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Saving Cascadia

Page 15

by John J. Nance


  “Respectful?” Mick snorted, recalling several of the permit hearings at both county and state levels when the prime scientific opposition had been from Doug Lam. “Since when does a sustained attempt to wreck a man’s life work for the purpose of saving a mangy flock of common sparrows on a water-soaked rock and espousing a lunatic theory about tiny vibrations setting off earthquakes constitute being respectful?”

  “Your pile drivers out there have hardly been gentle with the bedrock.”

  “Whatever. In any event… I have to admit in fairness, Doctor, that you do have a point. A twisted and somewhat distasteful one, to be sure, but that was a gratuitous snarl for which I apologize. Please continue.”

  “Please, despite the cost and the inconvenience, would you at least consider postponing your opening for a while until we know for sure what’s happening? I am very, very worried where this current seismic activity is going, and that is an honest, science-based statement that has nothing to do with any bias about the resort.”

  “Are you making a formal prediction then, Doctor Lam?”

  “I can’t. Not yet. We don’t have enough certainty. I’m just telling you what my best guess is, but I don’t have enough to formalize it.”

  “Has the state’s emergency director made such a recommendation or prediction?”

  “No.”

  “Governor O’Brien?”

  “I haven’t been able to discuss it with him.”

  “So, no one else is canceling events or emptying hotels along the coast?”

  “No.”

  “Yet you want me to trash a few million dollars of investment in this inaugural, screw up plans a year in the making, run off nearly three hundred guests, and scrub a few hundred thousand of advertising, just in case?”

  “In a word, yes.”

  “Then in a word, no. I will respond well to a certainty, Doctor, but in the meantime, I’m comfortable with my calculated risks.”

  There was a frustrated sigh from Seattle.

  “You knew I was going to say that, right?” Mick asked with a chuckle.

  “Yes. I figured as much, but I’d hoped for better.”

  “But you just had to try. In fact, I do honestly appreciate your candor.”

  “Mr. Walker—”

  “Oh for pity’s sake, call me Mick.”

  “In that case, let me use just a little more candor, Mick. In fact, what I’d like to say to you is this: Goddamnit, pull your head out of your wallet long enough to understand that you’re putting people in grave danger this weekend!”

  There was another chuckle from Mick Walker’s end. “My head’s in my wallet? Well, you could have used a rougher reference, I suppose.”

  “Look, here’s the deal. If our great subduction zone quake hits while you’re entertaining, all of you are going to die. Period. Don’t you understand the certainty of that?”

  “Of course. World ends, film at eleven. I expect my estate might even get sued.”

  “Damnit, I’m serious here! How about a little respect for your responsibility to other lives?”

  “You’re taking this very personally, aren’t you?”

  “Well, if you must know, it so happens I have a personal concern about some of the people who are going to be there.”

  “Bloody shame that doesn’t include me, but I’m resigned to it.”

  “Mick, please listen! Please! I’m dead serious about this, and I’m not trying to hurt your interests. And this isn’t about my theory. This is about a real series of quakes already happening right now which may well be and probably are leading up to the so-called big one. It doesn’t matter whether your construction project had anything to do with starting this or not. The fact is, the zone is coming alive and you’re in the crosshairs.”

  There was an angry, determined tone in the seismologist’s voice and Mick felt himself shift to a different tactical plan. Lam would never be an ally, but he was a seismic expert, and something seismic was clearly happening beneath his resort.

  “Oh, very well, I’ll stop swatting at you. I do understand you’re serious… ah, Doug, is it?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right, Doug. I do share your concerns, and I am seriously concerned with the safety of my guests. But the only element of real vulnerability for my complex out here is the tsunami potential, and if that does appear about to happen, I’ll immediately evacuate.”

  “That would be too late! You might have less than five minutes until the nearest wave hits after the main quake occurs.”

  Mick hesitated, a cold rivulet of doubt leaking past his resolve. “These are well-built buildings on this rock, and I had them engineered to withstand exactly what you’ve described.”

