Category 7

by Evans, Bill; Jameson, Marianna

  “I’m not thirsty, Jake. I want to change the channel,” she said, her voice rising as her heart started to pump faster. “Where’s the remote?”

  She watched in slow motion as he picked up the remote and flashed through the channels until he came to a headline news station, where a reporter stood in the steady rain in front of the street sign for Ford Lane, Richard’s street. “Turn it up.”

  “—lived at the end of this private road. Neighbors called the police at one forty-five this morning to complain about Carlisle’s dog barking, and that’s when his body was discovered in his yard, approximately halfway between his house and a small dock. Neighbors recall seeing a dark sedan entering Carlisle’s driveway earlier in the evening, and a neighbor reported hearing voices coming from the vicinity of Carlisle’s property after that. According to police, there was no sign of forced entry and it appears that burglary was not a motive. Police also said that it appears there was no sign of a struggle, indicating that Carlisle may have known his attacker. This is Brian Mitchell in Old Greenwich, Connecticut, for CNN Headline News.”

  The box went silent and slowly, slowly, Kate turned her head to look at a blurred Jake. Tears were hot on her cheeks and a hard, searing lump tore at her throat. “Jake—”

  “I’m sorry.” He knelt again on the floor next to the couch and wrapped his arms around her as she started to shake. She wasn’t sure how long she sat like that, crying, alternating between disbelief and profound loss.

  “Kate,” Jake said eventually, whispering into her damp hair, “I think you should come with me.”

  She pulled back and looked at him, wiping her cheeks with her palms. “Where?”

  “Washington,” he said after a moment.

  “No.” She started to pull away, but his hands closed firmly around her shoulders and he gave her a small shake.

  “Kate, listen to me,” he said, his voice low and grave. “There are people there who will want to talk to you about your paper and about Richard and what he might have told you.”

  “No. He didn’t tell me anything. I need to go to—”

  “Kate,” he snapped, and she stared at him, feeling her eyes go wide at the intensity in his. “Kate, listen to me. You need to come to Washington with me. Now. So don’t argue. New York is already under voluntary evacuation. Washington is under mandatory evacuation, but I will get you there literally despite hell and high water.”

  “But my parents—”

  “Let someone else take care of them.”

  “There is no one else,” she snapped, pushing his hands away.

  “There has to be. A neighbor, someone.”

  “No, I—”

  “Damn it, listen to me, Kate! I don’t know if your paper and Richard’s death and this storm are connected, but if they are you’re in serious danger.” He reached down and unmuted the television, filling the room with information about the latest lawn pesticide, and then brought his mouth close to her ear. “I’m not talking about the Cub Scouts. I’m talking about terrorists. I work for the Central Intelligence Agency. Someone is messing with these storms, Kate. Someone is creating them. We know it. We just don’t know who they are. That paper of yours said more or less the same thing. Richard’s death might be random violence, Kate, but if it isn’t, and if it has any connection to those storms or your paper, you could be a target, too. So stop arguing with me and pack a bag.”

  Sunday, July 22, 7:45 A.M., DUMBO, Brooklyn

  Kate closed her eyes, not wanting to see all the taillights ahead of them, crawling across the bridge they’d been walking on just over an hour ago.

  Since when did New Yorkers actually pay attention to the mayor or any other bureaucrat?

  “Mom, I know it’s early and I know you’re scared,” Kate said, her nerves stretched thin and her patience nearly gone. “But this is the real thing and you’ve got to get out of town.”

  “Your father doesn’t want to go.”

  “He doesn’t have a choice,” Kate said slowly and emphatically. “You have to go and you have to go now, while things are still relatively calm. Do you see the wind? You think it looks rough now, twelve hours from now it will be much worse, and in twenty-four hours there could be water up to the second floor. I’m not joking, Ma. Do you understand me?”

  “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child,” her mother sniffed.

