Category 7

by Evans, Bill; Jameson, Marianna

  Any suggestions would be appreciated. I owe you one.

  Thx,

  Kate

  Kate sat at her computer and debated whether to send the e-mail she’d just typed. It was against her character to doubt herself, but since her conversation with Richard last night that’s about all she’d been doing. She needed another opinion, and Elle seemed like the perfect person to ask for it. She had a background in research, so she’d probably be able to tell if Kate was wandering down the path of bad logic, as Richard had implied. And Elle wasn’t a meteorologist, which meant that her perspective as an intelligent outsider could offer some insight.

  On the downside, she might end up thinking that I’m just as much of a nut bar as those conspiracy theorists out on the Web.

  Exasperated by her own dithering, she clicked on Send and then opened the spreadsheet she had to get to Davis Lee by noon.

  Friday, July 13, 9:00 A.M., Campbelltown, Iowa

  The chirp of a cell phone brought Carter’s gaze to the small bank of them aligned along the left edge of his desk. They were reserved for family members, which meant Iris and the girls. Not even his sons-in-law had the number of the one that now chirped for the second time.

  The small screen displayed a Washington, D.C., exchange, which meant it had to be Meggy. He frowned. As his assistant counsel for legislative affairs, she routinely called him on his office line. Something had to be up if she was using a private line.

  He flipped open the phone. “Yes, Meg?”

  “Daddy, turn on CNN.” She sounded breathless.

  Without a word, he glanced up at the bank of TV monitors on the forward wall of his office and tapped the remote to bring up the sound on the third one from the left. The White House press secretary was standing in the Rose Garden, his hair blowing artfully in the wind as photographers jockeyed for an angle that would keep the sun from blinding them.

  “—the President of the United States,” he said, finishing his introduction.

  The cameras pulled back and Carter’s jaw tightened as he saw who followed the president to the lectern. Ranking members from every energy- and environment-related committee in both the House and the Senate, plus half the cabinet, stood there looking somber as the president flashed his orthodontically perfect smile. Carter flicked on the other four televisions on the wall and glanced at the one to the left of the one showing CNN. FOX News’s camera was panning the crowd, and the sight of the faces made Carter’s gut clench. His anger was fringed with dread. The seated audience comprised a balanced mix of activists and lobbyists, interspersed with enough sycophants and famously disenfranchised minority icons to ensure that whatever was about to happen would get a lot of play in the press.

  The crowd applauded, if not enthusiastically at least with good grace, and the president waited for the greeting to subside.

  This can’t be good.

  “What is this?” Carter demanded.

  “Daddy, I swear I don’t know. Nobody knows.” She sounded almost frantic.

  He let out an explosive breath. “For pete’s sake, Meggy. Somebody has to. Nobody can keep a secret in that town.”

  “Daddy, I swear I don’t. I’ve got calls out everywhere. If anyone knows, they’re not saying. I—”

  “Wait.”

  The applause had stopped and the president glanced at his notes, then up at the cameras.

  Carter glanced quickly at the other screens. Every network had cut to the same scene with their “Breaking News” logos littering the visual real estate.

  “My fellow Americans, a little over two hundred years ago, a small group of courageous, forward-thinking patriots—farmers, lawyers, merchants—declared independence from a foreign regime. That regime, while initially serving us well, had slowly begun to limit our freedoms, undermine our self-determination, and strangle our emerging economic strength. The situation the patriots faced was born thousands of miles from our shores and it was born out of greed and out of fear.” The president paused and looked from his live audience straight into the camera. “But the patriots were not without blame. To a certain extent, those early citizens allowed and even encouraged the situation to develop. That is, until our Founding Fathers realized that the old way was no longer the best way, and decided it was time for a change.”

  Carter eased back in his chair, all senses still on high alert, the phone in his hand forgotten.

  “One week ago,” the president continued, his voice rising, his well-bred New England intonations ringing with righteousness, “this great nation of ours celebrated the anniversary of their courageous and historic decision to throw off the tyranny of a power external to their land and antithetical to the ideals of their fledgling nation. Those strong, brave men of high morals and like minds crafted a declaration of intent to face down their oppressor, to wrest from that foreign power a new way of life, one that nurtured the Divine within and Nature without. With words that continue to stir the hearts and souls and fire the imagination of men and women all over the world, their declaration of independence from a foreign power that fateful day in early July of 1776 changed the world. Their words, their deeds ushered in a new reality, a new philosophy, a new method of seeking to attain a quality of life and of liberty that had never been enjoyed by any civilization in the history of mankind.”

  The president glanced down at his notes with just the right hint of humility, the right edge of patriotic anger. Carter felt his eyes narrow.

