Wyatt's Hurricane / Bahama Crisis

by Desmond Bagley

  A large-scale map was spread on one of the tables and they gathered round. Causton had watched with interest the interplay between Favel and Wyatt and he drew closer. Manning, in spite of his disbelief, was fascinated by the broad outline of tragedy which Wyatt had just sketched, and watched with as much interest as anyone. The less intellectual Fuller stood by with a half smile; to him this was just a lot of boffin’s bumf—everyone knew they didn’t have hurricanes in San Fernandez.

  Favel laid his hand on the map, squarely in the middle of Santego Bay. ‘This tidal wave—how high will be the water?’

  ‘I’m no hydrographer—that’s not my line,’ said Wyatt. ‘But I can give you an informed guess. The low central pressure in the hurricane will pull the sea up to, say, twenty to twenty-five feet above normal level. When that hits the mouth of the bay and shallow ground it will build up. The level will also rise because of the constriction—you’ll have more and more water confined in less and less space as the wave moves into the bay.’ He hesitated, then said firmly, ‘You can reckon on a main wave fifty feet high.’

  Someone’s breath hissed out in a gasp. Favel handed a black crayon to Wyatt. ‘Disregarding the high winds, will you outline the areas likely to be affected by flooding.’

  Wyatt stood over the map, the crayon poised in his hand. ‘The wind will be driving the sea, too,’ he said. ‘You’ll get serious flooding anywhere below the seventy-foot contour line all around the bay. To be safe, I’d put it at the eighty-foot line.’ He dropped his hand and drew a bold sinuous line across the map. ‘Everything on the seaward side of this line you can say will be subject to serious flooding.’

  He paused and then tapped the map at the head of Santego Bay. ‘The Rio Negrito will back up because of the force of the waters coming into the mouth. All that water will have to go somewhere, and you can expect serious flooding up the Negrito Valley for, say, ten miles. The hurricane will also precipitate a lot of water in the form of rain.’

  Favel studied the map and nodded. ‘Just like before,’ he said. ‘Have you studied the 1910 hurricane, Mr Wyatt?’

  ‘Briefly. There’s a shortage of statistics on it, though; not too much reliable information.’

  Favel said mildly, ‘Six thousand dead; I consider that a very interesting statistic’ He turned to Manning. ‘Look at that line, Charles! It encloses the whole of Cap Sarrat, all the flats where the airfield is and right up to the foot of Mont Rambeau, the whole of the city of St Pierre and the plain up to the beginning of the Negrito. All that will be drowned.’

  ‘If Wyatt is right,’ emphasized Manning.

  Favel inclined his head. ‘Granted.’ His eyes became abstracted and he stood a while in deep thought. Presently he turned to Wyatt. ‘The man near St Michel—did he say anything else?’

  Wyatt racked his brains. ‘Not much. Oh, he did say there would be another wind, perhaps worse than the hurricane. He said that Favel was coming down from the mountains.’

  Favel smiled sadly. ‘Do my people think of me as a destructive force? I hardly think I am worse than a hurricane.’ He swung on Manning. ‘I am going to proceed as though this hurricane were an established fact. I can do nothing else. We will plan accordingly.’

  ‘Julio, we’re fighting a war!’ said Manning in an agonized voice. ‘You can’t take the chance.’

  ‘I must,’ said Favel. ‘These are my people, Charles. There are sixty thousand of them in this city, and this city may be destroyed.’

  ‘Jesus!’ said Manning and glared at Wyatt. ‘Julio, we can’t fight Rocambeau, Serrurier and a hurricane, too. I don’t think there is going to be a hurricane and I won’t believe it until Brooks moves out. How the hell can we lay out a disposition of troops under these conditions?’

  Favel put a hand on his arm. ‘Have you ever known me make an error of judgement, Charles?’

  Manning gave an exasperated sigh, and it was as though he had yelled out loud in his fury. ‘Not yet,’ he said tightly. ‘But there’s a first time for everything. And I’ve always had a feeling about you, Julio—when you do make a mistake, it’ll be a bloody big one.’

  ‘In that case we’ll all be dead and it won’t matter,’ said Favel drily. He turned to Wyatt. ‘Is there anything you can do to provide any proof?’

  ‘I’d like to have a look at the sea,’ said Wyatt.

