“There’s no mistaking it. The Calderon has been increasing in activity for years, starting back in the 1970s. But it’s even worse than I thought. And what’s even more worrisome is that it seems to be increasing faster and faster as time goes on.”
She interpreted the data for him, since he didn’t have a clue what it meant.
“See how the last survey they took ten years ago showed a seven percent increase in sulfur levels over the survey before that, ten years before?”
“Yes.”
“And the one ten years before that was right around three percent.”
“Yes. I see it.”
“The sulfur levels we took showed a seventeen percent increase over the last one. The pressure is building, the core is overheating, and the volcanic activity is getting greater and greater with each passing year. At roughly double the rate every ten years.”
“So you’re saying the sulfur rates will increase to over thirty percent in ten years, and over sixty ten years after that?”
“It sure looks that way.
“The question is, where’s the tipping point? At what point does the rising pressure trigger an event?”
“Event? What the heck is an event, honey? Is that scientific speak for a volcanic eruption?”
“Yes. No. Maybe.”
“Gee, thanks for being so specific.”
“The pressure could release itself in a number of ways. New fissures could open in the rock around the Calderon. New geysers could form. Existing geysers could see more frequent activity. They could blow higher, and more often. Their water temperatures could get hotter.”
He saw what amounted to a look of sheer terror on her face.
“Your voice sounds convincing. Your face says otherwise. Baby, level with me. You think it’s more likely to just blow up like it did three hundred thousand years ago.”
“Yes. That would be the most likely bet. But there’s no way of knowing for sure. I mean, there are so many other possibilities.”
“Okay. Give me the worst case scenario. Should we even be here now? Should we like, move to Florida and take all our family and friends with us? Or are we safe? Should we tell the baby that when it comes time for him or her to start a family, they should consider real property in the Bahamas or something? Tell me, baby, exactly what we need to do.”
“I won’t know that until I crunch an awful lot of numbers. I can do that when we get back home. Let’s pack up and get out of here. I’m tired of being cramped up in this tiny motel room.”
“Honey, why did we come all the way here, just to go back home and finish the job?”
“We came here so we could analyze the data before the government took it away from us or tried to stop us. We’ve done that. We’ve confirmed that the conclusions Gwendoline and her team came up with were absolutely correct.
“Now that we’ve done that, we can fine tune our conclusions from home. I’m sick of looking at numbers, I’m sick of punching numbers into the computer, I’m just sick of the whole thing.
“And what makes me sickest of all is telling you I have something very scary to show you.”
He looked at her, not knowing whether she was teasing.
She wasn’t.
“What could possibly be scarier than this?”
“Come here.”
She led him to the other side of the room, where her own computer was set up on a small makeup table.
She logged onto the internet, then clicked on a tab she’d bookmarked the day before.
It was an article from a website called GeologyToday.net
“This is a website for geologists, rock geeks and an assortment of other scientists. It’s one of the places geology freaks, as you call us, hang out and interact with others of our species.”
Tony peered closer at the screen. It was a news article with the headline:
WHATEVER HAPPENED
TO MARK JERNIGAN?
Chapter 21
Tony sat in front of the computer and read an article which sent chills up his spine.
Those of you who have been frequenting this web site for any length of time are familiar with the works of Dr. Mark Jernigan. A noted geologist who hailed from the foothills of the Sacramento Mountains in southern New Mexico, he earned not one, not two, but seven degrees.
Some degrees, like his Doctorate in Molecular Science, his Masters in Geothermal Engineering and his Masters in Volcanic Science, were awarded from the University of New Mexico.
Others might surprise some of you.
Were you aware he had a Doctorate Degree in Theology from tiny Tulsa State University in Tulsa, Oklahoma? Or a Master’s Degree in Chemistry from Texas Tech University?
Dr. Jernigan was not only well educated, he was equally well traveled.
For years the good doctor traveled the lecture circuit, promoting one of his books and speaking at commencement exercises. He provided lectures at no less than thirty one universities in the United States in 2004 alone. And thirteen others in Europe.
When he wasn’t traveling he maintained homes in Oklahoma, in Lubbock, Texas, in Santa Fe, New Mexico, and in Victorville, California.
And therein lies the problem.
It was specifically because he traveled so much, and had so many residences, that the issue of his sudden disappearance is so complex and maddening.
Missing persons laws vary from state to state. In three of the four states he lived in, though, a missing person report can only be filed if his last known appearance was in that state.
In the fourth state in which Dr. Jernigan maintained residency, only a family member can file a missing persons report.
Dr. Jernigan was a dedicated bachelor with no living relatives.
And he wasn’t seen last in any of the four states.
He was last seen in Washington, D.C.
On the night of August 5, 2006, the Nobel-nominated scientist finished a meeting with the U.S. Geological Survey in the bowels of the nation’s capitol, then rushed back to his hotel to collect his bags for a redeye flight to Boston.
