Ark Storm (11 page)

“Is she now? I’m impressed.”

“I can see that,” replied Riley tartly. “So, what can I tell you about ARk Storm?”

“Assume I am an ignoramus. I find that always works best,” replied Dan.

Gwen gave a smirk despite herself. The guy was funny.

He placed a small black box on the table. “OK with you if I record this?” he asked.

“Sure,” replied Riley. “You doing an article for the
San Francisco Reporter,
or is this general background?”

“MackStack, my editor, has tasked me with keeping up-to-date on ARk Storm. He wants me to write articles every so often, today being the intro, future ones if the situation warrants.”

“Fair enough,” agreed Riley. “I want this info disseminated. It could help save lives.”

Daniel nodded, hit a switch on his recorder, glanced at Gwen, sat back and listened.

Riley took a slug of coffee and pushed to her feet. “So, ARk Storm 1000. A for Atmospheric, R for River, K ’cause if it hits we are all gonna need our arks. 1000 because that is the scale we’re marking the biggie at. All other Atmospheric River Storms are graded down from that.”

“Let’s start with talking me through an Atmospheric River,” said Daniel. “Is it what it says on the label?”

“Yes and no,” replied Riley, beginning to pace. “Imagine going for a walk out there,” said Riley, gesticulating at the window. “Take a look up at the sky. It might be a clear day but up in the atmosphere there could be a giant ribbon of moisture, hundreds of miles wide, transporting more water than the Amazon River. Atmospheric rivers play a key role in the global water supply. We’d be even more of a desert here without them and the skiers can thank them when we get massive dumps in the Sierras.”

“They sound kinda friendly,” observed Dan.

“They can be,” declared Riley, pausing, locking on to Dan, her eyes intense. “But they can also be murderous. That’s where ARk Storm 1000 comes in. It is basically a scenario put together at the behest of the US Government’s Hazards Unit. That’s me and my team.” Riley scowled. “And Hendrix. It is not a prediction. It’s a what-if, but like lots of what-ifs, it could happen.” She looked away, resumed pacing. “So we ran a model, patterned it on the mega storms that rocked California in 1861–62 for forty-five consecutive days, and turned the Sacramento and San Joaquin valleys—a region around three and a half million acres incidentally—into a lake! The storms wiped out nearly a third of the taxable land in California, leaving the state bankrupt.”

“Holy shit,” exclaimed Daniel.

“Quite,” replied Riley.

“So we took data from the storms here in ’69 and ’86, stuck them back-to-back, and came up with the ARk Storm 1000 scenario.” Riley took a glug of coffee, set down her cup atop a precarious-looking heap of papers. “Let’s start with the Pineapple Express,” she declared, smiling with a teacher’s pleasure at a keen student. “It’s basically an atmospheric river that kicks off around the equator near Peru and Ecuador. This atmospheric river then flows north like a fire hose. On the way, it embeds itself into much broader atmospheric storms we call ‘extratropical cyclones,’ or ETs. They are the wintertime analogue to hurricanes, but have a different structure. Hurricanes get their feed from ocean surface heat, but ETs gain their energy largely from pole-to-equator temperature contrast. ARs are the business end of ETs. So they come rocketing up the Pacific, slam into the west coast like a hurricane.” Riley semaphored the storm with her hands, making flowing and slamming motions.

“Just imagine fifty Mississippis racing through the air and you get the picture. And when they hit the mountain, they dump their load. We’re talking so much rain it looks like walls of water falling through the air. We’re talking rain falling in feet instead of inches. This could last more than a month. The storm system just sits there off the coast and the ‘storm door’ doesn’t close. There’d be major landslides across the state, one point five million people would need to be evacced out, nine million homes flooded out, damage around one trillion dollars.” Riley gave an ironic smile. “Welcome to ARk Storm.”

“Yeah, well, I might just hand in my notice and move to the Rockies,” said Daniel.

“And miss the biggest weather event for two hundred years or more?” Gwen asked him.

“Some things are meant to be missed, like wrestling with crocs or riding forty-foot waves.” He gave Gwen a knowing look.

“You saw the YouTube of our Boudy on Mavericks,” mused Riley.

“I watched it and I bowed down in awe.”

“Yeah, well, you only live once,” said Gwen, twiddling her jade ring.

“And die young, you make a habit of that.”

