An anonymous voice intoned, “Ladies and gentlemen, the president of the United States!”
Byron Walsh strode to the lectern and placed his hands firmly on either side of it. He looked directly into the camera and said, “I have a few opening remarks to make and then I’ll take your questions.”
He was dressed in a dark blue suit, a blue shirt, and a red tie. His hair was carefully groomed and his face looked calm and relaxed. Only his eyes gave him away. They seemed to burn with an inner fire that was almost out of control.
“First,” he said, “let me say that I have been in touch with the appropriate government agencies within the last few minutes and can assure all of you that the story that appeared in this morning’s edition of the Los Angeles Globe is totally false and without any foundation whatsoever.”
He stopped for a moment and shook his head in exasperation. “In all my years, I have never witnessed a more irresponsible act than this one. For a newspaper to declare, without regard to the facts or the welfare of the citizens of the area which it supposedly serves, that a disaster such as an earthquake is about to take place … It’s just beyond me.
“For years, we’ve all suffered the tabloids, with their ludicrous stories about alien babies and slanderous keyhole-peeking. But I don’t think even they would stoop to the outrageous, disgusting depths to which we have been subjected this morning.
“I have asked the Justice Department to fully investigate the circumstances surrounding the publication of this story. While I fully understand the constitutional guarantees which protect newspapers, there are limits. I want those responsible for the printing of this mendacious and malicious story to be held fully accountable for their actions.
“I have also directed that the National Guard already moving into position be augmented by regular Army personnel so that the city of Los Angeles can get back to normal as soon as possible.”
He hesitated for a moment and then said, “As I speak to you this morning, I am painfully aware of the fact that to this point, seven people have died as a direct result of the panic that now exists in Los Angeles. I hold the people at the Los Angeles Globe completely responsible for the deaths of those people. And by God! They’ll pay for it!”
He took a moment to regain control of his emotions. Then he said, “To all of you in that great city, I wish to say this: as your president, I can assure you … there is no threat of an earthquake. The story that appeared in this morning’s edition of the Globe is completely and utterly false.”
He stopped and gritted his teeth. “In the first place,” he continued, “the science, if you can call it that, of earthquake prediction is in its infancy. In a moment, I will ask Dr. Carl Obersen, one of the country’s leading experts on earthquakes, to give you a primer on this fearsome phenomenon. He’ll explain to you the reasons why predicting earthquakes is all but impossible.
“But before I do, I would like to point out that the other newspapers in Los Angeles, as well as radio and television stations, have forthrightly denied the story that appeared in the Globe. Of all the media in the city, this … I hate to use the word … newspaper … was the only one to publish this totally insupportable story.
“Reference was made to ‘Operation Move,’ and it was suggested that this operation was simply a device to protect certain of our defense contractors from possible danger. Nothing could be further from the truth, and to emphasize the point, I have ordered its immediate cancellation. All of those involved in the exercise will return to Los Angeles.”
He stopped and gripped the lectern more tightly. “Since the immediate question here is the one concerning a possible earthquake, I have asked Dr. Obersen to explain to you what has been going on in the area of earthquake research and why it is impossible to accurately make such predictions. After he has made his presentation, I will be available for your questions.”
He turned to a man standing quietly in the corner and beckoned him to the lectern.
The scientist, tall, white-haired, and bearded, moved to the lectern and nodded toward the camera.
“My name,” he said, “is Doctor Carl Obersen. I have been a geophysicist for some twenty-nine years. For the last ten of those years, I have been engaged in a research project located in Los Angeles.
“I would like to say that part of the story that appeared in the newspaper this morning is true. Approximately three thousand dormant oil wells were used in a research project designed to determine the feasibility of predicting earthquakes. This project, a joint venture of the federal government and private industry, has been ongoing for over ten years. But, to this date, no progress has been made. In fact, a complete report was presented to us just a few days ago that suggested the project be abandoned. That report was made public yesterday and was completely ignored by the people responsible for the newspaper article.
“In the report …”
Ted Kowalczyk waved a hand at Glenda Wickshire and said, “Turn it off. I don’t think I want to hear any more.”
She reached up and turned off the television set, then handed him a cup of coffee.
Everyone in the motor home looked ill.
For Ted, it was a terrible blow.
The president of the United States was lying through his teeth. He was placing himself in a position that precluded any possibility of evacuating Los Angeles. Now that he’d publicly stated his position, how would it be possible to get him to change his mind? To do so after this announcement would be political suicide, and Byron Walsh was, above everything, a politician.
Somewhere in the back of Ted’s mind, he’d held on to the notion that Byron Walsh would listen to him if and when they got their hands on Tommy Wilson. He’d been sure that once the president learned of the insidious workings of NADAT, he’d want to make things right.
Now …
It was not to be. The man was now committed to the idea that no earthquake was forthcoming. He had attached himself to a fraud. All along, Ted had assumed that NADAT was operating on its own. Making decisions that were not in the national interest because of the inflated ego of its executive director. Now, Graves was dead and the president was standing in his stead, taking the same road. A road that would place the lives of millions at risk.