  Favel blinked, taken by surprise for the first time. ‘That is a small matter and easily provided for. Charles, I want you to see that Mr Wyatt has everything he needs; I want you to look after him personally.’ He looked at the writhing black line scored on the map. ‘I have a great deal of thinking to do about this. I would like to be alone.’

  ‘All right,’ said Manning resignedly. He jerked his head at Wyatt and strode towards the door. Wyatt and Causton followed him into the foyer, where Manning turned on Wyatt violently. He grasped him by the shirt, bunching it up in his big hand, and said furiously, ‘You bloody egghead! You’ve balled things up properly, haven’t you?’

  ‘Take your damned hands off me,’ said Wyatt coldly.

  Manning was perhaps warned by the glint of fire in Wyatt’s eye. He released him and said, ‘All right; but I’ll give you a warning.’ He stuck a finger under Wyatt’s nose. ‘If there is no hurricane after all you’ve said, Favel will let the matter drop—but I won’t. And I promise you that you’ll be a very dead meteorologist before another twenty-four hours have passed.’

  He drew back and gave Wyatt a look of cold contempt. ‘Favel says I’ve got to nurse you; there’s my car outside—I’ll drive you anywhere you want to go.’ He turned on his heel and walked away.

  Causton looked after him. ‘You’d better be right, Wyatt,’ he murmured. ‘You’d better be very right. If Mabel doesn’t turn up on time I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes.’

  Wyatt was pale. He said, ‘Are you coming?’

  ‘I wouldn’t miss any of this for the world.’

  Manning was silent as he drove them down to the docks past the looted arsenal of San Juan and on to the long jetty. ‘Will this do?’

  ‘I’d like to go to the end,’ said Wyatt. ‘If it’s safe for the car.’

  Manning drove forward slowly and stopped the car within a few yards of the end of the jetty. Wyatt got out and stood looking at the oily swells as they surged in from the mouth of the bay and the open seas. Causton mopped his brow and said to Manning, ‘God, it’s hot. Is it usually as hot as this so early in the morning?’

  Manning did not answer his question. Instead, he jerked his head towards Wyatt. ‘How reliable is he?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ said Causton. ‘I’ve only known him four days. But I’ll tell you one thing—he’s the stubbornest cuss I’ve ever struck.’

  Manning blew out his breath, but said nothing more.

  Wyatt came back after a few minutes and climbed into the car. ‘Well?’ asked Manning.

  Wyatt bit his lip. ‘There’s a strong disturbance out there big enough to kick up heavy swells. That’s all I can tell you.’

  ‘For the love of God!’ exclaimed Manning. ‘Nothing more?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Wyatt with a crooked smile. ‘You’ll get your wind.’ He looked up at the sky. ‘Wherever I am, I want to be told of the first sign of cloud or haze.’

  ‘All right,’ said Manning, and put the car into reverse. He was just about to let out the clutch when a heavy explosion reverberated across the water and he jerked his head. ‘What the devil was that?’

  There came another boom even as the first echoed from the hills at the back of St Pierre and Causton said excitedly, ‘Something’s happening at the Base. Look!’

  They had a clear view across the four miles of water of Santego Bay which separated them from the Base. A column of black smoke was coiling lazily into the air and Wyatt knew that it must be tremendous to be seen at that distance. He had a sudden intuition and said, ‘Brooks is evacuating. He’s getting rid of his surplus ammunition so that Serrurier can’t grab it.’ />
  Manning looked at him, startled, and then a big grin broke out on his face as, one after the other, more explosions came in measured sequence. ‘By God!’ he roared. ‘There is going to be a hurricane.’

  SEVEN

  Favel said tolerantly, ‘Because Charles seems pleased does not mean that he does not realize the gravity of the situation. It is merely that he likes to face reality—he is no shadow boxer.’

  The dining-room of the Imperiale was stiflingly hot and Causton wished that the fans would work. Favel had promised to get the city electricity plant working as soon as possible, but there was no point in it now. He unstuck his shirt from the small of his back and looked across at Wyatt. Manning isn’t the only happy man around here, he thought; Wyatt has made his point at last.

  But if Wyatt was more relaxed he was not too happy; there was much to do and the time was slipping away, minute by minute, while Favel airily tossed off inconsequential comments. He shrugged irritably and then looked up as Favel addressed him directly, ‘What is your advice, Mr Wyatt?’

