Saving Cascadia

by John J. Nance

  Sure that he hadn’t seen her, Diane forced herself back into motion, cracking open the same door as he moved away across the still-crowded lobby.

  She leaned against the wall for a second in shock.

  My God!

  She peeked out again. The item he was carrying had to be the other report from the file cabinet in Walker’s office.

  Diane moved through the door and remained in the background until she saw him board one of the buses. When it pulled away, she took her bag and boarded the next bus, retreating to a seat toward the back, her mind whirling through the possibilities.

  What on earth is he doing here skulking around?

  Schultz was a coward, afraid of everything, a tail-kissing company man for whom the word obsequious was a personal pronoun. Diane had never considered the possibility that he could have been found voluntarily outside the defensive confines of his office. Somehow one of the panicked calls from Robert Nelms had brought him jetting to Seattle and somehow to Cascadia, and that by itself was amazing. He had to be terrified that he’d be blamed for what was happening. Since he was her boss and he was ultimately responsible for the correct presentation of her seismic data—and since the island was coming apart at the geological seams—and since she, Diane, had gone missing, he must have panicked.

  But that’s important evidence he snatched!

  But why would Schultz, of all people, be creeping around the shattered hotel waiting to pull that specific report out of Walker’s files? Or had he been merely watching her?

  She’d come on the island under an assumed name. How on earth could he have anticipated her sneaking in? What did he suspect about her activities that could have led to such a precautionary move?

  Her head was all but spinning with possibilities. Only Doug Lam was above suspicion, and suddenly she wasn’t even sure of that. There were shadows of possible alliances everywhere, webs of questions of who had known what, and at the heart of it all was a naïve little female engineer who had pranced right in, threatening to expose a monumental deception.

  The now-familiar chill of apprehension shuddered up her spine again and she hunkered down further in the seat, keeping her face away from the window and trying to force the butterflies in her stomach to land.

  CASCADIA ISLAND HELIPORT

  Doug had climbed out of the Dauphin as his cell phone rang with Sanjay on the other end.

  “Is there any way you could get to a computer and the Internet?” Sanjay asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Why?”

  “You need to see the latest response patterns, and they’re far too complex to describe.”

  “You mean, responses from the wave impacts out here?”

  “Yes. The whole zone is quivering with each one.”

  “That’s a pretty apt description by itself.”

  “Please try to find one quickly and call me back. I’m sending the package to your e-mail address with this as an attached file.”

  Doug made a beeline for one of the Cascadia employees standing by. He asked to be taken as quickly as possible to the command center. The woman motioned him into a golf cart and drove the short distance to the embedded, partially buried center.

  Finding a computer and Internet connection took only a few moments, and a minute more to download the seismographs Sanjay had found so compelling. Doug knew him well enough to know that urgent requests were to be taken seriously. Three members of the command center staff were looking over his shoulder, none of them having any idea what they were seeing, as Doug examined the pulse of the Cascadia Subduction Zone’s most dangerous area.

  He sat back at last, nodding to himself, before turning to catch the eye of the supervisor.

  “Do you have a stock of explosives on this island?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Dynamite, plastique explosives, detonators, that sort of thing?”

  The man shrugged, but he was seriously engaging the question. “I don’t know, other than what they might have found on those bastards who blew up our power lines.”

  “Sorry?”

  The supervisor gave a capsule version of the arrest of three Quaalatch tribe members.

  “They were responsible for the power loss?”

  “Apparently. Our security director is still questioning them.”

  “And you say they had some explosives with them?”

  “I don’t know. He’s right here in this building if you’d like to talk to him.”

  Doug snapped to his feet. “It is vitally important that I get a reasonably large quantity of explosives as quickly as possible. So please. Yes.”

  A short walk down the corridor and an introduction to Jason Smith led Doug to give a capsule version of why the WaveRam had to be destroyed. Smith seemed stunned.

  “I’m supposed to help you destroy something that Mr. Walker spent tens of millions building? On whose authority?”

  “Get Mick Walker in here and he’ll give it to you. The question is, can we find the explosives? Did the guys you arrested have more?”

  Smith nodded, a rueful smile crossing his face. “They have a large cache they didn’t want to tell us about, but we just secured the information. Two of my guys are on the way to check it right now.”

  “I need to know if there are detonators, and whether anyone on the island knows how to use them.”

  “Well, at least one of those jerks does,” he said, gesturing toward an unseen holding area. “But they’re under arrest and anything but trustworthy.”

  Doug reached out and carefully placed a hand on the man’s upper arm, looking him dead in the eyes. It was very obvious that the ex-FBI agent did not like unauthorized touching, but he was making a tenuous exception in this case.

  “Listen to me carefully, please,” Doug said. “I am a scientist, a professor, and a member of the U.S. Geological Survey. We’re about to have an earthquake larger than anything in the United States since at least 1964, and perhaps in three hundred years. When it comes, it will drop this island below sea level and wash it clean with a thirty-foot-high tsunami before we can evacuate it. It will kill all of us, collapse buildings from Vancouver to Portland and all the way down to Northern California, destroy the ports of Vancouver, Seattle, Tacoma, Portland, block the Columbia River for six months minimum, and essentially destroy the economy of the Pacific Northwest while killing at least a few thousand people and causing losses greater than a hundred billion dollars.”

