by David Cline
Goodwill stood with his mouth agape. He looked across the room and noticed his cell phone was in three different pieces across the floor.
“Mr. Danville,” he said. “I have heard of you. The brilliant and coveted recluse that works for one of the most respected private scientific agencies in the world. What can I do for you?”
“You flatter me professor.” Goodwill noticed a little surprise in the voice. Perhaps Danville had not expected him to know who he was. “I have been reading your website concerning the current state of our ionosphere and our friendly encounter with aurora borealis down here in southern California. I wanted to bounce some ideas off you quickly. It shouldn’t take longer than a minute or two.”
Goodwill did not speak right away. He listened to the bedlam on the other end of the line. It sounded like the bell had just rung on the last day of school before summer. Papers rustling, erratic movement, and hurried voices in heated discussion. “I will try and help in any way I can. Sounds like you guys are pretty busy on your end.”
A tired chuckle emitted through the receiver. “We have had everybody working around the clock for the past two weeks trying to get to the bottom of this whole situation. I imagine you can relate, based on the frequency and urgency of your articles.
Goodwill smiled. “I can,” he said. “All the blood in my veins has been replaced with caffeine.” It felt good to know that somewhere out there someone cared just as much as he did. “Sounds like you have an army working with you. Unfortunately, we are just a team of two. What have you discovered?”
“Have you ever researched superflares?” Danville asked.
“Never formally,” Goodwill said, slowly. He looked toward his assistant with one raised eyebrow. “Luckily for us, it’s generally accepted that our sun isn’t capable of producing superflares. On more turbulent stars, they can cause coronal mass ejections 1,000 or even 10,000 times more powerful than anything we have experienced here on earth. I believe younger stars are more prone to such events. I followed the research of a couple of scientists who tried to measure nitrate concentrations locked in the polar ice and correlate them to past ejections from our sun, but their findings were dubious at best.”
“Hypothetically, and off the record, if such an event were to occur, what would happen?”
Goodwill paused before he answered. He had been playing a similar scenario out in his head ever since his lecture at Oxford University. The inconclusive possibilities had haunted his dreams when he had managed to sleep in brief snippets. “If you look anywhere in the developed world,” he began, “almost everyone distributes power in basically the same way. It’s normally along lines with transformer boxes that convert electricity into what we use daily in our homes and businesses.” He drummed his knuckles against the messy desk. “We get hit with another Carrington Event, the entire world goes dark. If it is any stronger, it would be like the entire planet was hit with an electromagnetic pulse, frying all circuits. We would be sent back to the stone age overnight.”
When Danville didn’t respond, he continued. “To compound the problem, all sources of communication besides smoke signals would cease to function. Any attempt by governments to quickly restore order would be futile. They would be forced to work blind and deaf. All of our satellites would fry in orbit and become space trash.”
“Long gone are the days when families were self-reliant. Every generation has become more and more dependent on technology and centralization of basic commodities to sustain life. If all of that was suddenly stripped away, humans would be forced to hunt and gather again, like our ancient ancestors. The entire world would be plunged into anarchy and chaos.”
“We have more or less concluded the same thing,” Danville said. His voice was calm. The words came quick and precise.
“We must warn the public Mr. Danville,” Goodwill implored. “If people understood the enormity of the situation, we could be prepared to shutoff entire power grids temporarily if we detected increased or unusual solar acuity. We could, in the very least, give people time to make the necessary preparations. Increase their food storage and fill their bathtubs with fresh water. Purchase fuel for their generators.”
Danville cut in. “We have an entire department currently tasked with that very purpose. I hope you believe me when I say we are doing everything in our power to get the word out. My supervisor, Jim Stalbridge, has been on the phone for seven straight days with every politician, reporter, and blogger with an influence trying to raise the alarm.”
The hectic background noise through the receiver had momentarily disappeared. There was a brief pause and then Danville’s voice returned with a little more stress than before. “Before I let you go, I wanted to ask you if you still believe in star water.”
Goodwill’s eyes widened. No one besides a few close friends had ever heard him explain his controversial and bizarre theory of star water. How could this man possibly connect it to him? “I have never officially published my research,” he said, “but I have been developing the details of the star water theory ever since I heard about Noah’s flood in bible study as a kid. Never formally or even academically, but more like a hobby.” He paused. “My God… I have been so distracted with everything, I haven’t even considered star water.”
“Consider it,” Danville said, quickly. “If our guys with the pencils are correct, we are about to get wet. A worldwide superstorm.”
Goodwill grimaced as he frantically looked at his assistant, who had been trying to piece the conversation together by listening to only one side. His eyes widened when he saw Goodwill’s frightened expression. “The only way a global superstorm could form, and remember, this is all just theoretical, is if a sizable solar flare exploded in our direction.”
“A superflare,” Danville said.
“Like I said before, our sun in its current state isn’t capable of superflares.”
“What if one was triggered artificially?”
Despite the severity of the situation, Goodwill burst out in a shrill laughter. “Then we better forget about the umbrella and go straight for the boat.”
When Danville did not respond right away, he said. “Thankfully, that would only be a problem to solve if you worked as a crewmember on the Enterprise under the leadership of Captain Kirk.”