  “Their words were backed up by the noble sacrifices of the citizens of our young nation. Our forebears faced a future that would have been uncertain had it not been for their unshakable faith, their steadfast hearts, and their stalwart backs. And they prevailed. Despite myriad hardships and privations, despite the huge cost of shattered families and destroyed property, they triumphed. And we, the citizens gathered here today in the Rose Garden and the millions of Americans in cities and towns around the country and around the world, are the beneficiaries of their prescience, their conscience, their faith, and their call to action.” The president waited for a beat that Carter felt echo in his brain, then looked straight into the camera again, straight into Carter’s eyes.

  “I stand before you today, surrounded on all sides by patriots filled with the same sense of purpose, driven by the same desire for self-determination, inspired by the same call for freedom and liberty. It is with the greatest pleasure and pride that I announce the creation of the Coalition for an Energy-Independent America, which will be led by Frances Morton, whose roots extend to the Mayflower on one side and much farther back to the great Quinault Indian Nation on the other, and who has been the Undersecretary of the Interior since the first days of my administration. Under the strong, committed leadership of Ms. Morton, the coalition will work toward achieving its goal of complete American independence from foreign energy supplies by 2030.”

  Carter didn’t move. He barely breathed as he watched the president bask in the most enthusiastic applause he’d received in months.

  I should be there. He knows it. I know it. The country knows it. I should be there shaking his hand, smiling at the cameras, taking questions.

  But I’m not there.

  Carter unclenched his jaw and stood up, proud of his self-control even as rage threatened to consume him. “Why didn’t we know about this, Meg?”

  She was in tears, sobbing into the phone. “I don’t know, Daddy. I swear I don’t know. This is—”

  He tuned her out as the president resumed speaking.

  “This is America’s second declaration of independence and it, too, will call upon the strength and fortitude of all Americans as we work together to shift from our dependence on foreign supplies of fossil fuels to new, home-grown methods of heating our homes, powering our cars, and lighting our cities. It won’t always be easy or comfortable. As it did for the early patriots, the shift from one way of life to another will involve sacrifice. We must keep in mind, however, that just as the sacrifices made by our forebears helped s
hape not only our nation but the world, so, too, shall our sacrifices change the world we know for the better.” He stopped to allow the applause to swell, then continued as it subsided.

  “The creation of this broad, bipartisan, cross-industry, and inter-agency coalition is a turning point in our nation’s history. My administration has been working for months behind the scenes to bring together representatives from all sectors of the energy industry: regulators, lobbyists, CEOs, and researchers. We sat them down at tables and fed them lunch and made them talk to each other.” He grinned at the crowd. “We didn’t tell them what to say any more than we told them what to eat. We just put out some ham, chicken, tofu, and sprouts, and let them make their own sandwiches. After all, you gotta pick your battles.”

  His man-of-the-people role confirmed, his expression and his voice grew sober again as the polite laughter died away. “It was an inspiring event. It was small-d democracy in action. Everyone was on equal footing. Wind farmers had a chance to talk, really talk, with representatives from major utilities. Ethanol producers discussed ideas with the CEOs of petroleum companies. Manufacturers of geothermal and solar energy-collection equipment shared their views with automobile manufacturers and the people who operate the nation’s natural gas pipelines. It was a free flow of information among people who, until then, had seen each other as competitors, if not as outright enemies. Now, everybody realizes that we’re all on the same side of the fence, that we’re aligned to fight the good battle, and that we’re going to fight to win.” He paused, sending an intensely soulful look to the cameras, one that made Carter’s stomach churn as much as Benson’s words did.

  “I’ll say it again. Today is a great day for the nation and for the world. Led by this coalition, America will take the lead in the research and development and production and utilization of clean energy, and we’ll do it within our borders and within our means. That is why I am asking Congress to give fast-track approval to a three-billion-dollar appropriation to fund the research and development activities that need to be undertaken by the coalition. To sweeten the pot, I’ve asked all of the players involved, from the biggest to the smallest, to contribute money, talent, and other resources to the coalition to the best of their ability. Working together, members of this broad coalition will study every method of energy generation that’s ever been devised and implement every method that’s feasible within the boundaries of safety for our people, our environment, and our economy. And like our nation’s forefathers, our determination and our sacrifices will ensure that our grandchildren and their grandchildren will live in a safer, cleaner, more prosperous nation. Thank you all for coming today, and God bless America.”

  Declining to take questions, Winslow Benson crossed the stage with a purposeful stride and self-confident smile and disappeared under the portico, followed by a covey of dark suits.

  Every network immediately cut to a talking head, each of whom tried to fill airtime with a repetition of what the president had just said until they could get hold of an “expert” to discuss what had just been said.

  “Meg, how many people have you—”

  “Everyone. They’re all already on their way to the Hill and K Street to find out what’s going on. Every phone in the office is busy, Daddy. I’m so sorry I didn’t see this coming. I just … There wasn’t a hint of it. Not a hint.” Her voice was breaking again with desperation.

  “Enough about that. Keep me apprised of what you find out.”

  He ended the call with Meg and looked at his assistant, who had been standing in his doorway looking nervous for the last few minutes. “Track down Davis Lee and get him on the phone. And tell Pam I need to see her immediately,” he said calmly, referring to another daughter, his vice president of public relations.

