“Mr. Dwight, the action-reaction you mention works to our advantage. The stockpile of weapons has been laid down as evenly as possible. Put simply, it becomes what’s called a shaped charge—in other words, we can control the direction of the main force of the blast.
“Our boffins tell me that force will be directed downwards, towards the hollow centre of the planet, effectively stoking up the volcanic activity which supports life. If all goes as predicted, there should be nothing more than temporary, minimal effects on the climate and day-to-day life.”
“What happens if it doesn’t go to plan?” Joey asked.
“Then we have real problems, Doctor, but no worse than the problems we face already if we do nothing.”
“Understood, Brigadier. I’d hate to be in your position, having to press that button. For what it’s worth, we’re all sure you’ll make the right decision when the time comes.”
“Thank you, Doctor Hart, and I mean that, sincerely.”
With the stress and pressures Groth had endured over the past few days, it was no longer a surprise to hear the underlying emotions in his voice. The line went dead before Joey could work out if they were now into the fourth day of the emergency which most of the world knew nothing about.
The movement of traffic on the three radar screens had slowed to a crawl. A red dot flashed angrily in the southeast corner of Screen Three, roughly in the centre of the Mariana Trench: ground zero. Concentric circles were overlaid on the screen. Dave wandered up close and discovered they were set at ten nautical miles apart. Every ship had passed the second marker, and there were only a few pairs of vessels still showing on Screen Three. Two more disappeared westward and onto Screen Two as Dave watched, while Screen One resembled an untidy car park, crowded with images of vessels breaking away from the strict formation they had observed up to that point, dispersing into open water under the orders of their individual captains and commanders.
“Sitrep at 0700 Zulu.” Jackson’s status report startled Dave out of his observations, and he returned to his seat. “No vessels showing in the immediate vicinity of ground zero. Closest convoy vessel has passed the thirty-sea-mile beacon. Over.”
“Acknowledged, Sergeant. First stage of Exodus is now complete. We are slightly ahead of estimated time, which is good. Can you confirm there is still adequate distance between vessels, especially those which have passed the sixty-sea-mile mark?”
“Affirmative. The scatter on Screen One indicates distances between vessels have increased. The only vessels in that sector are attached to the convoy.”
“That was anticipated, Sergeant. I gave the necessary orders to all the major civilian lines several hours ago, but thank you for the information.
“I will now issue a general command, which I need you to monitor. Each craft will be required to calculate their exact position and realign with their stern posts facing the trench. They will continue to make all possible speed on that heading unless they encounter a landmass, in which case they will be instructed to remain in open water for their own safety. Your role will be to monitor their positions relative to each other and any landmasses in that sector. There will be some sort of tidal surge, but at that distance from the trench, it is not expected to be a serious threat. A full-blown tidal wave or tsunami is not anticipated on this occasion.”
“Question, Sir. Vessels entering the outer quadrant…” For the team’s benefit, Jackson indicated Screen One. “Will they also be ordered to disperse individually or continue in formation?”
“They will continue in formation. The fanning of the lead vessels onto new headings should mean there is adequate space for those following to fall in and assume the positions the lead ships have vacated.”
“Acknowledged, Sir. We’ll continue to monitor the situation and keep you informed. Listening out.”
The hands of the clock seemed reluctant to drag themselves around the dial. The fleet continued to disappear from the centre screen until every vessel was on the theoretically safer westernmost screen.
“That’s everyone accounted for,” Dave remarked with cautious relief, “but will eighty-odd miles from the trench be far enough for them to ride the surge?”
Joey hadn’t stopped scribbling for hours, and Dave had the impression it was as much about having something to occupy his mind and his hands as running essential calculations, which could have been done on one of the many computers in the room. Dave wasn’t even certain his comment had been heard, but after a few seconds, Joey paused, frowned at his notes, and allowed himself the smallest of ‘maybe’ nods.
“There’s no existing data I can use to make any predictions. No comparable explosions close to the magnitude we expect from this one. I’d have to go back to prehistory to find anything even close to it, as far as sheer power is concerned.”
Errol nodded and hummed in thought. “I recall reading somewhere that Wales and New Zealand were connected at one time, until a major eruption occurred.”
“No way!” Brenda protested. “That’s got to be an old wives’ tale.”
Joey turned to one of the idle computers, tapped a few keys and scanned the results on-screen. “The theory’s been around for a while, and I recognise some of the authors of these papers. Don’t forget, we’re talking in terms of hundreds of millions of years. If we treat evolution as a twenty-four-hour clock, in historical terms, Homo sapiens only swung down from the trees at about ten to midnight.”
“I guess we all learn something new every day.” Errol drawled. His lazy, laid-back style had the effect of easing the growing tension in the room.
The clock hands inched forward a few more endless minutes while they studied this pub quiz trivia. The radar dispersal pattern continued to expand. There was no apparent pattern to the scattering of dots representing the individual vessels, but Dave realised that the individual captains would be setting the courses they considered safest.