Gwen looked up, met his eyes. “True for too many.”

“So, this thing is basically a hurricane of water hitting the West Coast; I get that. But where’s the history, besides 1861–1862? I thought the West Coast got to avoid the wilder weather.”

“What do you mean?” asked Riley.

“Well, first off, there’s never been a hurricane hit the West Coast,” observed Daniel.

Riley arched an eyebrow. “Get Boudy here to take you home. Give you a bit of historical perspective.”

Dan’s eyes widened. “Yeah, I’d really like that, but I can’t see how that is connected with a hurricane; well, I could but that might earn me a slap.”

Gwen laughed. “It’s where I live that’s relevant. On Hurricane Point. The Esselen Indians named it that, way back. So Riley and I reckon they knew something we don’t. There
have
been hurricanes that hit this coast, just not in living memory of whitey.”

“OK, I can buy that. I’d like to see it sometime, Hurricane Point.”

“Free country,” shrugged Gwen. She turned back to Riley.

“So what d’you reckon? Is this thing gonna hit anytime soon?”

“That’s the big question isn’t it? Which comes first? The San Andreas Quake or ARk Storm? Both have about the same probability of hitting. Historically speaking, we can expect one in the next hundred or two hundred years.”

Gwen smiled. “And gutturally speaking?”

Riley laughed. She glanced at Dan. “The woman’s teasing me. For a scientist I go a long way on gut hunches. Too far for some.”

“They’re mainly right too,” added Gwen. “The woman’s a genius.”

Riley flushed, batted the compliments away.

“And?” pressed Gwen.

Riley looked from Gwen to Daniel and back again.

“What?” asked Gwen.

“I’m just wondering if I can trust Mr. Golden Eyes here.”

Daniel looked at Riley for a beat. A different, serious light showed in his eyes, as if the bravado and joshing were a mask. Interesting, thought Gwen.

“You can trust me,” Daniel said simply.

Riley eyed him, head to one side. “You know, I think I can, but you rat me out and the whole of California’s scientific community will be closed to you.”

“I don’t need threats to keep my word,” he replied, just the hint of an edge to his voice.

Gwen filed that away. There was something of the renegade in Daniel Jacobsen, just a feeling she had of a streak of well-veiled larceny, but there was clearly a keenly felt sense of honor too. Just like you, said the voice in her head, only you’ve hidden the larceny so well you’ve almost forgotten you have it.

“OK,” Riley was saying. “Turn off your recorder. This is all off the record. What I am about to say does
not
appear in your article. Are we clear on that?”

Daniel held her gaze. “Crystal. None of what you are about to say will appear in any article I write.”

Riley nodded. She turned to the coffee machine. “Empty. Darn. Come with me Gwen.”

Dan watched them, surprise mingling with relief as they walked together from the office. He reached down to his ankle holster, removed the Kevlar knife. He leaned forward, long arms resting on his knees. His fingers extended under Riley’s desk. His knife found a small object, a GSM listening device the size of a matchbox stuck to the underside of the desktop. He worked the knife under it, removed it, folded his fingers round it. Seconds later it was in the pocket of his chinos.

He probed under the desk again, found the remotely activated store-and-forward device. Quickly probing with the knife, he removed that. It was about the size of an iPhone. A legitimate object to have in his pocket. He quickly secreted it there, then pushed to his feet.

When Riley and Gwen came back, he was gazing out of the window, hands in pockets.

Riley was speaking. He turned, looked down at her, stepped from one compartment in his mind into another.

“Just let me brew up,” said Riley. She poured a jugful of water into the percolator, set to grinding beans and filling the funnel with economical and well-rehearsed gestures.

Dan nodded, watched her thoughtfully. Only when three new coffees were poured and Riley had inhaled the steam, taken a long sip, closed her eyes for a second of bliss did she speak.

“This is not me speaking as the voice of ARk Storm,” she declared. “This is a personal hunch. Also clear?”

Gwen and Daniel both nodded.

Riley dropped her voice, leaned across her desk toward them, eyes bright.

“I think ARk Storm
is
for real. I think that freakin’ Pineapple Express is gearing herself up to deliver us a monster. We’re not there now. It’ll take something extra to kick this one into the catastrophe zone, but hell, we’re so close, and weather dynamics are so volatile. My colleagues think we’re in the clear. Hendrix, damn the man to hell, thinks I have target fixation. I disagree. I’ve been looking at weather patterns worldwide. I have a real bad feeling.”

