TSUNAMI STORM (17 page)

U.S.S. Massachusetts, Pacific Ocean, Off the Coast of California

After six hours running at flank speed the
Massachusetts
was 260 miles north of San Francisco and still not a whisper from the ghost sub. Lieutenant Tiffany Grimes was the Officer of the Deck, which meant she was running the control center. Silverton motioned Tiffany over to the tactical display.

“We’re directly off Cape Mendocino, California,” Tiffany said. “In order to keep our distance from the coast, we need to change course fairly soon, don’t we?”

“We do,” Silverton replied. “Your recommendation?”

“True north from here,” she said.

“Go ahead, Lieutenant. Make it so.”

She smiled at the Star Trek reference. “Helm, ten degrees right rudder, come to course 000,” she ordered.

“Ten degrees right rudder, change course to 000, aye-aye, ma’am,” the helmsman answered. After forty five-seconds came the new course confirmation, “Heading true north, ma’am.”

She wandered forward to the sonar room and peered in. “Anything?”

“Nothing yet, ma’am; just the usual stuff; whales chattin’ up a storm, if you could call it that.”

“Okay, thanks,” she replied and strolled back into the control center. Silverton stood there, trying his best to stifle a yawn. Another hour passed and shift rotation began. Men coming on duty replaced their counterparts and discussed what conditions were present and what the standing orders were. The dining room was open and the smell of food and fresh coffee wafted its way into the control center. “Can I get you anything?” Daniel Adams, the COB asked.

She looked around. Lieutenant Kent was present for his rotation in the control center. “Lieutenant Kent has the con,” she announced.

“Actually,” she replied to Adams. “I could use something to eat.”

“I could too,” Silverton added.

The three of them headed to the galley.

Tiffany picked out two donuts and refilled her mug with fresh coffee. Silverton and Adams did the same and joined her at a table. “Boy, this is just like it was when I was a sonarman back in the last of the Cold War days,” Adams said.

Silverton chuckled. “I was trying out for the high school JV team, Master Chief. I had no idea what was actually going on.”

“Yeah,” Adams replied, “and you were a lot better off not knowing. We were chasing their boomers and they were chasing ours. It was a deadly game of cat and mouse, and the biggest problem was you were never sure if you were the cat or the mouse.”

“I got the Captain’s cat analogy,” Silverton stated.

Tiffany was paying close attention to the conversation.

“It’s more than an analogy,” Adams corrected. “My dad was a sonar tech first class on the sister ship to the U.S.S. Scorpion back in May of 1968. He told me more than one story about how they came seconds from firing their torpedoes at a Russian sub. Hell one time they actually bumped hulls with a Russian sub. I guess those stories were what got me to enlist and go to sonar school. Anyway, he was convinced the Scorpion got into it with a Russian sub, and both of them ended up on the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.”

“They blew each other up?” Tiffany asked, startled by the statement.

“It’s not that simple,” Adams replied. “Our subs are a single hull design – less weight but more vulnerable to damage. The Russians use a double or even a triple hull design. That makes them heavier, and in most cases slower. We always had a speed advantage until the Alfas came out. You’re on the U.S. answer to the Alfas. But my point is you don’t have to get blown up. You spring a major leak that you can’t stop, and you’re headed on a one-way trip to crush depth. In a sub-on-sub conflict, it’s way too easy to die.”

“So you think this ghost sub could be dangerous?” Tiffany asked.

“Honestly, there isn’t anything more dangerous.”

Tiffany sat there pondering what Adams had said.

“I guess we shouldn’t leave Lieutenant Kent in there on his own for too long,” Silverton finally said.

“He’s smart,” Adams replied. “First sign of trouble and he’ll call for help.”

“Still,” Silverton replied. They stood up and headed back into the control center. As they entered, Lieutenant Kent looked at Silverton. “I’ll take it from here,” Silverton said.

“XO has the con,” Kent announced.

