“Christ, no wonder everyone’s in a panic out there,” said Kelly. “They’re all running to get home and call grandma! Anybody have relatives on the east coast?”
“It will take eight or nine hours after the eruption for the tsunami front to cross the Atlantic,” said Dorland. “If the eruption occurred just after 4:00 AM, GMT, that would be 8:00 PM our time—just when we arrived here for the meeting. Add six hours and that would put high water on the coast of Brazil at about 2:00 in the morning our time, and the Eastern Seaboard of the US will get slammed about two hours later. Probably around 4:00 AM our time, or just about dawn back east.”
“But won’t the waves have time to dissipate as they cross the Atlantic?” Kelly was hopeful, but Dorland knew the worst of the disaster was still ahead.
“I’m afraid not. Actually, the waves won’t seem so bad as they cross the Atlantic—at least to ship traffic in deep water. They’ll notice the increased ocean swell, but not much else. When all that water begins to hit the continental shelf, however, we’ll begin to get real wave formation. The water has to go somewhere as it approaches the coastal shallows. The deep ocean swells will begin to build as wave run-ups.”
“You mean it actually gets worse as it reaches the coast?”
“Much worse,” said Dorland.
“It’s the end of the world!” Nordhausen chimed in.
“Hell, it’s not going to be funny, Robert.” Paul didn’t like the hint of levity in Nordhausen’s tone. “Do you have any idea how much damage a seventy meter wave sequence will do to the Eastern Seaboard? If it’s ninety meters or more this is going be a real catastrophe.”
“A lot of people live on that coastline. Can you imagine the panic back there? The roads must be jammed!” Nordhausen thought for a moment. “I mean, there they were, sleeping quietly while we were sitting here waiting for Kelly. Then word comes in that the entire Eastern Seaboard is threatened by a ninety meter tsunami—Lord, that’s approaching three-hundred feet—and everyone within twenty miles of the coast needs to be evacuated at once!”
“I’ve got a station in D.C.,” Kelly had taken good advantage of the time to wrest control of the shortwave. “Listen up..”
“…Please stay tuned to your local emergency broadcast frequency at all times. To repeat again, the Office Of Emergency Preparedness, in conjunction with the National Weather Service and FEMA, has issued a mandatory evacuation order for all coastal cities on the east coast of the United States. This affects all communities from Eastport, Maine and south to the Florida Keys. Citizens are advised to leave immediately and head inland to a safe distance of at least thirty miles from the Atlantic Seaboard. A severe tsunami warning is now in effect for the entire east coast of the United States and all Islands of the Caribbean Sea and Atlantic. Please stay tuned to your local emergency broadcast frequency at all times for important updates…”
The tension of the moment was broken by the clatter of a coffee mug falling to the floor. They all turned to see Maeve stooping to reach for it by the coffee station, a look of real distress on her face.
“Calm down, Maeve,” Nordhausen put in. “We have nothing to fear here on this coast.”
Kelly suddenly remembered something, and he got up at once, rushing over to Maeve’s side to help her up. He folded an arm around her slim shoulders and guided her over to the study table. “Come sit with us, Maeve.” His voice softened, comforting, understanding something the others were not aware of.
“It’s my mother,” said Maeve, her eyes glassy as she spoke. “She’s in Boston, and there’s no way that woman is going to hear about this tonight. She’s eighty two years old and…”
Kelly helped her into a chair and the others took in the moment with a bit of silence. The radio droned on and Kelly reached out to cut the volume. “Like I said,” he began. “We aren’t going to the play tomorrow.”
“Sorry, Maeve,” said Paul.
“Can I get you anything?” Kelly was very pleased to turn the tables on her now and take up the role of the caretaker.
“A cup of decent coffee would be nice, if you can find anything left in the professor’s larders.” Maeve rested her elbow on the study table, her chin in the palm of her hand.
