“I’ll hold down the fort,” she said. “You’ll call in?”
“Of course,” he said. “Like always.”
Two
* * *
The man with the outsized black eyeglass frames looked exhausted. The large pouches under his lifeless eyes, magnified by the thick lenses, were a sickly gray. The thin, white hair on his head was tousled and uncombed, a victim of the wet and windy weather that was raking Washington this day. His fat fingers played with the knot of his tie and for a moment it appeared he might loosen it, but he changed his mind, removed his hand and planted it on top of the blue-covered report he had just placed on the desk. As he spoke, his fingers tapped the cover.
“There are no options,” Robert Graves said, his voice raspy from having smoked too many cigarettes. It was a pronouncement, uttered by a man uninviting of dissent, made in a tone of voice chosen to discourage further discussion.
There were two of them in the small Washington office. The visitor was Robert Graves, executive director of NADAT, a 60-year-old veteran bureaucrat, a civilian who’d worked with three different departments of the Pentagon for most of his life. He’d given so many secret briefings and lectures that his manner of speech, once an affectation, was now second nature. When he spoke, he sounded more like a displaced Englishman or failed Shakespearean actor than a man who’d been born and brought up in the Lower East Side of New York City
The office belonged to Michael Davis, a liaison man between certain Pentagon departments and the Joint Chiefs. He was ten years Graves’s junior and new to the position. Both factors made him relatively unsure of himself, a condition that was evident to the canny Graves.
The man from NADAT removed his heavy glasses, closed his eyes and rubbed the sides of his nose. Meetings such as this one were galling to him. Granted, the procedures had been formulated by Graves himself, part of the overall system he’d developed over two decades ago. But now, in his later years, he found it demeaning that he should still be required to use middlemen with limited intelligence to act as go-betweens between himself and those who were the ultimate recipients of his expertise.
Belatedly and to no avail, he’d tried to have the system changed. But those he’d served so well and faithfully over the years had determined that his original concept was perfection and saw no need to make adjustments. As one had put it, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” Graves had wanted to vomit upon hearing the statement.
With his eyes still closed, he continued with his presentation, his face cloaked in a mask of what Davis perceived to be false concern. “Aside from all military personnel and equipment, which we’ll move under cover of announced exercises, there’s the problem with essential defense contractors.
“The logistics are staggering. Our resources are almost exclusively devoted to this problem. People, data, equipment … much of it will have to be moved in complete secrecy, a forbidding challenge. We simply cannot afford to lose that much production capacity. We might never catch up. As a cover, we’ll move some of the less strategic elements overtly, an operation that, I am sure, will raise more than a few eyebrows. It can’t be helped.
“But aside from that, there can be no other action.”
Graves opened his eyes and repositioned his glasses.
“We have been handed,” he went on, “a gift, one might say. Until now, most of our concerns have been focused on the activity associated with the San Andreas fault, these new ones being undiscovered until recently. Fortunately, the inevitability of a major earthquake somewhere in California forced us to carefully examine a score of scenarios. The discussions have benefited from the input of the best available minds. In every case, the majority opinion was the same. Evacuation is simply impossible. Other than those items I have already mentioned, the only answer is to do nothing.”
Michael Davis could feel the color rising to his cheeks. Despite the careful tutoring centering on the need for discretion at all times, he wasn’t about to let such statements go unchallenged.
“Do nothing?” he exclaimed, a note of pure astonishment in his voice. “That’s not an answer. That’s nothing! Surely, you don’t expect me to deliver that message to the Joint Chiefs! They’ll have a fit!”
Graves looked at him as one might look at a man busy picking his nose in an expensive restaurant. “In this case,” he said, “I think you’ll find the opposite to be true. Doing nothing is the only answer. An earthquake is an act of God. Interjecting ourselves into such a cataclysmic natural phenomenon is both foolish and nonproductive. It accomplishes nothing.
“I’ve forwarded transcripts of some of the most relevant discussions for your perusal. I’m sure, after you read them …”
“I have read them,” Davis interrupted. “And I think you are all making a serious mistake. Some of your conclusions are simply unacceptable. You’ve dismissed all of the other options out of hand.”
“For good reason,” Graves shot back. “The quake itself is largely theoretical. There’s no proof that it will take place. And that is the very crux of the problem. To take action at this time, when we have only a theory … would mean leaving ourselves open to serious political and financial repercussions.”
For a moment, the room was silent. “You people,” Davis said, finally, the anger now clear in his voice, “are so insulated from the real world, I doubt you have any true comprehension of what goes on in the average person’s mind. The only people you talk to are each other. Your reports are filled with wonderful analyses that justify your positions, but what you’re supposed to be doing is perfecting the very options you say aren’t warranted. I find that unconscionable.”
Graves’s eyes began to show some life. He wasn’t used to being upbraided and he didn’t like it. “It’s all very well for you to sit there and pretend you are possessed of some infinite wisdom handed down from on high,” he said, fairly bristling with indignation, “but whatever talents you possess most certainly lie in other areas. I, on the other hand, have spent a lifetime studying situations that parallel what may lie ahead.
