“So what are the infamous missing variables?” Inoui tapped the table insistently.
“I’ll get to that. But number one.” He held up a finger. “Food. Does a nation’s agriculture produce enough to feed its population? If not, the nation imports food from elsewhere to fill the shortfalls. Does it produce enough fuel to transport the food to where it’s needed? If not, the nation imports the fuel to fill the shortfall. How is it distributed once it gets there? From grocery stores or out of the backs of trucks? How fragile is the system? That’s what the model is designed to predict—when and how systems fail.”
LaFevre said. “We’re interested in how to make them fail. That’s what your article was about.”
“Correct. One small variable—say a change in precipitation or a new virus—thrown into a fragile system, and human anger and fear cause the economic infrastructure to crumble and collapse like falling dominoes. I can predict exactly how to push human beings past the tipping point.”
LaFevre said, “Tell us about your Southeast Asian hypothesis. You claimed you could predict the level of panic and demographic relocation if a rice blight was introduced. Could you input the variables into your model and show us what would happen if a pathogenic fungus was introduced into America’s corn belt?”
Mark blinked. “Sure, I mean, I could. But I have other things to explain first. For example—”
“We don’t care about those other things.” Pierre LaFevre drummed his fingers on the table. “We want to see the model work.”
Mark straightened in his chair. “Let me repeat. You need to first understand the key variables: Do people have enough food to put in their mouths? Are their children safe? Are the lights on? Will tomorrow be like today? If the answer to any of those is a long-term no, things are going to get messy, nasty, and mean.”
“We understand,” LaFevre said impatiently. “Get to the point.”
Mark reached into his pocket and removed a flash drive that contained Anika’s dissertation. He’d prudently removed her name and substituted his own. “I want you to download this, read it, study it. In fact, I’d like each member of this team to work on a different variable.”
As though annoyed, LaFevre snapped, “What variables?”
“Pierre,” he said calmly, “why don’t you take a lethal fungus introduced into cornfields in Iowa. Wu, experiment with a bacterial rice blight in China. Mikael, find the best way to destroy the wheat crop in Canada. Francine, start a plague in Moscow. Nanda and Jacques, hypothesize a virus engineered to bring about the extinction of cattle worldwide within twenty years. And have it start in India. This is all about modeling human behavior. I want you to see how the data clusters predict happiness turning to sadness, then fear, and finally anger, which trips the global dominoes to fall as chaos runs rampant through the system.”
“Simplistic nonsense,” Pierre grumbled, almost too low to hear.
Every person stared at Mark. “We will reconvene tomorrow afternoon to see what you’ve come up with. Consider this a first draft. We’re going to need to refine, adapt, and revise the model as we go along. The question we all have to answer is where do we begin? Do we start with one country? Ten countries? Or tackle the entire world? It’s just a model, after all. It’s not like we’re actually declaring war on anyone.” He chuckled.
But no one else did.
Chapter Eighteen
When Anika took her seat in the second-floor Pentagon conference room, Maureen could see grinding fatigue in the woman’s eyes. Anika clutched an energy drink in her hand as if the sugary liquid could replace what she lacked in sleep.
All told, they’d had two hours in the hotel prior to the arrival of the car sent to pick them up. Crossing the bridge, passing through security gates, Anika had gaped as they were driven to one of the Pentagon’s side entrances. Maureen, to be honest, had been a little overwhelmed as well. She’d never understood just how big the Pentagon was. At the door, they’d been met, issued visitor’s badges, and ushered here. Coffee, fortunately, had been provided.
Maureen felt the warm threads of fatigue pulling at the back of her brain. But for Anika, who’d already undergone a week of stress, had her office robbed, and found an acquaintance and her kids missing? She had to be close to hitting bottom.
Two men in suits opened the door, leading the way for Amy Randall, Agent Hart, and the Secretary of Defense herself, Martina Rivera.
Maureen watched everyone rise to their feet and stood up, too. She thought Anika’s knees were shaking.
Introductions were made. The Secretary shook Maureen’s hand. The woman wore a neat gray suit, immaculately tailored in contrast to her celebrity predecessor’s colorful but tacky wardrobe. Rivera’s graying-black hair was neatly cut to brush her collar. “Good to finally meet you, Dr. Cole. I’ve followed your work. And let me extend, once again, this country’s gratitude for your role in previous cases.”
“You’re welcome, Madam Secretary.” She turned. “This is Dr. Anika French.”
Anika shook the Secretary’s hand.
“You both look exhausted.” The Secretary gave them careful scrutiny.
“It’s been a long couple of days.” Maureen waited until the Secretary sat before she lowered herself into the chair.
The Secretary glanced around the table. “I’ll try not to keep you. I’m on a tight schedule myself. And I need to brief President Begay the moment this is over.” The Secretary fixed her eyes on Anika’s dissertation. “Is that the document?”
Anika reminded Maureen of a rabbit with an eagle overhead.
Maureen said, “Yes. Everything else was taken. The FBI is working on recovering Dr. French’s notes and graphs.”
The Secretary waved it aside. “I’ve been briefed.”
“Any news on Denise and the boys?” Anika blurted.
