But on this day, Sam Steele was in Cedars-Sinai Hospital, recovering from an operation performed to remove both his appendix and his gall bladder. Bill Price, a man with a penchant for shooting from the hip, wasn’t about to commit to this story without permission from somebody, so he’d practically begged Cantrell to come to the newspaper office. Now, he regretted the decision. He wished he’d simply printed the story and the hell with the career. Cantrell was proving to be as troublesome as Steele.
“Bill,” Cantrell said, impatiently, “I don’t think you’ve got enough yet to run with this.”
Price slammed his hand on the table. “How the hell can you say that?”
Cantrell looked at him in astonishment. He’d heard about Price’s temper but this was the first time he’d encountered it firsthand. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t print what you’ve got. All I’m saying is that it isn’t enough to allow us to come out and state flatly that the federal government is expecting a big earthquake.”
“We don’t have enough? You just heard Rusty say that he’d checked with three different manufacturers of diagnostic equipment. They all confirmed that they’d sold enough stuff to Dalton Research to cover all of the well sites.”
“Off the record.”
“So what! We don’t have to mention their names. The fact is that the equipment was sold.”
Cantrell shook his head. “You’re breaking all of the rules, Bill. You’re taking a bunch of facts and making a case like some lawyer in front of a jury, with no regard to the consequences. You can’t shake people up like that without knowing for sure!”
“The point is,” Price protested, “that for whatever reason, the government doesn’t want us to know for sure. And I’m not saying that there’s going to be an earthquake. All I’m doing is quoting a reliable source who says that, on the face of everything we’ve got, it looks that way.”
Cantrell grinned. “Come on, Bill! It amounts to the same thing and you damn well know it.”
“But look at the facts,” Price protested. “‘Operation Move’ is nothing but a fraud. That’s obvious. They’ve moved a bunch of defense contractors to safer locations is all. The stuff Phil got is on the record. Those two guys didn’t know they were talking to a reporter. You’ve got the insurance companies screwing around with earthquake insurance policies. That’s what started the move to have the hearings in the first place. Now you’ve got the hearings all turned around, becoming a platform for something that has little to do with what was originally intended. And you’ve got testimony given at the hearing that ties an outfit doing research on earthquake prediction to both the insurance industry and the feds.
“You’ve got a former Pentagon employee supposedly breaking out of a rehab hospital, after phoning his wife and telling her to warn me about a coming quake. Sure, I know … his lawyer says it’s all craziness, but how come nobody’s seen the guy since the escape? He left the hospital with nothing, according to them. No money, no clothes, zip. Just a hospital gown. Are you going to try and tell me that a guy can wander around Washington for days without being picked up? His wife sure as hell doesn’t buy it. Come on! They’ve got him stashed somewhere!
“And then you’ve got the oil wells. Not to mention this angle of Darlene’s.”
Cantrell snorted. “I’d discount that. We’ve been fooled before by people. Maybe this guy is a killer. I’m not prepared to say he isn’t at this point.”
Darlene took up the challenge. “Mr. Cantrell,” she said, failing to keep the edge off her voice, “I spent months following up the story on Ted Kowalczyk. I practically crawled inside the man’s head. It’s just not his character.”
Cantrell shrugged. “Look … you aren’t a shrink. Maybe all of the pressure got to him. Maybe he flipped out. It happens all the time. Besides,” he continued, “that’s not the real issue. What we have here is a situation that looks very strange, I’ll grant you. But it’s all circumstantial. The Geological Survey Office says there’s no earthquake coming. In fact, most of the geophysicists you’ve talked to say that earthquakes can’t really be predicted. And before you jump down my throat, I’ll agree that there have been documented cases of such things happening. But … for you to commit this newspaper to a flat-out prediction that everything going on is pointing to a big quake in L.A. is something that … once we put it in writing, we’ll never be able to back away from.
“Christ! I can see it now. Those that do believe us will go bananas! You’ll have a panic out there. It’s like yelling fire in a movie theatre. There’s a limit to freedom of the press and you know that as well as I do. Even if we’re absolutely right, we have no protection. None! We could be closed down.
“And if we’re wrong … we look like fools. Either way, we can’t win. I won’t place this newspaper in that sort of box. Not now! Not ever!”
Price was seething in frustration. “So what you’re saying is that the people of this city can just sit there and let it happen. That doesn’t sound very responsible to me!”
Cantrell’s face began to redden. “I don’t need a lecture from you on responsibility. You’ve been skating on thin ice ever since you took over that desk!”
“Really?”
Rusty Coleman interrupted what was fast becoming a personal and bitter argument. “Hold it!” he yelled. “Let’s not get carried away here. If I understand Brian, he’s saying that we can print what we know to be the facts.”
Cantrell leaned back in his chair and said, “I didn’t say that.”
Rusty turned to Cantrell and said, “Sure you did. You said we had to avoid speculation. You said you didn’t want us quoting sources that might make it appear we were slanting the story, but you said it was all right to print solid facts.”