“Guess I’m not so unlucky,” said Paul. “My folks died a peaceful death a few years back. I’ve got relatives in Western Pennsylvania, but the only danger they may be facing is the chaos that will likely result when the tide of refugees pours west from the coast. Who knows how far the water will push inland? Something tells me the human flood may be just as bad as the real thing. How about you, Robert—Any relatives back east? ”
Nordhausen was on the radio again. “Quiet everybody,” he said. “Just got report of an oil tanker in the Atlantic that put out an S.O.S. The report says the ship reported heavy seas and severe ocean swells, but she’s still afloat. She was about fifty nautical miles west of the Azores. It seems there’s an early hurricane out there to complicate things even further.”
“The Azores are gone,” said Paul. “Another three hours and the tsunami will reach Bermuda. It’s little more than a glorified sandbar. Elevation doesn’t exceed 80 feet anywhere on the island. The wave front will wipe that place clean and the east coast gets hit a bit later. You could still call your mother, Maeve.”
“The line is dead,” Maeve said sullenly. “I tried a few minutes ago.”
“Probably the storm, or everyone trying the same idea. The telephone circuits must be jammed.”
“I don’t suppose it would make much difference if I could call.” Maeve had a resigned look on her face. “She’s an eighty-two year old woman, Paul; with a bad hip. Should I call her up and tell her that a giant wave is about to…”
Kelly put his arm around her. Nordhausen went off to rummage about in his cupboards for a trace of coffee. Dorland had a vacant look on his face. “Well, I was wondering if we would see one in our lifetime,” he began, “and now I’m fairly certain we have. I thought nine-eleven came close back in 2001, but it will pale beside this. History is unveiling one of her most defining mysteries, people. We’re going to live through a Grand Imperative—though a lot folks on the east coast aren’t going to be so lucky. Sorry again, Maeve. I’ll shut up.”
“I’m all right,” Maeve raised a hand. “Better if we talk about it. I think it’s going to be a very long night.”
“And we’re out of coffee,” said Nordhausen. “Anyone for tea?” He came back to the table holding a tin of Earl Grey.
“The casualties will be extreme, I’m afraid.” Paul was rambling on. “A wave that high will sweep right over Manhattan Island. Hell, the highest ground in New York is only about 280 feet at Bennett Park. Ditto for Brooklyn and the Bronx. Staten Island has high ground at the landfill—I think over 400 feet, but how many people will want to be clinging to the top of a big rubbish heap when the tsunami hits?”
“What about the buildings?” Nordhausen set the tea tin down on the table. “The Empire State Building is over a thousand feet high.”
“If it stands,” said Paul. “Look how easy it was to topple the World Trade Center. The wave front will hit with tremendous force. To make matters worse, the weather channel said it was high tide tonight, and that hurricane off the coast will just make things worse. I wouldn’t be surprised if the initial wave front knocks down an awful lot of concrete on Manhattan. That will just be the beginning, though. This isn’t just one big wave heading west from Palma; it’s a sequence of waves.”
“Not exactly a tempest in a teapot.” Nordhausen set an empty tea pot down on the study table. “And this thing will effect the entire east coast?”
“As far north as Greenland,” said Paul. “Here…” he took out a pen and began tracing lines on the atlas map. “I hope you don’t mind, Robert.” Nordhausen gave him a dismissive nod, and Dorland continued drawing. He finished and slid the map into the center of the table. “That’s how the wave pattern should look about six hours after the eruption.”
Nordhausen stared at the map. His eyes narrowing with concern. “I see,” he said. “Brazil, Venezuela, all the Caribbean islands…”
“Florida is going to get hammered,” said Dorland. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the water sweeps all the way over the peninsula into the Gulf of Mexico. Hundreds of thousands of people are going to die when the sun comes up on the east coast tomorrow. Imagine it! All those time lines are going to be changed forever. The Meridians all end with the Palma Grand Imperative.”
“Good Lord, Paul,” said Nordhausen, “you aren’t going to start in with your time theory again are you? I’d take a clue from Kelly there. The project is off. We aren’t going anywhere tomorrow. I never thought we were in the first place, Grand Imperative or not.”
“Wait a second,” said Kelly. “Who said the project is off? It’s more important than ever now!”
“Oh, it’s a wonderful idea,” Nordhausen jibed at him, “but you don’t honestly think we would just excuse ourselves in the face of the greatest national catastrophe in history and amble off to the year 1612 to take in a play, do you?”