“You might be surprised to know that I am convinced that this earthquake is imminent, despite the strong arguments presented by some detractors who have studied the data and found it wanting. In my view, Mr. Gifford and Mr. Wilson have shown themselves to be dedicated professionals. Their detractors are, I think, more concerned with their own reputations than anything else. Their protestations must be taken in that light.
“No matter. The path I have chosen is presented with considerable insight. In short, Mr. Davis, I know what I am talking about. You don’t. If you want to argue the point with your superiors, you do so at your peril. My advice would be to step softly.”
He waited for a response, but received only a hard stare.
“Any attempt,” Graves said, reiterating his position, “to evacuate Los Angeles will be an unmitigated disaster. Certainly, there have been situations in smaller centers where evacuation has been carried out effectively, during floods or hurricanes, but they were on a relatively small scale. The evacuation of Los Angeles would involve ten million people.
“If, as you say, you have read the transcripts, you will have learned that in order to control the situation, you’ll need, at the very least, three hundred thousand troops to augment the civil authorities. We simply can’t spare them. We’ll be using every available man to assist in the movement of vital defense material. Without troops to supervise the evacuation, there is no control whatsoever. You’ll have rioting, looting, all manner of problems in what amounts to total anarchy! And if you were to provide the troops, do you seriously suggest that they be exposed to the unnecessary dangers of protecting soon-to-be-useless property from gangs of looters? Not to mention the possibility that they could be killed in the quake itself. It would be stupid.
“As I said earlier, we must take steps to protect the troops, not expose them to unnecessary dangers. As for the methodology employed, leading to our conclusions, certain assumptions are
absolute. There will always be a percentage of people who positively refuse to leave. Are they to be hauled away in front of drooling television reporters? How do you think that will look?
“What about the hospitals? Can you imagine trying to move terminally ill people through streets clogged with refugees? The street gangs! Have you thought about them? They would have a veritable feast! And the other hundred thousand misfits? What do you think their reaction would be? You haven’t had the opportunity to consider these things but I have!”
He stopped and wiped a handkerchief across his lips. “And for those who do agree to leave … do you seriously believe that ten million people are going to walk away from possessions they have spent their life accumulating?
“No!” he said, answering his own question. “They’ll want to take everything they own with them. Especially if they think there will be nothing to come back to. As I said earlier, the streets will be full of refugees using cars, trucks, trailers … whatever they can get their hands on … to haul their worldly goods along with them. A total debacle. Roads and highways would become hopelessly gridlocked, completely ruining our chances of moving those essential elements. An intolerable situation.
“And where will they go? Many of them are mortgage poor now. Their houses will be worth nothing. They will have no borrowing power, no jobs. Nothing. Who will feed them? Where will we find the jobs for them? Don’t you see? It’s totally impossible!”
Davis’s body stiffened. He seemed to be hearing the man for the first time, his face reflecting the horror that roiled within. His jaw slack, his eyes wide, he said, “You … you’re seriously suggesting that it is better for millions of people to die? You can’t possibly be serious! It’s inhuman!”
Again, Graves removed his glasses and rubbed his nose. Replacing them, he said, “I’m not suggesting that at all. There are steps … but that is not your concern. The purpose of my briefing today is confined to the subject of evacuation. That is your province. Nothing else. On the other hand, if, and I repeat, if … there actually is an earthquake of the magnitude predicted by these people, it will be the biggest natural disaster in the history of the world. The entire planet will want to lend assistance. Money, people, medical supplies … all of it will be available from all over the world. For a change, the United States will be on the receiving end of a massive relief undertaking. That in itself can be a tremendous unifying force in the world. It may be the very thing that will unlock the doors to understanding that we’ve been seeking for so many years. I’d call that kind of thinking very humanistic. Very humanistic indeed.
“But nothing will happen before the quake hits. Attempts to convince the citizens of Los Angeles that an earthquake is about to destroy them will fall on deaf ears, I assure you. They will not be swayed by official government statements. They are suspicious of anything the government says as it is. They will see this as some insidious plot. We can’t have that.”
Again, the room grew silent. Graves seemed exhausted after his tirade. Davis looked almost ill.
“You said there were some steps … outside my purview. Surely, in view of the circumstances, you could be a little more forthcoming. I am, after all, cleared to the highest levels.”
A small smile appeared on Graves’s lips. This was the part he relished almost more than anything else. Perhaps it would have been possible to tell this minor official some of the other details, but why should he? He’d asked to be allowed to make his reports directly and had been rebuffed. The classifications were quite inviolate, classifications that had been established by others. They, therefore, would be the ones to live with that decision.
To Davis, he said, “Not the highest level, I’m afraid.”
Davis’s face fell. “It amazes me,” he said, the disdain evident in his voice, “how you people can rationalize anything. You’re prepared to sit back and watch one of our major cities be destroyed without lifting a finger and you think you can actually justify such thinking. It disgusts me.”
