President Walsh took a deep breath and then told the man everything. When he was finished, Fisher, still standing, removed a single sheet of paper from the inside pocket of his jacket and laid it on the desk. President Walsh didn’t have to look at it to know what it was.
“John,” he said. “I realize how you feel. Truly. But I ask you to please … hold off for just a few days. You weren’t a part of this. There’s no reason why your career should suffer because of it.”
“Mr. President,” Fisher said, his eyes glistening, “to remain would indicate my tolerance for what has transpired. I cannot do that.”
“I understand. I assure you, if you remain, at least until after the twenty-seventh, I will make a statement absolving you of any complicity in this affair.”
Fisher grunted. “And who would believe it?”
President Walsh fought to hold off the tears beginning to form in his eyes. He could see his carefully crafted career being destroyed with each passing second. “I’m not asking for myself,” he said. “It’s just that we have a terrible crisis on our hands. You must realize what’s at stake here. There are millions of lives … You can’t walk away from that. You can’t!”
For a moment Fisher said nothing. Then, shoving his hands in his pockets, he said, “We have an attack on a federal facility to contend with at this moment. We have some strong leads. I expect we could make some arrests before the day is out. But I also expect that by doing so, we will bring even more ridicule down on our heads. This is the most incredible disaster I’ve ever witnessed.”
President Walsh shook his head. “Not even close,” he said. “The real disaster lies ahead if we aren’t able to stop this earthquake.”
He leaned forward and said, “I want you to forget about the raid. We both know why it was done. My only hope is that the man who perpetrated it realizes the damage he can do if he doesn’t think this out.”
“You want me to cancel the warrants?”
“Yes. We’ll need to concentrate all of our efforts on the evacuation plans. There’s no other choice now. If you would, I’d like you to work with the Pentagon and a man named Jason Shubert. They’ll brief you on the evacuation plan and the status of the weapons. We need you, John. Badly.”
Some of the stiffness went out of the FBI director’s body. “In that case,” he said, “I’ll stand by. For the moment.”
President Walsh stood up and shook Fisher’s hand. “Thank you, John.”
Less than two hours later, Willard Coones reentered the Oval Office. Alone.
His face was even more drawn, with eyes that seemed to have sunken inside the sockets. He looked like he’d aged five years.
He took a seat beside the desk and looked at his long-time friend as though he were a condemned man. Byron Walsh looked, if anything, even worse than Coones. His face was puffy, the skin covered with light red blotches. The body sagged in the chair, as though the very life had left the man.
Walsh looked up and asked, “What is it?” in a voice that was barely audible.
Coones hardly knew where to begin. The news he was bringing was the worst. He worried whether or not Walsh could even take it. But there was no choice. None. He was still the president.
“I’ve got Governor Tasker on the telephone,” he said, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice. “He’s in Las Vegas. He just finished talking to Wilson and Gifford. He’s about to go public. But before he does, he wants to talk to you.”
“Governor Tasker? They went to him?”
“It would appear so.”
President Walsh rubbed his eyes for a moment and said, “We’re finished, Willard. Do you realize that? We’re finished!”
Willard Coones knew it. He’d known it the moment he’d talked to Tasker.
The room seemed to smell of death.
President Walsh could feel the air leave his lungs. For a moment, the room seemed to be spinning and he feared he would faint. But he fought the panic that threatened to consume him and picked up the telephone receiver with trembling hands. Then he pressed a button on the desk speaker and placed the receiver back in its cradle. That allowed Coones to hear both ends of the conversation.
“This is President Walsh.”
“Mr. President … this is Governor George Tasker.”
“Yes, Governor. I know why you’re calling. I was just about to call you, in fact. I wanted to advise you that we are about to put into action an evacuation plan that includes much of southern California. The details are being forwarded …”
“You bastard!” the governor said, his voice quivering with emotion. “Why don’t you cut your fucking heart out before I do it myself!”
Even as the words struck him like hammer blows, the president felt compelled to continue the facade. “Governor Tasker, I don’t think …”
The voice was raging now. Almost screaming into the telephone. “Listen to me, you son of a bitch! I’ll see to it that you’re impeached! Goddammit! I’ll have you fucking well hung!”
“Governor, for God’s sake …”
“The evacuation plan. How long have you had it?”
“Well … it was just … I’m afraid it’s not perfect, but there is … yes …”
“I want it forwarded to me immediately. I intend to put California under martial law and I’ll expect your full cooperation. If I get it, I’ll cover your ass for a while, which should give you the chance to leave office with a little dignity, but if I don’t, you won’t be fit for dog food before this day is out. You hear me?”
“Governor … I …”
“You bastard! You were going to let us all sit there and take it!”
“No! We have a plan! We have some nuclear devices that we think will …”
“Yeah. I heard about that too. Right now, I need to move twelve million people. Do I have your full support?”
“Yes, of course. I wouldn’t think …”
“Just tell me something, Byron. Why? That’s what I want to know. Why?”