“Or look for the damn Bermuda Pamphlets.” Maeve took up the thread of her argument with Nordhausen again, but Kelly was shaking his head.
“You don’t understand,” he said. “We’ve got the project Arch all configured for 1612, but I can run new numbers for anywhere else you’d care to go. Perhaps we can do something about this.”
“It’s an Imperative, Kelly,” Paul frowned as he rubbed his chin. “It’s a natural event, not a willful event. There’s nothing we could possibly do to prevent the eruption.”
“Well we could warn people!” Kelly kept trying.
“Oh, that would be a sight,” said Nordhausen. “We’ll all dress up in emergency gear and take a short range jaunt, say five or ten days before the eruption? Then we can run around telling everyone the east coast is about to be destroyed.”
“You know that’s impossible,” said Dorland “We can only go back to a time beyond our own Life-Shadow. You can’t go to any time you actually lived. That’s Paradox with a capital P, and it can’t happen.”
“Of course it can’t happen,” said the professor. “The shortest jump we could make, assuming we could jump at all, would have to be to a time before any of us were born—well before we were born so we couldn’t possibly interfere with our own potential time lines.”
“It’s an Imperative event,” Dorland put in again. “We can’t change it, no matter where we go.”
A knock on the door surprised everyone in the room.
“Who could that be?” Kelly got up and started for the door.
“I’m not expecting anyone,” said Nordhausen. “Probably local police with a civil defense warning.”
“Probably one of those idiots running around in the street,” said Kelly. He twisted the door knob and pulled open the door. A frail, elderly man was standing in the shadows just outside. The noise of the tempest raging through the Bay Area surged into the room on a gust of cold air. “Yes?” Kelly poked his head around the edge of the door, peering into the darkness as he tried to make out the stranger’s face.
“Kelly Ramer?” The visitor’s voice spoke in a near whisper.
“Yes, I’m Mr. Ramer.” He could see that the man was dressed in a heavy overcoat, but that he didn’t seem to be wearing any kind of official uniform. “What is it?” He guessed. “Don’t tell me my car is in someone’s way out there.” The minute he offered the statement he knew how ridiculous it was. How would anyone know that the forest green Subaru with one wheel on the sidewalk outside Nordhausen’s private study belonged to Kelly Ramer?
“Thank God,” the man said. “You’re alive.”
“What?” Kelly was completely confused now.
“Who is it, Kelly?” Maeve came up behind him, her hand on his arm. “Well, invite the man in, dear.”
“Maeve Lindford?” The man stepped forward and the light from the study illuminated his face. He seemed old, perhaps seventy years by the well entrenched gray of his hair. His features were drawn with fatigue, and he paused a moment to look at his wrist watch. “10:45,” he said in a low voice. “I’m a bit early, but no harm. The tape has run out.” He looked up with a smile tugging at the lines around his eyes. “I’ve brought you a little gift, Maeve.”
The man reached into his heavy overcoat and drew out a small parcel. Maeve squinted, then saw what he was holding. A puzzled look came over her features. “A delivery? At this hour?” She instinctively reached out to take hold of the small dark brown bag in the man’s hand, recognizing it at once as a bag of Peets coffee. She raised it to her nose, taking in the aroma of freshly roasted coffee beans.
“May I come in?” The stranger smiled as Maeve looked at the label on the bag. It was Major Dickason’s blend.
3
The Nordhausen Study: Berkeley, California - 10:45 PM
Lightening flashed in the open doorway, and they ushered in the stranger as the resulting peal of thunder rumbled in the distance. The man tramped in, his outer coat and hat sodden with the rain. There was a strange howling on the wind, as if a pack of dogs was trailing in the man’s wake. He paused for a moment, a glimmer of fear and uncertainty in his eyes. The cold air seemed to surround him with a pale, frosty aura. Everyone in the room just looked at him, until Maeve, her social sensibilities more honed than the others, extended an arm and pointed the way to the study table where Dorland and Nordhausen were still hunched over the atlas.
