The Savants

by Patrick Kendrick

  President Cooper stepped out of one side of the car and Homeland Security Director Finney appeared from the other side.

  James stepped up next to Dr. Pevnick and gazed out the window, his hands in his pockets. “I repeat, this is not a coincidence, Dr. Pevnick.”

  “You’re mistaken, James. The President’s visit has nothing to do with our project.”

  “A higher power has brought us together,” said James, mechanically. “I’m not attempting to make you believe in some paranormal gibberish. I’m stating a fact. And, I’m telling you, even miracles have mathematical probabilities. The number of sperm that try to reach the egg and only one of them, a special one, is allowed into the egg to create the miracle of life. That is a mathematical equation whether you subscribe to miracles or not.”

  “It’s biology, James. Science could show you how, and probably why, that one sperm made it into that egg.”

  Harvey bulled his way in between the two men at the window, his eyes spanning back and forth like a railroad crossing warning. “Are we going to meet the fu…fu…frigging President? Been wanting to say something to him for years.”

  Pevnick placed his hand on Harvey’s shoulder. “Yes, Harvey. You get to meet the President. But, maybe you should let me do the talking for now. Okay?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Dr. Pevnick stepped out onto the front gallery to meet President Cooper and his entourage of Finney and several Secret Service men. Mrs. Brown stood by discreetly. Cooper pulled ahead of his group and energetically mounted the steps leading up to the gallery, his hand extended. He was wearing a white, pressed shirt, sleeves rolled up, his blue-striped tie loose, no jacket, navy pants over black, laced-up shoes. He looked tired.

  “Stephen, good to see you again,” he said.

  “Well, it’s wonderful to see you again, Mr. President,” said Pevnick.

  “I’m sorry to barge in on you, but when I tell you what brought me here, you’ll understand my urgency.”

  “Of course, sir. Please, come in. Can I have Mrs. Brown bring you anything?”

  “That would be nice, you know I love her sweet tea if she has some made.”

  “Just made some a half-hour ago, along with some homemade oatmeal raisin cookies,” said Mrs. Brown, stepping around Dr. Pevnick.

  The President took her hand and gave a slight nod. “Hi, Mrs. Brown. You’re looking well.”

  Mrs. Brown blushed as most women did who met him. “Oh, thank you. And how is the First Lady?”

  “She’s well, thank you,” said President Cooper. “She’d be jealous if she knew I was here right now getting ready to chow down on your famous cookies. I could smell them coming up the drive.”

  “You’re too kind. Please come in and I’ll bring your refreshments to Dr. Pevnick’s office.”

  One of the Secret Service men stepped up to the President. “Excuse me, sir. Do you mind if we go ahead of you and do a quick check?”

  Cooper placed his hand on the agent’s shoulder and smiled. “Thank you, Smitty. But Dr. Pevnick is a friend of mine.”

  “But, sir…”

  Pevnick stepped in. “It’s okay, Mr. President. I’d rather everyone feel safe where you’re concerned. Come in, Agent Smith. Mrs. Brown can give you a quick tour…then bring the President and I some refreshments. Is that okay with you, Mrs. Brown?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  The group moved forward and into the home; the agents moved ahead quickly, efficiently, and quietly. Cooper and Pevnick sought out the doctor’s office, one agent silently following them. Director Finney stayed outside on the gallery, constantly making and receiving calls.

  Inside, the smell of warm cinnamon greeted President Cooper and gave him a feeling of well-being and comfort; the first he’d had since being briefed on the situation two days ago. It brought back memories of childhood, of family and good times and no worries, of playing on the beach in the summer and in the piles of fallen, golden leaves in the autumn. While so many people thought they’d like to have his job, the fact was, it is the most trying position in the world. Cooper thrived on its challenges, but he would not recommend it to anyone. It aged a person, and he knew it had him. He suddenly felt weary, the kind of fatigue that envelops a traveler after they finally make it home.

  Inside the office, Pevnick insisted on the President taking his own overstuffed leather chair, it’s brass buttoned surface worn to a perfect level of comfort, if not beauty, while he sat in a more practical chair across from him. They threw some chit-chat back and forth until Mrs. Brown delivered the tea and cookies and departed the room. Cooper’s face grew somber, his tone like that of someone preparing to deliver a eulogy.

  “Stephen,” began Cooper, “What I am going to share with you is extremely sensitive.”

  “Of course, Mr. President. I assume any time you have to make an emergency stop at my home…”

  “Please, call me Jack,” the President interrupted. “With what I’m going to tell you, I think we can drop some formalities.”

  “Okay…Jack. Is this a personal matter? If it is, I can assure you any counseling you might be considering would be confidential. I don’t even have to take notes…”

  Cooper smiled, briefly, at the suggestion. “It’s not that, Stephen, but thanks. I’ll keep it in mind. It’s certainly something I’ll consider if I, we, can get through this…well, I’ll just tell you what it is.” He paused, turning to look out the window of the office as if it might be the last time he’d see the ocean, this beautiful place.