It was devastating.
Ted had placed himself in extreme danger because he believed what he was doing was right. He was about to lead others in an attack on a federal facility. Men who had willingly agreed to follow his lead. But if the president of the United States …
He lay down on the sofa and faced the wall. He didn’t want the others to see his bitter disappointment.
It was all such a waste. Futile.
He felt drained, emotionally and physically.
“What are you going to do?”
It was Terry, her face inches from his own, her dark eyes peering into his intently, as though by doing so, she’d be able to see inside his head.
He looked at her, his own face pinched in pain.
“I don’t know,” he said.
And then he extended his big arms and pulled her to him, holding her close, hoping the warmth and feel of her body would hold him back. Stop him from falling into the abyss of total despair.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said, softly, whispering into his ear.
He remained mute.
“You think it’s hopeless.”
Still, he said nothing.
“You mustn’t give up.”
He held her even more tightly.
She repeated it. “You mustn’t give up,” she said.
Finally, he released his grip, held her away from him and looked into her eyes. “There’s nothing to give up,” he said, flatly. “I’m just an ordinary man. If the president has decided to take this route, maybe it’s the only way. Maybe Graves was right. He was supposed to be a very bright man. Who the hell am I to argue with people who spend their lives worrying about things like that? Who the hell am I to think I know better than the governme
nt?”
He let his arms drop to his side as he stared at the ceiling. “Terry,” he said, “it’s not a case of giving up. It’s a case of dealing with the facts. There’s nothing we can do now. Tommy’s probably dead. Even if he isn’t, they’d find a way to stop us. They’re committed to letting it happen.
“Maybe they’ll try the bombs and maybe they won’t. Hell, maybe Tommy and Gifford were wrong! Maybe there won’t be a quake. But we’re out of it now. No one will believe us. Look at what’s happening to the newspaper. The poor bastards are being crucified!”
Terry continued to stare at him and then quickly, she moved away from him, grabbed Dr. Wickshire by the arm and dragged her to stand in front of Ted.
“Tell him!” she shouted. “You’ve read the report! The real one! Is there going to be a quake?”
Glenda Wickshire’s jaw was firmly set. She looked at Ted with a mixture of compassion and resoluteness. “There’s no question about it. Yes! There will be a great earthquake in Los Angeles, just like the report predicted.”
Terry turned to face Ted again. “Maybe,” she said, almost pleading, “Walsh said what he did because he didn’t know what else to do. What could he say under the circumstances? Yes … there is a quake coming? Everyone should head for the hills? That would tear the city apart! Graves, as far as we know, was working on his own. Maybe the president didn’t even know about any of this until now. Maybe he hasn’t had time to think it out. All he could think of is that there was a panic in L.A. and it had to be stopped. Maybe he’ll change his mind once he knows all of the facts.”
Ted stared at her as he tried to make sense of her words.
“And Graves killed himself,” she continued. “Why? Maybe he realized how wrong he’d been. We don’t know!
“But we do know that if there’s the slightest chance that Tommy is alive, he can prove that the report is a fake. You’ve got a copy of his original report and he’ll show how they altered it. The very fact that he’s alive will show everyone that he certainly wasn’t murdered. If they lied about that, they could be lying about the quake. People will understand that. And those men! You explained everything to them until all hours of the morning. They agree with you. They briefed the others and they’re with you. They’re all as committed as you are! You mustn’t let this throw you. You can’t!”
Ted shook his head. “You saw what was going on in Los Angeles. There are people dead already. Supposing we do manage to convince everyone that a big quake is coming? More will be killed!”
Her chin was thrust out a mile. “Maybe,” she said. “Maybe there’ll be thousands killed. But if the quake takes place during business hours, the death toll could be in the millions! Besides, the panic is a result of shock. They aren’t prepared! If the evacuation is handled properly, it doesn’t have to be like that. Don’t you see?”
He looked at her in unabashed admiration. She was a fighter. A tower of strength.
“Do you really think the president will change his mind?” he asked. “How can he after this?”
Dr. Wickshire spoke to that. “It wouldn’t be the first time a president flip-flopped in a matter of days. Happens all the time. People are getting used to it, sad to say. But I think it’s like Terry says. You don’t know what the president knows or doesn’t know. He’s probably reacting to the panic at the moment. We don’t even know if he’s seen the real report. I can’t accept that he means to sit by and watch the city of Los Angeles destroyed. I just can’t. But if you don’t go through with your plan, by the time we find out, it will be too late.”
He sat up straight and stared at them. He could feel their strength flowing through him. A woman he was quickly falling in love with and another … an old woman with a young spirit. Their vitality seemed to energize him anew.
To his great relief, he felt himself being pulled back from the edge of the cliff.
“OK,” he said. “We go.”
Thirty-one
* * *
The press conference finally over, President Walsh returned to the more comfortable surroundings of the Oval Office and called for General Howard, Jason Shubert, and Donald Morgan. They arrived promptly and were joined by the president’s chief of staff, Willard Coones. All of them sat on the two sofas in front of the large desk, except for President Walsh, who placed himself in the large leather chair behind it.
