time soon? A big one strong enough to knock out that dam?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“Is that a hedge?”
“It wasn’t meant to be, sir,” Weston said. “The statistical odds are hugely against another strong quake. In terms of seismic energy left in the ground, it’s almost an impossibility.”
Parker made his decision.
They’d repair the dam as rapidly as possible. He wanted the work completed in two weeks. He didn’t care what it cost. He’d get the other governors to go along and approve the funding, a state-federal match. The governors had to vote to approve expenditures to repair earthquake damage. They’d also need the TVA’s okay, but that had never been a problem.
Parker raised another subject. “Should we consider an evacuation from the towns below the dam until the repairs are finished?” he asked.
“I don’t think that’s necessary, governor,” Weston said. “The cracks aren’t a threat to the dam’s structural integrity. I think an evacuation order would cause unnecessary hardship and create panic.”
Parker mulled it over and said, “All right. Keep me informed.”
The meeting was over. Within moments Parker was back on board his Learjet, getting ready to return to Kentucky. He’d put off that fundraiser to California for a few days to give him time to tour the quake damage in his state.
Relieved to see the governor depart, Weston knew he hadn’t been totally forthright. He’d downplayed the damage at the dam and was lucky Parker hadn’t pushed him for more information. The cracks—five of them—were thirty feet long and leaking. They were running pumps to keep the water level low enough inside the dam’s inner wall to make the repairs.
He was going to send Marshal and Wren back there immediately to make sure the work was completed as quickly as possible. They were pushing their luck, and they knew it.
MEMPHIS
JANUARY 11
5:00 P.M.
THE FAMOUS MEMPHIS “DRY” RIBS WERE THE specialty of the house at the Blue Sax Grill, a Beale Street institution. With a panache that was part of the atmosphere, the waiters served steaming platters of meat rubbed in spices. Located on the ground floor of an old drugstore, the place wasn’t cheap. John Atkins had gone to the Blue Sax for an early dinner to avoid the crowds. A tall waiter with mahogany skin and a white apron took his order and shouted a few clipped words to the kitchen: “Half order, beer.”
It was only late afternoon, but Atkins wanted to turn in early. He’d declined Walt Jacobs’ invitation to join him and his wife for dinner at their home. He was exhausted for one thing. For another, they both needed to get up before dawn to catch a helicopter for Mayfield, Kentucky, just across the Tennessee line. He and Jacobs and a team of four other seismologists were going to set up an array of seismometers. They wanted to place fifteen instruments on a line running roughly from the extreme southwestern tip of the state due east to Kentucky Lake.
The area had been extremely active with aftershocks. They hoped to get more precise readings on exactly what was happening deep in the ground. The biggest jolt so far was the magnitude 5.1 earlier that morning.
The waiter had just brought his order, placing the heavy plate piled high with ribs in front of him, when Elizabeth Holleran introduced herself.
“May I join you?” she asked.
Atkins hesitated, trying to suppress a groan.
“If you’d rather not,” Holleran said.
“No, please. Sit down,” he said, gathering up the newspaper he’d been trying to read in the dim light. He cleared a space for her. “It’s just been kind of a rough day.” He didn’t want to get into an analytical debate with this woman over sunspots, tidal forces, and earthquake predictions. He was way too skeptical. Way too tired.
“One of the USGS people told me where I might find you,” she said, sitting down.
Atkins pushed back in his seat, waiting for her to begin, wanting to get this over with.
“Would you mind if I ordered something to drink?” Holleran asked. She’d already had quite enough of the attitude in his voice. She felt like telling him to shut up and just listen. But this was too important. She had to be more diplomatic.
“Sure, why not?” Atkins said. He stopped his waiter and asked for another beer. The man quickly returned and banged a frosty mug down on the scarred wooden table without saying a word.
“That’s a waiter with personality,” Atkins said sarcastically. “They give the place its Southern charm.” He was already thinking how to get out of this as quickly and politely as possible.
“Jim Dietz told me to say hello,” Holleran said. She’d just spoken to him on the telephone. “We’re working together on the Point Arguello project.”
Atkins had taken a couple advanced seismology courses from Dietz at Cal Tech. They’d stayed in touch. Atkins liked and respected his intellect.
“Did Jim know what you were going to do down here?” he asked.
Holleran nodded. “He said I was out of my mind.” She took a sip of beer, a big one.
Atkins smiled in spite of himself. She reminded him of an eager graduate student. Maybe a little older, but not much. Late twenties or early thirties. Not bad-looking. Better up close than in that conference room, which was good enough. In fact, she was damned fine-looking, sitting there on the edge of the chair in a green jacket and black corduroy slacks. No makeup at all. Didn’t need it.
Atkins complimented her on her papers describing the dig at Point Arguello. He’d read both of them. It was solid research by someone who’d spent months in the field and wrote with authority. He noticed Elizabeth’s smooth, deep tan. This was a woman who wasn’t afraid of hard work or getting out in the sun. But he wasn’t about to waste any more time than absolutely necessary listening to her talk about Prable and sunspots.
Elizabeth put down her beer mug. She wanted to get started while she still had the nerve. “I need someone to look at this data,” she said. “I was hoping that maybe you could—”
Atkins put up his hands. He’d been expecting it. “Now hold on,” he said. “I heard what you said this afternoon. I don’t want to get involved in that.”
“Otto Prable was a superb scientist. We need to look at his data. I know it’s probably a waste of time. But if you’d just—”
“Why me?” Atkins said. “Why not that guy who introduced you this afternoon? Go to him. I can’t help you. I don’t want to help you. I think Prable just got lucky.”
There was a moment when Elizabeth started to unravel, felt the panic slip out. She was putting her reputation on the line with a complete stranger who was acting like an asshole. She forced herself to calm down.
Atkins helped. His brusque question snapped her out of it. “You think Prable predicted the magnitude 7.1 we just had? Or was that only a precursor? I can’t keep it straight. And what was that date for maximum exposure? January twentieth?”
Elizabeth didn’t like his condescending tone. This was becoming far more difficult than she’d hoped. “Prable said there was a high probability of a severe earthquake,” she said, regulating her voice. “We’ve had one moderately severe quake already and several strong aftershocks. I think we ought to see what the man was talking about.”
“But he wasn’t even a seismologist,” Atkins said.
Elizabeth looked at him, focusing her thoughts. “No,” she said, not fighting the anger this time. “He wasn’t a seismologist. He wasn’t even a geologist. And I say, thank God! I’ve never met such a group of backbiting hypocrites. Have you ever stopped to think that our vaunted profession has