Eight-thirty GMT somehow slid past without anyone noticing. Dave was about to comment on this, but the direct line beat him to the punch, shrilling into life as the wall clock begrudgingly recorded 0833.
“Sitrep, Sergeant.”
“All vessels are now in Sector Three. Estimated minimum distance from ground zero in excess of eighty nautical miles.”
“Acknowledged. Stand by.”
A faint hint of static suggested Groth was thinking on his feet, preparing to make the biggest decision of his professional career—and the final decision of his life if he guessed wrong.
“Here are your revised orders, based on the latest updates of information.
“Detonation of the stockpile will remain on hold unless conditions at ground zero deteriorate. This will give every vessel the widest window of opportunity to reach a safe distance and prepare for the inevitable tidal surge. It’s vital you monitor the event constantly and provide us with up-to-the-minute reports of your observations.”
“We’ll do everything we can from our end, Sir.”
“I have every confidence. Stand by.”
Eddie looked from Dave to Joey, then back at the nearest screen. There was something that had been bothering him. Now, suddenly, he realised what it was. He rounded on Sergeant Jackson and pointed at the empty seascape.
“How accurate are the charts our vessels are using? When were they last updated? And would they show every island, including any which are too small to support a human colony of any consequence but could still be hazardous for a ship fighting to survive a tidal surge?”
“There are rocks and eyots all over the globe which haven’t yet been mapped,” Joey pointed out.
Jackson nodded. “I concur with Doctor Hart. This sector of the Pacific is not on any main shipping routes, so it’s not as thoroughly surveyed as other parts.”
Eddie exploded. “It would only take one insignificant reef to sink a ship. Old maps were full of notes such as ‘Here Be Monsters’ and the like, and I never believed that tales of whirlpools and giant whales, mermaids, the Sarg
asso Sea or even the Bermuda Triangle don’t have some foundation in fact. Something must have happened to get all these stories started in the first place.”
“Your point is taken, Eddie. It is Eddie, isn’t it?” Groth had evidently heard everything and invited himself into the conversation. He sounded less official, more relaxed—even faintly amused. “It’s a fair comment, even if we ignore the fairy tale and superstition element of tales told in taverns by the Ancient Mariner. Current status…”
He didn’t say ‘sitrep’ this time, Dave thought, wondering if this hinted at a partial melt of Groth’s hitherto precise, clinical military language.
After the briefest of pauses Groth carried on.
“I have a series of real-time satellite images, enhanced to the max. As you note, there are a number of isolated rocks and small islands out there, but I don’t believe they pose any immediate danger to our ships.
“On balance, I’ve decided to initiate the detonation. Once the decision was made to set the charge, we were committed to taking this final step sooner or later. We’ve been extremely fortunate to postpone the action for far longer than I dared hope, even to being able to choose the timing of it ourselves. Gentlemen—and madam—that moment has arrived.
“The main purpose of this call, which is being recorded, is to provide you with documented evidence which exonerates you from any blame or fault, in the event that this attempt fails to solve the problem and enough people survive to launch an enquiry or other legal proceedings. I am placing it formally on record that no criticism can be raised against my team of civil and military personnel, who acted entirely according to orders issued by me, and me alone.
“I’ve signed and dated a hard copy of this statement, and on a separate sheet I have recorded the names and personal details of each of you, so there can be no doubt for any court—military, criminal or civil.
“When I close this link, I will activate the detonation. My final orders to you all. Do not attempt to call me. I will remain offline until further notice. I don’t know how long it might be before we see the results of our efforts or the extent of the repercussions. What I do know is it’s been my privilege to work with you. The best of luck to you all.”
The call ended with a loud click before anyone could respond. This time, the silence was on the cusp of assuming a full, palpable, physical presence. Every eye swivelled automatically to the computer screens. Of the three, only Screen One still showed any detail: a red dot, pulsing silently over the location designated ground zero.
Perhaps a minute elapsed before the pulse of light suddenly ceased. Although they had expected something of this nature to follow Groth’s decision to take the irrevocable step, they all flinched as if anticipating an immediate reaction to the event several thousand miles south of their secure location.
A darker shadow appeared and spread northwest and southeast from the point on the screen where the ground-zero beacon had been, following the by-now-familiar shape of the Mariana Trench. Dave’s tense muscles threatened to lock painfully, and he forced himself to relax. His heart was racing, blood pounding a loud tattoo against his temples as adrenaline flooded his nervous system. A quick glance around the room confirmed he wasn’t suffering alone.
Sluggishly, concentric rings populated the screen. Ground zero was high in the northern quadrant of the screen, and the ripples—as Dave’s non-technical mind decided to call them—moving north left the field of the screen almost at once, leaving arcs of up to three-quarters of a circle spreading quickly south, apparently not so rapidly east or west.
“So far, so good,” Sergeant Jackson breathed. “That’s what I’d expected to see as the result of a directional, shaped charge. It’s out of our hands now. All we can do is watch—and pray, if you think there’s anything to be gained from it.”