The last recorded sighting of him was when he paused on the sidewalk in front of his hotel to say hello to a former student who recognized him and called his name.
The student, Krista Allen, stated later that he looked stressed, almost afraid.
“It wasn’t the Professor Jernigan I remembered from my days at Baylor,” she said. “Back then he was always so happy and carefree. Almost like he owned the world. The night I saw him he kept looking around, almost as though he was paranoid and thought he was being watched or followed.”
Ms. Allen watched as he got into the back seat of a black Ford sedan driven by two men in suits.
“It wasn’t a limo, or a cab. It looked like an undercover police vehicle or government pool vehicle. No wheel covers, no frills. Nothing you’d expect Dr. Jernigan to be driven in.”
The doctor missed his flight to Boston that night and seemingly disappeared from the face of the earth. There are no reported sightings of Dr. Jernigan after that date.
The Washington, D.C. police have declined to investigate the case, saying that he didn’t fit the “profile” of someone taken anywhere against his will. And because he was known to travel about the world at a moment’s notice, and had no medical conditions which would place him at risk.
The FBI also declined, stating there was no evidence of a crime being committed.
There’s an awful lot we don’t know about the mysterious disappearance of Doctor Mark A. Jernigan.
So let’s talk about what we do know.
The last thing he worked on, according to interns who helped him with the project, was as a contractor on a United States Geological Survey project to collect data on the infamous Yellowstone Calderon at Yellowstone National Park.
The meeting he had with USGS that evening was to report and discuss his findings.
USGS representatives report that the meeting, as well as the survey, was routine. And that he never cash
ed the check they mailed to his home in Tulsa. They say he failed to come to a formal outbrief the following week, and that there was nothing in the data he presented which was unexpected or out of the ordinary.
We submitted a Freedom of Information Request for copies of the data and were rebuffed. USGS maintains that scientific data is not subject to FOIA laws.
Of course, it’s possible that Dr. Jernigan merely decided his life was too hectic and went off the grid to relax for awhile. We certainly couldn’t blame him for that, as he was a very busy man.
But he’s also very well known. And unless he’s living in a hut in the Himalayas, we believe he should have been sighted by now.
After all, ten years is an awfully long time to take a hiatus.
Tony rolled his chair away from the desk and let out a low whistle.
Hannah pushed the chair forward again, saying, “You’re not finished reading yet, honey. There’s something else.”
Chapter 22
She reached over his shoulder and grabbed the mouse, then pulled down a tab for another page.
It was an obituary from the Atlanta Journal Constitution, dated August 11, 1996.
A photo of a smiling man with a receding hairline stood above a tiny cutline. The cutline announced, “Dr. Benjamin Pierce, Professor Emeritus at the University of Southern California.”
The obituary, as they normally do, left out key details regarding an untimely death. There was nothing unusual about that, Tony knew, because newspapers were sensitive to surviving families who sometimes want to keep certain things to themselves.
It did refer to Dr. Pierce’s “sudden and tragic death,” which effectively ruled out a long term illness or natural causes.
When he finished the article Tony looked to Hannah for more.
“I know it leaves a lot of questions unanswered. So I did some other research. It seems he was a big Atlanta Braves fan. He left Turner Field on August 8th after his Braves lost to the Philadelphia Phillies and went to his favorite bar to drown his sorrows. When the bar closed at two a.m. he walked across the street to his car, and was ran over and killed.
“By a car traveling at high speed with its lights off.
“A car that kept right on going.
“The Atlanta Police Department called it an accident. They worked it as a hit and run and put out an APB for the vehicle, but without a license number they didn’t have much of a chance of finding it. It seems there were a lot of black Fords in Atlanta at the time.”
“A black Ford? Wasn’t that…”
She nodded and said, “Yes. Anyway, Dr. Pierce’s friends told the police the car pulled out of a parking lot a hundred yards away and drove normal speed until he stepped off the curb. Then they said it seemed to speed up, as though the driver wanted to hit him on purpose.”
“Wow.”
“That’s not all, Tony. It turns out that was the second police report filed that week on behalf of Dr. Pierce. It turned out that four days before he was killed, his house in Marietta, Georgia was broken into.
“The burglars left behind guns, jewelry and cash. All they took were two boxes of papers. What the police report described as research material.”
Tony cut her off.
“Let me guess. This is the guy who did the 1996 Yellowstone survey.”
“Yep.”
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and said, “Tony, I’m scared.”
He placed his hand upon hers and said, “So am I, baby. So am I.”
Tony wheeled the chair around and stood up. He wrapped his arms around her and neither spoke for a couple of minutes.
Then she said with a start, “Oh.”
“Oh, what?”
Instead of replying, she smiled. Then she turned, with her back to him, his arms still folded around her.
