He noted the time on the dashboard clock as he settled on the passenger seat, fully extended and reclined almost to a horizontal plane; this wasn’t the first time he’d been obliged to spend a night in his car. It wanted two or three minutes to midnight: he decided to see if there was any update on the weather and possible earth tremors.
“…ships which sent out distress calls have been accounted for. Every lifeboat has now returned to their stations, and there are no reports of fatalities.
“It has now been confirmed that the weak tremor which registered one point nine on the Richter scale about nine p.m. this evening was in fact an early warning riding ahead of the storm. Police are advising everyone who lives within two miles or three point five kilometres of the south coast to be prepared to move further inland. As reported earlier, wave action is washing away large sections of the chalk-based white cliffs, and there will be some damage and erosion.”
Conscious of possible battery drain, Eddie turned off the radio and sat for a few moments in the subdued light of the car park. It was easy for him to imagine farms along the south coast suddenly losing fields full of livestock or crops as they slid into the storm-lashed Channel separating Britain from mainland Europe, and it didn’t require a great deal of imagination to picture himself gazing down from the passenger seat in a small plane, watching new, small islands form from the washed-away remnants of the famous cliffs while the coastline of Britain was radically altered, forever.
Another thought struck him, one which made him very uneasy.
If this was typical of the damage that could be caused by inclement weather in the narrow, normally placid waters of the English Channel, how much damage might be caused elsewhere? For example, a storm building in the west had several thousand miles of open water to cross before pouncing on the west coast of Ireland as the only warning prior to venting its fury on North West England.
Sleep didn’t come easy to Eddie that night.
Chapter Eight
Joey Hart had been close to the literal truth when he’d joked with his visitors about not getting out much. He wasn’t averse to a bit of company, but he preferred to work alone.
He’d developed a habit of reserving one of the monitors in the workshop for its original purpose of receiving a TV signal, and it was permanently tuned to the twenty-four-hour BBC News Channel. He didn’t allow it to distract him from his work, but there was a continuous low level of speech from it which created a much better environment than the alternative—a sterile silence broken only by the chink and click of scientific instruments and Joey’s muttered comments and curses intended for nobody other than himself.
The word ‘Australia’ finally registered on Joey’s inner ear. Glancing up at the News Channel, he realised it must have been mentioned several times already, as the scenes on the screen were evidently part of a longer report. He stopped what he was doing and poured a coffee.
“…police and coastguard are advising people to move away from the coast and head for higher ground. Several major rivers have already burst their banks, and the next high tide along the east coast in about eight hours will be one of the fullest ever recorded, with a strong current following it and a force ten or eleven gale behind it.”
Nobody likes a smartass, Joey thought to himself, and I certainly don’t want to be the one to jump up and shout, “What’d I tell you?” but…
His computer Morsed the receipt of a text message. It was from Dave. Joey read it and called without allowing his attention to wander from the dramatic pictures on the News Channel.
“Hello, Dave?” … “Yes, thanks. I noticed it when it came up a few minutes ago.” … “Really? No, I didn’t know, I’ve only just—” … “Someone said the next high tide’s in about eight hours. Is that live or recorded comment, I wonder? Not that we’re in a position to do anything useful from this distance, anyway.” … “Yes, I’m aware of that—though I’m not especially happy to be proved right on this occasion. I’d much have preferred to be wrong!”
“Joey, I just needed to ask—how serious d’you reckon this could become? If you remember, I told you we’ve relatives Down Under, both in Oz and in New Zealand.”
“No need to panic, Dave. Australia’s not going to be washed off the world map. But if they can move away from the coast, they’ll be a lot safer on higher ground. As far as New Zealand’s concerned, there’s still some doubt about how long it’s likely to be before the stresses start building in that direction, but again, if your relatives are on reasonably high ground rather than along the coastline, they shouldn’t be in too much danger.”
“Joey, things seem to be moving along just as you predicted and maybe a damn sight faster. Is there anyone you can think of might be able to verify your figures? I don’t mean steal your thunder or plunder your research, but we may be talking about saving lives here.”
“I might be able to call in a favour or two. An uplink to the weather satellites would be a good start—that’s public domain anyway. I’ll call you back.”
***
Joey checked the data spread on his desk one more time.
“There’s something not quite kosher in this,” he muttered to himself, “but I’m damned if I can spot it!”
Gathering the printouts which showed the tracks followed by the orbiting weather stations, he squared them all off neatly, ready to stack them on one side, then frowned and fanned them once more.
“Let’s try something a bit different.” He arranged the shots according to their orbital order. There were twelve in all: he dealt them out in a clock-face formation and stood back to look at them once more.
The photographs at one and seven o’clock were slightly out of line, he decided, and moved back to adjust them. No, they weren’t out of line. He took a tape measure, marked a point exactly in the centre of the chart table and re-laid the still shots at precise intervals and with meticulous care.
His eyes told him that the discrepancy was still there, a fact confirmed by the traditional cartographer’s standby: a pair of dividers.