Just as Silverton stepped into the middle of the control center the call came in. “Con, sonar, underwater contact bearing 000, range 40,000 yards.”

“Wake the Captain,” Silverton said, but Adams was already running in that direction.

Dolphin Beach, Oregon

Willa typed away on her computer, backspacing, revising and rephrasing. This was the hardest and saddest notice she had ever written. The evacuation instructions were concise. She tried not to panic anyone, yet retain a sense of urgency. Pack your most valuable belongings in something you could easily carry. Anything large should be moved to a safe location immediately.

When the hurricane turned inland, people would have only hours to get out of the way of the water, wind and the waves. The town emergency siren would begin the evacuation. People needed to leave as soon as the alarm sounded.

Willa sat with tears streaming down her face, her hands cold as ice, as she completed the notice. With a few mouse clicks, the notice was sent to the printer, which began churning out copies.

“We came as soon as we could,” Chelsea said, as they entered the door. Her daughter, Dakota, looked seriously depressed. “Where do you want us to start?”

Willa wiped her face with a tissue. “South side of town, on Pine Street.”

Chief Dolan and his two deputies crossed the main hall and entered her office, followed by Gladys and half a dozen other business owners.

“Chief, can you start with the guests at the Ocean Grand Hotel? I think the notice will be better received if it comes from someone in uniform.”

“Sure.” He grabbed a handful of sheets from the printer tray and handed some to his deputies. “Let’s go.”

Gladys took a pile of notices, as did the other business owners, and headed out the door. Chelsea picked up a stack. “Come on, Dakota, let’s go.” Dakota stood frozen in the middle of Willa’s office. “Dakota?”

“Maybe she could help me here in the office,” Willa offered. Dakota glanced up at her. “She’ll be fine here, Chelsea Why don’t you go on ahead, okay?” Within a few seconds Willa and Dakota were alone in the office. “Why don’t you sit down over here?” Dakota slowly sat in the chair. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Dakota sat for a minute or more, staring at the floor. “I kept thinking I’d do anything to get out of this place,” she said slowly. “I never wanted to see Dolphin Beach, ever again.”

“And now?” Willa asked.

Dakota looked up at her. “And now I’m scared that everyone’s going to die. I don’t want to die.”

“Nobody does, honey, that’s why we make plans for what to do in an emergency – so nobody dies.”

“But people still die,” she replied. “Grandpa died. Last year my friend Janey just suddenly got sick and died. I’m scared.”

“I know you are, honey, I know you are.” Willa came over and hugged Dakota. “There are some things in life that you just can’t stop,” Willa said, softly. “We hope and pray that nothing bad will ever happen to us, but sometimes it just does. Life isn’t easy. People like me and your mother – we try to make life easier for people, not harder.”

“Mom hasn’t made my life any easier; she’s made it impossible!”

“I know it seems that way, but life can be incredibly hard sometimes. People lose their homes, someone they love, their jobs. Sometimes the world just comes crashing down around you, and it’s hard, really hard – like losing your friend Janey – that was really hard.”

Dakota nodded as the tears began falling. “We hope that our children will become adults and learn some of life’s lessons before they have to deal with the death of a close friend or a loved one. But sometimes, like now, we have to deal with the harshness of life while we’re still way too young. It robs us of our innocence. It takes away the joys of our childhood and replaces them with sadness, regret and pain. It’s not fair. It’s just downright mean.” Dakota wrapped her arms around Willa and buried her head in the cleft of Willa’s neck, weeping uncontrollably. Willa held her tightly. “It’s okay, honey, just let it all out. You’ve hung on to all of this pain for so long. It’s time to let it go. It’s okay.”

While Dakota was crying, Chief Dolan returned for more notices. He looked over at Willa and Dakota through the window, paused for a moment, nodded, and led his deputies across the hall to the Police Department. Dakota finally began to settle down. “Gramma, how do we keep people from dying?”

