Zero Point (43 page)

Mac closed his eyes, expecting this to be the end. He steeled himself amidst the panicked shouts of the bridge crew as total blackness engulfed them. He was suddenly snapped back to reality by the shout of Commander Ewell.

“We’re through! We’re gonna make it!” Mac opened his eyes to see light of day again as the bow of the
Hazleton
surged through the other side of the wave and down the back side of the roguish beast. The water behind the wave was a torrent of foam-laden white caps for as far as the eye could see. The once calm, aqua-blue ocean was awash with a sickening dark green and brown hue from all the debris.

It was a miracle they made it. The bridge crew let out a cheer as Mac exhaled slowly in relief. Ewell was tending to the two crewmen who were slightly injured from the force of the impact with the bulkhead, while the excess water drained off of the bridge.

“What’s their condition, Commander?” McKnight calmly asked his first officer, who was helping the two crewmen up.

“Porter here will need a few stitches in the back of his head, but they’re okay,” he replied, amazed and elated to still be alive. The crewmen returned to their stations as Mac picked up the ship’s intercom mic.

“To all hands: the wave seems to have passed. However, I want everyone to remain at stations until I’m sure we are no longer in danger. I want all departments to provide damage
reports as soon as possible, and make sure all hands are accounted for. Take all injured to the infirmary for immediate treatment.” He paused for a moment, and then said, “We’ve just encountered something that no one in our lifetime will hopefully ever see or experience again. You performed your duties well, people. I’ll keep you informed; that is all.”

“Nicely done, skipper.”
Ewell stated happily, relieved to have survived the hellish ordeal. “It was a brilliant move dropping anchor. It probably saved us.”

“Knowing the brass as I do, they’ll probably dock my damned wages for losing two perfectly good anchors,” he said gruffly, but glad to get the compliment.

Just then, one of the crewmen burst onto the bridge, wide-eyed and yelling in excitement.

“Captain!
You have got to see this. The sides of the ship have been stripped clean.”

“What are you talking about, Seaman?” Mac responded. He went to the hatchway and stepped out onto the open bridge walk. “My God!” he exclaimed as he gazed upon what used to be a fully-rigged ship. Everything that wasn’t part of the ship’s superstructure had been ripped away from its mountings by the force of the giant wave. Derricks, booms, vents, and life boats were torn off the structure from the massive assault. One grotesquely twisted life boat boom stood as silent testimony to the awesome destructive power of what just transpired.

Mac turned and headed back to the bridge. He picked up the red bridge phone and rang the flight deck.

“Flight deck, this is the Captain. What is the condition of the landing platform? We’ve got choppers incoming.”

“The deck is clear, Captain. We’re standing by to receive.”

“Very well, stand by for an ETA from the CIC,” he said disconnecting the line and redialing.

“CIC: Minichino,” the voice on the other end replied nervously.

“Lieutenant, what’s the status of our away teams?” he asked as he groped for his pipe in his pocket.

“Captain, we lost power to the comm links and tracking systems when we were hit by the wave. They have switched over to back up, and we are reacquiring their position now,” he stated. “Captain, the chartroom says that monster wave carried us over six miles. Also, the
Blakeslee
reports no serious damage, but the
Milford
is listing badly to port after sustaining heavy damage. Luckily, both ships have reported only minor injuries, no fatalities.”

“That is good news, Lieutenant. Have the away team's communications link patched through to me on the bridge. I need to speak to Colonel Sears.”

“Yes, sir, right away.”

“Alpha three two-niner, this is the
Hazleton
. Do you copy?” he said. After a long moment, a response finally came.

“
Hazleton
, this is Alpha three two-niner, it’s good to hear you Captain,” Sears’ voice boomed over the bridge loud speaker.

“Colonel, it’s good to still be here. You are clear for landing on the platform.”

“Roger, Captain; be advised that we have visitors on the Sea Knights.”

“It wouldn’t happen to be Turner, would it?” he asked.

“That’s affirmative, Captain. It’s Turner and his team.”

“I’m looking forward to shaking his hand, Colonel.
Hazleton,
out….” He picked up the phone again and called the radio room. “Radio shack, get me Admiral Borland at COMLANTFLT.” After a few minutes, the admiral’s voice came over the other end.

“Go ahead, Mac. What have you got?”

“Be advised, Admiral, there’s a tsunami headed your way. We just barely survived the front end of it here off the coast of La Palma.”

“Can you give me a height estimate, Captain?”

“I’d say between one hundred fifty and two hundred feet, sir.” There was silence from the other end of the line. “Admiral…
are
you there?”

“I got that, Captain. I’ll report this to the President,” he said. “You are to continue your mission of offering aid and assistance to La Palma. They’re most likely going to need it. The State Department will be contacting the local government there, and I'm sure they will be grateful for the help.”

“What about the east coast of the United States, Admiral?” Mac asked, somewhat apprehensively. “They’re gonna get the full brunt of this tsunami.”

“Evacuation and relief efforts have already been implemented back home, Mac,” Borland said. “All we can do is
wait
and see what transpires.”

“God help them,” Mac said. “I’ve seen tsunamis in my life, but nothing the likes of this.”

“My people will keep you posted, Mac. Just do what you can there for now.” Borland finished, ending the conversation.

“Commander Ewell,” McKnight said to his first officer as he hung up the phone. “Once we’ve retrieved the away teams, set course for the western coast of La Palma. Have the well stand by to dispatch the LCM-8s with relief supplies,” he ordered as he looked out at the crimson sky that announced the coming night. “It’s been one hell of a day,” he said to no one in particular, “one hell of a day.”