  “Well, quit acting like one, then,” Kate shot back. “I’m trying to tell you that we don’t know where this storm is going to go. But if it comes at the city, which it very well could, you’re the first stop on the tour. Remember those pictures of New Orleans after Katrina hit? And you couldn’t believe those people had actually stuck around? Well, you’ll be one of those people. You live two blocks from the beach.”

  “Your father—”

  “Tell him he’s nuts. Tell him he doesn’t have the right kind of oxygen tank for breathing underwater,” she snapped. “You have to get in the car and head for Aunt Molly’s in Vermont. Pack food and water and blankets, because it could take you a long time to get there. Keep your cell phone charged and your gas tank topped up on the way, okay?”

  “Will you come with us? Where are you? Are you coming over here?”

  She grimaced and held her breath for a moment, fighting back a sudden threat of tears. “No. I’m, uh, I’m heading out of town on business.”

  “On a Sunday morning? You didn’t mention it the other night. Where are you going?”

  “Washington.” She closed her eyes and waited for the shriek, which came right on schedule.

  “Washington? D.C.? Katharine, are you nuts? Everyone has left Washington. Even the president is gone. What are you going there for? Are you alone?”

  She held the phone away from her ear and sent Jake, who had his eyes straight ahead on the road, a dirty look. “No, I’m not alone. I’m with someone from work. The trip came up suddenly. I’ll be fine.”

  Jake glanced at her and she rolled her eyes.

  “I think you should tell your boss he’s crazy and come to Vermont with us.”

  At least she’s made the decision. “I’ll be fine,” Kate repeated firmly. “I want you out of that house and on the road in an hour, tops. Got it? Go to one of those evacuation centers if you have to, but get away from the beach. I’ll call you in an hour, and you’d better be on the road.”

  “I’ll see what I can do about your father.”

  “Have Mr. O’Neal come over and pick him up and threaten to put him in the trunk if he won’t go on his own,” she replied forcefully. “Okay?”

  “That would go over a treat.” There was a long, heavy pause at the other end of the line. “Katie, did you hear about Richard?”

  Her mother’s voice was quiet and hesitant and Kate swallowed hard against the lump she was trying to ignore. She squeezed her eyes tight. “Yeah, I did.”

  “I’m so sorry, Katie.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” She sucked in a hard breath and opened her eyes. “Listen, I’ll call you in a while, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “I love you,” she finished quietly, and there was a pause on the other end of the line.

  Then, “I love you, too, Katie. You be careful.”

  “I will, Mom. You, too.”

  She ended the call and rested her head against the seat, eyes closed, and didn’t even try to stop the tears.

  Sunday, July 22, 8:30 A.M., Financial District,

  New York City

  Davis Lee stopped in the opened doorway to his office and stared at the unwelcome sight of Carter Thompson’s back framed by the view. His view. He clenched his teeth against the invasion and gave a small cough as he entered the room.

  God-damned Carter didn’t even turn around for a few seconds.

  “Good mornin’. You’re not usually a man for surprises, Carter. I thought our meeting was for nine,” Davis Lee said easily as he set his Starbucks cup on his desk and proceeded forward to shake his boss’s hand. The man looked tired. Not even jus
t tired. Haggard. But when he smiled, an odd look appeared in his eye that Davis Lee couldn’t interpret.

  “Good morning. I didn’t get you in here too early, did I?”

  It’s Sunday. “Course not,” he lied with a smile as he came to a stop next to the older man. “The view is better when it isn’t pissin’ down rain. They’re calling for an evacuation already. Can’t believe it. The storm is sittin’ off the Carolinas, for pity’s sake.”

  “It’s a big storm and this is a big city,” Carter said absently.

  They both looked out over the gray, watery city in silence for a few minutes. The lightning strikes were spectacular, and Davis Lee could feel the thunder as it boomed and cracked around them.

  “So what’s on your mind, Carter? Anything in particular?”

  “One of our meteorologists sent me a paper she wrote. Looks like she presented it at some conference a few days ago.”

