Deluge (The Best Thrillers Book 2) James Best (best e book reader .TXT) 📖

up to see how far it is to the exit. You girls talk sense to this coward before I return. Convince him to keep his yap shut, or I may punch him just to get some peace and quiet.”

Smith flew out of the car, shoving on his waterproof jacket as he walked. He disappeared into a blanket of rain.

The car sat silent for several moments. Then Wilson said something astonishing.

“For the life of me, I can’t believe I had sex with you, Jon.”

“What?” Baldwin blurted before thinking.

“Oh hell, you must have guessed,” Wilson said. “I thought he was a compatriot, not a weasel.”

“I am not a weasel,” Ashley said without conviction.

“I’ll tell you what you’re not,” Wilson said. “You’re not—”

“Let’s not continue down this path,” Baldwin said. She turned further in her seat to again look Ashley in the eyes. “Jon, stop whining all the time. Please. You’re driving us nuts. Put on your big boy pants. We have a job to do, and we might as well get to it.”

“What job?” Wilson asked.

“We’re assigned to a commission that’s supposed to mitigate these kinds of disasters. We have a responsibility to the citizens of this state. Instead of sitting here moping, let’s brainstorm what advice we can give the government.”

“In this car? Are you—” Ashley said.

Both women gave him such withering glares that he stopped mid-sentence and sank back into his seat.

“We have four experts and phones,” Baldwin said. “Let’s figure out what the people in authority ought to be doing. Then we’ll call.”

“I’ll record our reccos on my computer. We can email them to the lieutenant governor.”

“Reccos?” Baldwin asked.

“Sorry. USGS jargon: recommendations,” Wilson explained.

They listed actions for the next half hour. None were too far removed from the recommendations they had made at their formal meeting. Baldwin hadn’t really believed they would come up with slivers of brilliance that had eluded others, but the distraction quieted Ashley’s incessant grumbling.

Wilson read their finished list out loud.

“You know,” Baldwin said, “all of those recommendations deal with handling a disaster. First and secondary responses. Communications. Chain of command. None of those actions mitigate the potential for tragedy.”

“That is because you cannot stop Mother Nature,” Ashley said. “She will do what she wants. Period. All that water up there in the sky will fall to earth. There is nothing that can be done to stop it.”

“Okay,” Baldwin said, “but what can we do to keep it from killing people?”

“Issue everyone scuba equipment,” Ashley said.

Wilson turned in her seat to look at Ashley. “Did you just make a joke?”

“I do not tell jokes,” Ashley said. “I was being sarcastic.”

Baldwin had an idea. “Perhaps, but it’s the first out-of-the-box suggestion so far.”

Ashley sighed. “Do not patronize me. Why would anyone want to be underwater anyway?”

Baldwin swallowed her pique and said, “They wouldn’t. They want to stay on top of the water. Let’s think. What floats besides boats. Is there something we can have flown in from other states?”

“Patricia, face it, you cannot get enough boats,” Ashley said. “Tons of water will fall on millions of people. The only thing that will help is finding a way to direct that water out to sea or contain it where there is no population.”

Baldwin grew excited. “Jon, sometimes out of the blue, you come up with brilliant ideas. How can we—”

A horn blared so loud and continuous, it crowded out any conversation. Baldwin looked behind her and then to the front. Cars were moving. At least a hundred feet gaped between their car and the next one in their lane. Time to get going. She slid into the driver’s seat, started the car, and jumped the vehicle forward before too many cars came from the right lane to fill the hole.

“Where’s Tom?” Wilson asked.

“Hell, if I know,” Baldwin said. “Keep your eye out for him. Yell if you see him.”

She soon had to brake, but cars continued to move in the stop-and-go manner of California commuter traffic. In about ten minutes, they came upon the next off-ramp. Baldwin spotted Smith leaning into a car window, talking to the driver. Then he moved to the next car and talked to that driver. When he was at the car in front of her, Baldwin gave a brief honk that she hoped sounded friendly. Smith looked up with irritation that quickly evaporated when he recognized his own car. After a few more words to the driver ahead, Smith bounded back, came around the hood, and climbed into the passenger seat.

Smith shook water all over the car. “Damn, it’s wet out there.”

“What were you telling people in those other cars?” Baldwin asked.

“That the highway was flooded up ahead, and they need to take this off-ramp. I told them I was with the California Emergency Response Team and flashed my statehouse ID. Everybody was just sitting politely waiting for traffic to move. I had to do something to get rid of the cars in front of us.”

“California Emergency Response Team?” Wilson asked. “Is that a real thing?”

“Hell if I know. Must be.” Smith sounded breathless. “Too good of a name for bureaucrats to let slide. Doesn’t matter. They believed me and followed my orders.”

“Smart. Thank you,” Wilson said.

“Where to now?” Ashley asked.

“This is Old Davis Road,” Smith said. “Somebody bring up a map app.”

“Already on it,” Wilson said. In only a moment, she added, “Take it to Tremont, and we’ll be back at I-80 about two miles down the highway. By then, the interstate will be at surface grade, so hopefully will no longer be flooded.”

“You think we should go back to I-80?” Baldwin asked.

“Yes,” Smith said. “Interstates are better engineered for drainage. Crown grading for runoff. And generally level. Surface streets follow the terrain and amass water in periodic swales.”

“But what if I-80 is flooded?” Ashley whined.

“Then we swim for it,” Smith joked. “Didn’t anyone tell this daisy to keep his worries to himself?”

“Sorry,” Ashley said, sinking into his seat. “Just asking.”

“Tom, Ashley has been highly useful while you were gone,” Baldwin