“No.” The Secretary waited as the two suited men opened notebooks and, when they nodded, said, “Tell me precisely and succinctly what this model is all about. Why is it so important to so many people?”
Anika wet her lips and clasped her hands nervously. Hesitantly, she laid out the history of the model, how she’d discovered the equations to predict the emotional variables that would predict how prehistoric societies collapsed.
“The statistics are derived from both archaeological and climatic models?” Secretary Rivera asked.
“Yes. A—a breaking point is reached. What I call a ‘fracture event’. Neighbors either band together for protection or turn on each other. Depending upon the size of the population, the resource base, and the level of demographic dislocation…” She sucked in a breath as though starving for air. “The entire system disintegrates into anarchy.”
The Secretary didn’t blink, just stared into Anika’s eyes. “Your model can predict when and how this will happen? When a society is verging on collapse?”
Anika managed to nod. “By the numbers.”
“You know this for a fact?”
Anika nerved herself and said, “It’s worked with every prehistoric political entity I’ve applied it to.”
“But in the case of the past, the result is always a foregone conclusion. After all, we know what happened to them. Our statisticians have been working with the Schott article, and they’re a bit confused about the variables, but none of them see a threat to modern societies.”
Anika paused. “It’s in my dissertation.” A wince. “Well, mostly.”
“What do you mean, mostly?”
Anika spread her hands. “The model I presented was only designed to meet the requirements of a PhD. The dissertation is descriptive of a prehistoric society. In this case, Cahokia.”
At the Secretary’s confused look, Maureen added, “The largest prehistoric empire in North America, circa 1200 AD.”
“Let’s get back to the problem.” The Secretary pinned Anika with a penetrating stare. “The Schott article asserts that the model is just as viable in the modern world. You seem to share that opinion. Why?”
/> Maureen could see little beads of sweat on Anika’s pale brow as she leaned forward and said, “Because the cultures we study in the archaeological record follow the same fundamental rules as modern societies. Given the right variables, mathematics can explain the future course of human events, regardless of cultural complexity.”
“Explain.”
“Well…” Anika shook her head as though to clear it of fatigue. “I have to start at the beginning. Take any measure: Biodiversity loss? Atmospheric carbon? Ocean acidification? Ozone depletion? Nitrogen and phosphorous cycles? And the biggest of all: Population growth. Each generates fear, a predictable human response. The level of that response can be mathematically modeled. As fear increases, social forcings determine when and how society crumbles.”
“Go on.”
“Well, it’s easier for me to show you mathemat—”
“Tell me. I don’t want to see equations.”
Anika exhaled a slow breath. “Okay. At the hunting and gathering level, when the animals are hunted out, people just pick up their tents and move to the next valley. The evolution of agriculture tied people to a specific plot of land. In Cahokia, the climate changed, the soil wore out and the corn crop failed. Two hundred thousand people couldn’t just pick up and move. Instead, the entire polity crashed. Compare that with our modern world. What happens when eight billion people surviving on a just-in-time food and energy inventory suffer a catastrophe?”
“Such as?” The Secretary cocked her head, skeptical.
“Three years of heavy rain in the American Midwest cutting harvests by over forty percent. The Indian Ocean monsoons shifting north over Pakistan instead of dropping precipitation on the southern slopes of the Himalayas. The Atlantic Ocean conveyor shutting off entirely and dropping the temperature in Europe by four degrees Celsius. In that scenario, winter in Berlin would be little different than winter in Fairbanks, Alaska.”
The room was silent. The Secretary shifted her attention to Maureen. “Dr. Cole? Your thoughts?”
“She’s right.”
The Secretary glanced at Amy Randall, then at the two men who had been writing copiously. “But, Dr. French, I’m told you’ve never tested the model on a modern, functioning society. So how can you know if this has any application to a highly-complex, industrialized and multinational economy?”
“I, uh, I guess I’ve run a few modern scenarios,” Anika stuttered. “Well. Two.”
Maureen saw Anika on the verge of shaking and took over: “And if you think the chaos that results from introducing a simple virus like COVID is bad, imagine what would happen if the virus was not targeted to infect all humans but only humans with certain genetic traits? Say Asia is suddenly devastated by a disease that affects only people with Han Chinese genes? The feeling that we’re all in this together drops away. The search for a culprit begins. Suspicions lead to accusations. Denials to threats. Threats to war. Dr. French can model precisely how fear and anger descend into—”
“I understand.” The Secretary checked her watch and rose from her chair. “Randall? I want Dr. French and Dr. Cole in my conference room this afternoon at 14:00 hours.”
Chapter Nineteen
Mark’s team yawned, some massaged the backs of their necks, and others rubbed bleary eyes. But, Mark, his body still on Wyoming time, found its circadian rhythm. He’d finally started to perk up and was just hitting his stride.
Stephanie stepped in the door, arched a questioning eyebrow, and pointed suggestively at her wrist.
“People,” Mark called, “you’re looking tired. Let’s call it a day.”
Smiles greeted his announcement and, to his delight, everyone went about cleaning their workstations and locking their materials in drawers.