  Carter’s hands remained in the pockets of his khakis, but Davis Lee could tell by the way he held his head that the man wasn’t making casual conversation. More likely, he was boiling mad.

  “That would be Kate Sherman. She’s damned good at what she does.”

  “The paper makes her sound like she missed her calling. She should have been writing for The X-Files.”

  Damn.

  “Did you know about that paper? Did you approve it?” Carter continued. He’d started jingling the change in his pocket. That was never a good sign.

  “I knew she was writing it and I saw an early version, but I didn’t see the finished version until you did. She sent it to both of us at the same time, after it was accepted for the conference,” Davis Lee admitted. “I never thought she’d make herself sound so foolish. She’s a smart—”

  “She identified herself as our chief meteorologist,” Carter interjected sharply, “which makes it look like the company approved the paper and her outlandish conjectures. It should never have been written. It should never have been published. It’s a pity you didn’t read it before this mess started. I’m surprised the press hasn’t gotten hold of it yet. No doubt they will.” Carter turned to face him with cold eyes. “Fire her. Immediately.”

  We’ve got enough problems on our hands. Davis Lee stared at him. “Carter, that’s a bit extreme. If you’re worried about the press liking her paper so well, what do you think they’re going to do if she’s fired for writing it?”

  “Did you approve it in writing?”

  Davis Lee set his feet apart as if bracing himself and folded his arms across his chest. “That’s generally a rubber-stamp issue, Carter. I’m sure there’s something, some e-mail—”

  “Get rid of it,” he said flatly. “Get someone to clean out her desk, delete her files, and get her out of the system. Then fire her, Davis Lee. Today.”

  The points Elle had brought up came to mind, and he met Carter’s eyes. “I just want to make sure I’ve got this straight, Carter. Kate Sherman has been with us for more than ten years, but we’re firing her because you think she might have embarrassed the company by writing a paper that isn’t going to be read by anyone but the weather weenies?” He paused. “There are other ways of handling this that won’t end in a lawsuit and headlines. Hell, we could just tell her she has to move to Iowa and work at headquarters. She’s a Brooklyn girl. She’d quit in a heartbeat.”

  Carter said nothing, just resumed looking out the window.

  “Just what is it we’re afraid of, exactly?” Davis Lee asked. “We’re a privately held company with a solid reputation. I can’t see how one crazy paper full of crap hypotheses and junk science is going to hurt us. If anything, she’s just made her own life more difficult and torpedoed her next bonus package. She’s no woo-woo guru, Carter, and frankly, I can’t believe she made those half-assed implications. She’s smart as hell and generally conscientious to a fault. I don’t want to lose her. Let me deal with her. I’ll make sure she gets the point.”

  “You’ll do as I instructed you.”

  Anger bubbled up in Davis Lee as Carter stubbornly kept his back to him. “All right, Carter. I’ll find her and fire her. But for the record, I think it’s a bad idea.” He glanced down at his desk then and saw a note in Elle’s handwriting.

  The son of a bitch is in a foul mood anyway. It’s as good a time as any.

  “There’s another situation I think needs discussing.” Davis Lee looked up again, making his voice more relaxed than it was a few seconds ago. “I’ve had an assistant looking into your background in advance of your declaration to run. She found some things I think we might have a hard time explaining to Bill O’Reilly.”

  The older man stiffened. “There’s nothing in my background that should need explaining.”

  “That’s why I had her check, just to make sure.” He paused to take a sip of coffee he neither needed nor wanted and carefully replaced the cardboard cup on his desk. “I didn’t say she found anything bad, just some things that could be misinterpreted if someone felt the urge. Have a seat?”

  Carter ignored the invitation, and Davis Lee remained standing.

  “She came across two things that might be troublesome. The first was a series of papers you wrote in college that were cited in some off-the-wall books on weather control.” Davis Lee made sure to keep his expression neutral as he watched Carter freeze. “The other is some articles of incorporation for a foundation for—” He ruffled some papers on his desk for effect, as if he were looking for something. “Something environmental. Rain forests? And something about deserts. Based in—was it India? Are there even rain forests over there?”

