President Hall exchanged a look with DeVries, then with Easton. “Harold?”
“Priorities,” DeVries said. “As you noted earlier, Cate, Russia and China have increasingly devoted time and financial resources to this branch of research. We simply haven’t considered it a national priority.”
The President lifted his right hand, a motion that reminded her of a conductor readying the orchestra to come in. “Cate, do you know how many countries have landed a man on the moon?”
Blaine studied the President’s face, his warm brown eyes, wondering what he was getting at. “We’re the only one, aren’t we?”
“That’s right. Twelve times. Twelve men have walked on the moon, all between the years 1969 and 1973. Why? Because we decided to make it a national priority. After Kennedy’s speech in 1961, we pulled together in a concerted effort to prove we could do it. And we did. But priorities change. Attention spans shrink. We elect new leaders more often than most countries. And every time we do, continuity is lost, priorities shift. It’s one of the weaknesses in our system.”
“Although, of course, there’s a difference between going to the moon and controlling the weather, isn’t there?” Blaine said.
“Yes and no. The point is, our objectives don’t always have time to germinate properly. In recent years, our priorities have been more immediate. The wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, for example. But what if somebody focused on this one objective over a period of a decade, say, or two decades, while we weren’t particularly paying attention? The fact is, as you’ve said yourself, it’s probably doable.”
“Yes. But the costs would be unfathomable.”
He nodded very slightly. “Yes, the same as with our space program. But we had an imaginative rationale to get that done and we did. The same with the military’s role in creating the Internet. For years, private industry didn’t consider developing the Internet to be feasible. So the government took charge and helped create it. And the same goes for computers. For ten years, before the costs came down, NASA was the only buyer of large computers. The point is, the government has traditionally supported emerging technologies and in many cases has been responsible for their existence. We could do that with weather technology but there just isn’t the same enthusiasm, or imaginative rationale, that we’ve seen with these other projects.”
“Okay,” she said. “Point taken. But I still wonder why our intelligence wouldn’t have been able to pick up what was happening.”
Easton, she noticed, was watching her. His gaze felt like a dark blue wall.
“We all asked that after 9/11, didn’t we, Secretary Blaine?” he said. “This is, obviously, something that has occurred under our radar. We’re not here to point fingers.”
“Of course not,” she said. “I’m certainly not doing that.”
The President gave her a reassuring nod. “Other questions,” he said.
“Just one, and I’m sure you’ve discussed this at length, as well.” She felt nervous asking it, sensing Easton’s disapproval. “If you’ve determined that this is credible and that thousands of innocent people may have already lost their lives, why aren’t we reaching out more to the international community?”
“We are,” Easton said. He leaned forward in his chair, glancing at her.
The President’s eyes closed for a moment. She could sense that it was a question they’d already discussed.
“I just mean, isn’t there a moral obligation—I mean, couldn’t a warning mitigate what’s going to happen by drawing attention to the threat?” She looked to DeVries for support, but didn’t find it. “Mobilizing the world community against it?”
“Or perhaps have the opposite effect,” said Easton. “The fact is, we don’t know enough yet to make that sort of judgment, Secretary Blaine. Or to take that sort of risk.”
“Cate, I understand your question,” the President said. “The main reason we aren’t doing this more transparently is that, until we learn exactly who we’re dealing with, we can’t afford to. We’ve been asked very pointedly not to let this information out of our small circle. The implication is that there will be catastrophic consequences if we do. That leaves me with a very difficult choice. After much deliberation, I’ve decided to heed that warning until we know more. Remember, this is day ten for us, Cate, and day one for you.”
DeVries added, “And if you look at the case of the most recent threat, there was no specific location given. Just ‘Western Europe.’ The first one was ‘Eastern Asia.’ I think information of that sort is essentially useless, anyway.”
Blaine nodded. “And we don’t have the ability—I mean, our satellites aren’t able to detect how this is being done?”
It was Easton who answered. “If we knew where they were, Secretary Blaine, we’d have ordered bombing runs ten days ago.”
“Sorry,” she said. “I guess I’m just playing devil’s advocate.”
“Understandable,” the President said.
“Although, in this case, the devil doesn’t need an advocate, Secretary Blaine,” Easton said, showing what might have been a smile.
“Cate, let me just reiterate,” the President said. “We’ve all asked these same questions. We’re looking at everything very closely. Changes in the atmosphere, ionospheric irregularities. Any anomaly that might offer some pertinent information about where these events originate. We do have a game plan.”
“Of course.”
“If we play by their rules, at some point—very soon—they’re going to make a demand. At that point, we’ll learn who they are, and we’ll learn what their motive is. Then we will respond accordingly.”
Blaine was silent, absorbing what they were saying: So the rest of the Cabinet has no idea this crisis is happening. Nor does anyone in Congress. It was not how Blaine would have handled it. But she understood the stakes, and the unstated concerns that the President was balancing. This was the sort of crisis that could define Aaron Lincoln Hall’s presidency—or sink it.