  “Jesus Christ!”

  Smith relaxed as Doug dropped his hand and nodded solemnly, adding “There is one chance, and one chance alone to stop it.”

  “You can stop an earthquake?”

  “It’s never been done, but there’s a chance, and I didn’t know it until a few minutes ago. It will require explosives to partially destroy the WaveRam, which unfortunately is the very thing that’s unlocking three hundred years of pent-up seismic energy. If we hesitate more than a few minutes, it will be too late. I can show you why on the computer back there.”

  “I wouldn’t understand any of it, Doc, but I see the look in your eyes and I’ll have to trust you’re right. This resort is doomed anyway.”

  “Where is Mick Walker?”

  Smith yanked out a radio.

  “As good as here.”

  Chapter 35

  CASCADIA ISLAND HELIPORT 1:15 A.M.

  Two of Nightingale’s helicopters had flown in close formation along the coastline for the previous twenty minutes, dodging low clouds and staying slightly out to sea to avoid blundering into the low hills and sudden cliffs around Neah Bay and to the south. Whipped by rain and disoriented by darkness, the two pilots were relieved to see the sparse lights left on at Cascadia Island, even though they were not visible until the last two miles.

  One after the other, the BK-117 and the EC-135 slowed and touched down, their rear doors opening immediately to load the waiting injured. Jennifer was waiting as well to talk with the pilots, arranging their quick return and the beginning of the
evacuation of the island.

  When the two machines were airborne again and turning around to retrace their flight path to Seattle, she strapped in and motioned Sven to load the first four people for transit to the ferry landing parking lot on the mainland where a small collection of State Patrol cars and a bus were waiting.

  This time, with the added weight, the Dauphin was noticeably more stable as she lifted off. Jennifer climbed to several hundred feet, skirting the bottom of the clouds, and headed for the lights across the channel. The approach and touchdown were fairly calm, and when the four passengers had been helped out of the helicopter, she ran through her checklist again prior to securing the door.

  But the door was opening again, and a small, silver-haired woman who had to be in her seventies was adroitly swinging herself into the copilot’s seat.

  “Ah, excuse me! What are you doing?”

  The woman picked up the spare headset and put it on awkwardly before replying. The “hot mike” position was still on, so her voice came through instantly.

  “I am Marta Cartwright of the Quaalatch. I need to go see Walker.”

  Jennifer shook her head. “Ma’am, I’m trying to evacuate the island, not bring more people onto it! Do you have any idea how dangerous that place is right now?”

  Marta looked at her with a gentle smile, as if addressing someone who had never had the chance to acquire the understanding she needed.

  “I am going to die in a few hours anyway with the island. The only danger I’m in is not being able to save my grandson.”

  “I don’t understand,”

  “You do not need to understand. Fly me there, please. I am the leader of the Quaalatch Nation.”

  Jennifer felt off balance. Self-confidence was one thing, but in the midst of rain and mist and impending disaster, and with the ear-shattering noises of a turbine helicopter all around her, Marta Cartwright seemed as at peace as if she were sitting in a favorite meadow on a mild, spring afternoon.

  How does someone achieve such calm? Jennifer wondered, the question fleeting but profound. There was a form of control there she needed to understand.

  “You know Mick Walker?”

  “Oh, yes. He’s expecting me.”

  Jennifer nodded. “Very well. But you assume all risk yourself, okay?”

  “I always have,” was the reply.

  CASCADIA ISLAND HELIPORT

  It was confusing to see Doug Lam walking by the bus. Diane Lacombe hunkered down in her rear seat, trying to stay invisible before reminding herself that he was the one person on the island she could probably trust.

  Probably.

  The urge to run to him and report all that had happened was strong, but she stayed rooted to the seat. What was the point of telling him everything? He had no power to change anything, nor do anything about the apparent collusion between Mick and her own boss. It would appear to anyone that they had hidden the very surficial weakness that was splitting the island, and that made her a whistle-blower. While whistle-blowers usually ended up with a clear conscience, they also ended up with a registration number at the nearest unemployment office.

  Or worse.

  Diane let the chance to bolt from the bus and catch Doug pass, since that would have been noticed by virtually everyone. With Jerry Schultz himself sitting in the bus parked just ahead of hers, she didn’t dare take the chance. She watched as Lam slid into a Cascadia golf cart and motored out of sight.

  The urgency to do something returned, and she spotted a small emergency exit door several rows ahead of her. There had been at some point a small galley below, and the steps led down to it, and then outside.

  Diane got out of her seat, being careful to attract as little attention as possible. The lights in the bus were on, and while most of the refugees were quiet, they were wide-eyed and frightened, and watching everything and everyone.

  She knew a dashboard warning light would illuminate as soon as she opened the emergency hatch. Even if it went off again just as fast when she closed the hatch from the outside, the driver was likely to come out of the front entrance to see what was happening. At the very least he’d check his rearview mirror.