  He looked up to see that Carter had finally turned to face him. The sudden pallor in his boss’s face both alarmed and pleased him. “Those research articles might seem sort of woo-woo to the electorate, I’m thinking, so we’re going to have to count on doing some damage control. Have something prepared in case we have to explain them away. But that foundation might seem sort of … whimsical?”

  As anticipated, Carter flushed deeply at the insult, and Davis Lee cut him off before he could reply. “Maybe that’s the wrong word. I mean that it may not resonate with the electorate because it’s not an issue facing Americans right now. We have a few deserts, but they’re tourist attractions. And we don’t have any rain forests.” He shrugged. “I’m thinking there might be some questions as to why you aren’t focusing your energy and funding right here at home. I mean, Buffett and Gates can plunk their money in Africa or anywhere else because they’re not running for office.” He paused. “On the other hand, his wife’s home-grown philanthropy didn’t do much for John Kerry, did it? So maybe this will be okay.”

  “I’ve always been an environmentalist and I’m not ashamed of it. And I will fund whatever causes I deem worthy.” Carter’s voice was low and almost shaking with anger, and his fists were clenched at his side as he turned away. “As for the early papers, I can’t stop people from citing my research. And for your information, attempts at weather manipulation have been going on for centuries. Many significant breakthroughs have occurred in the last few decades.”

  Well, I’ll be damned. “Then that should about take care of it, I guess. Unless you’ve had something to do with any of those significant breakthroughs,” he ended with a lazy note in his voice.

  Carter turned to look at him again with fury burning in his eyes. “Yes, that should take care of it. And for the record, I have no intention of being questioned about any of it by you now or by the press or Congress later on.”

  He walked out of the office, leaving Davis Lee to stare incredulously at his retreating back and the small clumps of muddy grass that had fallen from the treads of his shoes.

  Where do you get mud on your shoes between Westchester Airport and Midtown Manhattan? And why the hell would Congress come into the picture?

  Sunday, July 22, 3:00 P.M., Camp David, Maryland

  It was always nice to get into the mountains and away from the soggy heat of D.C., but when it rained, the preside
ntial compound seemed more claustrophobic than a subway tunnel. The sound of the rain smashing through the trees and pummeling the roof and the ground was incessant, and after two days of it everyone was starting to get edgy. Sometimes, like now, it seemed to take on the cadence of a drumroll. Win, who had arrived with his parents on Saturday morning, now watched his father’s senior national security advisor try very hard to maintain his neutral expression in the face of presidential anger.

  “Tell me again why this never made it into the PDB?” the president demanded, referring to the Presidential Daily Briefing, a capsulized summary of all current or imminent security or intelligence issues affecting American interests worldwide. “We have a quarter of the population on the move because of Simone and the fact that the intelligence community thinks the storm might be an act of terrorism isn’t important enough to make the grade?”

  “We had nothing concrete, sir. There was convincing evidence of earlier tampering with the weather but—”

  “Do we have anything concrete now?”

  Win noticed a shine on the advisor’s forehead. “Not really.”

  “Why not?”

  “This storm’s evolution hasn’t followed the same pattern as the others. Mr. President, there’s a task force in place, and—”

  “I want updates every hour, Tucker.” The president turned his attention to the papers on his desk and Tucker Wharton slunk from the room. After the door closed, his father met Win’s eyes. “Did you know about this?”

  He nodded. “I was in the same meeting with Tucker.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think it’s a great opportunity and if it weren’t threatening New York, I’d say you should be getting some photo ops on the ground in Charleston.”

  His father stared at him for a minute, then spoke. “You’re a real prick, you know that?”

  Win didn’t react other than to smile. I learned from the best.

  “Where’s Elle?” his father asked, walking back to his desk.

  “She’s still in New York. I flew up there Friday to check in with her.”