Deluge (The Best Thrillers Book 2) by James Best (top romance novels txt) 📗

Yeah, I forget about caller ID. Still feel a need to introduce myself at the beginning of a call … yeah, I’m calling on a highly speculative issue … I can make it dead simple … if the economic survival of California depended on it, how would you feel about setting off a tactical nuclear bomb about a hundred miles from where you’re sitting?”

O’Brian listened for a long time, asking only monosyllabic questions like who and why. He finally said thank you and goodbye, and tapped his phone to terminate the call.

He placed the phone carefully on the table and slowly slid it away from him, like the phone itself emitted radiation. He appeared reflective, so Evarts decided not to disturb his thoughts.

“Odd,” he finally said.

“How so?” Evarts asked.

“He knew why I called. He started by saying that my simple question was clever, but irrelevant, since Livermore would not be in the radiation path of a nuclear weapon exploded in Pacheco Pass. They—the scientists at Livermore—were already speculating about opening the Pacheco Pass with nukes. He says it’s feasible, but they suggest chain explosions. Probably seven low-yield bombs. The problem isn’t the radiation from the explosions. Modern nukes emit far less radiation than the early models, and radiation from a bomb dissipates much quicker than waste from a nuclear energy plant. Plus, tactical nukes burrow into the ground before exploding, to contain the initial radioactivity underground. The first problem is the damn water. If the nuclear excavation works, millions of acre-feet of water will rush through the pass like it did eons ago, and it will carry away layers of earth until it reaches the contamination level and washes it out to sea. That’s good and bad. The radiation will wash into Monterey Bay, and the North Pacific Current will carry it down the coast. The radiation won’t contaminate the Pacheco Pass or the towns along the coast. It should pass right out to sea, with the radiation diluted and dispersed by the rushing inland waters and the seas. They estimate less than a month for radiation levels to return to normal. Ninety percent of radiation erodes in seven hours, and after forty-nine hours, it will be reduced another ninety percent. So radiation is not Livermore’s biggest concern.”

When O’Brian ceased talking, Evarts asked, “I feel a big but coming.”

“Two,” O’Brian said. “The first is that the San Andreas Fault lies ten to twelve miles from the end of the chain explosions.”

“What? Holy shit!”

“The USGS doesn’t believe a nuke can trigger an earthquake. Tides put more tectonic stress on plates than a nuke. The largest underground thermonuclear test was detonated in Amchitka, and it didn’t trigger an earthquake in the seismically active Aleutian Islands.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“The second but,” O’Brian said. “California’s two great fears: radiation and earthquakes. We propose dropping seven nuclear bombs practically on top of the most notorious fault line in the world. Politically unacceptable. If that wasn’t enough, no matter how much the radiation is diluted and dispersed, some level will be carried down to Mexico. That makes this an international issue.”

“Oh, crap,” Evarts said. “How much radiation? How far above established safety norms?”

“They don’t know. They’re writing a computer model to figure it out. It depends on how much radiation is generated, how quickly the water reaches the contaminated level, how much it’s diluted as it washes away, how much the ocean will dissipate the radiation, and how long before the radiation is directed to the center of the Pacific. It could be a fortuitous dilution that disperses the radiation to no ill effect … or it could kill sea life in the Bay and harm the Pacific Ocean all the way down the coast.”

“They’ve been talking to someone,” Evarts realized. “Who?”

O’Brian signaled a waitress for more coffee. After getting a refill, he said, “The Department of Energy.”

“Not the governor’s office?”

“The Department of Energy funds the lab, so they naturally went to their boss. DoE has notified the White House about their speculations.”

“So this has gone beyond my wife and the LG.” Evarts thought a minute. “I guess I’ll tell her to pull back. The pros from Dover are on it.” Then he had a pleasant thought. “Maybe she can come home.”

“Not likely. She’s in it up to her ears, and this has become highly political. The state has formally requested a MOAB and a C-130 to deliver it. The governor has made it clear that under no circumstance will he allow the feds to drop any bombs on his state. He wants ordinance handed over to the Air National Guard to be used solely at their discretion.”

“A MOAB? Are they serious? That will never do the job.”

“Your wife’s team made the recommendation.” O’Brian hesitated a beat. “In writing, and it has Livermore livid. The governor just conducted a press conference, where he made your wife and her team out as brilliant advisors who have examined this thing six ways from Sunday. He put the entire onus on them. Livermore knows a MOAB can never do the job, but because of their interference, nobody will listen to them.”

“The feds?”

“They’re backing off. Like I said … radiation and earthquakes … not a politically viable combination.”

Evarts looked out the front window of the café. Rain—dreary rain—coming down in a boring rhythm that foreshadowed unhappiness. Perhaps this really was the unending nightmare. Would the damn clouds ever blow away? And if they did, would the sun bring warmth and brightness, or had it secretly collapsed behind the shield of dark, dark gray, never to warm humanity again?

Evarts shook off his melancholy. He pulled out his phone and called his wife.

“Trish, did you guys encourage that press conference?”

Now it was his turn to listen and ask clarifying questions. He told her how she and her crew had made new friends at the Livermore Lab. When he finished the call, he looked up to see an expectant O’Brian.

“The accolades for her team are political bullshit, but the refusal of federal military