down here was a fore-shock to an even bigger event.”
Atkins could only stare at her. Is she really serious about this? He wondered. Jacobs and the others had the same reaction.
Holleran, strangely, started to relax. Without hurrying, she began with the telephone call she’d gotten from Otto Prable three days earlier; then she quickly and concisely summarized his data on maximum solar activity occurring on or about January twentieth, a window that coincided with a period of extremely strong lunar pull. It was Prable’s opinion that these powerful forces could trigger a quake in an area already under maximum stress. And based on earlier GPS readings that indicated an uplift in the crust, the New Madrid Seismic Zone was clearly under stress. Holleran likewise mentioned Prable’s observations about strong changes in electromagnetic fields and the extended period the Mississippi and Ohio Rivers had been near flood stage, exerting steady pressure on the fault.
“I know how implausible this must seem,” she said in conclusion. “I’ve only managed a brief look at Dr. Prable’s probability analysis. I’ve brought all his data with me.”
She’d spoken for about four minutes without interruption. But everyone in the cramped, overheated room was transfixed.
Breaking the silence, Walt Jacobs asked, “Is Prable the guy who used to teach at Cal Tech?”
Holleran nodded.
“He was a physicist, wasn’t he?”
“Geophysics.”
She started to say more, but Paul Weston angrily interrupted. “This man Prable isn’t even a seismologist, and you’re telling us he predicted the earthquake.” He shook his head derisively. “You’ve taken quite enough of our time.”
Holleran knew she needed ice in her veins to pull this off. It was turning ugly, but she’d blow everything if she lost her temper.
“Otto Prable’s analysis says a period of maximum stress will occur sometime around January twentieth. That’s nine days from now. You’ve just had a major quake. I’ll tell you this, that magnitude 7.1 sure caught my attention back in Los Angeles. A moderately large earthquake exactly where he said one was likely to happen. Professionally, I think his methodology sounds like science fiction. I didn’t even take it seriously—until that quake. I still believe it was probably luck. He made a good guess, but let’s assume, for discussion, that maybe he was on to something, as totally far-fetched as that sounds. Didn’t you have a magnitude 5 just this morning somewhere around here? I keep asking myself, could these be foreshocks?”
She let that thought hang there a moment, staring each man in the room straight in the face. They were all watching, waiting. Paul Weston kept lowering his head and frowning.
“At the very least I’d want to see what Prable had to say,” Holleran said. “I’d want to look at his data just to be on the safe side. I’m sure it will be badly flawed. But I think it would be negligent not to examine it. The man was brilliant. I’ve got his entire computer file on CD-ROM disks. We can download it right here.”
She caught John Atkins’ amused half-smile. The look irritated her. It was as if he were telling her, ‘You’ve got yourself into a fine mess, girl, so what in the hell are you going to do to get out of it’?
“What happened to Otto Prable?” Atkins asked. The name was familiar. He thought he might have met him at a seminar. Weston and some of the others looked pretty bent out of shape. Atkins couldn’t help admire how well the woman was handling herself even if what she was saying sounded completely off the charts.
“He’s dead,” Holleran said. “He was in ill health. He took his life.”
Livid, Weston slammed a fistful of papers down on the desk. He’d had enough.
“I’ll be writing a letter to your department chairman about this,” he said. “That’s a promise. Now will you leave immediately, or do I have to call the police?”
“That’s not necessary,” Holleran said. She picked up her briefcase and laptop. “My department chairman is George McGintry. I suggest sending him an E-mail. It’ll be faster.”
MEMPHIS
JANUARY 11
3:46 P.M.
AS SOON AS THE EMERGENCY MEETING ENDED AT the University of Memphis, Seismic Safety Commission Chairman Paul Weston got into a waiting car. He was driven to an airplane hangar set back in a remote corner of Memphis International Airport. Weston was escorted to a rear door, where a young man with a cell phone and a clipboard ushered him inside.
Tad Parker, the governor of Kentucky, had landed only minutes earlier. His private Learjet was parked in front of the hangar.
Two other men were waiting in the empty, unheated building. Stan Marshal, the older and more nervous of the two, was a seismologist, a big man who wore a snap-brimmed cap. Mark Wren was both an engineer and a geologist. They worked for Weston and had just returned from Kentucky Dam. Their overcoats were buttoned to their necks. It was cold enough inside to see their breath.
Parker had flown in from Frankfort, the Kentucky capital. His presence in the city was a secret.
The governor, always immaculately groomed, was wearing one of his trademark double-breasted suits. A big man, six-foot-four, he’d retained the athletic good looks of his youth when he was a starting point guard for the University of Kentucky basketball team. A conservative Republican, Parker had been elected governor twice by huge majorities and was starting to raise serious money, much of it from Wall Street, for a run at the presidency. Insiders figured he had a good chance. Kentucky’s economy was booming, thanks in large part to Parker’s decidedly low-tax, pro-business stance. The incumbent, President Nathan Ross, was unpopular. Parker was on a roll.
He’d delayed a fund-raising trip to California to talk to Weston. Only his closest advisers were aware that he was in Memphis.
The governor curtly greeted the geologist. He’d worked hard to get Weston appointed head of the powerful five-state Seismic Safety Commission. Two of his biggest campaign contributors, the CEOs of major engineering companies, had lobbied for Weston so he’d done them a favor, albeit reluctantly. He found the man’s coolness off- putting. Parker didn’t like Weston, but he had no reason to criticize his performance. He seemed competent and on top of things.
The commission, unique in the country, crossed both state and federal lines and had complete authority to assure that new public buildings and structures met seismic safety standards. They were also in the process of retrofitting some older structures, including several major bridges across the Mississippi. Their jurisdiction also extended to the big TVA dams in the five-state region.
“What’s the situation at Kentucky Dam?” Parker asked.
Weston said, “We’ve got some cracks in the base wall. They opened up after the main shock. We’re trying to get them repaired and reinforced as quickly as possible. It’s nothing that can’t be handled.”
He’d spoken with slow deliberation. If anything, he almost sounded upbeat about it.
“You’re sure those cracks can be repaired?” Parker asked.
“Yes, governor,” Weston said in his crisp, efficient voice. “It’s going to take a couple weeks to do it right. We’ve moved a lot of heavy equipment in already. I should mention that people are starting to talk. They know there’s a problem at the dam. One of the marina operators up there, a woman, is making some noise. She’s talking to people. Wants a public meeting.”
“What’s her name?” Parker asked, interested.
“Lauren Mitchell.”
“Maybe she’s right. Maybe we ought to have a meeting,” Parker said, considering the idea, weighing its possibilities.
“Let people know what’s happening. Tell them the truth. That there’s been some damage, but it’s being taken care of and there’s no danger. You have any problem with that, doctor?’’
“None, sir. I couldn’t agree more.”
Parker’s eyes locked on Weston, drilled into him. “You think we could have another bad quake up there any