  She waited until the right side of the bus was deserted before working the latch and stepping quickly out, reclosing the door behind her, moving with lightning speed around the rear of the bus and walking quickly away.

  The same resort employee she had seen driving Doug Lam was back, and Diane approached her.

  “Dr. Lam was expecting me and we got separated. Could you take me to him?”

  The woman agreed and repeated the same short drive, escorting Diane into the command center and to the main control room where Doug was standing with another man, his eyes on an overhead screen.

  Diane approached him silently and touched his shoulder. He turned and saw her and jumped slightly, backing up a half step.

  “Hi,” she managed, confused by his obvious recoil.

  “Diane! Ah, hello.”

  “Is… something wrong?”

  He shook his head too aggressively. “No, no, no!” Just… surprised to see you here.”

  “Well,” she began, her instincts demanding an explanation that didn’t seem to be forthcoming, “I have some interesting things to tell you.”

  He brightened noticeably, deepening the small mystery.

  “Good. What?”

  She related the story of the disappearing file folder and Jerry Schultz’s involvement.

  “He was carrying the copy you found in Walker’s office?”

  “Yes. All the way across the lobby. He’s sitting on one of the buses now with it.”

  “Does Mick Walker know this?”

  She shook her head. “I mean, he obviously had the report and knows what it said, but he doesn’t know that Jerry Schultz spirited it out of there. Jerry hasn’t had time to tell him.”

  “So you’re saying Mick Walker did know about the surficial fault?”

  “Yes, he had to. When is still a question. And it was probably someone he hired who ripped through my apartment.”

  “Then he’s a great actor.”

  “What?”

  “Walker. Your Uncle Mick. I’ve watched his reactions carefully, and I didn’t see a flicker of an indication that he was aware.”

  “He probably never expected an earthquake to hit.”

  “Maybe,” Doug replied, unconvinced. “But let me ask you this. If you didn’t have a chance to read the whole report, how can you be sure it told the whole story? How can you be certain Walker knew about the fault?”

  “Because I could see at a glance the report was done in the proper, usual format. It wasn’t the one I was provided. That one was definitely a sham. This one referenced my data on the flyleaf, which meant they analyzed it, and I flipped through the entire dataset in the back. It was all there, and you said yourself it took only a glance from a trained individual to see the fault.”

  “Yes, but Walker isn’t trained in such things.”

  “Whoever prepared it in our analysis department would have known, and they would have had to state it in plain English before shipping it to Jerry, who then had to approve it and send it on.”

  “Could this Schultz guy, your boss, have altered it?”

  She shook her head. “No. It would have taken too many steps, and he’s not capable of a good alteration, nor could he do it without the data analysis department knowing.”

  “How on earth could a responsible man go ahead and build after finding out something that staggering?”

  “Because he had already signed the contracts and committed his money. No, trust me on this. Mick Walker doesn’t like to lose, and he knows how to gamble. He probably figured there would be no quake in his lifetime, so as long as he could pay the right people in San Francisco to suppress the truth, all would be well. Don’t forget how much money was involved. After all, someone broke into my apartment, and I’m sure Jerry wrote that pitiful version of the report left on my desk just to shut
me up.”

  A deep roar and shudder rippled through the building and Doug instinctively grabbed for the edge of a desk with one hand while reaching for Diane’s arm with the other.

  “That’s another P wave, and a large one.” He turned to the shift supervisor. “Everyone, hang on!”

  In seconds the building began to vibrate laterally as a large tremor shook the blockhouse-style structure, throwing a few small items to the floor as it continued for nearly fifteen seconds.

  When the shaking stopped, Doug realized he had a death grip on Diane’s arm and let her go.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “No problem.”

  “How big was that?”

  “Too big. The full release can’t be very many hours away, which is what I’m trying to stop.”

  She moved a half step closer. “Excuse me?”

  “The big one. The subduction zone quake we’ve been fearing. I think I may be able to stop it.”

  “Stop it? You’re joking. No one can stop an earthquake!”

  “If you can artificially trigger one, you should be able to artificially stop it.”

  “You… thought earlier you might be able to delay it, but you said it was unstoppable!”

  “I hope I was wrong, Diane.” He outlined the growing urgency of his plan, as Jason Smith came back in the room.

  “Dr. Lam? Mr. Walker says you can do whatever you think best if you’re sure it will benefit public safety.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  “And I’ve got the ringleader of those jerks ready to question on how to fuse the explosives. We’ve picked up their cache now, and it’s enough to blow up a full-sized building. He’s ex-military and apparently learned demolitions in the Navy.”

  Doug and Diane followed Smith back to the holding cells where a sullen man in jeans and a pullover sat on the edge of a bunk, handcuffed and shackled. He didn’t look up when they entered.

  “Lester? This is Dr. Lam of the U.S. Geological Survey, and—” He turned to Diane, and she gave her name as a Chadwick and Noble engineer.

  “Okay, son. You’re going to give Dr. Lam here a quick course in fusing and detonating plastique.”