“Let’s assume for a moment it was possible,” Danville said. His tone and pace had not changed at all. “How would you plan it to inflict the most possible damage?”
Goodwill’s fleeting smile disappeared as he thought about it. “I would wait until the earth was at its closest position to the sun in its orbit. Then, I would ensure my theoretical device triggered an explosion, and forced all that energy straight toward earth. In the past we have been fortunate that, most of the time, solar flares have only glanced by Earth because of the oblique angles of 3-dimensional space. If you wanted to devastate a planet, ensure the vector of the flare is right in line so it hits directly.”
“What time of year are we closest to the sun in our orbit?”
“Early January,” Goodwill said. “When it’s winter in the Northern Hemisphere and summer in the Southern Hemisphere.” He paused. “What month are we in again?”
Danville chuckled. “I think we are in the middle of December, but I will have to check. As I am sure you know, in our field, days blend together in one continuous haze. So, we probably have at least a couple more weeks.”
“Are you telling me in all seriousness someone is planning to launch some sort of futuristic device to trigger a superflare from our sun?”
“93 million miles is a long way to travel professor. I am telling you it’s already on its way.”
Chapter 25
Wood awoke a little stiff but felt rested. The thin blanket he’d been laying on hadn’t offered much cushion. He yawned and stretched his arms out wide. He vaguely remembered Magi and her father rustling through the kitchen before the sun had come up as they silently prepared a simple breakfast. They had left them all sleepi
ng when they made their way back to the lake before dawn.
The clock read 10:15. The latest he had slept in recent memory. He stood and looked down at Amara still asleep on the couch. Her beautiful face looked so peaceful, he decided to not disturb her quite yet. On the table was a note from Magi. It had been written hurriedly in English. “Help yourself to any food you find.”
Wood smiled and marveled at the goodness of ordinary people. The Latino culture was one of the most hospitable in the world. He could not begin to count the people in South America who had touched his soul by giving and serving him, even though they had almost nothing. Magi and her father were not wealthy by any exaggeration, but they had trusted three complete strangers from another country enough to leave them with the few possessions they could call their own and open an already almost empty pantry to them.
When Wood found Wilkins snoring louder than an entrapped grizzly bear, he slipped outside and walked down the quiet street. Despite being a humble neighborhood, everyone had a million-dollar view. He looked down toward the crystal blue lake stretching far below. The last remnants of a faint mist battled the relentless summer sun.
Around the corner, Wood saw a little grocery store. He entered and bought as much food as he thought he could reasonably carry without his arms falling off. He avoided the cheap stuff he was sure Magi and her father routinely dined on and bought the delicacy items. Steaks, shrimp, olive oil and ground beef, plus his favorite things imported from the states including cereal and Oreos. By the time he got back, Wilkins was scrambling some eggs and Amara was in the shower. After Wood had found a place for the groceries, he was pleased to see the fridge stock full and the pantry overflowing.
They ate breakfast together and then cleaned up before heading into town. Wood made sure to leave a thank you note on the table. Wilkins left to rent a boat while Wood and Amara bought any supplies they thought they might need in their clandestine operation planned for later that night. A few hours later, they met back up for lunch in town.
“You think we’re wasting our time with this mansion?” Wood asked, as he took a generous bite out of his cheeseburger.
“Probably,” Wilkins said. “I can’t imagine anything valuable is still there after all these years.” He wiped a glob of ketchup off his face. “You know I would love to find a trapdoor full of stolen Nazi art though. Could finally cross that off my list.”
“Don’t settle,” Wood said. He stole one of Wilkins’ fries and shook it in front of his face. “We are going to find our U-boat full of gold.”
“What makes you guys so confident?” Amara asked. They both shot her an insulted glance and she held up her hands defensively. “I’m not judging, just hoping there is an extra invite for this girl.”
Wood laughed. “You better be there. After all, you were the one who discovered it.”
“You think?” she said. “The cove down the cliffs from Mateo’s house?”
“The very same,” Wood said. “We start inside the cove and make wide arcing sweeps with some S.A.T.R.A. equipment in our wake. Some of those boats pilot themselves. We kick back with some drinks and enjoy the view in the shade. Let the expensive equipment do the leg work.”
“It would be a hell of a lot easier than in the red sea,” Wilkins said. “My skin still hasn’t fully recovered from the scorching. My forehead feels like it was charred with a blow torch.” He raised a hand and grimaced. “I doubt we find anything more than some sea trash though.”
“100-dollar steak dinner we find something?” Wood said.
“That steakhouse in Salt Lake City?”
“Only the best.” Wood winked at Amara as Wilkins mulled it over.
After a few seconds, he extended his hand and they shook.
“You think you are going to see Magi again?” Amara asked. She crushed up her trash from the meal and sank it into a garbage can ten feet away. “When I fell asleep last night, you two were whispering sweet nothings. How late were you up?”
Wilkins smiled. “Until an hour before dawn or so. I have a feeling our paths will cross again. When I explained we wanted a boat for tonight, she offered theirs.” He paused. “I deemed it wise to decline such a courteous offer.” He motioned toward Wood. “When this guy is around, tools, equipment, machinery all seem to either disappear or get destroyed. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself knowing we took away their only source of livelihood.”