  ‘Evacuation,’ said Wyatt promptly. ‘Total evacuation of St Pierre.’

  Manning snorted. ‘We’re fighting a war, dammit. We can’t do two things at once.’

  ‘I’m not too sure,’ said Favel in a low voice. ‘Charles, come over here—I want to show you something.’ He took Manning by the arm and led him to a table, where they bent over a map and conversed in a murmur.

  Wyatt looked across at Causton and thought of what he had said just before this conference began. He had been a shade cynical about Favel and his concern for ‘my people’. ‘Naturally he’s concerned,’ Causton said. ‘St Pierre is the biggest town on the island. It’s the source of power—that’s why he’s here now. But the power comes from the people in the city, not the buildings, and, as a politician, he knows that very well.’

  Wyatt had said that Favel seemed to be an idealist, and Causton laughed. ‘Nonsense! He’s a thoroughly practical politician, and there’s precious little idealism in politics. Serrurier’s not the only killer—Favel has done his share.’

  Wyatt thought of the carnage in the Place de la Libération Noire and was forced to agree. But he could not agree that Favel was worse than Serrurier after he had seen them both in action.

  Favel and Manning came back, and Favel said, ‘We are in trouble, Mr Wyatt. The American evacuation of Cap Sarrat has made my task ten times more difficult—it has released a whole new army of Government troops to assault my right flank.’ He smiled. ‘Fortunately, we believe that Serrurier has taken command himself and I know of old that he is a bad general. Rocambeau on my left flank is another matter altogether, even though his men are tired and defeated. I tell you—if the positions of Serrurier and Rocambeau were reversed then this war would be over in twelve hours and I would be a dead man.’

  He shook his head sadly. ‘And in these conditions you want me to evacuate the entire population of our capital city.’

  ‘It must be done,’ said Wyatt stolidly.

  ‘Indeed I agree,’ said Favel. ‘But how?’

  ‘You’ll have to make an armistice. You’ll have…’

  Manning threw back his head and laughed. ‘An armistice,’ he scoffed. ‘Do you think Serrurier will agree to an armistice now he knows he can crack us like a nut?’

  ‘He will if he knows there’s a hurricane coming.’

  Favel leaned forward and said intensely, ‘Serrurier is mad; he does not care about hurricanes. He knows this island does not have hurricanes. So you told me yourself in your account of your interview with him.’

  ‘He must believe it now,’ exclaimed Wyatt. ‘How else can he account for the evacuation of Cap Sarrat Base?’

  Favel waved his hand. ‘He will find that easy to rationalize. The Americans withdrew because they feared an assault from the mighty army of Serrurier, the Black Star of the Antilles. The Americans ran away because they were afraid.’

  Wyatt looked at him in astonishment and then knew that Favel was right. Any man who could banish a hurricane would automatically reason in that grandiloquent and paranoiac manner. He said unwillingly, ‘Perhaps you’re right.’

  ‘I am right,’ said Favel decisively. ‘So what must we do now? Come, I will show you.’ He led Wyatt to the map table. ‘Here we have St Pierre—and here we have your line which marks the limit of flooding. The population of St Pierre will be evacuated up the Negrito Valley, but keeping away from the river. While this is being done the army must contain the assaults of Serrurier and Rocambeau.’

  ‘And that’s not going to be too bloody easy,’ said Manning.

  ‘I am going to make it less easy,’ said Favel. ‘I want two thousand troops to supervise the evacuation. That leaves one thousand to withstand Serrurier on the right, and two thousand to contain Rocambeau on the left. They’ll have all the artillery, of course.’

  ‘Julio, have a heart,’ yelled Manning. ‘It can’t be done that way. We haven’t the men to spare. If you don’t have enough infantry to protect the guns they’ll be overrun. You can’t do it.’

  ‘It must be done,’ said Favel. ‘There is not much time. To move a whole population, we will need the men to get the people from their homes, by force if necessary.’ He looked at his watch. ‘It is now nine-thirty. In ten hours from now I do not want a single living being left in the city apart from the army. You will be in charge of the evacuation, Charles. Be ruthless. If they won’t move, prod them with bayonets; if that fails, then shoot a few to encourage the others. But get them out.’