Byron Walsh swallowed hard and said, “You see … we had these experts. They convinced everyone that an evacuation was impossible. They’d conducted a number of studies that indicated any attempt at evacuation would be hopeless. They said it was impossible! But I knew they were wrong. That’s why I insisted that …”
The governor cut him off. “Sure, you did. That evacuation plan. I want it faxed to my office right now. Will you do that?”
“Yes, of course.”
“And the nuclear devices. I’m going public with this. I want your guarantee that you’ll still make the attempt.”
“George … I don’t think going public is wise. There are …”
“I don’t really give a shit what you think! You’ve already shown us where your brains are. I want your guarantee!” the governor screamed.
President Walsh hesitated for a moment and then said, “Yes, of course.”
“I’ll have one of my people in constant touch for the duration. We’ll arrange for a line to be kept open at all times. Is that agreed?”
“Agreed. But, George … I really think …” He stopped talking and looked up at Willard Coones. Then both of them stared at the speaker on the desk, the wail of the dial tone evidence of the fact that the governor of California had just hung up on the president of the United States.
Thirty-six
* * *
At three o’clock in the afternoon, Pacific time, on Thursday, May 13, an unusual joint press conference was held in Sacramento and Washington. In the White House press room, a large television screen had been installed, enabling those in attendance to see George Tasker in Sacramento. Similarly, in the governor’s press room, another screen had been installed, from which stared the stern visage of President Byron Walsh.
The press conference was the result of intense negotiations between staff members for both men that had been ongoing throughout the day. It couldn’t have come at a better time. Speculation by both the electronic media and the press had reached
new heights during the previous twenty-four hours.
Whereas the Los Angeles Globe had been, just hours ago, branded as an irresponsible, almost malicious purveyor of wild, unsupported lies, second thoughts and solid investigative reporting by a phalanx of journalists had succeeded in directing the attention away from the Globe and towards Washington. The raid on the Nevada test site was still an unexplained mystery. Earlier in the morning, the hearings on the earthquake insurance question had been suspended without explanation, which further served to fuel speculation.
The reporters in attendance at both press conferences were, therefore, almost manic as they waited impatiently for what was clearly an important announcement. Both rooms seemed to crackle with tension.
The president spoke first. His face had been carefully made up, but it was impossible to completely disguise the anguish that roiled within the man. His voice was strong and clear, but the lips seemed to tremble as he delivered his remarks.
“Two days ago,” he began, “I held a press conference in this very room, a press conference that was necessitated by a story that appeared in the Los Angeles Globe contending that a large earthquake was about to strike California.
“At that time, I was unaware that there existed, within the Pentagon, an agency that has for some time been immersed in the scientific exploration of earthquake prediction. This agency, created and directed by a man named Robert Graves, functioned in secret … even to the extent of excluding the president of the United States.
“Robert Graves committed suicide earlier this week. Since that time, members of his organization have come forward and enlightened me … and the members of the cabinet, as to their activities and the results of their research.
“It now appears, on the basis of the evidence presented, that a strong possibility indeed exists … that southern California may be struck by an earthquake of some magnitude in the very near future.”
Both rooms erupted with the babble of scores of voices. President Walsh held up his hand and asked for quiet. It was some time in coming.
“I will deal with the specifics of that possibility a little later. Right now, I want to impress upon you the fact that there is some good news. In fact, I would call it very good news.”
He stopped, took a drink of water, and continued. “This research was not confined to the study of earthquakes and the prediction thereof. It included a comprehensive examination of the causes of earthquakes, even to the point of looking into methods whereby their incredible destructive power might be measurably reduced. The research points to a possible answer that has yet to be employed, but shows considerable promise. Without getting into the technical aspects, I can tell you that it involves the use of small nuclear devices that are detonated deep in the fault line.”
Again, there was a buzz of conversation in both rooms. Some questions were hurled toward the president. They were ignored.
“Like any new scientific discovery,” he continued, “there are perils. But the perils are inconsequential when compared to the destructive power of a great earthquake.
“Since learning of this threat to the people of southern California, I have been in constant communication with Governor George Tasker, who has agreed to accept a leadership position in our efforts to minimize what could be the worst natural disaster in this nation’s history. At this point, I would ask that Governor Tasker advise you as to the measures that have been and will be taken from this point forward.”
The scene switched to California, where Governor Tasker cleared his throat and, staring glumly into the television camera, said, “Thank you, Mr. President.
“As of this moment, the state of California is under martial law.”
There was a stunned silence. The governor pointed to a map of the state on the wall behind him and, with a pointer, indicated an area that had been outlined in black.
“The area within these lines has been designated as an emergency evacuation area. Everyone within …”
Even as the press conference was just getting under way, C-5 transports were landing at Long Beach International Airport, their fuselages filled to bursting with troops and equipment. Other planes were landing at the El Toro Marine Base, south of Los Angeles, while still others arrived at Edwards and George Air Force Bases in the desert. From Air Force, Army, Navy and Marine bases in and around southern California, hundreds of thousands of additional troops were pouring into Los Angeles.