  “How about a loss of five feet in altitude of the whole island?”

  “That, too, would be survivable I think. You wouldn’t believe what I spent on the engineering just to be certain. You’ve heard of Chadwick and Noble, right?”

  “Yes, of course. I think they probably built the pyramids in Egypt. But what will it take to convince you that the danger fully justifies cancellation of the weekend?”

  “A prediction, as I said. In fact, I’ll let you in on a little legal secret. If you, in the form of the USGS, issue a formal prediction or warning or whatever you call it, then I’m against a wall. I can’t ignore it without being guilty of gross negligence, and that means being exposed to ruinous recoveries. Any chance you’ll do that?”

  “Yes. A chance. I have superiors and a process to satisfy, though.”

  Mick passed a phone number to him. “That’s the cell phone on my belt, and it’s with me at all times. If you issue that alert, call the governor first and me second. I won’t argue further.”

  “Okay.”

  “And if you can’t reach Governor O’Brien, call me anyway, because that’s where he and his family will be. With me.”

  “Understood,” Lam said. “I’m going to hold you to that promise.”

  “Not to worry. I honor my promises. Oh, and if you change your mind and want to come out, don’t hesitate. I’m serious. I’d love to show you why I’m so confident about this place.”

  “I wish I had the time. I hope we all have the time.”

  “Doug, remember that hearing about two years ago that was held in Port Angeles regarding the permits for my island?”

  “Of course.”

  “You remember that, after you presented a very eloquent, but what I consider essentially misguided, analysis of the earthquake threat and told everyone how tapping pilings into the mud or drilling wells was going to set off the entire subduction zone—and, therefore, I shouldn’t build there—I quoted from one of your own papers in your own words that the great subduction quake you were expecting might not happen for one to three hundred years more?”

  “Yes, Mick, I remember it well. You kind of beat me up with it, and you’re right. No one knows for sure when it will happen. But, we’ve also never in the history of recorded seismograph readings seen any activity like these constant rumblings. That means the greatest possibility is a massive, impending break, right under your island, and we’ve been given the blessing of an early warning.”

  “Well, I told you I had the same philosophy as Wally Hickel, the former Alaska governor who built a hotel on a slide area in Anchorage after the great ’64 quake.”

  “Yeah. The Captain Cook. Nice place. Someday, it’s going to be involuntarily relocated by the next great quake.”

  “Possibly. And Wally knew that. But he made the right point. He said, ‘If it doesn’t start sliding for a hundred years, why not use the land in the meantime, especially if you build something strong enough to protect the occupants.’ In other words, the only loser if it hits sooner is the owner.”

  “I just don’t think that’s a wise policy.”

  “And I do. Ain’t this country great? Come out and join us. Really. If you’re truly nervous, I’ll even provide a free life preserver.”

  Mick ended the c
all and stood in contemplative silence for a few seconds, forcing the doubts back in their compartments. He toggled up a new line to reach Sherry.

  “Yes, exalted signer of my paychecks.”

  “Sherry, where do you suppose Robert Nelms is at the moment?”

  “Leaving Boeing Field. I just received a call from Nightingale confirming that.”

  “Good. He tried to get out of coming at all. So what’s his ETA?”

  “It’s a hundred and ten miles at a hundred knots, so about an hour from now.”

  “I was planning to meet him, wasn’t I?”

  “Yes, you were.”

  “And was I happy about that?”

  “Let me check… Why yes, despite his standing you up and costing you an additional eight thousand dollars of private jet time, you were ecstatic. I’ve left the briefing notes on the dining room table, and a copy on your e-mail.”

  “Any notes in our file about Robert and this weekend? You know, what I should talk about, what I should avoid?”

  “There is one thing. He weighs almost three hundred pounds.”

  “I know, I’ve known him for years. We hired a cargo helicopter.”

  “We’re talking Orson Welles, here.”

