“No,” Rusty said.
“OK. Now supposing the report, by some strange deal, did say just that. Wouldn’t the insurance companies want to write all of the earthquake insurance they could? It would be a sure bet! But they aren’t doing that. Just the opposite.”
“But …”
“But, but, but. This thing really stinks. Remember what I said the other day about that seminar? This is all part of the smoke screen, Rusty. By God! Darlene did shake them up! People are asking too many questions about this crazy exercise, so they’ve concocted this song-and-dance about some conspiracy on the part of the insurance companies. It’s just a bunch of crap. When the earthquake hits, who’ll remember?”
“Boss,” Rusty said, “I think you’re really off the wall on this one.”
“Yeah? Does that mean you aren’t going to bust your ass to find those probes?”
“No, of course not. It’s just that …”
“Don’t you worry about me, pal. You just find those probes. We may have the biggest story we’ve ever had here. Don’t let me down.”
For a moment, Rusty’s tired eyes seemed to glaze over. He said nothing. Instead, he just sat and stared at Price, wondering, for perhaps the hundredth time, just what it was that drove this man. Then, finally, he rose slowly from the chair and said, “I won’t, boss.”
Twenty
* * *
Dr. Glenda Wickshire drove the fifty miles from Palo Alto to Hollister with a practiced precision born of experience. Her firm hands guided the motor home through the heavy traffic on the highway, as well as the more confining narrow road that led into Hollister, with an ease that belied her years. With the “Rock Doc” at the wheel, the thirty-three-foot vehicle seemed almost as agile as a small sports car.
There were two captain’s chairs up front, one occupied by the driver, the other occupied by Pierre, the poodle. It was obvious that he, like most dogs, loved to travel. His tiny body was stretched to its fullest, his hind legs on the seat, his front paws on the dashboard, his nose pushed against the windshield as though he were the official lookout.
Behind the dog and his mistress, Ted and Terry sat in a dining area about midway down the coach and talked in hushed tones. After some time, Terry asked, somewhat anxiously, “What are we going to do?”
Ted rubbed the top of his head. The motor home had a rather low ceiling and every time he stood up, he had to bend his head to avoid striking it. Despite his caution, he’d already banged his head twice on one of the two air conditioners that had been installed in the ceiling. The second encounter had created a small swelling that still ached.
“I’ve been thinking about little else,” he said. “I have a few ideas, but I haven’t yet come to a firm decision.”
Terry seemed puzzled. “Shouldn’t we go to the newspapers, or the television people?” she asked. “At the very least, the police? This should be made public, don’t you think? And if Tommy’s a prisoner, for God’s sake …”
Ted brought his hand down from his head. The swelling continued to throb unabated. “It’s not quite that simple,” he said. “Belcher was involved, and he’s FBI. I talked to a local cop who’s also involved. I still don’t know how deep this cover-up goes. Until I have a better idea —”
“But —”
He held up his hand. “Going to the press isn’t the answer either. Not yet. That’s a last resort. We could create a terrible panic, the likes of which we’ve never seen.”
She looked out the window. “We have to do something.”
He took her hand in his and made her look at him. “I know that, Terry. Believe me, I know that. It’s just that making the wrong move right now could be disastrous. Give me a little time. I’ll come up with something.”
Her gaze dropped to the table. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know you’re doing your best. It’s just …”
“Tommy? I realize how important it is to get him out of there, I can assure you. He’s already been declared dead. In view of the circumstances, he may become a liability they can no longer afford to keep alive.”
As soon as he uttered the words, he wished he could take them back. Instantly, he could see the impact his words had on her.
“But how could you get him out?” she asked. “The place must be protected like a fortress. What can you possibly do?”
“Again,” he said, “I have some ideas. I’m working on it.”
She looked out the window. Neither of them spoke. Then she turned back and looked into his eyes. “There’s something I want to tell you,” she said.
He waited.
“What happened last night … and this morning … I wanted that to happen, Ted.”
He could feel the adrenaline begin to surge through his veins. “So did I,” he said.
She placed a hand over his lips. “No … don’t talk. Just listen for a moment.”
Again, he waited. He could feel his heart beginning to pound. For the last two days, he’d been exhibiting all of the signs of a man falling in love. The pounding heart, the clammy hands, the quickness of breath … and it terrified him. He felt as though his love was a curse, bringing no good to those who were its recipients. Part of him hoped she was about to tell him that she was still in love with her ex-husband and that she wanted another chance to make it work.
If they ever saw him again.
And yet, another part of him wanted to hear something else.
“Tommy …” she said, her eyes cast downward again, as if she was unsure of his reaction and unable to watch for it, “wasn’t much of a husband. Not ever. I still love him, and I suppose I’ll always love him. But it isn’t the kind of love you can build a relationship on. It’s the love you might feel for any human being who was once a part of your life. Someone who doesn’t realize how selfish he is.
