A few moments passed while Dave relayed this request through Brenda.
“Message passed on, Joey. He wants to know if there’s any danger of roads crumbling or rockfall blocking his route?”
“I’ve got to be honest, Dave. I can’t promise anything, but we’re talking about the effects of a quake measuring Richter five about two hours ago and an epicentre which is a couple of thou’ miles to the south. All I can say is, if it behaves in a similar fashion to other incidents over the past few weeks, the power of the tremor should have tapered off by the time it gets this far—if it’s coming our way at all. I can’t even confirm that, as yet, unless I get some data which suggests it’s heading our way.”
“He says that’s good enough for him. He’s not one for motorway driving at the best of times, so tootling along the lesser roads through mid-Wales suits him down to the ground. He’s on his way as we speak.”
Chapter Thirteen
Eddie took his AA book from the glove compartment and thumbed through the map pages. He wasn’t particularly familiar with the road network in South Wales and decided it would be a good idea to use a few minutes in preparation before heading north. He’d escaped the monotony of the M4 at Newport; with any luck, he could actually relax and enjoy the rest of the drive. He’d filled the tank and his reserve can after leaving the motorway, avoiding the insane pump prices demanded of captive commuters at motorway services, and bought a sensible selection of snacks and drinks to graze on.
He picked up his mobile and punched Dave’s number.
“Hi, mate. Listen, just in case the brown stuff hits the whirly bits, I thought it’d be a good idea if someone knows what route I’m using.” … “No, I’ll be careful, but accidents can happen.” … “Okay, here’s the plan. I’ll head north from here through Pontypool and Abergavenny…”
He looked at the notes he’d made and reeled off the towns along the route, as well as the numbers of the main roads he intended to use. Eddie was a meticulous planner; if there was any possibility he might run into unexpected problems along the way—minor inconveniences such as earthquakes and floods, for example—then he wanted to cover all the bases, thank you very much.
“…and then I’ll head towards Chester.”
He paused, not really for breath, though he suddenly realised he’d been gabbling at a high rate of knots, but more to indicate he’d finished giving his intended itinerary and to allow Dave the opportunity to scribble down anything he needed to record.
“I’ll avoid the motorway as far as I can, then over Frodsham and the Runcorn Bridge. I imagine I’ll have to use the motorway from there to Liverpool, but I’ll keep my eyes open for any signs. That’s really why I’m avoiding the motorway.”
“Fair enough. But keep in touch. As journeys go, it doesn’t sound too bad.”
“I’d say three, four hours under normal driving conditions, but you never know. Tell you what, I’ll stop and call you once an hour. It’s eight-thirty now—I’ll call you at nine-thirty. Any excuse to stop for a coffee break.”
Not for the first time, Eddie marvelled at the arrow-straight precision of the approach road the occupying Romans had constructed to reach the fortress they had built at Deva, modern-day Chester. It was a far more enjoyable driving experience than the sometimes crowded and invariably boring, monotonous rat race along the northbound M6. He wondered why more people didn’t choose other routes but had to concede that the answer was most likely pressure of time. Business meetings, in-house training, web seminars—when he thought about it, he decided that getting the bullet might not be the worst thing that could have happened to him. For the first time in years, he had no pressure ruling his day-to-day routines.
It wanted but a few minutes to ten-thirty as he crossed the ancient iron girder bridge over the River Dee, which he had always recognised as the Wales-England border even if there were no customs officers or passport control to confirm one had entered and exited one of the few remaining bilingual regions of the UK.
Coming to the last section of the bridge, Eddie slowed, aware of the time and his promise to remain in touch. He decided to pull over at the car park close to the bridge, a spot which provided tourists with an excellent opportunity to photograph the Welsh mountains south and west of the river.
As he changed down a gear and indicated left, he felt an odd rumble under his wheels, the sort of judder that comes from crossing a cattle grid a shade too fast for comfort. He glanced automatically in his mirrors, but there was nothing in any of them. Both wing mirrors and the rear-view showed a totally empty road: no other vehicles and no sign of a cattle grid or similar traffic-calming measures. Perhaps he’d hit a dead rabbit or something of that nature. He completed his parking manoeuvre, killed the engine and plucked his mobile from the dashboard charger before getting out to stretch his legs and call Dave. First, though, he checked the car for any signs of a collision with an animal.
Nada. Not so much as a chip of paint or a scratch on either front wing.
Something made him look up and gaze across the river, but rather than being drawn to the majestic sight of the Welsh hills, half-shrouded in mist, his attention was redirected to the middle distance, focusing on the river itself.
This far north, he was back on familiar ground. He’d driven this route many times and it was one of his regular coffee stops if he was in no particular hurry. The River Dee was tidal at this point, and he enjoyed observing the conflicting eddies.
The surge of brackish water carried by the incoming tide was slightly darker than the freshwater of the river’s flow. The two forces cancelled each other out immediately downstream of the bridge, where a long, ragged oxbow of a bend had been gradually eroded to form a wide, shallow basin, the surface of which was pocked with random, drifting eddies, some circling clockwise, others in a contrary direction. There was no discernible pattern or logic, suggesting this stretch of river was as close as makes no difference to dead water.