Dave felt Brenda’s fingers lace through his own. They both attended church regularly, but Dave had rarely felt the need to ask the Man Above for any special consideration for himself or his family. Still, he thought, it can’t do any harm. Returning the discreet pressure of Brenda’s fingers, he gazed into her eyes and with his free hand sketched a swift sign of the cross. The habitual, formulaic Paters and Aves, he sensed, would be inappropriate at this juncture. A more personal approach was required.
The advice of a long-forgotten SJ from his school days chimed in his inner ear, “Speak to God as you would an old friend you haven’t seen for years. You’ll find He’s always prepared to listen.” He had to trust there was some merit in this homespun Jesuit philosophy.
The clock on the wall confirmed Groth had bought them over an hour’s delay before pushing the ‘destruct’ button. With that thought in mind, Dave sent up an urgent plea that it would not prove a futile gesture made in desperation, doomed to failure.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The arcs showing the thrust of the wave generated by the blast at ground zero continued to pulse south and east across Screen One without a sound, a silent movie that seemed unreal. Dave turned to Sergeant Jackson: something occurred to him which he realised he ought to have queried long ago.
“Sergeant, we managed to evacuate all the vessels involved in the setting of the charges. We’re looking at blank screens, so we know we’ve achieved that. But what about other traffic? Shouldn’t there be some evidence of ordinary shipping using the South Pacific? Container ships, cargo vessels, cruise liners? Two-thirds of the planet is covered by oceans. Surely there’s some traffic out there. Won’t they be in danger? It can’t have been possible to impose a total ban on all shipping movement, not in the time we had available.”
Sergeant Jackson caught the eye of the nearest of his military group and nodded towards the large conference table, which had been pushed to one side and now doubled as a convenient coffee bar. With no on-screen activity and Groth’s explicitly imposed radio silence, there wasn’t a lot to be gained from continuing to monitor the three screens as carefully as they had up to receiving their last set of instructions. The Insats group stood as a unit and moved to sit around the table. Sergeant Jackson indicated that the civilian element of the group should join them. He was the last to sit on one of the padded armchairs and waited for everyone who wanted a refill to top up their coffee mugs.
“You all heard Dave’s question about other shipping, and I’m not going to lie to you. You’re all intelligent human beings. Yes, there will be casualties. That much is inevitable. A surprising amount of shipping was directed away from the region. That much I do know, but we could do no better than restrict collateral damage to an absolute minimum. I’m not happy about it, but I was obliged to follow orders and observe the standard protocols and procedures. Everything was done on a need-to-know basis, and as far as we’re concerned, that’s still the case.
“The BBC seem to have kept a tight rein on their newshounds. I can’t say how other elements of the media have been muzzled, but up to—” he glanced at his watch “—about three hours ago, the BBC was still playing the three monkeys’ game—‘See no evil…’ and so on. Perhaps we should tune in to the World Service and see if they decided to tell Joe Public about the detonation before these massive waves crash down on shorelines all over the world. Look, it’s almost the hour. Let’s do it now.”
Anything would have been an improvement on the deathly silence that had developed in the ops centre before Sergeant Jackson called this semi-formal meeting. Scant seconds after he re-tuned the radio to the correct wavelength, the familiar strains of the World Service’s Lily Bolero warned them the news was imminent.
“BBC World Service. Here is the news at eleven hundred GMT.
“There is a red weather warning in effect across the UK. Flood warnings have been issued in ninety-four regions. The entire east coast will be worst affected. Landslides and flash floods have been reported in several places between Newcastle and Berwick. Secure your property as best you can and make sure you have basic supplies to hand—blankets, bottled water, first-aid kit, preserved food wh
ich needs little or no preparation or cooking. Until further notice, all TV and Radio stations will only be broadcasting public information programmes.”
Sergeant Jackson muted the TV and glanced around the ops centre. He’d been the first to roll up his sleeves and drag furniture around, creating a comfort zone of low coffee tables and upholstered armchairs as far as possible from the business end of the room. Now he picked up his coffee mug and nodded silently in that direction. He padded off, and everyone else followed automatically.
“We don’t know how long we’re going to be here. We might as well be as comfortable as possible for the duration. It seems a case of ‘so far, so good’ as far as public reaction is concerned.”
The radio remained stubbornly silent, and they’d run out of mundane, repetitive maintenance tasks to fill the day. There was a limit to the number of times a floor or other surface could be washed or polished, or stock cupboards inventoried.
“Maybe people are still shell-shocked by the speed of events,” Dave suggested.
“That’s a possibility, but it would be useful if we had an idea of which way the public is going to jump when the reaction sets in.”
Joey shook his head. “I’d be grateful for some reliable info about what’s happening outside. I really need some facts to work with—something which hasn’t been processed by the Beeb so there’s nothing left in what gets broadcast which might frighten your grandma.”
“Well, let’s just remember we know a damn sight more than almost everyone else, and the brig. will have extremely good grounds for his decision to have full control of radio traffic. After all, we’re still on the highest possible level of security.”
Taking the Heat Page 18