She took his hand and placed it on the side of her expanding belly.
“Do you feel it?”
“No. Feel what? What am I feeling for?”
Then he got his answer. The baby was very active, and he got to feel his future son or daughter rolling around in the womb, trying to get comfortable.
His smile matched hers, even after the baby settled and he could feel it no more.
Then she asked with some apprehension, “Tony, are we making a mistake, bringing a baby into the world when we don’t know what’s ahead of us?”
“Of course not, honey. No matter what happens in the years ahead, we’ll be there to protect him.”
“Her.”
“Whatever.”
“So where do we go from here?”
“I’m going to run that data again. This time I’m going to try to get an estimate for the window.”
“The window?”
“The computer’s best estimate, based on everything we’re feeding it, on when would be the most likely time for an eruption to occur.”
“I’ll cross my fingers and hope it says a zillion years from now.”
“It’ll take a couple of hours. But it should give us the answer we’ve been wanting the most.”
“So what do we do in the meantime?”
“Let’s go for a walk. I need some air.”
Chapter 23
Hundreds of miles away, at that very moment, a rather ordinary looking motor home sat at the curb on Spring Street. It was half a block away and within view of the Tony and Hannah’s Little Rock home.
The motor coach was directly in front of a rent house, which was leased for six months a few days before. The home’s owner was tickled pink when the entire six months were paid in advance using a U.S. government payment voucher.
A payment voucher from the General Accounting Office, with a citation from the Department of Homeland Security.
The two men who occupied the nondescript leisure vehicle actually had no need of the house. In all probability they’d never set foot in it. They only leased it to prevent a nosy resident from walking to the RV and knocking on the door.
And then asking some questions they didn’t particularly want to answer.
Like, for example, what in the world were they doing parked in front of the house when they didn’t live on the street? What were they up to? And why were they so focused on another house up the block? Why did a blacked out Ford Crown Victoria pull into the driveway twice a day? Once just before dawn and once just after sunset? And why did two men get out of the vehicle and go into the RV? Why did two different men come back out of the RV a few minutes later and then drive away?
One of the neighbors actually did call the local police and reported the strange activity. A patrol unit rolled by and a cop knocked on the door of the big motor home and asked the occupants to state their business.
The occupants flashed a badge and pretty much told the officer to go away and mind his own business.
The officer went away and minded his own business, after filing a report with his lieutenant that the occupants were federal agents on a case. No other details were reported or asked for.
Inside, an agent bearing a remarkable resemblance to a young Sean Connery yelled, “Jackpot!” when poring through a stack of papers.
The second agent, leaning back in a desk chair and almost asleep, was startled to the point of almost falling backward and striking his head.
He wasn’t pleased.
“What in hell are you yelling about?”
“I think we finally found them. Check this out…”
The second man looked over the shoulder of the first, at a sheet which seemingly contained a lot of nonsensical numbers.
The second man smiled, for the nonsensical numbers made perfect sense to someone who knew what he was looking at.
As it turned out, Tony and Hannah had never been tracked by the cops before.
Or the federal government, for that matter.
They weren’t very good at it. Hannah thought that by speaking in code and purchasing disposable phones to communicate when they weren’t together, they could hide out from whoever mig
ht be looking for them.
She thought that by meeting in an isolated motel room in a different state hundreds of miles from their home they’d be able to do their work without being discovered.
Tony thought it brilliant that he registered at the motel using a fake ID. The same one he’d purchased while still in high school so he could buy beer at the local package store.
The photo on the ID looked nothing like him. And the given age was easily ten years older than Tony’s own.
But the old man at the liquor store never questioned it, and neither did the motel clerk.
He just figured the pair was a couple of cheaters out for an extended tryst.
Their money was green, and that was all he cared about.
Tony and Hannah thought they had all their bases covered.
But they made a rookie mistake.
They paid for their meals at Cracker Barrel with their credit card.
That identified the city they were in, for anyone with the resources and a court order to call their bank.
Even worse, they paid for their pizza and Chinese food with the same card.
The pizza and Chinese food which was delivered right to their motel room.
“Hot dog,” the second man in the motor coach said. “It’s about damn time!”
Chapter 24
Hannah hadn’t had a lot of cravings to that point in her pregnancy.
Unless a desire to sleep until noon every day counted as a craving.
A craving for extra sleep, perhaps.
On this particular night, as they walked around the neighborhood surrounding the motel, she made a grand announcement.
“I want chocolate ice cream. With almonds. And gummy bears.”
She said the words with great flourish, as though she were introducing the queen mother to her people.
Tony chuckled.
“Yeah. And I want a million dollars. But I’m not likely to get that at one o’clock in the morning either.”
“Tony, I’m serious.”
The Yellowstone Event: Book 1: Fire in the Sky Page 7