  Wyatt listened to Favel’s flat voice and, for the first time, knew the truth of what Causton had implied. This was a man who used power like a weapon, who had the politician’s view of people as a mass and not as individuals. Perhaps it was impossible for him to be otherwise: he had the ruthlessness of a surgeon wielding a knife in an emergency operation—to cure the whole he would destroy the parts.

  ‘So we get them out,’ said Manning. ‘Then what?’

  Favel gestured at the map, and said softly, ‘Then we let Serrurier and Rocambeau have St Pierre. For the first time in history men will use a hurricane as a weapon of war.’

  Wyatt drew in his breath, shocked to the core of his being. He stepped forward and said in a cracked voice, ‘You can’t do that.’

  ‘Can’t I?’ Favel swung on him. ‘I’ve been trying to kill those men with steel, and if I had my way I would kill every one of them. And they want to kill me and my men. Why shouldn’t I let the hurricane have them? God knows how many of my men will be lost saving the inhabitants of St Pierre; they’ll be outnumbered five to one and a lot of them will die—so why shouldn’t the hurricane exact my revenge?’

  Wyatt momentarily quailed before those blazing blue eyes and fell back. Then he said, ‘I gave you the warning to save lives, not to take them. This is uncivilized.’

  ‘And the hydrogen bomb is civilized?’ snapped Favel. ‘Use your brains—what else can I do? This afternoon, when the evacuation is complete, my men will be in sole possession of St Pierre. I am certainly not going to leave them there. When they withdraw the Government forces will move in, thinking we are in retreat. What else would they think? I am not asking them to be drowned in St Pierre—they enter the city at their own risk.’

  ‘How far will you withdraw?’ asked Wyatt.

  ‘You drew the line yourself,’ said Favel remorselessly. ‘We will hold, as far as we can, on the eighty-foot contour line.’

  ‘You could withdraw further,’ said Wyatt heatedly. ‘They’d follow you on to higher ground.’

  Favel’s hand came down on the table with the sound of a pistol shot. ‘I have no wish to fight further battles. There has been enough of killing men. Let the hurricane do its work.’

  ‘This is murder.’

  ‘What else is war but murder?’ asked Favel, and turned his back on Wyatt. ‘Enough, we have work to do. Charles, let us see which men I can spare you.’

  He walked to the end of the room, leaving W
yatt shattered. Causton came over and put his hand on his shoulder. ‘Don’t worry your head about the policies of princes,’ he advised. ‘It’s dangerous.’

  ‘This is against all I’ve ever worked for,’ said Wyatt in a low voice. ‘I never intended this.’

  ‘Otto Frisch and Lise Meitner didn’t mean trouble when they split the uranium atom back in 1939.’ Causton nodded up the room towards Favel. ‘If you find a way of controlling hurricanes, it’s men like that who’ll decide what they’ll be used for.’

  ‘He could save everyone,’ said Wyatt in a stronger voice. ‘He could, you know. If he retreated up into the hills the Government forces would follow him.’

  ‘I know,’ said Causton.

  ‘But he’s not going to do that. He’s going to pen them in St Pierre.’

  Causton scratched his head. ‘That may not be as easy as it sounds. He’s got to stand off Rocambeau and Serrurier until the evacuation is completed, then he has to conduct a controlled retreat without being smashed while he’s doing it. Next, he has to establish his perimeter on the eighty-foot line and that’s a hell of a long line to hold with five thousand men—less what he’ll have lost while all this has been going on. And on top of all that he’ll have to dig in against the wind.’ He shook his head doubtfully. ‘A tricky operation altogether.’

  Wyatt looked at Favel. ‘I think he’s as power-mad as Serrurier.’

  ‘Look, laddie,’ said Causton. ‘Start thinking straight. He’s doing what he has to do in the circumstances. He’s begun something he’s got to go through with and in the dicey position he’s in now, he’ll use any weapon at hand—even a hurricane.’ He paused thoughtfully. ‘Maybe he’s not as bad as I thought. When he said he didn’t want any more battles, I think he meant it.’

  ‘He might well,’ said Wyatt. ‘As long as he comes out on top.’

  Causton grinned. ‘You’re getting an education in the political facts of life. Damn it, some of you scientists are bloody naive.’

  Wyatt said, with something of despair in his voice, ‘I’d have liked to have gone into atomic physics—my tutor wanted me to—but I didn’t like the end results of what they were doing. Now it’s happening to me anyway.’