“Damn good people,” Wood whispered to himself. “Salt of the earth.”
“Poor girl,” Amara said. “She must have gotten less than an hour of sleep last night. You shouldn’t have kept her up so late. I bet a full day packing around fish is grueling, even with a full night’s sleep.”
“I tried, I tried,” Wilkins said. “She wouldn’t hear of it.”
“I can’t blame her,” Wood said. “After fishing for a lifetime, she knows a good catch when she sees one. Wilkins here is a stallion of a man. Although, he sings with headphones on and crinkles candy wrappers in the movie theater. He throws away boxes, only to take them out a few times because he needs to check the directions. Every time a server says the plate is hot, he reaches out to see for himself and burns his hand.”
Wilkins grinned and took a long drink through his straw. “Guilty as charged on all counts. I always want to know what the server’s definition of hot is.”
“Did you find us a ride for tonight?” Wood asked. The three of them scooted in a little closer and put their heads together like they were in a football huddle.
“A 22-foot beauty. A few years old but she’ll take good care of us. 96-inch beam, 250 horsepower engine, 40-gallon tank with another 10 on board just in case things get hairy. The best part is that she came in midnight black.”
Wood unfolded a map and spread it across the small circular table. The corners drooped over the edge. His eyes scanned the border of Nahuel Huapi Lake until he spotted the location and pointed to it. “From here it will take about a half hour to arrive by boat.”
“When I was talking to Magi last night,” Wilkins said. “She mentioned a boat ramp and a dock that has deteriorated over the years. These days, it’s probably no more than an assortment of rotten timber.”
Wood shook his head. “Even though the place is allegedly vacant and we probably won’t find anything but rat feces, I don’t want to take an unnecessary risk by landing anywhere near the mansion itself.” He drew a line with his finger on the map. “Sound travels better across water than in a concert hall. Because the inlet is so narrow, if anyone were there guarding the place, they would be able to hear us even if they couldn’t see us and raise the alarm.” He pointed. “Once we exit the main channel and enter this narrow arm, we’ll kill the engine and row around the mansion landing a half mile to the northwest. The terrain will be rough, but I think we’ll make good time.”
“What will I be doing?” Amara asked.
“Guarding the boat,” Wilkins said. “We will all be carrying radios and be in continual communication on an encrypted line. If anything happens to us, we want you to test the max speed of 250 horses on flat water. Make it back to town and call Danville.”
“Not sure what he could do,” Amara said, rolling her eyes.
“Who knows what we will find,” Wood said, as he folded the map. “In all likelihood nothing. But you never know. We should be there and back in less than a couple of hours.”
“What time does this operation go down?” Amara asked, as they all stood.
Wilkins smiled. “2200.”
Chapter 26
Jim Stalbridge blew a ring of smoke toward the state-of-the-art filtration system in his office ceiling. He leaned back in his chair and looked at the ashtray. It was unusually full. A side effect from the stress of the last few weeks. His custom cigar collection had been nearly depleted. The situation was dire. He had called his contact to send more cigars immediately, telling him it was an emergency. They still had not arrived. He thought about calling him again and unleashing his frustrati
on that neared a breaking point. Before he could finish the thought, the phone on his desk rang.
He saw it was his secretary and picked it up. “Jim, I have the secretary of energy on the line.”
“It’s about damn time,” Stalbridge growled. “Pass her through.”
“Hello Mr. Stalbridge,” came a shrill voice on the other end. He thought he sensed some annoyance. As though she had put this phone call off for as long as possible and reluctantly decided to finally get it over with. “Are you there?”
Stalbridge took one final puff on the cigar and smothered the rest into the ashtray. Damn shame, he thought, looking at the empty box.
“Yes, yes, thank you for returning my call.”
“Sorry it took so long,” she said. “I have been busy with other things. What can I do for you?”
Stalbridge rolled his eyes. I’m sure. He took a deep breath and willed himself not to lose it on this woman. Over the last few weeks, his patience had evaporated several times, subsequently turning acquaintances into enemies. He knew a more diplomatic and civil approach would open more doors. But sometimes it just felt good to rip them a new one.
“Have you had time to read through any of the reports I have sent your office?” He managed to keep his voice steady.
There was a long pause. “Yes, we received them.”
Stalbridge chuckled. He could not help himself. Why was it no politician could ever be straight with him? They spoke in riddles and half-truths. He cleared his throat. “I can’t emphasize enough the importance of what is contained in those reports. We are facing a global crisis. As a country that is extremely reliant on their electrical grid, the United States must take immediate action to mitigate our exposure.”
“I have been briefed on some of your theories… by others you have reached out to here in Washington. They are,” she paused, “most concerning.”
For a moment, Stalbridge wondered if the Secretary of Energy was on Odessa’s payroll. As S.A.T.R.A. employees dug deeper, the number of high-ranking politicians and officials being bought off by Odessa continued to grow. She was a relatively new appointee and had not done much before this current position. He guessed she was not. Just a typical politician covering herself from as much potential negative fallout as possible.