“I’m emailing you the schematics right now, Rob. How close are you to doing some beta-tests on the new radioscope? I know the building’s a couple of months from finished yet, but how about the lens itself? Is it in place?”
“Tell me what you want to look for, Joey, and I’ll tell you if it’s possible.”
Rob Jones’s Aussie twang seemed to bounce all around the lab at Bidston Hill, unaffected by being transmitted halfway around the world.
“There are twelve shots. Lay ’em out in a clock formation, starting with the station marked ‘Cancer’ at one o’clock, ‘Leo’ at two and so on in the order they pass.
“Look at what happens to the orbit of every satellite as it passes through the one o’clock position and again when it gets to seven o’clock.
“What I need from you is the most accurate data you can supply for me. The best ’scopes I have available aren’t sensitive enough, as these satellites are orbiting at a height which makes small variations difficult to measure. What seems to be happening is, every time one of them reaches a position which—for me in the UK—corresponds to one o’clock, it deviates away from the plotted orbit. It’s a minute deviation, compared with the overall flight path, but it looks like it’s exactly the same magnitude every time and, as far as I can judge at exactly the same point every time a satellite passes through.
“One hundred and eighty degrees away, at seven o’clock, the corresponding satellite dips by a corresponding fraction of a degree towards Earth, and the deviation appears to match with its oppo, both the timing and the deviation itself. I need to confirm that the two are identical. That way, I can be certain there’s a connection, and I’ll know I’m not going to be wasting my time chasing shadows.”
“And you want some results, when?”
“Yesterday would have been nice, but…”
“Nothing new there, then. Are the cops involved?”
“Not as far as I know.
”
“I need something with a bit of meat on the bones to run a real programme,” Rob said. “Give me three hours. Four, tops. But I can’t promise anything.”
***
“Cross-Channel ferry services will be disrupted, possibly suspended for several days while the damage caused by last night’s storms is assessed and shipping lanes cleared. The local authorities have requested help from the army to deal with the collapse of large sections of the famous white cliffs around Dover, where fragile calcium deposits were eroded away and resulted in several significant landslips.”
Dave and Brenda listened in silence to the BBC news report, which was accompanied by live camera shots taken from the air. The helicopter was buffeted by strong winds, and the heavy rain was making the images grainy, but the damage was clearly visible. A flotilla of sturdy British tugs, workhorses of the Channel accustomed to every sort of foul weather imaginable, could be seen bobbing amongst countless small islands which hadn’t been there the previous day, a ragged line of obstacles preventing any traffic from entering or leaving harbours along the south coast. Dover and Folkestone were the worst affected.
“The main problem is, we don’t have dredging equipment suitable for working at the sort of depths we’re dealing with,” a spokesman for Dover Harbour explained for the interviewer.
“Dredging is a basic daily chore in every harbour. Most harbours are constructed around the natural depth of the river mouth, and we have records of how deep they are. Outside the harbour, however, the depth of the water increases sharply, and our cables and tools aren’t designed to function in open sea.
“For the moment, all we can do is break up the deposits of cliff face, along with the additional soil and other detritus which has fallen around the coastline. Some of this may have to be removed by setting off controlled explosions and waiting for the rubble created to sink to a depth where it will no longer present a problem for shipping. Along the shoreline, we’re liaising with REME and the Territorials to clear deposits at or above the high tide point on the beaches to get them carried away. For the time being, we’re keeping this stored as ballast. It’s possible we may use it to construct emergency dykes as protection against flooding if we experience more severe storms in the immediate future.
“Several farmers and smallholders have suffered losses of land and livestock. An emergency number they can contact will appear on-screen shortly, and the relevant local authorities will ensure that nobody will suffer financially. There have been no reports of any loss of human life, but we advise everyone to be extra careful if you must travel while these storms persist. If you have an elderly or infirm neighbour, look in and see if they are all right or if they need anything from the shops. Little things like this mean a lot.”
“Hello, Dave.”
“Eddie!” Dave muted the TV. “Good to hear your voice. We were getting worried!”
“Yeah, well at least I made it back to GB—have you seen the news? I swear that storm’s followed me through Europe. I’m in Taunton now, but the ferry straight after mine was cancelled. You wouldn’t believe the damage that’s been done all along the south coast.”
“There were some scary pictures on the national news this morning, so I’ve got a good idea. What’re your plans now?”
“In view of the fact that I’ve no boss howling for me to get my ass back in the chair, I’m going to mosey ’round a few places along the way—you know, the kind of places you tell yourself, ‘Must go there sometime,’ but you never do. No timetable, and I’m reasonably flush for a while…”
“Don’t let it get you down, Eddie.”
Despite the barrage of light insults and banter which was normal between them, Dave was aware of Eddie’s habit of concealing his emotions.
“Dave, I reckon I’ve earned a decent holiday, even if this isn’t the way I imagined I’d be taking it. I promise, I won’t do anything stupid. There’s always someone who needs a number-cruncher, so I’m not bothered about job prospects whenever I’m ready to put my shoulder to the wheel again.”
