"I still believe you," said Causton plaintively. "But the point is: can we convince Favel?"
"That isn't worrying me," said Wyatt. "What is worrying me is what Favel will do when he is convinced. He's in a cleft stick."
"Let's see if he's finished his conference," said Causton. "As a journalist, I'm interested to see what he does do." He mopped his brow. "You know, you're right; this weather is unnatural."
Favel was still not free and they waited in the foyer watching the comings and goings of messengers from the hotel dining-room where the conference was being held. At last Fuller came out and beckoned. "You're next," he said. "Make it as snappy as you can." He looked at Wyatt with honest blue eyes. "Personally, I think this is a waste of time. We don't have hurricanes here."
"Serrurier told me the same thing in almost the same words," said Wyatt. "He isn't a meteorologist, either."
Fuller snorted. "Well, come on; let's get it over with."
He escorted them into the dining-room. The tables had been put together and were covered with maps and a group of men were conversing in low voices at the far end of the room. It reminded Wyatt irresistibly of the large ornate room in which Serrurier had been holding his pre-battle conference, but there was a subtle difference. There was no gold braid and there was no hysteria.
Causton touched his elbow. "That's Manning," he said, nodding to a tall white man. "And that's Favel next to him."
Favel was a lean, wiry man of less than average height. He was lighter in complexion than the average San Fernandan and his eyes were, strikingly and incongruously, a piercing blue -- something very unusual in a man of Negro stock. He was simply dressed in clean khaki denims with an open-necked shirt, out of which rose the strong corded column of his neck. As he turned to greet Wyatt the crowsfeet round his eyes crinkled and the corners of his mobile mouth quirked in a smile. "Ah, Mr. Wyatt," he said. "I've been looking for you.
I want to hear what you have to say but -- from what Mr. Causton tells me -- I fear I won't like it." His English was smooth and unaccented.
"There's going to be a hurricane," said Wyatt baldly.
Pavel's expression did not change. He looked on Wyatt with a half-humorous curve to his lips, and said, "Indeed 1"
The tall white man -- Manning -- said, "That's a pretty stiff statement, Wyatt. There hasn't been a hurricane here since 1910."
"And I'm getting pretty tired of hearing the fact," said Wyatt wearily. "Is there some magic about the year 1910? Do hurricanes come at hundred-year intervals, and can we expect the next in 2010?"
Favel said softly, "If not in 2010, when may we expect this hurricane?"
"Within twenty-four hours," said Wyatt bluntly. "I wouldn't put it at longer than that."
Manning made a noise with his lips expressive of disgust, but Favel held up his hand. "Charles, I know you don't want anything to interfere with our war, but I think we ought to hear what Mr. Wyatt has to say. It might have a considerable bearing on our future course of action." He leaned comfortably against the table and pointed a brown finger directly at Wyatt. "Now, then ; give me your evidence."
Wyatt drew hi a deep breath. He had to convince this slim brown man whose eyes had suddenly turned flinty. "The hurricane was spotted five days ago by one of the weather satellites. Four days ago I went to inspect it on one of the usual reconnaissance missions and found it was a bad one, one of the worst I've ever" encountered. I kept a check on its course,, and up to the time I left the Base it was going according to prediction. Since then I haven't had the opportunity for further tracking."
"The predicted course," said Favel. "Does that bring the hurricane to San Fernandez?"
"No," admitted Wyatt. "But it wouldn't take much of a swing off course to hit us, and hurricanes do swerve for quite unpredictable reasons."
"Did you inform Commodore Brooks of this?" asked Manning harshly.
"I did."
"Well, he hasn't put much stock in your story. He's still sitting there across the bay at Cap Sarrat and he doesn't look like moving."
Wyatt said carefully, looking at Favel, "Commodore Brooks is not his own master. He has other things to take into account, especially this war you're fighting. He's taking a calculated risk."
Favel nodded. "Just so. I appreciate Commodore Brooks's position -- he would not want to abandon Cap Sarrat Base at a time like this." He smiled mischievously. "I would not want him to abandon the Base, either. He is keeping President Serrurier occupied by his masterly inactivity."
"That's beside the point," said Manning abruptly. "If he was as certain about this hurricane as Wyatt apparently is, he would surely evacuate the Base."
Favel leaned forward. "Are you certain about this hurricane, Mr. Wyatt?"
"Yes."
"Even though you have been kept from your instruments and so do not have full knowledge?"
"Yes," said Wyatt. He looked Favel in the eye. "There was a man up near St. Michel -- two days ago, just before the battles started. He was tying down the roof of his hut."
Favel nodded. "I, too, saw a man doing that. I wondered . . ."
"For God's sake!" exploded Manning. "This isn't a meeting of a folklore society. The decisions we have to make are too big to be based on anything but facts."
"Hush, Charles," said Favel. "I am a West Indian, and so is Mr. Wyatt. Like is calling to like." He saw the expression on Wyatt's face and burst out laughing. "Oh yes, I know all about you; I have a dossier on every foreigner on the island." He became serious. "Did you talk to him -- this man who was tying down the roof of his hut?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
"He said the big wind was coming. He said he was going to finish securing the roof of his house and then he was going to join his family in a cave hi the hills. He said the big wind would come in two days."
"How did that coincide with your own knowledge of the hurricane?"
"It coincided exactly," said Wyatt.
Favel turned to Manning. "That man has gone to his cave where he will pray to an old half-forgotten god -- older, even, than those my people brought from West Africa. Hunraken, the Carib storm god."
Manning looked at him blankly and Favel murmured, "No matter." He turned back to Wyatt and said, "I have a great belief in the instincts of my people for survival. Perhaps -- " he wagged a lean, brown finger -- " and only perhaps, there will be a hurricane, after all. Let us assume there will be a hurricane -- what will be the probable result if it hits us, here in St. Pierre?"
"Mabel is a particularly bad . . ." began Wyatt.
"Mabel?" Favel laughed shortly. "You scientists have lost the instinct for drama. Hunraken is the better name." He waved his hand. "But go on."
Wyatt started again. "She'll hit from the south and come into Santego Bay; the bay is shallow and the sea will build up. You'll have what is popularly known as a tidal wave."
Favel snapped his fingers. "A map. Let us see what it looks like on a map."
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 bumff -- 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 o
n 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 toe." 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."
"// 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 judgment, 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 well 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 sea. 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 round 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 from 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 Liberation Moire 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 be 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 sho ok 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 bow 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."
Bagley, Desmond - Wyatts Hurricane Page 18