Pouring a coffee from his flask, Eddie strolled across to the edge of the parking area to get a closer look at the ambivalent state of the swirling currents. As he gazed across the river, he felt the faintest tingle in the soles of his feet, no doubt the circulation returning to his legs. Concentric rings appeared on the surface of his coffee, which he’d placed on the security barrier. Eddie frowned, but as he did, something on the edge of his vision demanded his undivided attention.
Beyond the cup but still in the close-to-middle distance, a wavering line of foam was building, yet it moved neither upstream nor down, but from south to north, across the river, in defiance of both the natural downhill flow and the twice-daily reverse effect imposed by incoming tides. The coffee in his cup was suddenly in danger of spilling over the rim, and the tingling in his feet became more pronounced. A vague, muted rumble caught his ear, and he realised that he wasn’t suffering pins and needles at all.
Chapter Fourteen
“Anything in the news?” Eddie asked.
Dave shook his head. “Not in the papers, and it’s too early for the TV news. I’ve been listening to local radio—BBC Merseyside—but you’ve probably been tuned to the same station, since you called from the Welsh border?”
“Sure thing. How about your man at Bidston Hill? I gather he’s barred from making outside calls, but have you tried to contact him?”
Dave and Brenda exchanged a glance, which Eddie felt obliged not to notice.
“We didn’t want to…abuse his willingness to bend the rules by calling him without a very good reason. He’s not exactly an old mate or someone who grew up in the next street. We only met a couple of weeks ago. And I’m not keen to dump him in hot water with the powers-that-be, whoever it is he has to make his reports to. Still, we don’t seem to have a lot of options.”
Dave punched a shortcut button on his mobile.
“Hello?” … “Yes. I don’t want to compromise your security regs, so I’ll be brief. The Prodigal has returned from foreign fields. He’s driven up fro
m the south coast in stages—not on the motorway network—and he’s got an update, something you might be able to verify with your electronic gizmos.”
“Assuming I can get some readings from available equipment here and elsewhere, I can present this to…my superior as if it’s something I’ve monitored myself. If I admit I got the info from an outside source, he’ll have my ass and yours. In the circumstances, I can’t give you credit for—”
“Big deal!” Dave interrupted. “We’re all adults here. Personally, I don’t give a monkey’s. If this is helpful, and relevant, it could be vital. We still don’t know exactly what’s happening, and we’re looking for a pattern before we can begin to plan for what we might have to deal with next. Hell, we can’t even begin to guess the where or when, yet.”
“Calm down, calm down.”
The popular comedian’s tag line delivered in a deliberately over-the-top fake Scouse accent by Joey Hart had the instant and intended effect of easing the tension which was creeping into the illicit phone call. The meteorologist continued in a more normal speaking voice.
“Leave this with me. The military guy who’s my only official link with the outside world is going to have to cut me some slack. I can’t continue to function efficiently without some more staff. I’ll find a way of persuading him to let you become involved, somehow. He owes me that much.”
***
“…and although the data I have from my instruments and various listening posts around the mainland is good, it’s not enough. I need more staff back inside the observatory, and I need up-to-date information from real people who witness events as they’re happening. As an experienced military man, I’m sure you can appreciate that, Brigadier.”
“Mmm. Why do I get the distinct impression you have some specific people on a very short list in mind?”
“I wouldn’t waste your time by asking if I didn’t have a few possibilities, and the people I have in mind aren’t likely to be security risks.”
“Permission granted for you to liaise with eyewitnesses. I’ll consider your request for more staff, Doctor Hart. If the other people involved aren’t department employees, that might complicate things, but if you can vouch for them personally, I may be able to arrange limited security clearance.”
Joey held in his sigh of relief. He’d known it wouldn’t be easy to persuade the brigadier, but in the circumstances, this felt like a major victory. Thanking Brigadier Groth profusely, he kept the remainder of the call as brief as possible. The last thing he wanted at this point was for his superior to have second thoughts.
***
“Dave, I know I said I wouldn’t make a call in case it was traced, but I’ve had a result—sort of—and I don’t think we’ll be having security issues from now on. And you can tell your friend his input was very useful as well as timely. Once I knew what I was looking for, I managed to follow the shock wave, small though it was, by plotting it against the timeline.
“It looks as if the brigadier—I still can’t tell you his name, sorry—it looks as if he’s going to sanction limited security clearance for a few people on my personal guarantee. You’re clear to be included as a listening post reporting to me here, but I’ll have to make it official. Leave that with me. Listen, I’ve got a couple of red lights flashing. I’m going to have to call you back.”
Joey signed off as abruptly as Brigadier Groth, leaving Dave listening to the open line tone.
Dave looked at the handset in disbelief. Brenda caught the expression on his face and laughed.
“Takes something special to leave you lost for words.”
“It must have been urgent. Joey’s usually one of the most courteous blokes.”