“Tommy had one interest and one interest only. His work. That’s not necessarily wrong. It’s just the way he is. Maybe a person needs to be like that if they’re ever going to accomplish great things. I don’t really know. But even though — when he was worried — he thought about me, and expressed some very sweet sentiments, I know he can never change. Sure, he might for a while. A few weeks, maybe a few months. But it will all be superficial. The man is what he is. He can’t help it.”
She was still staring at the table, both of her hands touching one of his, holding it tight, as though it could provide some strength … or maybe a signal.
“So I love him,” she continued, “but … he’s out of my life, if you can understand what I mean. I’ll always care for him in a little corner of my heart, but that’s the extent of it.
“My needs are greater than he could ever provide. Perhaps that’s my own selfishness. If it is, I can only say it’s a part of me I recognize and have to accept. I don’t need money. I need companionship, affection, caring … sharing. I need that.
“No matter what happens, Tommy and I will never be together again. And he’ll never be a threat to our relationship … that is, if you want us to have a relationship.”
Almost reluctantly, she raised her head and those dark eyes were upon him, searching, beseeching. Dark, frightened eyes that made his heart pound even harder.
He was astonished. He felt more for her than he’d dreamed possible. He simply sat and stared at her.
“You can speak now,” she said.
His lips twisted into a strange, silly grin. Still he said nothing. He was truly speechless.
“In fact,” she said, looking worried now, “I’d really like it if you did speak.”
Very gently, he took her face in his big hands and drew her closer. Then he kissed her on the lips. When they parted, he said, “Yes … I’d like that.”
For a moment, they just stared into each other’s eyes and then they heard the doctor cry out. “Hollister! Straight ahead!”
For the next two hours, Dr. Wickshire, secure in her own element, gave her two guests a guided tour of Hollister, California, earthquake capital of the world.
She showed them buildings literally being ripped apart by the conflict of two opposing forces in the earth beneath them; streets in constant need of repair because of the cracks and tears caused by the same forces; trees that had been made crooked by the shifting of the earth; and sections of the ground that showed clear evidence of past quakes.
Aside from that, the town looked like a typical California small town, just off the beaten path, where the pace of life was a few ticks behind.
Except for the equipment.
She pointed out the hundreds of instruments and probes that dotted the landscape; they were positioned to measure each and every twitch in the surface of the earth.
“By taking sightings between these various stations,” she said, “we can accurately measure the earth’s movement over a specified period of time. We constantly compare one period with another, which gives us a lot of data.”
They continued to explore the town. “Most people,” she said, as they walked together, looking for all the world like tourists, “assume that California and earthquakes are synonymous. They are totally unaware that one of the most devastating earthquakes this country has ever suffered occurred in a place called New Madrid, Missouri.”
Only Terry had ever heard of the place.
“Yes,” Dr. Wickshire continued, “there were several large quakes, back in December of 1811 and again in January of the next year. They were so strong they were felt in several states and the course of the Mississippi River was forever altered. Of course, in those days, they didn’t have the equipment we have now, but most scientists put the magnitude at somewhere between 7 and 7.5 on the Richter scale.
“Then, in 1964, we had a tremendous quake in Alaska. At one time it was classified as an 8.5, but it has since been upgraded to a 9.2, making it the largest quake ever to hit North America. Even bigger than those in Mexico City.”
They walked up to a green box, which looked much like an electrical transformer sitting on the ground, only this one was covered with heavy wire mesh.
“This is one of the probe sites,” she said. “You’ll see scores of them all over town. The information gathered by these probes is fed by underground cable to a transmission site on the other side of town, and from there it goes directly to Menlo Park, where the Geological Survey people have their monitoring equipment. The green ones are ours. Other countries have them as well, as you can see.”
Across the street was a similar box, this one blue. The legend stenciled on the box identified it as belonging to some outfit from Chile.
She took a deep breath and said, “There are so many different theories. You’ve heard of the Palmdale bulge?”
They had.
“Well, that’s an example of the dilatancy effect. A theory contending that the pressure being exerted causes the rock to actually swell, which can cause a bulge in the earth’s crust. The same theory holds that rock under pressure develops tiny cracks and fissures which affect its ability to conduct electricity. It seems to have considerable merit.
“Then there’s the wave theory …” She stopped talking and smiled at them. “Well, you’ve both read Thomas’s report, so I’m sure you know all of this.” Then she sighed. “To be able to actually predict an earthquake with that kind of accuracy … It still seems impossible.”
She grimaced and added, “I sound like quite the naysayer, don’t I?”
“You have good reason to feel that way, Doctor,” said Ted.
The woman patted him on the shoulder and said, “I’ve worked up an appetite. I’m a terrific cook. Allow me to show off for you.”
They made their way back to the motor home.
She was right. She was a terrific cook.
She was also a born leader. There was no discussion about sleeping arrangements. Each person was assigned a specific space and issued a blanket and a pillow.
Dr. Wickshire served coffee and then looked at her watch. “The news will be on now. I never miss the news.”