Robert Graves stood up, snapped his briefcase shut and spun the combination on the lock. “It is fortunate,” he said, “that the decision is not yours to make. We are both minions, Michael. Each with a job to do. I’ve done mine. Now you must do yours. Unfortunately, the Joint Chiefs, in their infinite wisdom, have determined that I should work through an intermediary. I realize, of course, why they have chosen to do this. While they see the need for our department, they wish to remain at arm’s length from the realities that we are forced to deal with. That makes it much easier for them. Direct contact with me contaminates them, so to speak. Unpleasant decisions can be made and the ramifications thereof are subject to many different interpretations. Misunderstandings might have occurred, and all of that rot.
“However, it has always been this way. I accept that. You must do the same. I won’t disturb you any further.”
With that, Graves turned on his heel and strode out of the office.
As the door to the office slammed shut, Michael Davis got up from behind the desk and walked over to a small cabinet beneath the French window. He opened one of the doors and removed a bottle of bourbon. For a moment, he considered preparing the drink properly, using a glass and ice, an exercise he once considered a ritual. It had, after all, been a long time between drinks.
Instead, he uncapped the bottle and tilted it to his lips, letting the liquid burn his throat as it made its way to his stomach.
Three
* * *
Ted Kowalczyk tried to get comfortable in the narrow aircraft seat, without success. Whenever possible, he flew first class, an extravagance born of necessity. The seats were broader in first class and allowed him to travel without the prospect of losing all feeling in his posterior. But this commuter plane, on a flight from Los Angeles to San Jose, was a single class flight, with small, narrow seats that wedged big men into position.
To take his mind from his growing discomfort, Ted removed the report Tommy had sent him from his briefcase and began to read specific sections, the first of which was an explanation of the Richter scale. Tommy had taken the time to write the explanation for a reason. To most people, the scale was just a lot of numbers. They were unaware of what the numbers really meant, even though the scale had become synonymous with the measurement of earthquakes.
Ted knew, as did most people, that an earthquake measuring 6 on the scale was ten times greater in magnitude than one measuring a 5. But it didn’t really tell the whole story. As Tommy put it, trying to keep it in laymen’s terms, “The Richter scale measures the magnitude of the ground waves created by an earthquake. It also measures how much energy is released. The two measurements are combined to produce a number that allows scientists to compare one earthquake against another.
“If the scale measured magnitude alone and was arithmetic instead of logarithmic, the scale would read like this:
“Let’s start with an earthquake having a magnitude of say, 4. Anything under that doesn’t matter much anyhow. Using the number 4 as a starting point, an earthquake previously measured as being a 5 would now become a 40, 40 being ten times larger than 4. An earthquake measuring a 6 would become a 400. A major quake of 7 would now read 4,000. And a quake of 8 would measure 40,000 on the new scale.”
The section concluded with the information that “an earthquake having a magnitude of 9 would be equal to 400,000 on the new scale. A quake measuring 9.5 would be equal to, roughly, 2,000,000. That would mean a quake having a magnitude of 9.5 would be 500,000 times more powerful than a quake measuring 4 on the Richter scale.”
It was clear that Tommy was desperately trying to illustrate the tremendous power of the earthquake he was predicting. The numbers had the desired effect on Ted. He wondered why, in the light of what Tommy had written, there was no move to take immediate steps to evacuate Los Angeles.
He read on. The report contained other fascinating information. There was a section devoted to geology, which was Vance Gifford’s specialty. But it was a bit ha
rd to understand. There was a section on the relatively new science of earthquake prediction that was equally absorbing but even harder to fathom.
But the most fascinating section of all was the one that dealt with theories on how earthquakes could be diffused. Ted had only enough time to skip through it, but until then, he’d had no idea that such things were even considered. As the plane touched down, he closed the report and placed it back in his briefcase, his mind a jumble of confusing thoughts, his gluteus maximus a numbed, flattened mass of flesh.
He signed for the rental car, the largest one available, and took the keys. Quickly, he strode from the counter to the parking lot, where the car was parked, threw his bags into the back seat and got behind the wheel. He was in a hurry.
Three weeks.
This morning, it had seemed like time enough. Now, as the full impact of what he had read bored deeper into his consciousness, it seemed pitifully inadequate.
Terry Wilson lived in a small, one-bedroom apartment in Menlo Park and commuted daily to her job as a librarian at Stanford University. When she parked her car in the shed behind the apartment building, she was surprised to see Ted Kowalczyk standing by the rear door of the brown stucco building. She got out of the car and walked slowly toward him.
“Hello, Ted,” she said, “I guess you heard.”
“I heard,” he said, quietly.
And then, without another word, she was in his arms, her head pressed against his chest, the mascara-filled tears staining his blue shirt. They stood there for a moment while her body heaved with deep sobs. He took the keys from her hand, opened the door, and guided her up to her second-floor apartment.
Once inside, she excused herself and headed for the bathroom. When she returned, she looked little better, her eyes still red and puffy, the streaked mascara not fully removed from her cheeks.
The Big One Page 3