  “I’m sure he’s heard all the cruel jokes, including the one about having his own zip code. But be charitable, Sherry. We all come in different packages.”

  “His secretary warned me he’s in a rotten mood.”

  “You mean, like me, having to wait for you to get to the point?”

  “Worse.”

  “Why?”

  “Unlike you and your buff frame, Mick, Mr. Nelms has been trying some severe regimens to lose weight, all without success. Stomach staples are next. So she says whatever you do, please don’t mention diets.”

  “Okay. No diets. And I suppose I owe you a bonus for that buff comment, right?”

  “You know it. I’ll collect.”

  Chapter 14

  SEATTLE AIR ROUTE TRAFFIC CONTROL CENTER, AUBURN, WASHINGTON

  There was no time to get to the control room and plug into the appropriate position. The shift supervisor placed the incoming call from Mount Rainier National Park Headquarters on hold and punched up the tie-line to the sector controller.

  “This is an emergency involving Mount Rainier. Who do you have flying right now in your sector who might divert and take a look at the west and southwest faces?”

  “Ah… for what? An eruption?”

  “No, no! We’re looking for any significant landslide of glacier ice. An avalanche. They just had an earthquake and a slide alarm.”

  “Okay… I’ve got several air carriers and a King Air… and a C-17 inbound to McChord.”

  “Any helicopters?”

  “Negative. Standby.”

  The supervisor reached over and toggled up the appropriate frequency at his desk to listen in as the words of the Chief Ranger at Rainier rang in his mind. A sudden shedding of glacial ice—called a lahar—accelerating down the northwest face of the fourteen-thousand foot high stratovolcano would have catastrophic impact on anyone, or anything, in its path. And there were a lot of homes, businesses, and highways between the mountain and Puget Sound, where any lahar would finally play itself out. Millions of tons of ice would pick up equal amounts of mud and debris accelerating down the valleys cut by previous ancient lahars in a raging wall of mud destined to bulldoze through the rich Puyallup River valley, potentially wiping out the city of Puyallup and four smaller communities. Several teams of rangers had been ordered off the mountain in the past few minutes, he’d been told, and the Park Service was asking for Army helicopters from Fort Lewis to stand by to evacuate climbers too far up the mountain’s flanks.

  The voice of his controller brought him back to the moment.

  “King Air November Two Hundred Romeo Mike, Center, do you have enough fuel reserve to do us a favor?”

  “We’re good, Center, provided it doesn’t involve going to Hawaii.”

  “Can you see Rainier clearly?”

  “Ah, roger… there is a cloud layer down around, maybe nine thousand, but it’s broken around the mountain. Why?”

  “I need you to divert over to take a look at the western through northern faces for any evidence of cascading, ah… ice.”

  “Jeez, you mean a lahar?”

  “Possibly. They’ve got detectors going off.”

  “We’re cleared now?”

  “Roger. Your choice on heading and altitude.”

  “We’re turning and accelerating. Stand by.”

  NIGHTINGALE ONE, AIRBORNE

  Jennifer wrestled her attention back to the cockpit, startled at how distracted she’d been.

  There were the familiar flight instruments in front of her, the comfort of trusty controls in her hands, a three-hundred-pound passenger headed for Cascadia Island by himself in the passenger compartment behind her, and a cloudy sky ahead that was getting darker. But all she could think of was Alaska cruise ships and the picture of Doug and his not-so-estranged wife.

  She had dutifully tried to stuff the emotional upheaval into a pigeonhole and slam an angst-tight door on it, but the effort was failing, and she was angry with herself.

  Of all the things she could have stumbled over, cold evidence that he’d been with Deborah and lied about it had never even been a remote possibility. Another woman, a secretly fathered child, even a lie to cover some sinister criminal past would have made more sense and been less upsetting.

  And, it was the lie she couldn’t get over—that and the phone calls he’d made to her, which were now clearly from Alaska and not California.