With that, she flicked on the television set that was built in to a spot just aft of the driver’s chair.
There were the usual commercials and then the evening news broadcast began.
The lead item concerned an upcoming hearing in Sacramento. A blonde woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties peered into the camera, a plastic smile affixed to her face, and intoned, “What started out to be an inquiry into insurance company practices has now become something much more significant with the announcement today of a full-scale investigation by the Justice Department. Lloyd Hooks has the story …”
The picture changed to one of a man standing in front of a darkened building. “Yes, Judy,” he said, “here in Sacramento, the word is that Monday’s inquiry will be …”
The three of them listened as the story was told. It was a truncated version of the story that had gone over the wire service lines earlier in the day.
When it was over, Dr. Wickshire stood up and turned off the television set. She looked almost ill. “If you don’t mind,” she said, quietly, “I think I’ll take a walk.”
She hooked up the dog’s chain and together, she and Pierre left the motor home. Ted and Terry just sat there, numbed by what they had heard.
It was a lie. A total lie.
All of it.
Ted knew it and so did Terry.
It only proved that Robert Graves had even more power than they had possibly imagined. The question was: What could they do about it?
Five hours later, Ted was still awake, staring at the dimness of a ceiling just inches away from his nose. His sleeping quarters consisted of a bunk that hung above the captain’s chairs in the front of the vehicle. It was the only bed that could accommodate his lengthy frame. And only if he stretched from corner to corner.
He could hear the crickets as they rubbed their legs together in the darkness beyond the walls of the ancient motor home. He could also hear the sound of Terry’s breathing, as she slept in the dining area cum sleeping quarters midway down the coach.
It was coming together, the plan. After hours of uninterrupted concentration, it was finally coming together.
The risks were great, the odds against him.
But it was a plan that had a chance.
Satisfied, he closed his eyes and surrendered to the weariness that cloaked him as tightly as the darkness.
Twenty-one
* * *
It was morning. A beautiful, quiet, peaceful morning in a small town in north-central California, where the air smelled sweet and the sky emerged blue instead of yellow. Once again, Dr. Wickshire was showing off and they were all eating a delicious breakfast of bacon, eggs, and freshly baked rolls. The geologist was a woman who liked to rough it first class.
And then it hit.
Precisely at 8:35 A.M.Pacific time, the ground beneath the old motor home began to shake. At first, it was a sharp rattle that lasted less than three seconds, then the ground seemed to turn into an ocean, the vehicle rocking like a ship drifting atop soft swells, gently … deceptively so.
The motor home creaked and groaned. The sound of it mixed with the low rumble coming from outside, as if some unseen freight train was passing just inches from them. Outside, the trees swayed to and fro, the tops sometimes touching. And the sky was filled with birds on the wing, their roosts suddenly unfamiliar.
Another series of sharp rattles sent dishes flying and the dog to chasing his own tail.
And then … it stopped.
It had lasted a total of sixteen seconds.
All three of them dashed out of the vehicle and into the vacant lot they had used as a temporary camping ground, a location just on the edge of town. It was a scant few blocks from the main corner of the town where two state highways intersected. Dr. Wickshire carried the frightened dog in her arms as they walked around the town and surveyed the damage. There wasn’t much. A few things had been knocked over, a window or two had shattered, and the faint smell of sulfur hung in the air. It had been just a minor eart
hquake, although it was much stronger than the citizens of this town were used to. From the looks on most of the faces, one could see that their fabled equanimity was being sorely tested.
They returned to the motor home and Dr. Wickshire fired up the generator located in the rear of the vehicle. Within minutes, she was using a ham radio to talk to several contacts back in Menlo Park. Then she switched to a mobile phone and talked to a few more. Through it all, she spoke a language that seemed totally foreign to Ted and Terry, but when she was finished she took pains to explain everything carefully.
Her eyes were sparkling with excitement.
“Here’s what we have so far,” she said. “The epicenter appears to be right here in Hollister. Initial indications are that the quake registered a 4.7 on the Richter scale, but that could be modified once more data comes in.
“It was felt in San Francisco, probably even further north than that. And they have a report from San Luis Obispo, with more coming in. Not much damage at all.”
She sighed deeply and sat down on the sofa, obviously awed, staring at the ceiling. “It’s just as they predicted,” she said. “I never would have believed it. But, there’s no longer any doubt in my mind.”
She brought her head down and faced them. “I have my evidence,” she said. “No one could guess five in a row. Not this accurately. It’s impossible … and yet … they’ve done it.” Then, her face took on a new expression. Gone was the awe. In its place was something akin to terror. “We have to do something about this,” she said, her hands cutting through the air to make the point. “There’s no longer any doubt in my mind. Los Angeles is about to be destroyed. Totally! There’s simply no question of it!”
She stared at Ted.
They both stared at Ted, their eyes communicating the same thought at the same time. The same question.
What was he going to do about it?
The Big One Page 20