  “The nation is on the verge of…a disaster, unparalleled in our history,” Cooper said. “There is a fault line that is failing along the eastern coast of the United States. It’s creating an underwater land mass that will, eventually—and very soon—collapse. I’m told it is inevitable and unstoppable. The shift will result in a massive tidal wave that will engulf most of the eastern seaboard. Casualty predictions and impact to businesses and communities are already projected. Within a very short while, we will begin to evacuate entire states. Of course, you can speculate the panic and chaos that most Americans will succumb to. We are exploring every contingency and mitigation effort. We have the best scientists in the world working on this, but the forecast is bleak, as you can imagine.”

  “My God…Jack,” Dr. Pevnick tried to consider the unbelievable pressure the man sitting across from him must be under; it was his instinct to do so. He still believed that Cooper was discussing this problem as part of a personal revelation, a cathartic process he must pass through in order to help stabilize his decisions. “What can I do for you?”

  “Not me, Stephen. The country. What I need you to do is some analysis; a psychological projection, if you will, of what will happen to…our people. I’m sorry to drop this responsibility on you like this, but none of us have the luxury of choice, or etiquette, right now. You’re the most qualified man I know who can assess the mass behavioral predictions, and I need to make a decision on the evacuation and relocation of literally tens of millions of people.”

  “Sir, I’m flattered, but other than the advisory work I’ve done with your Department of Homeland Security on rare occasions, I don’t have a lot of experience with emergency preparedness.”

  “This is no time to be modest, Stephen. I have people trained and knowledgeable in emergency preparedness, mitigation, and recovery. They know the logistics: how much food and water ten thousand, a hundred thousand, or a million people can consume; the number of vehicles and shelters needed to move and house entire communities. But, there are few people who can predict what kind of behaviors we can expect, other than anecdotal and historical models.”

  Pevnick leaned forward in his chair, unconsciously rubbing his hand over his face and up through his thick, unruly hair. “I understand and appreciate your confidence in me, Jack. I’ll get to work on it immediately, of course. I’ll need at least twenty-four hours, more if possible. It’s going to be a rough draft at best, but I’ll try to make predictions based on
the disaster data we compiled the last several years. The Katrina experience will help as a base of knowledge, I should think. The Malaysian tsunami, too, and certainly Japan’s disaster, which would include the secondary nuclear power plants’ crisis. I could expand, adding exponential quotients, then make some speculations. You’d have to realize that…it would be speculative at best.”

  Cooper smiled warmly, sipping sweet tea and nibbling at a still warm cookie. “Your speculations are more accurate than most science-backed theories I’m aware of. If we would have used the model you wrote about in your thesis twenty years ago, we would’ve had a better outcome in Louisiana and Mississippi, as well as those places in the Midwest affected by the number of tornadoes last year. We could have handled the aftermath of 9/11 better. We were reactive rather than proactive. We can’t operate like that anymore. I’m looking for some justification to uproot the entire eastern seaboard, then integrate those people into other cities and towns without disrupting those unaffected areas, too. I don’t want to place burden and hardships on those people who are lucky enough to survive. I’ve got scores of people working on the economic impacts, logistics, and contingencies. What I need from you is a sociological forecast, short and long term, if possible.”

  Pevnick had begun to consider the enormity of the task and had let his mind wander. Projections of an apocalyptic world filled with people who had turned to savagery from hunger and thirst oozed into his mind, like a memory of a plague that leveled the medieval era. He felt his stomach churn with anxiety but he took a deep breath and tried to show the confidence he knew the President expected of him.

  “I’ll do my best, sir, but you know disaster outcomes are nearly as impossible to predict as the disasters themselves.”

  “You were right on the money with your predictions for Katrina, Stephen. No one else was. Your work on the National Emergency Plan was solid, too, but it’s still not on the scale of what this event will be. I’ll need you to be just as sharp on this. Of course, I know it’s unprecedented. Do the best you can. That’s all—and everything—any of us can do anymore.”

  “I’ll need access to the logistical stats you were talking about, primarily to get some numbers, and full demographic city-by-city information.”

  “We’ve already anticipated that. I’ve talked to my staff and you have the highest security clearance for anything you need. The Defense Department will have the logistics. The Census Bureau should be able to give you demographics. Your contact will be Alan Finney, the Director of Homeland Security. He’s juggling two jobs right now since my Chief of Staff, Ken Fontana, passed last week.”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” said Pevnick. “I heard the news stories about that. A heart attack, was it?”

  “Yes. Unbelievable. Ken was in remarkable shape, avid cyclist and runner, always hiking or boating with his family. He was ten years younger than me and…irreplaceable. I’ve been at wits end without him. Alan agreed to double duty until I can find a replacement, but this crisis has kept me too busy to even think about that right now. He’s outside making phone calls and covering my backside right now, but he gave me this Blackberry to give you. It has all the phone numbers and contacts you’ll need, my cabinet, and every department director there is. If there’s something, or someone you need that’s not on there, call him and he’ll take care of it. Do you remember Alan?”

  “Sure do. He’s a sharp guy.”

  “He’s available twenty-four-seven for you. We all are. This is a team effort. None of us goes home or sleeps until we have some handle on this…situation.” Cooper paused as he stood and once more, caught himself drawn to a window. It dawned on him that the outdoors, even when separated from him by a pane of glass, gave him strength and comfort.