“That’s the spirit, mate! Listen, have a pint o’ scrumpy for me while you’re there.”
“Ahead of you on that one, mate. Had a very nice pint last night—handwritten label on the pump, brewed in the pub cellar, I was told.”
“Jammy sod! You always seem to fall on your feet that way. Well, if you’re passing Stonehenge, kill me a Druid or two on the way.”
“Since I haven’t decided on any travel plan, Stonehenge sounds as good as anywhere else to stop off.”
***
“He seems to be in reasonable spirits,” Brenda remarked after Dave had ended the call.
“Yeah. Eddie’s a bit of a worrier, but he’ll get by. He always does, somehow. I wish I was as laid-back as him.” Dave reached for the TV remote and unmuted the sound. Reports were still coming in from the south coast, and the extent of the storm damage shocked him. The clean-up operations involving naval and other vessels of every conceivable size and shape seemed pitiful, futile efforts to deal with a task of truly Herculean proportions.
“Wonder if Joey’s contact ‘dahn sahf’ managed to get any useful data for him?” Brenda mused, fascinated by the scenes of devastation on the small screen yet feeling that it was somehow wrong to take a vicarious thrill from this. What was that German term used to describe the emotion? Schadenfreude? A word that needed a complete sentence to translate it into English: ‘taking pleasure from the misfortunes of others’ was as close as she could come.
“He’s probably too busy working on trying to predict where these storms will strike next.”
Dave’s practical comment brought her out of her guilt trip. She sighed. “You’re probably right, and it looks as if they need all the help they can get right now.”
Chapter Nine
“Did you have any gut feeling about what was off base in this data you sent me, Joey?”
“I just felt there was something about what I spotted in the orbit of the weather satellites—a one o’clock wobble? Not a very professional term, I’ll grant you, but it’ll do for now!”
“We can argue semantics another time, once we’ve got the problem licked.”
“So we agree there is a problem, Rob? Has your new, expensive Christmas toy found something interesting?”
“That little hiccup in the orbit—as you thought, it’s balanced on the opposite side. There’s no measurable difference, and it needs more investigation. There has to be a reason behind it.”
“Any possibility it could be down to fluctuations in the Earth’s magnetic field or something of that nature? We’re measuring these orbits in thousands of miles—millions, in fact. It wouldn’t take much of a variation to create a noticeable difference at that distance from the planet’s surface.”
“Mmm. Not convinced. That could only be due to something or other further out—beyond the orbiting satellites if it was going to affect their flight path—and it would have to be both large enough and close enough to show up on every radar screen in the world.”
““Yeah, and even a transient comet or something else passing through would have been spotted long ago.”
“Agreed. So, logically, we have to look inwards…”
“Changes of some sort here at ground level?”
“Or maybe even deeper. We might just be into your special field, quakes and other subterra stresses and strains. We need to be—what’s the hip phrase people use these days? That’s it. We need to be thinking outside the box.”
“My old Jesuit teacher called it lateral thinking, Rob, but I take your point. I’ve got lots of data, pretty much up to the minute. Thanks to the web, there’s more than enough to dig into if I know what I’m looking for.”
Joey glanced up at the BBC News Channel, which continued to run with the sound muted. Updates of the salvage work going on along the south coast were still the central news item.
“Rob, bear with me a moment. I’m thinking out loud.”
“Go ahead.”
“I’m looking at this one o’clock wobble again. It’s not too far off what we use as magnetic north, and we already know that tends to vary a little from one year to another.”
“Yeah. Every so often, we have to allow for it in map updates. Go on.”
“If we’re looking at global changes, one thing we have been able to measure, especially since we’ve all become more aware of the environment over the past decade, is the erosion and melting of both polar ice caps. Since ice is denser than water—”
“The volume of water which has melted down as a result of global warming must have had some effect. Joey, you’re onto something here, I’m certain of it. How long will it take you to get some sort of corroborating evidence?”
“—and since about three-quarters of the planet’s water, that should be easy enough.”
This was the kind of data Joey was accustomed to handling, and he continued with confidence, “So even small variations in the alignment of the magnetic pole could have made a significant difference to the gravitational pull on the weather satellites.”
“Joey, one more thing. The mass of the volume of water sloshin’ about in the oceans—the runoff from the melting ice caps—has to make a difference to the rotation of the Earth itself.”
Joey was feeling dry from the long, technical conversation and reached for a glass, fumbling as he concentrated on what Rob was suggesting. The glass tilted dangerously, but he managed not to spill it on the desk. “Rob, this might sound crazy but hear me out.”
“Crazy sounds good right now, cobber.”
“Don’t go all Oz on me, mate. Listen to this.”
He rolled the glass in his free hand and watched the water ripple along the inner surface. “Suppose the extra volume of water—which has the same weight as the ice it once was, but now occupies a greater space—”
Taking the Heat Page 5