Surveyors were already marking off areas of the desert just outside Victorville, preparatory to the erection of chain-link fences. Three-page cables were going out over fax and telex machines to every law enforcement agency in a twelve-state area.
At the headquarters of the Los Angeles Globe, the presses were already running with the biggest story in the newspaper’s history, a story that had already been approved by Governor Tasker.
Throughout the entire world, via cables sent to U.S. embassies, the call was going out for everything from tents to blankets to doctors, and feverish preparations for transport of people and supplies to California had begun.
The press conference continued. The complete evacuation plan was outlined. The plan for using the nuclear devices was revealed in detail. References were made concerning the creation and function of NADAT, and some mention was made of the attack on the Nevada test site. The names of Ted Kowalczyk, Theresa Wilson, Thomas Wilson, and Vance Gifford were mentioned. It was revealed that the latter two were now back at the test site, working voluntarily on the effort to diffuse the earthquake. As for Ted and Terry, they were told, albeit obliquely, that warrants for their arrest had been rescinded.
Almost everything was made public. Selected information was held back because, it was felt, the knowledge would serve only to further frighten an already terrified public. Even an apology was given to the Los Angeles Globe, much to the surprise and delight of one Sam Steele, as he hobbled around in pure frustration in his hospital room. His stomach still hurt like hell and he felt very weak. But the thought of being cooped up in the hospital while the biggest story in the Globe’s history was being written was enough to make him even sicker.
Both the president and Governor Tasker had chosen their words carefully, wishing to appear positive in their approach to this immense problem. They each stressed the need for cooperation, the importance of remaining calm, and the fact that much of the world was about to assist everyone involved in the next two weeks. But before the press conference was halfway through, the streets of Los Angeles were once again gridlocked with cars, trucks, and other vehicles as hundreds of thousands of men and women tried desperately to escape what they perceived as certain death.
Again, as it had been just two days earlier, the city of Los Angeles was in total chaos.
Thirty-seven
* * *
Ted Kowalczyk rolled over on his back and stretched his aching body. He hurt all over. The tension of the past few days had been unrelenting, the stress manifesting itself in his muscles, stretching them taut almost to the point of inflexibility. Now, as they began to relax and uncoil, they broadcast their belated protest by throbbing in unison.
He opened his eyes and tried to determine exactly where he was. The white acoustic ceiling of the room was bathed in what dim, yellow light managed to filter through the heavy drapes. As he began to scrutinize the furniture in the room, his nostrils picked up the scent of a woman’s perfume on the pillow beside him.
The two senses acted in concert and he realized that he was in Terry’s apartment.
It all started to come back in bits and pieces.
They had done what they had set out to do. That much he remembered clearly. The rest was somewhat of a blur.
He remembered a conversation with the governor of California. And there were conversations with Tommy and Gifford and Frank Leach and a few others.
Then he had met with some of the men who had helped him, as they reassembled to celebrate in a suite at the Las Vegas Hilton. He’d thrown his big arms around ea
ch and every man who’d come by and thanked them for sticking with him in what had been a risky undertaking. He remembered thinking how precious those bonds were and resolving to keep them more active in the future.
He remembered Tommy and Vance saying they wanted to get back to the nuclear test site and continue working on the project. There were tears in Tommy’s eyes when he’d expressed his deep-felt thanks for Ted’s involvement.
Then there was Dr. Wickshire saying she wanted to get back to Hollister and study the effects of the small quake that was expected to strike there on Sunday. And as the motor home negotiated the narrow desert road, there were the radio reports of the press conferences. Then they’d stopped short of Reno, so everyone could catch a few hours of sleep. Even then, as exhausted as he was, the sleep was fitful. He’d been fully awake as the ancient motor home wound its way through the spectacular scenery surrounding the Lake Tahoe area, and then he’d fallen asleep again.
When he awoke, there were radio broadcasts that told of the panic that raged in Los Angeles and the steps that were being taken to bring it to an end. He remembered feeling partly responsible for the suffering that was being felt by those caught in the panic, and the rationalizing he’d done to assuage the guilt.
He remembered hearing that President Walsh had flown to Los Angeles and had pledged to tour the entire city, using a sound truck to make a short speech every few blocks. Despite the incredibly tight security, three people had tried to kill the man while he carried out his pledge, one of the attacks coming much too close, the rifle shot wounding a Secret Service man just inches away from the president.
And finally, he remembered Terry ushering him into her apartment after saying goodbye to Dr. Wickshire and putting him to bed.
When had it all happened? How long ago? He seemed to have lost complete track of time.
He sat up in the bed and rubbed his eyes. His clothes were gone and so was his watch. He slowly got out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom. The cold shower brought him back to life but did nothing for the aching muscles. When he came out of the bathroom, Terry was seated on the edge of the bed, looking glorious in a dark green robe, smiling and pouring steaming hot coffee into two large mugs that rested on a wooden tray. Beside the mugs were toasted English muffins smothered in butter. The sight of the food made his mouth water.
The Big One Page 33