Willa gritted her teeth, relaxed and breathed in slowly. “Sometimes we can’t, honey, but sometimes we can. We keep people from dying by being prepared, like we’re doing now with this hurricane and with the possibility of an earthquake. But mostly we keep people from dying by respecting other people and going out of our way to make sure we don’t do anything that intentionally puts people’s lives at risk. If the world could learn that one lesson, it would be a much safer place. The more we care about others and the more we avoid hurting them, the happier the world will become. That’s what I do. You can do that, too.”

“Okay, Gramma, I’ll try.”

“That’s how we begin to change the world, honey, by trying.”

Portland, Oregon

Senator Elizabeth Bechtel greeted her first visitors of the day in her state office in the 500 block of SW Main Street. “Gentlemen, thank you for taking the time to come in today.”

“Your Chief of Staff said it was a matter of great urgency, so how can we help you?” Steve Clemens said as he and his business partner sat down.

“I understand your company, C&R Construction, is one of the largest contractors in the area,” she said, watching their response intently.

“We cover the Portland area and up into Washington. If it’s within 250 miles, we have construction in progress. What’s this all about?”

“You’re aware of the storm moving up the Pacific?”

The two business partners glanced at one another. “The hurricane? What about it?” Clemens asked.

“What if you had four-to-six days’ advance knowledge of severe storm damage. Could you put yourself in a position to supply materials and labor to repair a large volume of buildings over an extended area?”

Clemens and his partner looked at each other again and back to her. “You’re saying that as if it’s an established fact. Nothing that severe has happened in at least a hundred years. How would you know what is going to happen with the weather?”

“Do you think I would waste my time coming out here and talking with you if I didn’t know?”
She didn’t feel agitated, but if you were going to drive a point home, a certain amount of theatrics was necessary.

“But if a major storm, as you’re indicating, hits the area, wouldn’t that become a disaster area? Wouldn’t a state of emergency be declared?”

“Yes, of course it would,” she replied. “And all of those emergency funds would go to those companies who were most prepared with material and labor and the political connections to secure federal emergency contracts.”

“I assume we’re talking millions of dollars, aren’t we?”

“If that’s the only scale you’re prepared to work in, I may have overestimated your company. If that’s the case, I’m wasting my time.” She stood up from behind her desk, waiting for their predictable response.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Clemens said, motioning her to sit back down. “Exactly what scale of damage are
you
talking about?”

“In the Portland area?” she began. “Severe water damage, flooding, winds in excess of 120 miles per hour. Every residential dwelling would need some amount of repairs, many would need to be removed and rebuilt from the ground up. You’re looking at New Orleans and Katrina, here in Portland.”

“That’s millions of buildings, that’s…”

“Tens of billions of dollars,” she finished. Clemens and his partner looked overwhelmed. “Can you put together the materials and the labor?”

“Yes,” Clemens and his partner said together.

“Good,” she replied. “Now all you need is the political connection to secure the contracts.”

Clemens looked stunned for a moment. Then he grinned, “And I assume you can make that happen?”

“I can.”

“How much?” he asked.

“You know, the horrible thing about being in my position, as a United States Senator, is that the cost of running a successful election campaign is incredibly high. It forces me to ask for donations all of the time, something I detest doing, but I am a victim of circumstances, so I do what I have to do.”

“Don’t we all,” Clemens replied, his grin widening.

She slid a sheet of paper across the desk to him. “These are the Political Action Committees and organizations that support my re-election efforts. Thanks to the Supreme Court, there is no longer an upper limit to how many organizations you can donate to, so please be generous with them. The more you help me, the more I will be in a position to help you.”

The three of them stood and shook hands. As Clemens and his partner left, Janet, her local Chief of Staff leaned in the door. “The next one is here. If you can keep to the twenty-minute time schedule, we can finish by ten tonight. I’ve got the next three days booked solid.”

“Thanks, Janet, send them in.”