  “Yes, sir. She’s already on her way up.”

  Feeling the erratic thump of his heart, Carter nodded and watched her shut the door. The dizziness began to encroach on his consciousness, and ignoring the constellation of flashing lights on his phone console, Carter leaned back in his chair, resting his head against the faded doily one of his daughters had crocheted for him years ago. Trying to focus on keeping the rhythm of his breathing slow and easy, he could not block the thoughts crowding his head.

  So that is Winslow’s answer. The greens get a pat on the head and another empty promise that they’ll be listened to, while the nukes and the derricks and the drillers get new leases and more money and less oversight.

  The light-headedness wasn’t dissipating as quickly as usual, and he slowed his breathing further, trying to parse the information into manageable pieces.

  Everyone was going to “contribute.” The big boys would send in their hired guns, who excelled at spending time and wasting money, and the little guys would give up their scientists and their credibility to the cause. And it would all be for the greater good. Everyone would get a chance at the table, and everyone would walk away a winner.

  As a strategy, it was brilliant. And, unsustainable though it was in the long term, it would likely work in the short term, just as it had for the canny political persuader who had used the same philosophy to great effect in the last century, Karl Marx. For all that Winslow Benson had wrapped his message in Old Glory and the Founding Fathers, the packaging neither softened its effect nor hid its origin.

  From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs.

  The difference was that in this situation, the shoestring organizations would give everything they had and the big corporations would take everything they could get.

  Carter’s rage surged again, harder to control, seeping through the hairline cracks that had formed in his composure. The environment was his issue, not Winslow Benson’s. He was the one with the mandate to protect it. He was the one who had developed the means to harness the power, to restore life. The president would destroy it—the environment, the planet, all the life on it. It was as much a certainty as the sun rising tomorrow morning. He’d kill it with his pet cause, nuclear energy. It had lined his pockets and sent him to the White House. It owned him, hard heart and black soul. It owned him.

  And it would ultimately kill him. Carter would see to it.

  The disorienting roar in his head stopped then and, shocked, Carter was able to rein in his fury.

  Surely he hadn’t just thought about killing the president. That would be wrong. As a man of honor, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

  His eyes snapped open. He slammed a clenched fist onto the solid American oak of his desk.

  Damn Winslow Benson’s soul to Hell for what he is about to do to this nation and this world.

  What about what he’s already done?

  The small voice echoed inside him and Carter’s breathing stopped.

  Of course. The jet stream.

  It had been parked over the middle of the country for weeks in the early summer, constraining the warm, humid, mostly stable Gulf air from moving north, inhibiting the cool Pacific fronts that usually swept down the eastern side of the Rockies. The weather had been wonderful for most of the country, not unbearable, not droughtlike. There had been no catastrophic storms in the Midwest, no tornadoes in the South, not even much notable activity in the Caribbean or the Gulf. A slew of named storms had built up in the Atlantic and broken up without much ado. And then, suddenly, the jet stream had begun to return to its normal position, sparking localized storms of surprising violence across the South and throughout the Midwest.

  He’d known in the back of his mind that such uninterrupted good weather followed by such inexplicably bad weather couldn’t possibly be natural, but now, acknowledging that the alternative was probably the reality, a chill ran up his spine.

  If the jet stream anomalies weren’t natural, it meant he wasn’t alone out there.

  It meant someone else could manipulate the weather. And that someone could only be the U.S. government. And the only means possible was HAARP.

  Anger ripped through him. It had to be a test—a
hell of a long test—or maybe it was a show of strength. God knows there were enough reasons the White House would want to flex a little muscle. The Benson administration had been a glowing target for so long and even its usual allies had been beating it up from all sides, deriding its trade agreements, environmental accords, foreign policies. No one was happy right now. Not even the electorate.

  The electorate.

  Near-perfect weather in a summer before an election year would give the president something to crow about all winter long as he built up his campaign war chest. During the long period of unremitting but not extreme warmth, electricity usage had shot up and remained there, making the president the darling of the industry while calling a lot of attention to the role of so-called “clean” nuclear power in the nation’s energy mix. Reduced levels of rainfall had pushed reservoirs and water tables below normal volume but not to the drought level, putting environmentalists into the spotlight without actually framing agribusiness as the bad guy. And the lack of severe weather initially had not only helped to fade the nation’s collective memory of recent failed responses to critical situations, but had robbed critics of the administration’s emergency operations of their anticipated ammunition. Not to mention what the lack of natural disasters had done to his own company’s profits, which were not as high as they usually were at this time of year.

  Now the pendulum was swinging back, but this time, the president was ready for it.

  The son of a bitch.

  The adrenaline burst carried Carter to his feet and he stared at the American flag hanging proudly in the corner of his office, undulating in the breeze from his open windows. It had flown over the graves at Arlington National Cemetery and had been presented to him by the governor of Iowa.