again? Was this an act of war? Me, I think it was the Greek terrorist group, known as ‘November 17th.’ The Greek economy is in an unprecedented state and what better way to bring attention to a country’s plight than to explode a nuclear device?”

  Homeland Security Director Alan Finney, a sixty-year-old former police chief from Los Angeles, with a shaved head and chiseled features, spoke up, “We think the device was detonated by age, actually, Mr. Vice President. Dr. Heimel, may I ask you to explain?”

  Dr. Heimel stood up again, his oversized bow tie bobbing up and down on his Adam’s apple like a ball caught in his throat. “The device was most likely designed to become thermo; that is, it contained a spark plug, if you will, filled with fusion fuel, most likely lithium-6 deuteride. This lithium is highly reactive to water. The bomb’s casing deteriorated enough to allow sea water in, which reacted with the lithium and, in turn, detonated the bomb.”

  “Okay, okay, we got it,” Proger said. “The damn thing went off, but where the hell did it come from?”

  “You don’t know, Mr. Vice President?” Heimel asked. “I’m surprised, given you used to be the Secretary of the Defense a couple of regimes ago. It is one of yours. Specifically, one of the eleven nuclear devices your armed forces managed to lose.”

  “Oh, to hell with that,” said Proger, getting riled again. “Those idiotic myths have been floating around for years…”

  “This one happens to be true,” said Heimel, gaining confidence. “It is common knowledge among the scientific community that the Air Force jettisoned this bomb off the coast of Georgia some fifty years ago when a training mission was aborted after a mid-air collision. I cannot imagine who made the decision to leave a live nuclear bomb on a plane being used in a training mission, but, as the Vice President has said, we are not here to place blame, but to see what options we might have now. The bomb was an Mk-15, Model O, hydrogen bomb, one hundred times as powerful as the one used on Hiroshima,” he paused long enough to throw a glance at Dr. Hisamoto, as if forcing him by sheer will to recall the devastation meted out to Japan. He continued, his face twisted, his tone sour, “It has probably been leaking radiation, contaminating the crab-fishing waters for years. What is not known is how the bomb managed to move so far out to sea, and so far to the north.”

  “Or why the Air Force never retrieved it…,” said a voice from someone sitting three rows back.

  A deafening silence engulfed the cavernous conference room. Looks were exchanged among the group as the general feeling in the room turned tense and fearful, trust began to dissipate from the room like an air freshener gone dry.

  “If I may continue,” said Dr. Hisamoto.

  “Of course, doctor,” said Cooper. He was the nation’s peacekeeper and an ambassador to the world, a responsibility he never forgot, nor took lightly. He was exceedingly good at it and held the respect of the world like no president since Franklin Roosevelt. “Please. Stan, Alan, we’ll work on the intelligence part later.”

  Dr. Hisamoto removed a remote device from his inside suit pocket and pointed to a bank of screens that was arranged in a semi-circle around the conference table. The image that emerged on the screen showed the ocean floor, its surface obviously uneven. A gigantic cliff was jutting up, its vertical surface crumbling even as the mass continued to grow in height.

  Dr. Hisamoto continued, “My colleagues and I believe this is the scenario. This image you are viewing is a fault line along the continental shelf directly off the coast of Cape Hatteras. The tectonic plates that make up this structure have been shifting for years. It is possible that these shifts caused the bomb to move further out to sea slowly over the past fifty years. It was fortunate that the bomb moved away from the shoreline or the radioactive and explosive damage would have been much greater, as I’m sure Dr. Heimel can attest to. But, unfortunately, the bomb moved into such a position as to be lying along the edge of the tectonic plate that runs along the eastern seaboard. When it detonated, it created this vertical and escalating shelf that is, as you can see, deteriorating off Cape Hatteras. It is now evident that this fault line will fail, catastrophically, and very soon.” Hisamoto paused for a moment, taking in an audible breath, then continued, “The failure will cause this massive shelf to fall, which you see being generated now, creating an enormous tsunami.”

  President Cooper had been glued to the screen, leaning forward, his hand unconsciously placed over his mouth. He removed his hand, and asked, “How big of a tidal wave are we talking about, Dr. Hisamoto?”

  Hisamoto’s eyes blinked rapidly, appearing wet and shining. “I’m afraid it will be the largest tidal wave to ever hit the North American continent.” He paused, swallowing, then continued, “We estimate it will be some sixty to one hundred feet high, worse, it will be widespread. We think twice, perhaps three times the spread of the tsunami that struck Indonesia in 2004, and perhaps ten times the size of the one that struck Japan after the Tohuku quake in 2011. As you are aware, the secondary damage from the destruction of the three nuclear facilities exacerbated the catastrophe. Currently, the United States has one hundred and four nuclear plants. Over half of them are in the anticipated path of this tidal wave. They are not expected to withstand its forces.”