Cantrell looked confused. “Well … ah …”
Rusty turned to Price and said, “Boss, that’s good enough for now. We’re running out of time. Let’s print everything we know, but group it together. Two or three main stories and then a few sidebars. All related to the same story. Just the actual facts. That will be enough.”
Cantrell held up a hand. “If you do that, make sure you print both sides of the issue. You’ll need to reiterate the story that Phil did on the lawsuit filed against that insurance association.”
“Why?” Price asked.
“Because! That could be your key here! The insurance association is in trouble. They’re being sued by eight states for price-fixing, among other things. They’ve had it their own way for years! Finally, some people are getting a little fed up with it and starting to look under some rocks. I wouldn’t be surprised if this whole story was manufactured by the industry just to get the heat off.”
“That’s crazy!” Price countered.
“No, it isn’t,” Cantrell said, some anger of his own beginning to surface. “The insurance companies have been screwing everybody for years. Who the hell are you going to believe? The government of the United States or the insurance industry?”
For a moment, nobody spoke and then Darlene said, “You really want an answer to that question?”
Cantrell smiled and said, “OK. So, we can’t take the word of either. But this story has to be balanced.”
“You mean killed.”
“No! I just don’t want you drawing any conclusions. Or making it too easy for the readers to draw their own conclusions. It amounts to the same thing.”
“Come on!” cried Price. “You just finished saying that we can print the facts. If the reader draws certain conclusions, that’s all to the good. You can’t possibly object to printing the goddam news. Jesus! If that’s no longer allowed, I might as well pack it in right now.”
For a moment, no one said anything. Then Darlene said, “Look … I think we’re looking at this from the wrong perspective.”
All eyes turned to her.
“The facts are irrefutable,” she said. “The report that was released at the hearing has the official imprimatur of th
e feds. It was prepared by two men who are now dead. That seems awfully damn convenient to me. I’ve shown the report to a geophysicist who claims that it seems strangely truncated. There are pages and pages of redundant data which mean nothing. The whole report has no focus. Now … it seems to him that a project of this sort, a very expensive project, would have been halted after a few years if that data was accurate. Let’s face it, not even the insurance companies are going to piss money away if they keep coming up with the same useless information, year after year.
“And yet … this project continued. And … here’s the kicker … two years ago, the information was classified. Why the hell would it be classified if nothing was found? The methodology wasn’t changed. There were no startling discoveries. The data after classification was the very same as the data before classification. That makes no sense.”
Cantrell pursed his lips and said, “According to this … whatever his name was … they thought they were on to something and that’s why it was classified.”
“You believe that? Then why isn’t there some reference to it in the report?”
Cantrell’s facial expression changed dramatically, like a man remembering something long forgotten. In fact, he was recalling something his father had told him not long before his death some twelve years ago. It hadn’t been forgotten, just stored away. Brian Cantrell had promised his dying father that he would follow in the family tradition. But he’d broken that promise. Instead of running the newspaper as his father had wished, he’d hired a succession of men to do the job for him, which allowed him to follow his numerous outside interests.
The newspaper business, in his view, was dying. Television was where the action was. Owning a television station was almost like having a license to print money. Owing a newspaper was more of a curse than anything else.
He hadn’t told his father that. Instead he’d told his father that he’d run it just like he had. Boldly.
He hadn’t. And now, because Sam Steele was ill, he, Cantrell, was being forced to make a decision. A decision that could have a lasting effect on the future of the paper.
He tried to imagine what his father would have done. And then he started putting together some other facts in his mind. Facts that suddenly seemed much more important than they had previously.
“Come to think of it,” he said, “there are about five guys at the club who have decided to take long vacations in the last few days. They all have ties to the government. I never even gave it a thought until just this minute.”
He stared at Bill Price and asked, his voice a few decibels lower than before, “Tell me … do you really think this is happening? Sometimes, we get so caught up in a story that we lose our objectivity. Is that what’s happening here? Or are you people really convinced that Los Angeles is about to experience a monster quake?”
They all said yes.
Brian Cantrell tapped his fingers on the table for a moment and then said, “You know, there’s a lot at stake here. More than you can possibly realize.”
“What do you mean?” Rusty asked.
“This building,” Cantrell said, “is not one of your modern earthquake-proof buildings. It’s an old brick structure, the very worst kind in terms of earthquake protection. If there is a big quake, we’re finished. And I mean finished.”
“What about our own earthquake insurance?”
Cantrell shook his head. “It wasn’t renewed when it came up six months ago. We tried every company in the business and came up empty. In fact, we were one of the companies working behind the scenes to bring this inquiry to reality in the first place. For obvious reasons, we didn’t want it made public. For one thing, we’re in violation of the building codes. For another, we’re in violation of the agreement with the union.”
Coming from Brian Cantrell, it was an astonishing admission.
“The fact is,” he went on, “we’ve been wanting to build a new building for years, but with the bottom line being what it is, we simply can’t afford it. Neither can we afford to fix this one up. So … we’re totally vulnerable. Sooner or later, we’re going to have to face some very hard facts.”
The room was quiet. Bill Price lit a cigarette. No one complained.