***
Joey was once again holding the fort on his own and fighting a losing battle. The bank of lights showing ‘call waiting’ was growing longer. More than half of them had now changed from amber to red as the callers were kept on hold beyond five minutes.
His Skype pinged as he ended a call from an observation point in New York.
“Brigadier! You don’t know how glad I am you called.”
“Doctor Hart, I realised you had to be snowed under. I’ve been trying the switchboard for almost half an hour. I’m authorising immediate extra staff for you. They should arrive imminently. For security purposes, you’ll have to vet each arrival and let them in. The last thing we need right now is public panic based on guesswork and rumours.”
“Brigadier, I’m getting reports from a number of observers, which suggest there may be a link between some of the weather phenomena we’re currently experiencing. I’m not necessarily limiting this to UK weather patterns either, Sir. I still need some cross-checks to confirm it, but there’s a pattern developing. I’ve plotted a timeline of incidents. I believe the unseasonal weather in the UK can be traced to two separate incidents.”
Joey paused and took a deep breath. Somehow, he knew he was only going to get one chance to convince Brigadier Groth to listen to his theory. Even with the data he had in front of him, it seemed far-fetched and preposterous as he attempted to organise his thoughts coherently. It was going to sound even more insane when he dared speak it aloud, but there was no way around it.
“Doctor Hart? Are we still connected?”
“Sorry, Brigadier. I was collecting my thoughts, but I must warn you, this is going to sound completely unlikely. I’m starting from some volcanic activity in Iceland last week, spreading south to affect the UK, combined with the weaker and more distant tremor which started from southern Spain and rippled north a few days later.”
Joey gained more confidence as he spoke, thanks to the facts he was able to read off the collection of documents he had before him. Perhaps the brigadier was aware of this, as he allowed the doctor to make his case without interruption.
“How reliable is your data?” Groth’s question was neutral. His voice gave no clue of what his personal opinion might be, either for or against.
“The readings from Iceland are very detailed. What we have from Spain and all points south is more recent, but the event itself was much weaker and difficult to measure, so the results aren’t as conclusive. It was also further away, and the recording equipment available isn’t as sensitive. But the pattern is similar.”
“Can you get corroboration from any other sources?”
“Working on it, Sir. I have global contacts in other weather stations who report here regularly, and I believe there’s a bigger picture developing. I have a colleague in Australia whose work I can vouch for. He contacted me before any of our current problems kicked off. He’s convinced there’s a common causality for the earthquakes in New Zealand, the floods and fires in Australia, and the tsunami which destroyed the nuclear plant in Japan. He thinks they’re all related to the stresses of tectonic plates deep beneath the oceans in the Southern Hemisphere.”
In a few short sentences, he described the scenario which had been explained to him, the unthinkable ‘immovable object/irresistible force’ being fought in a silent no-man’s-land, and the potentially catastrophic consequences of one gaining a few millimetres of advantage over the other.
“…but because it takes so long—measured in human lifetimes—for the stresses in these rock strata to develop, we have no personal experience of such events to guide us. In geological terms, it’s not long since the last major climate change, which wiped out the dinosaurs almost overnight.”
“Doctor Hart, let’s assume the statistics you’re quoting are accurate. Do you or your colleagues have any suggestions for a solution?”
“I can’t answer for any of my contacts around the world. I’m still on my own here, and I haven’t had time to think that far ahead, yet. But the priority has to be to develop a plan of action, assume a worst-case scenario and seek some effective countermeasures. If there is indeed a direct connection between the events you’re describing, we’re facing something far more serious than a temporary shift in weather patterns across the UK.”
“My apologies for leaving you isolated for so long, Doctor. I’m prepared to give you a free hand to put together a team—subject to a satisfactory security vetting, of course—and I need some answers ASAP. Can I assume you have a shortlist of people you want on board?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Joey hoped he’d managed to keep his elation out of his voice. This was the opportunity he’d barely dared hope for, the chance to bring Dave, Brenda and Errol into the picture without awkward questions being asked.
“I’ll need your list at the first opportunity. Start thinking about possible solutions.”
Joey glanced at a monitor screen showing CCTV of the main entrance to the observatory. Two or three people were approaching. The cavalry was about to arrive. He took a short breath to relay this information to the brigadier, but as usual, Groth had ended the call without a formal sign-off and Joey was left staring at a ‘call ended’ message. He shrugged and trudged off to welcome the first of his returning staff, grateful for the prospect of human company, which he missed far more than the assistance he desperately needed. As he greeted each staff member by name and checked them off on the security list, he was suddenly aware of how long it had been since he last had the opportunity to sleep. It would be a while yet before he could allow someone else to oversee operations, but at least he could now look forward to crashing for a few hours.
Chapter Fifteen
“How’s tricks, Joey?”
“Frantic, Rob. You managed to drink Oz dry yet?”
“Keep trying, but you know what it’s like. Constant interruptions.”
“Okay, you got some stats for me?”
“Most of what you asked for. Took me nearly all the night though, mate. You owe me for this, big time.”
Joey glanced automatically at the wall clock, which confirmed the time in Australia was eight a.m.
Taking the Heat Page 8