“Well,” the president began, “that should quell some of the hysteria in Los Angeles.”
Quickly, he turned to Morgan and said, “I’ve studied the reports submitted by Graves and I must admit, they have been thoroughly backed up with convincing data. It appears to me, however, that very little time was spent determining if any means could be developed to effectuate an evacuation. All I see here are the negative aspects. I don’t see much input relative to overcoming those negatives. Can you elucidate?”
Morgan seemed stunned. “I don’t think I understand … sir. You just finished telling millions of people that there would be no earthquake. Surely, you don’t …”
Walsh leaned forward, his arm outstretched, cutting off the man’s remarks.
“Mr. Morgan,” he said, “I know what I said. I don’t have time for idle talk. I asked Mr. Graves to present a workable plan for the evacuation of Los Angeles. Rather than do it, he chose to throw himself out a window. I suspect that there was more than his precious ego behind that act of stupidity. I suspect that he, being the leader of your little group of geniuses, had cowed you all into following his lead. He was convinced that an evacuation was impossible, ergo, it is impossible.
“What I want to know is how much time you people spent trying to develop a workable evacuation plan.”
Morgan loosened his tie, undid the top button on his shirt and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe some perspiration from his brow. “A considerable amount of time was lavished on a multitude of divergent proposals,” he said. “Each one was thoroughly examined and subsequently discarded. The reason the report appears to emphasize the negative aspects is obvious. I would have thought this morning’s pandemonium in Los Angeles would be chilling testimony to the accuracy of the findings.”
“I don’t happen to agree,” Walsh said sharply. “I want you and Mr. Shubert and General Howard to bring your people together and come up with a plan that will work. And I want it before the day is over.”
Morgan looked dumbstruck. “Mr. President,” he said, “while I can sympathize with your position, it is ludicrous to suggest that we, after years of careful study, can suddenly pull a fanciful plan out of a magician’s hat. It simply isn’t possible. As much as we would like, we cannot create something that does not exist. I’m afraid you fail to fully appreciate the accuracy of the report.
“As for the present situation … are we under arrest or not?”
Byron Walsh gave him a hard look. “I never said you were under arrest. I said I wanted to discuss your future with the cabinet. I haven’t had the opportunity to do that yet. They still await my return. At the moment, I’m trying to solve a terrible problem. To be perfectly candid, your performance in the next few days will have a great bearing on what happens to you in the future.
“I’m in this up to my ears, thanks to all of you. I’m not happy about that, but there isn’t much I can do about it. The only thing I can do now is try and prevent a disaster from happening. I need your help. And I’m not getting it.”
He turned to Shubert. “I asked you if you thought the bombs would work and you didn’t give me an answer. I asked Mr. Morgan to develop a plan for the evacuation of Los Angeles and he tells me it’s not even worth considering.
“You people are really something. You can sit around and create these terrible scenarios, but when I ask you for some positive input, you all shake your heads and have nothing to say. It’s almost as if you want the worst to happen.
“Let me tell you something,” he said, the anger growing even more intense, “I’m demanding that you put your heads together and develop a workable plan
for the evacuation of Los Angeles. I’m demanding that you advise me as to the feasibility of using the nuclear devices. I’m demanding that you do everything possible to prevent a lot of needless deaths. And I’m goddam well demanding that you do it this very day!
“I don’t want to hear any more of this negative shit! If you fail to produce, I’ll see to it that you suffer for it. So help me God! Now … get the hell out of my office.”
General Howard almost leaped to his feet. Stammering slightly, he said, “We understand, Mr. President. We’ll have the plan on your desk before midnight.”
Walsh stared at him for a moment and then nodded. “Good.”
The three left the room and Walsh was left with Willard Coones, who calmly poured some scotch into a glass and handed it to the president. “I think,” he said, “you had better calm down. You’re likely to make some serious errors while you’re in this frame of mind.”
Walsh cursed and said, “Calm down? Serious errors? I don’t have to worry about serious errors, Willard. This whole thing is so screwed up I’m dead no matter what the hell I do. While it’s true that NADAT existed without my knowledge, it doesn’t matter any more. I’m in it now! Besides, the American people wouldn’t believe for a second that I had no knowledge of this. They’ll think the whole thing is just another ‘Irangate.’
“If I evacuate and there’s a panic, it’ll make this morning look like a picnic. If I don’t and there’s an earthquake, I’ll be branded a wanton killer. If we use the bombs and they fail … worse, if they trigger the goddam quake … shit! I’m in serious trouble here and you’re telling me to calm down? Forget it! Besides, my problems are not worth worrying about. It’s the people of Los Angeles I’m concerned about. The whole West Coast, for that matter.”
For a moment there was silence. Then the president hung his head and said, “Willard … what the hell are we going to do?”
Willard Coones looked at the president with an expression of compassion. It wasn’t fair, he thought. The man had inherited a long-entrenched system that was feeding on itself. But it would be Byron Walsh who took the fall.
The Big One Page 29