  The images on the screen changed to show the eastern coast of the United States taken from a satellite. A red overlay showed the approximate area of the projected tsunami strike. Dr. Hisamoto continued, “We believe the tsunami wave will extend as far north as New York and as far south as Florida. In other words, the entire east coast will be negatively impacted. The Gulf Coast states, even as far as Louisiana and Texas will be flooded. Some states, particularly Florida and all of the low lying coastal areas will be…completely submerged, at least for a while.”

  For a moment nothing was said, as a shaken Dr. Hisamoto looked nervously around the room. He seemed afraid to mention one last thing. “The radioactive fallout
will be widespread due to the tidal flooding. The affected area will be…unlivable for perhaps a century, or more.”

  “That’s a grim forecast, Dr. Hisamoto,” said President Cooper. “Have all of your colleagues agreed on such a negative projection?”

  “Yes, sir. We, the scientific community and I, have also agreed that…eh…”

  “Yes?” prompted the President. “What else have you agreed on?”

  Hisamoto looked around the room again, as if seeking help. “That there is nothing we can do to stop it.”

  “I see,” said Cooper.

  He got up from his seat and went to the window where he stood grasping his chin in his hand. Acid poured into his stomach, just as it would to any person under stress. But, in his case, there could be no relief, no one to share the burden of his responsibility. Images of faces, persons he’d met as the leader of the free world, and when he was campaigning for this thankless position, flashed through his head so quickly it almost made him dizzy. Farmers, bus drivers, café owners, retired men and women, cops, fire fighters, small business and giant corporation owners, cab drivers, small town mayors, sports giants and little league players, teachers and professors, students, linemen, pipe layers, carpenters, plumbers, and homeless veterans; in short, every type of American citizen, as well as those who were not yet citizens. He owed an immeasurable debt to each and every one. There were no days off, no down time, and no one to whom he could pass the buck. It was all him.

  As he stared through the window, the President of the United States watched a flock of birds flying, his ears ringing from the pressure in the room. He could smell the body sweat, the scent of aftershaves and perfumes and deodorant. The scent of smoke from the tobacco users. The smell of fear from everyone. He could smell his own skin, feel the stubble forming on his neck, his humanness, his own weakness to be able to fix this problem. He swallowed, and it was dry and painful, like eating a sandspur followed by heartburn. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but he kept watching the birds as they flew in a distinct V-shaped pattern. This comforted him for reasons he was not aware of; his breathing and heart rate slowed.

  Nervous murmuring filled the room and grew louder the longer he stood there, but he absorbed this tiny slice of peace. Finally, he turned and addressed the assembly, his countenance firm.

  “I almost wish this was a terrorist attack. At least it would make sense to America. How can I explain to our good citizens that this disaster has been caused by a bomb that we lost, then…then, what?” His eyes gleamed with subtle anger. “Were we too lazy to look for it? God help us. Alan, are the polls showing that the media believes what the Press Secretary told them?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Finney. “For now. We’re holding to the story that the explosion is of unknown origin, but we believe it to be a gigantic undersea volcano that erupted. The only media reporting evidence of radiation has been the tabloids…but we have another story about a meteorite striking that area that could explain the increased radioactive levels.”

  Cooper’s mouth was a flat line, the edges turned down in disgust. “That won’t last long. I’m surprised the New York Times hasn’t sent someone down with a Geiger counter already.” After a moment, he added, “Damn it! I hate deceiving the public, but it seems we have few choices here. What about our mitigation, our contingencies?”

  Finney stood up again, fatigue settling across his face like a weighted shadow as he delivered his bleak forecast. “As Dr. Hisamoto said, sir. Nothing can stop it. We can start evacuations all along the eastern seaboard but frankly, sir, we’re at a loss as to how that would turn out. Where would millions, tens of millions of people go? This would not be a short term evac. Where would they live? There’s no way we can house that many people or even come close to these numbers. What do they do now for work? Their businesses—entire communities—will be lost. Banks closed. How do we transport that many people? Is there enough fuel stored to allow that kind of mass migration? We’d have to use the entire might of our armed forces with this endeavor, and they would be spread so thin their efficacy would be questionable. The aftermath of Katrina showed us there will undoubtedly be widespread panic that would lead to random acts of violence and crime, looting, fuel and food hoarding. The economy will be destroyed in America as well as all those countries that depend on us. It would, rather quickly, affect the whole world.”