“You’ve come a long way in this weather.” Maeve was still a bit nonplussed. “Peets is on the other side of town.”
“A very long way indeed,” said the stranger.
“Here, let me take your coat and hat, and please make yourself comfortable. Was this a special order? I had no idea Peets would make a delivery like this, but I must say, you couldn’t have come at a better moment. Will you join us? We were just about to brew a fresh pot.”
“I’d be delighted.” The man nodded, his ashen mustache wagging a bit as his features strained to a smile. He had a pale aspect, and he seemed very frail.
“Let me make the introductions.” Maeve was shifting social gears nicely, glad for the odd distraction from the tension of the moment, and glad to put aside the thoughts that were simmering in her mind; the image of a titanic wall of water sweeping into Boston Harbor and obliterating the quaint New England style cottage where her mother was probably sleeping quietly in her bed—dreaming away the last few hours of a very long life.
“This is Paul Dorland, and Professor Robert Nordhausen.” She paused, a strange look in her eye. “You seem to already know Kelly, but I’m sorry, I can’t recall meeting you. Forgive me. I’m sure I’ve been in your store a hundred times. Perhaps we met there? Mr…?”
The obvious question in her voice invited the stranger to answer. She was helping him out of his overcoat, and he reached up to remove his hat as he spoke, smiling graciously. He ran a weathered hand through his sparse gray hair.
“Excuse me,” Kelly closed the door and came up from behind, thinking the man had come to see him about something. “Was there some problem I can help you with?”
“No problem, Kelly,” said Maeve. “He was just making a delivery.” She had the closet door open and was fishing for a coat hanger.
“Well it’s just that…” Kelly thought a moment, smiling. “You seemed surprised to see me a moment ago and—”
“Count your blessings,” Maeve shot over her shoulder. “For someone to come out with a pound of coffee on a night like this is well beyond the call of duty. Let me get my wallet here, before I forget, and I can pay you for this.”
“Please,” the stranger held up a hand. “Don’t trouble yourself. I’m afraid you misunderstand. Yes, I’ve just come over from Peets, but I—” He paused, hesitating for a moment and looking at his watch. “May I sit down?” The man seemed to be somewhat winded.
“Be my guest.” Nordhausen pulled out a chair at the study table
and the visitor sat down as the others gathered around.
There was an awkward moment of silence before the visitor spoke up. “Well, I’m afraid this can’t be helped.” He looked at his wrist watch, and Kelly had a puzzled expression on his face as he seated himself. Dorland was watching the man very carefully, his forehead furrowed with concentration.
“Phillip Graves,” the man introduced himself. “I suppose you’ve heard the news?”
“Indeed!” Nordhausen scratched the back of his head. He had noted Paul’s silence, and suddenly had a funny feeling about the unexpected visitor. This was very odd. Why would Peets send over a pound of coffee at this hour of the night? They didn’t deliver coffee at any hour. He struggled to get on top of the situation, but Maeve asked the question first.
“Did one of you lovely gentlemen order this?” She held up the bag of coffee with a glint in her eye. “Robert?” It was logical to assume that Nordhausen was the guardian angel, as the coffee had come to his study address.
“I’d love to think I was that considerate, but I must confess I know nothing about this. Does Peets deliver?”
“Paul?” Maeve smiled in Dorland’s direction. “Did you place an order for tonight’s meeting and forget about it again?”
Dorland glanced at Maeve for a second, but his gaze slipped back to the visitor. He spoke to Maeve, but his eyes swept over the man, focusing on the stranger with a keen inner assessment. “Mr. Graves doesn’t work for Peets, Maeve.” There was a blunt tone to his voice. “He was just was about to tell us he’s come for some other reason.”
The statement focused immediate attention on the visitor, and another awkward silence ensued. The man met Paul’s gaze, a strange mixture of admiration and fear in his eyes. He seemed very anxious, and Nordhausen noticed a sheen of perspiration on the stranger’s brow in spite of the chill on the room from the blast of cold air. He looked at Paul, and then turned to the visitor again with a hint of suspicion adding definition to the corners of his mouth.
Meridian - A Novel In Time (The Meridian Series) Page 5