Goodbyes were said as they filed out, leaving him in the suddenly quiet office with Stephanie.
“How did it go?” she asked.
“I think they’re catching on.” Damn, she was even more beautiful than he remembered. What would it be like, coming home to a woman like this every night? He gave her his charming grin as he placed his copy of the dissertation in the space provided and locked the combination.
“And what is your plan?” she asked as they stepped out into the hall.
“We’re going to work through each of their hypotheses until we’ve honed the relevant variables. I’ll know they’ve got it as soon as they start suggesting nuanced refinements to the model.”
They stepped into the elevator and she asked, “How long will that take?”
“That’s when things get a little more complicated.” He motioned her out before him. “With a prehistoric or historic society, we’re dealing with a closed system. In the modern world, the levels of sophistication increase exponentially. We live in a world economy. Everything, and I mean everything, is tied together. Social unrest in India affects accounting firms here in Germany, the US, and most of Europe. A typhoon hitting Taiwan can impact the just-in-time delivery of aircraft guidance computers for Airbuses waiting on the assembly line in France.”
At the door, Mark was surprised to walk out into darkness. When had that happened?
“I explained to Gunter that I’d need to rely on my people back in Wyoming. We’ve got to have the right data. When I developed the idea for the model, Anika French was instrumental in helping me define the variables. As we figure out which questions to ask, I’ll ship some of the research to her.” He smiled. “About time she earns some of that salary you’re paying her.”
Stephanie accompanied him across the grass; the Alps were glowing in the crescent moon. “Yes, well, there have been some complications there.”
Mark shot her a questioning look. “Such as?”
“The American government has taken her to Washington.” She gave him a sidelong glance through blue eyes.
Mark stopped short. “The government? Why?”
“Apparently, they’re also interested in the model.”
Stunned, he just stared at her.
“They never contacted you?”
“No. The only person was Gunter.” They resumed walking. “So, what does this mean?”
“It means they’ve taken your research assistant, and the last thing we want is to have them following the direction of our research here. So, how does losing Ms. French impact your schedule to make the model operational?”
The first threads of panic prickled through him. Could he do it without Anika? He felt suddenly sweaty.
Stephanie said, “As I understand it, the essential drivers are food and energy production. Not exaggerated estimates but actual production.”
“That’s right.”
“We can obtain any data you need.” She sounded very sure of herself.
At Mark’s apartment, she opened the door and stepped inside. The delightful odor of boiling lobster filled the air. Mark closed the door behind him, shocked to see a cook in his kitchen.
Stephanie asked, “How are we doing, Eduard?”
“Five minutes, Ms. Huntz. If you and the gentleman would freshen up, I’ll have the plates on the table.”
Mark lifted an eyebrow.
Stephanie smiled. “If you’d rather eat alone, that will be fine.”
“No, no. Happy to have company.”
Her twinkling eyes, the dimples at the corners of her smile, preceded her suggestion. “Why don’t you go wash up? I need to make a call.”
“Sure.”
Showered, and in a change of clothes, Mark returned to lowered lights, a candlelit table, and exquisitely prepared lobsters, blanched asparagus, little potatoes boiled in spices, and another bottle of Dom Perignon. Stephanie seated herself across from him, the candlelight doing marvelous things for her wavy hair.
After seeing to their comfort, Eduard bowed and stepped out the door.
“So, am I to expect a meal like this every night?”
“If you like.” Stephanie picked up a fork, speared one of the potatoes, and nibbled it. “Um. Cardamom. Delightful.” She
swallowed. “But it can get old after a while.”
Mark cracked his lobster claw and tried to figure out how to prepare his new boss for a possible failure. “Stephanie?”
“Humm?”
“Your boss, the Big Man, I don’t think he’s going to like the results when we finally work the kinks out of the model.”
She gave him a level stare. “Why not?”
Mark sighed with satisfaction as he washed the lobster down with champagne. “The final word? On a planet that can reliably sustain a maximum of two billion people, we’ve passed eight, and the population’s still growing. The grim news is that the entire planet is running on borrowed time. We’re past the tipping point.”
Her blue eyes never wavered. “Yes. We know.”
“If you know, why hire me to prove it?”
“That’s not why we hired you, Mark.”
He fiddled with his fork. “What do you mean?”
“Your job, once you make the model work, is to determine where the global system will break. The fracture points, I believe you called it.”
“And after that? I mean, what’s left? People are going to be hungry, frightened, rioting in the streets. Governments are going to disintegrate in turmoil. Trade routes will collapse. The entire industrial complex will come tumbling down.”
“Of course.” She delicately placed a piece of lobster on her tongue. The candles cast a golden glow on her face. “Everything will go to the devil, right?”
“That’s a medieval way of putting it.”
She gave him a saucy grin. “Then, the devil has the most to profit from what will come. That is your ultimate task, Mark. To help us figure out how to strategically place ECSITE so that when the fall comes, we’re left standing.”
“I don’t think you got my point. There won’t be much left standing. Billions of people are going to die, first from epidemics, then starvation, and finally warfare. It’s not a pretty picture.”
Fracture Event: An Espionage Disaster Thriller Page 8