  Dr. Heimel stood again and addressed the group, “We’ve estimated the debris field which will, ahem,” he cleared his throat before continuing, “also contain unsustainable levels of radiation. It will be larger than the Gulf of Mexico and will negatively affect the coastline of Central and South America almost immediately before reaching the shores of Europe and Northern Africa, perhaps within weeks, if not days.”

  Cooper paced the room, aggressively now, his arms crossed, deep in thought. Like any other man, he thought about his family. His wife was probably out visiting schools that were well within the path of potential destruction. His son had just begun classes at Harvard, which was also in the danger zone. His daughter, born deaf, was probably working with her speech therapist at the White House. His stomach clenched when he realized she would never even hear emergency sirens if they went off. He struggled to keep his mind clear and on the nation’s needs more than his own. He once believed in miracles, but not at this moment.

  Secretary of State Michelle Badgewell, a distinguished woman in her mid-forties, shoulder length hair flipped up on the ends like a model from a shampoo commercial, interrupted his thoughts, “There has to be something. I’d be willing to hear anything, even a non-traditional…crazy idea…at this point. In this room, we have assembled perhaps the greatest scientific minds in history. Haven’t any of you thought of something we can do to counter this?”

  Dr. Hisamoto looked around the room, but it was a perfunctory exercise; he and his colleagues had already poured over the problem, night and day, since they were first made aware of it forty-eight hours ago. “This is a global incident that has never been encountered in our recorded history, Secretary Badgewell. Truthfully, there is nothing that can be done.”

  “You have a valid point, Dr. Hisamoto,” said the President. “I assume that is why the suggestion was made by the scientific community to keep the truth from the media?”

  “That’s partly correct, Mr. President. We were concerned about how this would affect the civilian population, globally. But, also, we were not sure how bad the situation was until some of our field people visited the site.”

  Hisamoto clicked his remote and changed the picture on the screen again. This time a video was projected showing the fault line, a huge crack caving in, growing not by inches but by feet, like a giant laceration in the skin of the earth that was ripping open.

  Cooper moved to the window again, staring out as if hoping he might find an answer beyond the confines of the room; there were none in the room. It was a beautiful pastoral day, the sky as blue as a baby’s bonnet, cotton ball clouds drifted by, almost skimming the tops of the evergreen canopy that surrounded the compound. It was as if nothing were wrong in the world. And again, the birds. Starlings, the President thought, flew by, in a semi-circle this time. Then a bee landed on the window and began frantically moving in a continuous circle. The President frowned as he watched it. A light sweat shined his forehead. “We’ll need some further analysis, at the very least,” he said, almost absently.

  “It is your prerogative, Mr. President,” said Hisamoto. “But there is nothing, physically, or scientifically, that can be done to stop this…incident. It would be like trying to stop a Category 5 hurricane or, well, an earthquake.” He dabbed the burn scar on his neck with a handkerchief.

  Cooper turned from the window, his face stern. “I understand and appreciate your candor, Dr. Hisamoto. But I was thinking more along the lines of forecasting how the event will affect those who are most threatened by it and what we can expect on a mass behavioral standpoint from those whom we assume will survive. In othe
r words, we’re going to have to have some strong ideas about how we’re going to deal with a recovery effort and what type of mass mentality we’ll be coping with. Alan?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Can you locate Dr. Stephen Pevnick for me?”

  Finney frowned and twisted his mouth, rubbed his neck, searching his memory for the name. “The behavioral specialist who worked with us last year on the National Emergency Plan?”

  “Yes, that’s him.” Cooper maintained his professional countenance, but in truth, he and Stephen Pevnick had grown to be friends when the scientist worked with his administration as an advisor on the new emergency plan. He knew him to be brilliant, methodical, but also intuitive. He needed a man like him right now. A man he could trust. A man with no agenda except to try to help people and bridge the gaps of misunderstanding.

  “Should be able to,” Finney stated. “Last I knew, he was beginning to work on another project. Something to do with…retarded people, I think…”

  Dr. Hisamoto interrupted, “Savants, sir. Not retarded, nor Down’s syndrome patients. Savants are persons with…extraordinary abilities.”

  Everyone in the room turned their attention to Hisamoto, as he continued, “I know of his project because he has borrowed, if you will, Japan’s most famous savant, Etta Kim. She’s a prodigious savant whose unique ability is designing things—engineering, I suppose you could say, though not in a traditional manner.”

  “That will have to wait, I’m afraid,” said Cooper. “Alan, get hold of him. Immediately. Tell him we need him for some analysis on a project of the utmost importance to national, even international, security.”

  “What if he’s not available, sir?”

  Cooper cocked his head to one side as if he couldn’t believe the question. He wanted to convey the importance of bringing the man on board, but not reveal their friendship. In spite of the new transparency of government, it was not always a good or safe thing to reveal friendships. They could be compromised.