  No, she thought, maybe it was just the sense of betrayal. She’d let herself get so close to him, sharing so much, letting him into places in her psyche she’d never opened up before, knowing all along how dangerous that could be. Even her ultimatum to divorce Deborah or lose her had been made against a presumption of continued intimacy and trust. She could see that now, and felt exceedingly stupid.

  Something was vying for her attention, and she realized belatedly the Seattle departure controller had called, how many seconds ago she wasn’t sure.

  “Departure, helicopter Five Seven November, were you calling?”

  “Several times, Five Seven November,” the irritated voice replied. “Either maintain a better listening watch, ma’am, or I’ll have to cancel flight-following services.”

  “I apologize, sir.”

  “I was going to call out traffic at your eleven o’clock, but you’re clear of him now.”

  “Sorry.”

  She took a deep breath and checked back over her shoulder, expecting the VIP from San Francisco to be sleeping. Instead, he had his nose pressed to the Plexiglas and an odd color about him. He’d looked somewhat pasty alighting from Mick Walker’s Gulfstream thirty minutes ago, but he was looking progressively less compatible with the idea of being airborne.

  The Bellingham helicopter accident loomed suddenly in her thinking, and she toggled the company radio frequency to get Norm Bryarly’s attention.

  “Dispatch, One-Six. What’s the status on our Bellingham crew?”

  “I’m happy to report that all three are okay. The machine is probably totaled, Linda has a mild concussion but no broken bones, Jamie’s just bruised, and Eric is going to be in a couple of leg casts for a while and very embarrassed. He got banged up quite a bit being thrown out of the cockpit, but they’ll all live and keep all their parts.”

  “Thank God. When did you hear?”

  “Just before you called.”

  The frequency fell silent and she tried to refocus, knowing what her dad would say if he could see her level of upset over her deteriorating relationship with Doug, and how she was letting it interfere. He was a hypocrite on the subject, of course. She’d seen him equally distracted, though not over a lover. Her parents had been together for nearly forty years and if either of them had ever strayed, she had no inkling of it. But news of the accident in Bellin
gham had barely reached their ears before Sven had grabbed one of the relief pilots and jumped in the one available helicopter to head north. Jennifer knew he wasn’t about to take no for an answer, so she quieted Norm Bryarly’s attempt to countermand the flight and let him go.

  Sven Lindstrom still owned 75 percent of the company to Jennifer’s 25, and he was still the chairman. But like so many other things he did around the company, his need to be directly involved at unpredictable times was continuously unsettling. Jennifer could feel her stomach tightening just thinking about the agonies of having the father she loved so much looking over her shoulder the way he did. Sometimes, he would compliment her on how well she was doing with the operation, yet she always suspected that he came to the office more to second-guess her decisions than to visit. It was as if he were expecting her to fail and was standing by to jump in when she did. That was something she couldn’t imagine his doing if she were his son, instead of his daughter.

  She sighed in exasperation. There would undoubtedly be some long conversations between them after he got back, and she suspected he’d eventually find some way to blame the disaster on her.

  UNIVERSITY OF WASHINGTON SEISMOLOGY LAB

  “Oh, no! Not Mount Rainier, too.”

  Sanjay had bent over, then knelt in front of one of the seismograph drums, measuring and calculating the squiggles that had just marked an event beneath the premier northwestern volcano as he talked to the instrument. A shudder betraying excitement and apprehension swept through his middle as he beckoned one of the graduate students over and sent him in search of Doug Lam. He was searching the tracings for the telltale beginnings of harmonic tremors under Mount Rainier, the unmistakable signature of moving molten magma—liquid rock—flowing somewhere beneath one of the world’s largest and most dangerous dormant volcanoes.

  And it looked as if they were there—faint and uncertain and perhaps very deep beneath the volcano—but there.

  Maybe.

  A host of media phone calls had already lit up all available lines before Doug made it back in the door for a rapid briefing from Sanjay.

  “We’ve played with this question before, haven’t we, Doug?”

 

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