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

nervous as hell. Smith is right. Beyond all the death and destruction, the state financial hole will be breathtaking.”

“Did I hear that I was right about something?” Smith had ceased playing with his phone, but hadn’t stopped his incessant pacing.

“Your perfect economic storm,” Wilson answered. “I agree. The state’s in a dire fix.”

Smith said, “Yeah, but as the late-night infomercials say, ‘But wait, there’s more.’ California is so huge that this storm will throw the entire country into a recession … possibly even a depression. I’ve been doing some research on my phone. The feds collect well over $400 billion annually from California. That’s over twelve percent of the national revenue. Add disaster relief to the spending side of the ledger, and it makes the Dust Bowl during the Great Depression look like a weather nuisance.”

“How much will the feds lose?” Baldwin asked.

He shrugged. “My bet … a net negative. Federal disaster relief will probably exceed depleted income.”

Baldwin heard a voice over her shoulder. “The lieutenant governor will see you now.”

The words and tone made it sound as if they had requested an audience rather than the other way around. She swiveled toward the voice to see a beta male with a slight build duck back into the next room. The next room turned out to be another outer office, hastily furnished with four government-issue desks. Male assistants worked feverishly at laptop computers. One pointed his left arm toward a closed door, while continuing to click and slide a computer mouse around with his right hand. His eyes never left his laptop screen. Baldwin wondered what task demanded such intense attention.

When they opened the door, they found Paul Gleason reading an official-looking report clad in a bright blue binder. In the corner sat another man, who glanced disdainfully at them and went back to texting on his cell phone. After an extended moment, Gleason purposely looked up from his report, wearing an expression calculated to convey annoyance.

“We implemented your grandiose scheme,” Gleason said and then paused dramatically. “It didn’t work.”

Breaking the ensuing silence, Baldwin asked, “Is that why you brought us here? To tell us that?”

“Yes. I thought it would make me feel better, but it doesn’t.” He slapped the report down on the desk. “We had to evacuate hordes of people. The property damage exceeded tens of millions. And yet, Sacramento remains under three to four feet of water. Damn you, and damn that gambit you played with the Bob Mandel Show.”

Wilson bristled. “My calculations show that an additional two hundred thousand acre-feet of water drained into the ocean. If you hadn’t accelerated the runoff, where do you think you would have stored all that water?”

“You don’t know that!” Gleason said. “You just made that up!”

“I do … and so do you,” Wilson said. “Think about it. If massive amounts of water hadn’t drained to the sea, then you wouldn’t have had tens of millions of dollars’ worth of property damage. Rushing water caused that damage. You don’t need to be a scientist. It’s common sense.”

“Something of which the public is in short supply,” Gleason said. “They think stupid actions on our part caused their homes and jobs to wash away.”

The man sitting against the wall spoke. “Most of that water came from reservoirs. In case you weren’t aware, dams are built to restrain water.”

“Not so much with Oroville, Cachuma, Folsom, and Castaic,” Smith sneered. “I’m curious, by the way, how much of the citrus production was wiped out by Castaic.”

“You can’t equate orange trees with homes and factories,” the man retorted.

Smith said. “The California Franchise Tax Board does. They see no difference between a widget and an orange. They demand vigorish from both.”

“Mr. Smith, if you’ll—”

Baldwin interrupted. “If you’ll excuse me, you seem to know us. Who are you?”

“This is Dr. Edmund Gerry,” Wilson said. “Director, Department of Water Resources. He’s the one whose ass is hanging out over draining the reservoirs.”

“Exactly,” Gerry responded. “Me, not a bunch of showboats without any skin in the game who pop off on the radio.”

Two men entered the lieutenant governor’s temporary office: Ashley and Wilson’s husband, Brady.

“You two buddy up?” Wilson said, nastily.

“No,” Brady said. “We arrived in the outer office at the same time is all. We share a few common experiences, but otherwise, we’re far from bosom buddies.”

Baldwin could tell from Wilson’s expression that her estranged husband’s choice of words had their desired effect.

“I need to talk to my friends.” Ashley sounded urgent. “Privately.”

“You can do that when I dismiss you,” Gleason said. “For the moment, this is still my meeting.”

“Then let’s get to the agenda,” Smith said. “It’s getting crowded in here.”

Gleason almost came out of his chair. “The agenda is—” He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “In this room is the head of Water Resources, the chief engineer for the safety of dams, and a gaggle of busybodies. I’ve got a state that’s drowning. Literally. The latest confirmed death count exceeds a thousand. Probably, in truth, already several thousand. I have a catastrophe on my hands. I need help. In half an hour, I brief the governor.” He heaved a big sigh of exasperation. “Do any of you have any good news I can bring him?”

“Good news?” Smith said, sounding perplexed. “No, sir. It’s all bad. Right now, you’re worried about water. That’s not the biggest issue. After the rain stops, the state will be depressed for many years. Not directly because of water, but because of debt. We owe nearly $1.5 trillion, counting state and local debt and pension liabilities. In the last few years, this amount has held steady as a percent of state domestic product. That’s good, but here’s the rub. State domestic product will be cut in half … or more … by this calamity. Over one third of taxable property will be underwater … maybe as much as half by value. California will no longer be the breadbasket of the world, at least not for many years. And it’s not