***

The massive surface wave generated by the La Palma landslide quickly subsided from its original height as it moved into the deeper waters of the Atlantic Ocean. Fortunately, the
Hazleton
and her escort ships were spared the initial wave coming off shore towered at almost four hundred feet. Its height rapidly diminished to nothing more significant than a one meter hump as it traversed the vast, deeper regions of the Atlantic Ocean. It was almost imperceptible to the many ocean-going vessels and container ships traveling its surface.

The tsunami pressed onward, relentlessly reaching out for anything in its path as it moved closer and closer to the shoreline of the eastern seaboard. Ultimately, the massive pressure wave traveled up the continental rise to the shallower waters of the mainland, unstoppable in its quest for landfall. It seemed to sense the cities lying in its path and, with relentless fury, bore down on their hapless inhabitants.

38

A
t noon that day, President Alan Clark announced the initial threat of the tsunami to the nation. He spoke of the impending danger and issued a coastal evacuation warning for the entire eastern seaboard. Though not mandatory at that time, the warning served to place the populace on a standby alert. The announcement coincided with the emergency broadcast system interruption of all media outlets, such as television and radio.

To handle the immense traffic flow expected, state and local emergency management bureaus were dispatched to coordinate evacuation routes from the coast in conjunction with police and National Guard units.

Many citizens decided not to wait for the mandatory evacuation. They fled well beyond the fifteen-mile safety zone prescribed in the warning broadcasts by the U.S. Geological Survey and FEMA.

Massive traffic jams ensued along the coastline as people packed the few belongings they could carry and fled to points inland. Some found respite with friends and family. Others, not knowing where to go, crowded the streets in panic and confusion, which worsened the situation for law enforcement.

The Federal Emergency Management Agency, under the direction of Stephen Boyle, had been mobilized well in advance. In his mindset, the confusion and lack of planning that transpired after Hurricane Katrina would not happen on his watch. Relief teams with supplies, mobile emergency rooms, and medical units were deployed all along the coast.

By 1:45 Eastern Standard Time, the FEMA mobilization began to fan out just as the partial landslide on La Palma occurred. It was then that the President issued a mandatory evacuation and also reluctantly ordered the Tomahawk strike on Bishamon complex.

President Clark sat pensively, having just received word of the approaching tsunami from Admiral Borland. He closed his eyes and endeavored to imagine the devastation that was about to befall his country. His mind whirled as he tried to contemplate all that would transpire in the aftermath of this catastrophe.

Clark had been hesitant at first in using the Tomahawk missile. He received the report that progress of the initial landslide had been halted, but had no confirmation from the Turners of their success in halting the Scalar weapon. He had been advised by the Senate Majority Leader, Speaker of the House, and others on Capitol Hill that failing to take action would be irresponsible to the American people.

The conference call debating the issue was heated at times. When the fiendish plot was linked to Robert Pencor,
Senate Majority Leader Dobson suddenly became quite agitated, and insisted that swift action be taken.

A senator for twenty-five years, Leader Dobson had served in the Senate hearings during the investigations into Pencor and held little compassion for the former oil tycoon.

Clark was second-guessing himself. He wondered if the natural course of events, or his actions with the release of the Tomahawk, had unleashed the hideous nightmare presently headed for the east coast. Turner warned him of the risks of taking such measures, even though his scientific adviser could not confirm nor dismiss the results.

“Mr. President,” FEMA Director Stephen Boyle said, interrupting his reverie, “all disaster teams have been mobilized, and are standing by. Our evacuation teams report the process is going as well as can be expected. Major coastal cities are reporting total gridlock. All exits out of New York City are at a standstill, even with all access roads and tunnels designated one way out. The smaller coastal cities and towns are proceeding in an orderly fashion, but law enforcement officers making last minute checks are finding bands of armed looters all along the coast. In some coastal cities, total anarchy has erupted and law enforcement is being fired upon.”

“It’s like the roaming gangs in New Orleans after Katrina, but on a much grander scale,” Homeland Security Director Tim Byrd said in disgust.

“Furthermore,” Boyle continued, “many people have decided to remain and ride it out despite our recommendations to evacuate.”

“Those fools don’t know what they are up against,” Under Secretary Robertson added to the conversation.

“Stephen, I want all of our people out of harm’s way by 5:30,” President Clark said. “If there are those who insist on risking their lives foolishly, then it’s their decision. I won’t risk the lives of the good men and women under our authority for the sake of fools and looters.”

“I’ll make sure all departments get that directive, Mr. President,” FEMA Director Boyle stated.

“Mr. President, I think we have basically covered all contingencies on this crisis,” Robertson said optimistically. “By our actions today, many American lives will have been spared a tragic death.”

“No, James,” the President countered. “We owe most of this to Turner and his associates on Tenerife. If it wasn’t for them, we would have been blindsided by this act of terrorism. They're the real heroes on this day.”

The Oval Office became strangely quiet as each reflected on the massive undertaking that lie before them. Alan Clark’s mind couldn’t stop thinking about Senator Dobson.
Why was he so insistent on the missile strike
?
My gut tells me he’s hiding something,
he thought in a troubled manner. The buzzing phone interrupted his silent respite.

“Yes, Maggie.”

“Mr. President, I have Peter Markson from the U.S. Geological Survey on the line.”

“Put him through, Maggie,” he replied as Markson’s voice came on the other end of the line.

“Mr. President, I thought you should be aware that according to our calculations, the wave will be somewhat less in size than predicted. Our field scientist on La Palma reported that approximately one half of the predicted land mass slid into the sea. This should have a negating effect on its size when it reaches the mainland of the United States.”