Cantrell said, “If this building falls down around our ears, we don’t get Dime One.”
They all stared at him. Again, he tapped his fingers on the table for a moment. Then he took a deep breath and said, “Screw it!” He looked around the room, his eyes meeting those of the others, one by one. Then he said, “OK … you can print it the way you want. If you want to quote people who claim this all seems to point to a big earthquake, go ahead. Make sure you print the comments of those who disagree. That’s all I ask. And while you’re at it, I’d suggest you start looking for work elsewhere.”
They continued to stare at him, stunned expressions on their faces.
“You don’t get it, do you?” he said.
Bill Price shook his head. Cantrell gave him a sick little smile and said, “You people get so wrapped up in a story you can’t see the forest for the trees. If you’re wrong, and we do create a panic, the feds will come down on us like a ton of bricks, even though we’re just reporting the facts. Make no mistake about that. We have a heavy liability here.
“On the other hand, if you’re right, the ton of bricks will come down on us all by themselves. Either way, there’ll be no newspaper to come back to.”
Price grabbed him by the arm. “You sure about this? You sure you want to stick your neck out?”
There was little hesitation. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
“What changed your mind?”
Cantrell sighed deeply and said, “I didn’t want to believe it, but … I think you’re right. I think we’re in for one hell of a jolt.”
He stood up and put on his sunglasses. “As a matter of fact,” he said, “for the next few weeks, you can reach me at my summer place. I don’t intend to set foot in this building for a while. Sam will able to talk to people tomorrow. You can clear things with him as soon as he’s able to take phone calls. I really hate this business, you know?”
Then he turned on his heel and departed, leaving the rest of them staring at each other.
After a few moments, Price recovered and addressed his troops. “All right,” he said. “I’ll call downstairs and tell them we’re gonna be a little late. You people get to work. Forget the balance. Let’s just tell it like it is. If this paper is going down the tubes, we might as well go out with a bang.”
His face was covered with a broad grin, which he knew made no sense at all. After all, earthquake or no earthquake, he was about to become unemployed.
Again.
* * *
Ted Kowalczyk shook the hands of the two men as they entered the motor home, then offered them a seat in the cramped confines. The dog went wild welcoming his mistress back and then checked both men out carefully before returning to his favorite spot, the co-pilot’s seat.
One of the men received more than a handshake. He received a bear-hug that was returned in kind. They’d done it once before, the bear-hug. Many years ago. In a stinking jungle, surrounded by death, both men crying on the shoulder of the other.
Ted stood at the front of the coach and looked into the waiting eyes of his friend from the past, Joe Green, then the others: Frank Leach, Henry Fraser, Terry Wilson, Glenda Wickshire, and a man he didn’t know, the representative from the insurance investigators gathered at the hotel. They were quite a group.
Quite a group indeed.
“I guess you’re wondering why I called this meeting,” he said, a crooked grin on his big, square face.
Twenty-nine
* * *
President Byron Walsh dipped a piece of toast into some egg yolk and chewed on it for a while. Then he tapped a knife on the side of the crystal water glass and said, “I realize we’re still in the middle of breakfast here, but I think we need to get started.”
His face was dark with an anger that
had failed to recede from the day before. He’d spent an almost sleepless night and it showed.
“As you know,” he said, “I’ve invited Mr. Jason Shubert to be with us this morning. Mr. Shubert is here to brief you on the formation and function of NADAT, an agency that has existed for some time without my direct knowledge.” As he said it, he shot a hard look at General Howard. “In addition,” the president continued, “Mr. Shubert will update us on the situation at the Nevada test site.
“I have also,” the president went on, “invited Mr. Donald Morgan to join us this morning. Mr. Morgan has worked with Robert Graves for a number of years and will give us some insight with reference to the latest recommendations that were made.”
He turned to Shubert and said, “Mr. Shubert, the floor is yours. Please carry on.”
Shubert looked at his half-eaten breakfast and felt his body tense even further.
Ever since he’d received the phone call the night before, he’d had this terrible sense of foreboding. It had been the president himself on the line, telling him, in a very cold manner, that Robert Graves had killed himself and that he, Jason Shubert, was to present himself at Nellis Air Force base within the hour. He would be flown to Washington by military jet. Once in Washington, he was to present himself at the White House for a meeting with the president at seven in the morning.
He’d arrived in the city at three in the morning. At seven, having had no sleep at all, he was cloistered with this strange little man with the dark eyes and the quick tongue at which time he was asked a series of rapid-fire questions.
He answered them all unreservedly. This was no time for games.
What had astonished him was the total lack of feeling the president seemed to have over the death of Robert Graves, a man who had served his country well for decades. As far as this president was concerned, he was dead and that was that.
And now Shubert was being asked to tell the cabinet everything. Information that had been deliberately withheld from others, for very good reason, was now to be given out freely, with no concern for leaks or other concerns. It was unconscionable and stupid. NADAT had been formed to function in isolation, for good reason. If the president was removing that barrier, it could only mean one thing. NADAT was through. And he’d been told only that he was to do as he was told or suffer terrible consequences.
The Big One Page 27