  “Stephen,” the President continued, “I know you’ll do a professional report, even with the time constraints. But, personally, I’ll want to know a few things outside of a report I’ll have to give to Congress. First, I want to know how this thing, in all probability, will affect the nation’s psyche. Will we pull together to endure a common crisis, or become a nation of desperate and warring bands of savages killing each other for a foot of higher ground? Second, I want to know how John Q. Citizen from Manhattan might react when he is permanently displaced, jobless, and living with a group of blue collar workers in portable housing in Farmland, U.S.A., and vice versa. Can we move rural folks into the cities? Try to think of all the diverse cultures pushed together. And lastly, please, for me, try to think: are there any words of strength I can offer the nation, to try to prepare them for what is going to happen?” Cooper paused, then added, “What grain of hope can we give them to endure?”

  Pevnick pondered the request for several moments before answering. “I’m no speech writer,” he said, finally, “but I think I know what you’re looking for. I’ll do my best. Some of it will be educated hunches.” Again he considered the enormity of the situation and the pressure the President must be under. His interest was always in behavioral science, but he was also a licensed psychiatrist. He felt compelled to offer some solace to the President, but could not find the words. “I…can’t believe this is happening, sir.”

  “That’s expected and understood, Stephen.” He placed his hand on Dr. Pevnick’s shoulder, knowing what he was trying to do. But as the President, he also knew he must live with the responsibility that came with this job, and that was often a lonely task by its very nature.

  Pevnick stood, and the two men shook hands, looking at each other’s face for what may be the last time. The gravity of the situation was so final, so uncompromising, that to continue a discussion seemed like a waste of precious time.

  “Well,” Cooper announced, “I should be going.”

  “Could you do me one small favor before you leave, Jack?” Pevnick asked hesitantly.

  “Sure. What is it?”

  “Say hello to some very special people?”

  “Of course. Are these the savants Alan told me about? By the way, is that the correct word for them?”

  “Yes, sir. They know they are different; they have been diagnosed by their own doctors and have come to terms with their differences. I appreciate you asking, though.”

  “Sure. I wish they had some protocols for this type of thing. I mean, common sense nowadays tells you we should refer to Down’s as just that, but I still hear people on my own staff referring to them as retarded.”

  “I understand,” said Pevnick, “but the savants—at least this group—do not see the word savants, in itself, as derogatory, unless it is connected with the antiquated ‘idiot savant’ people once used so freely. But, they know as well as I do they are certainly not idiots.”

  “You’re doing some sort of study with them?” the President asked.

  “Your people do their homework. Yes, that’s right. Sir, these are some of the most remarkable people I’ve ever met,” he said, his excitement obvious. “The world looks at them as if they’re defective, or handicapped. But, I’m telling you, they’re…miraculous,” said Pevnick, his cheeks glowing with pride. “I was going to test their limitations in an experiment that has never been done before: a group of savants working on a common project.”

  “No one has ever thought of that before?”

  “No. Can you believe it? They tend to be hidden in society, for the most part. If they do gain notoriety—and some of them have—they tend to work individually. By their nature, they don’t know or think in terms of a team concept.”

  “Hmm. Well, who are they?”

  As they made their way through the house, Pevnick briefed President Cooper on his unique group. “They’re an international collection, for sure. James Tramwell, he’s from England. He’s a translator by profession, but also does lightning calculations. He’s the one the media calls, ‘Brainiac,’ though, understandably, he doesn’t care for the term. He’s the most functional of the group.

  “Then, there’s Harvey Peet from Australia. Remembers everything and has read tens of t
housands of books. His knowledge is seemingly limitless, though he needs help doing small things like dressing himself, as do most of them, actually. The media refers to him as ‘Memory Man.’”

  The two men strolled through the Beehive—Cooper repeatedly glancing at his watch, as they approached the library. Pevnick continued his pre-introductions, accelerating his briefing when he noted the President’s increasing anxiety. “Then, we have Jeremy Clemens, a sculptor from France with uncanny mechanical skills. He also has what is known as perfect appreciation, that is, he inherently knows the exact time anywhere in the world, as well as coordinates, latitude and longitude. It’s like he is a human GIS gauge.”

  “Hmm. What do they call him?”

  Pevnick chuckled. “Well, they call him ‘Tool.’ Not very flattering, but accurate, I’m afraid.”

  Cooper’s now elusive smile reluctantly came back for the briefest of moments.

  “Lastly, there’s Etta Kim from Japan. We know the least about her, but she is able to design fantastical buildings and structures, all in three-dimension. She has an inherent knowledge of the ocean, can almost sense tide changes, and predicts hurricane paths with near unbelievable precision. In scientific studies, she has shown some extra sensory perception, not uncommon among savants, but remarkable if you’ve ever witnessed it outside a cheesy magic show. She doesn’t have a nickname, at least not yet.”

  The two men stopped for a moment as Dr. Pevnick pondered something. The house seemed too quiet. He’d already become accustomed to the savants arguing or pestering each other. Now, there was nothing and that feeling of dread he’d experienced came back to him like a flash flood.