“What’ll it take to kick it there?” asked Gwen, thinking of the story told by the sensors in Peru.

“Could be any little thing. Chaos theory. Butterfly flaps her wings and empires fall.”

26

HURRICANE POINT

Each shaking off a feeling of oppression, Daniel and Gwen walked into the sunshine.

“She’s pretty intense, your friend Dr. Riley,” Dan observed.

Gwen squinted, pulled on a battered pair of Aviators. “Often the way with brilliant scientists.”

“OCD?”

Gwen frowned.

“Obsessive Compulsive Disorder?”

“I hate labels,” said Gwen.

“But something’s there,” probed Dan. “And I would bet she’s somewhere on the bipolar spectrum too. She was an inch short of manic today.”

Gwen looked levelly at Dan. “You a psychiatrist?”

“Nope. Just an observer of human nature.” He said it with slight self-parody, but Gwen could sense it was the truth. There was a deep shrewdness in his eyes.

“You’d have to ask her,” she murmured.

“A loyal friend. I like that.” Dan gave her a crooked smile. “So, you gonna show me Hurricane Point?”

“What, you need your hand held?”

“You offering?”

Gwen laughed. “How’d you get here?”

He nodded to his car.

“The Batmobile?”

“Yeah, I like fast cars, and I like ’em black. So shoot me.”

“The thought occurs. It’s a long drive.”

Dan shrugged. “And?”

Gwen paused. She had nothing planned. She could show the guy the Point, send him on his way. What would be the harm?

“OK. Wanna follow me?” she asked.

“With pleasure.”

*   *   *

A short two hours later, finally freed from Friday afternoon traffic, they stood fifty feet above the Pacific, listening to it roar. The scent of wet herbs wafted up on the air so strong you could taste it.

“Hurricane Point. Nice.” Daniel turned to look at Gwen, standing just feet from him.

“More than nice. It’s home, and I love it.”

“I can see why. Let’s just hope it doesn’t live up to its name.”

“Let’s hope,” agreed Gwen, suppressing a shudder. “You ever been in a hurricane?”

“Used to live in Florida, hurricane central. I remember when Hurricane Andrew was heading for us. All these hurricane warnings came:
get out, get out
. My parents figured it wasn’t going to be so bad, reckoned we’d all stay put, and the warning guy said,
fine, just get a pen with indelible ink, and write your name and social security number on your forearm. And your kids’ forearms. Then we can identify their bodies when the storm’s done.
We got out. But I tell you, when we came back after the storm, saw what it had done…” Daniel shook his head. “Like a war zone.”

“Did you rebuild?”

Daniel shook his head. “My Ma’d had enough. Broke her heart. She couldn’t face that again. We went to Denmark.”

“As in Europe?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“No hurricanes.”

Gwen laughed.

“My father is Danish,” he continued. “My middle name is Soren.”

“Ah, OK. Makes sense. But where’d you get the tan from, and those eyes?”

“My ma’s got Spanish blood in her.”

“Not a bad combo.”

“Easy, Boudy. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“Unintentional.”

Daniel eyed her, openly speculating. “Surf’s up, Boudy. Got a spare board?”

“You want to surf with me?”

“I’ll start with that.”

Gwen eyed the waves. She needed to surf, could do with the distraction. Again she asked herself, what could be the harm?

“Maybe we can catch a few waves. But cut out the Boudy-this and the Boudy-that. Only my old friends call me Boudy.”

He smiled. “What do your lovers call you?”

Gwen gave him a dazzling smile right back. “I leave them speechless.”

“I can believe that.”

*   *   *

Gwen had to admit, he surfed with a certain style and bravado. He whooped with joy when he caught a good wave, or when she did. His joy was contagious and soon Gwen found herself forgetting Freidland and his son, and Messenger, and all her suspicions and her fears, and just living in the moment.

She laughed out loud, turning three-sixties, pulling stunts, rewarded by handclaps and whoops and more of the same from him, many of which ended in a pile of spume and human limbs, from which he would invariably emerge with a smile. Gwen hadn’t had so much fun in months. He was the dream surf partner. Technically strong and watchful, not greedy with his waves. Every inch the gentleman, damn him. It was much easier being angry with him.