“What about the media? How concerned are we about something leaking?”
“Another reason for keeping the circle tight,” Easton said.
“They’ve already gotten hold of the wrong story, as you know,” DeVries said.
“I do.”
“Here’s what I’d like to think, Cate,” President Hall said. He leaned back and lifted his chin, giving her a stern, unfamiliar look. “And what I’d like all of us to think: that whatever this is, there’s still a possibility it can be resolved behind closed doors. Without any public crisis. Without any catastrophic event visiting our shores.”
Blaine watched the President’s measured smile, suspecting that this was actually Clark Easton’s idea. It wasn’t quite the way the President talked, or thought. Easton had come up through military intelligence, and he held old-school ideas about secrecy and protection of information.
“It’s just hard to fathom,” Blaine said. “What would China—or anyone—gain by such an attack? I mean, it doesn’t seem to make sense.”
After a long silence, the President said, “We suspect they would prefer a negotiation to any sort of attack. But, again, we’ll learn all that soon enough.”
“All right,” Blaine said. She took a deep breath, not wanting to be at odds with these men. We’re all parts of a team, she reminded herself, thinking of her father. “And so what’s the next step?”
“The next step is for them to take, not us,” the President said.
Right, she thought. Tomorrow was Monday.
The President held up a forefinger and raised his eyebrows as Blaine stood, a familiar directive, indicating he wanted her to remain in the room. She sat back in the rosewood chair and waited for DeVries and Easton to exit.
NINE
“I JUST WANT YOU to know that what you refer to as the ‘moral obligation’ is something I take very seriously, Cate.” The President was leaning forward on the desk, watching her. “And will continue to do so.”
“I’m sorry, sir,
if I spoke out of place.”
“No. I just want us to be clear with each other. I also don’t want us to be second-guessing ourselves.” He closed his eyes, as if he were disappearing inside some private thought, then opened them again. He could do that: go somewhere else, like he was playing an entirely different chess game in his head. “If you have a concern, or a question, feel free to bring it to me. All right? Even outside of the group, if you’d like. Especially outside of the group.”
“All right.”
Blaine considered what he was really saying.
“Also,” he said, his face brightening, “I just want to say that I’m glad you’re on board.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He scooted his chair back. Then, one at a time, he lifted his long legs and settled his feet on a corner of the desk. She could see that he was trying to forge a bond of informality between them. “Heading into October, Cate, I thought I’d be dealing with a couple of routine budget issues and getting away with Mrs. Hall for a few weekends to watch the leaves turn up at Camp David.”
“I know.”
“But it doesn’t look like that’ll be happening.”
“No, sir.”
“Anyway.” He fixed her with a look, and winked. “I’m hearing some good reports about DHS. The handling of the floods, in particular. We’re getting some very good marks for that. So, thank you. And I understand you’re bringing a lot of fresh ideas into play over there. Just what I was hoping.”
“Thank you, Mr. President. It’s an ongoing process.”
He looked away, his brow furrowing. “Although I’m told that you sometimes play a little hide and seek with the Secret Service.”
“Me?”
This time the President didn’t smile. He knew her father slightly and sometimes took a paternal tone that made Blaine uneasy.
“Not often,” she said. “I sometimes just want to be alone with my son. It makes him very uncomfortable having security people around all the time.”
“I’m only concerned about your safety, Cate. And your son’s safety, for that matter.”
“I appreciate it, sir.”
“Anyway. I want you to know that I value your perspective on this. No one else in our circle is as well versed on these subjects as you are. If you see something I’m missing, at any time, I want you to come to me. Okay?”
Blaine nodded.
He watched her, letting his look linger. “What’s your gut feeling at this point?”
“About the threats?”
“Mmm hmm.”
“To be honest?” she said. “I guess I’m still not fully convinced that it’s real.”
“Oh, it’s real, Cate,” he said, his eyes showing a sudden steel. “You said it yourself earlier. This is possible.”
“Well, yes. Hypothetically.”
“It’s a paradox, though, isn’t it? The public hasn’t shown the support for exploring this type of technology, nor has Congress. But on the other hand, if someone beats us to it, the public would be outraged that we let it happen. They’d hammer us.”
Blaine knew that he was right; she had been thinking the same.
“And that concerns me.”
“Of course,” she said. “It concerns me, as well.”
The President re-crossed his ankles on the desk, placing his right foot on top. “Did you know, Cate, that China is about to surpass us in the amount of scientific research they publish each year?”
“Yes,” she said, “I do.”
“That’s an area we led for the entire twentieth century.”
“I know.”
“Do you know where the tallest building in the world is today, Cate?”
“Dubai, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. Dubai. During the twentieth century, up until 1996, I believe it was, or ’97, the tallest building in the world was always in the United States. Did you know that? Seven or eight separate buildings, beginning with the Park Row building in 1900. On through the Empire State Building and the Twin Trade Towers.”
“Yes,” Blaine said. “I read that article the other day, too.”
“It’s only a symbol, granted,” he said. “But symbols matter. Coupled with other declines, in education and patent applications, for instance, there is a very real perception that this country is falling behind. Now I’m an optimist by nature,” he added, turning his eyes to hers again, “but I want to be realistic, too. I can see that this technology has the potential to bury us. I want to keep focused on the larger picture here until we can see what we’re really up against.” He looked off, showing her his famous profile. “I’m sorry. I’m probably being more dramatic than I ought to be. Anyway, Cate.” He turned to her. “Live and breathe this thing for me, if you can, okay?”
“I will.”
“And we’ll see what happens tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
Several minutes later, Blaine walked across West Executive Drive to a waiting limousine that would take her home. Before scooting in, she glanced at the blinking red light atop the Washington Monument and felt the unfamiliar undertow of things she wasn’t being told.
TEN
THE REPUBLIC OF CAPE Verde is an archipelago of ten islands and five islets about three hundred and fifty miles off the coast of Senegal, West Africa. Settled by the Portuguese in the mid-fifteenth century, Cape Verde later became a way station for African slaves bound for North America. Many of the people living there today are these slaves’ descendents.
In late September, the equatorial sun beats down on the calm seas surrounding Cape Verde, causing water to evaporate and form warm waves of unstable air. As these waves come into contact with low pressure systems, they expand, beginning a cycle of rain and further evaporation. When conditions are right, these atmospheric disturbances feed on one another, growing in size, eventually spinning in a counter-clockwise pattern, fueled by the warm seas and the westerly trade winds.
Each year, several hundred atmospheric disturbances occur in the Cape Verde Islands, dozens of which develop into tropical storm systems. On average, nine of these storms become hurricanes. Exactly what causes an atmospheric disturbance to transform into a hurricane is a mysterious process, each resulting from a complex series of interacting weather patterns; no two hurricanes are alike. It generally takes a week to ten days for a Cape Verde hurricane to reach the United States. Most of the Atlantic Ocean hurricanes that impact the Eastern Seaboard begin as atmospheric events east of the Cape Verde islands.
On the morning of October 2, a band of rain showers to the southeast of the lower Cape Verde islands merged with a low pressure system and began to spin in a chaotic motion, dumping heavy rains on the islands and the seas to the south. By early afternoon, it had begun to organize around a well-defined center, absorbing several other storms as it moved west.
Minutes before 3 P.M., it became a tropical depression, meaning its top wind speeds were greater than thirty miles per hour. Four hours later, Cape Verde Island government officials in Praia, Santiago, issued a Tropical Storm Watch for the region. A TSW meant that winds of 39 to 73 miles per hour were expected within the next twenty-four hours.
But it did not take twenty-four hours for this system to reach Tropical Storm strength. Less than two hours later, satellite and buoy sensors were tracking speeds in excess of 50 mph. At 9:15 P.M., what had begun as a series of routine disturbances in the sky above Senegal became Tropical Storm Alexander, the second named storm of the Atlantic hurricane season.
ELEVEN
CATHERINE BLAINE’S DRIVER LET her out in front of her two-story brick townhouse in Cleveland Park, a residential neighborhood between Wisconsin and Connecticut avenues in Northwest D.C. She lived on a quiet street of Victorian-style houses with old trees and cracked sidewalks.
Her driver waited as she unlocked the townhouse door from inside the garage. Then she waved and went inside.
The words from the president were still reverberating in her head as Blaine climbed the st
airs to her galley kitchen and poured herself a glass of white wine. There was a subtext to what he had told her, but she wasn’t sure yet just what it meant. As she twisted the wand of her window blinds she saw the familiar dark Suburban parked across the street. Secret Service. The government provided a security detail, which watched her house through the night. The White House preferred that she use a government car and driver and on most days she did. But she still insisted on driving herself to work several times a month. And occasionally she did play hide and seek with the Secret Service.
She called down to the man seated behind the wheel of the Suburban, a genial agent named Ralph, to say that she was in for the night.
“Let us know if you need anything.”
“I will. Thanks, Ralph.”
“Have a good night.”
“You too.”
Blaine twisted the blinds closed and pulled off her suit jacket. The day had begun for her in the drizzle of West Virginia, where she had gone for a routine tour of a flooded valley, and it was winding down with a crisis she still couldn’t fully fathom—or believe. She was anxious to take out her contacts and to trade her suit for soft clothes.
Her townhouse was tidy, appointed with warm colors, artworks from her travels, books, and various photos of her son, Kevin. Only her study revealed her other, less organized side. Before switching on her computer, Blaine tried to reach Kevin, but had to leave a voice mail. She tried to remember if he was working tonight; or maybe he was out with his new girlfriend, Amanda.
After a long, hot shower, Blaine pulled on sweats and socks and poured another glass of wine. She sat in front of her computer, trying to recreate each of the email threats she had read that evening. Afterward, she innocuously titled the file “Recipes,” and began to surf the Internet, giving herself a quick refresher course on climatology.
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