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

“No.”

“No, it’s not possible, or no, you won’t help.”

“Not possible. You’re talking about blowing away a mountain.”

“Not exactly. I’m out of my depth, but as I understand it, they’re not suggesting blowing away a mountain, just a channel five hundred feet deep.”

“How many miles?”

“I don’t know.”

O’Brian pulled out a smartphone. After a few minutes, he exclaimed, “Holy shit.”

“What?” Evarts asked.

He handed over the phone. It showed a Google Earth satellite image of Monterey Bay. The image showed a deep underwater cavern in the bay carved out by water drainage. Evarts zoomed out and ran up and down the coast.

“There isn’t a similar-sized underwater canyon anywhere else,” Evarts said. “Not even off the Delta, where most of the water flows out to sea.”

O’Brian did some additional online research. “That underwater cavern is called Monterey Canyon. Those steep canyon walls measure a full mile in depth, which puts it on a par with the Grand Canyon. Canyons of this size are formed by outflows of very major rivers, such as the Mississippi or the Amazon.”

Evarts glanced at the information on the phone screen. “Does this mean their idea is feasible?”

“No. It means they’re right about a historic geological feature,” O’Brian said. “At one time, this was a major drainage point. No longer. To restore Monterey Bay as an outlet may or may not be possible.” He thought a moment before asking, “Is the situation really that dire?”

“I think so,” Evarts said. “Worse than what we’ve experienced here. The potential damage is huge and may bankrupt the state. My wife says the economic downturn would affect the entire nation … and last a decade.”

Neither spoke. The joyous din from the students did not subside. They had no idea of the gravity of the conversation taking place in their midst. For them, nothing had changed. A dam had broken, and adults worried, but their teen perspective was driven by hormones, not weather. Not much had changed. Boys blew straw covers at pretty girls instead of dipping their pigtails in ink. Girls, heads bent together as they giggled at little quips about boys, pretended not to notice the flying paper projectiles. O’Brian was right. It was good to be reminded that life goes on.

Evarts nodded his head toward the kids. “Nice to be young. Makes you wonder where the years went.”

“Greg, at my age, I can’t empathize with the grumblings of youngsters such as yourself.”

They fell into silence again.

Finally, Evarts asked, “What are you thinking?”

“Have you ever heard about Project Plowshare?”

Chapter 42

It had been only an hour since Gleason had received their memorandum, yet he’d demanded that they return to his office posthaste. Had he read it that quickly? Did a staffer forewarn him that the crazies were at it again? She didn’t know, but Baldwin had no intention of waiting two hours this time. She vowed to give him fifteen minutes, and then she’d be out of there. Maybe she just didn’t want to go on record supporting Ashley’s Machiavellian ploy. But then again, maybe she should. Perhaps a munitions expert could figure out a way to make a series of MOABs do the job. All she knew for sure was that some way to drain the Central Valley had to be found, or the state would be in big trouble. For the first time, the realization struck her that if Smith’s calamitous forecast held, her university would find itself short of funds. She had never considered the disaster in personal terms before, but she could never let her selfish interests determine her course of action.

When they entered the outer office, they were summarily and immediately escorted into Gleason’s temporary office.

“Come in. Sit down,” he said, pointing to a round table surrounded by six chairs in the corner. A man with military bearing was seated at the table. “This is Adjutant General Brad Marx. He runs the California Military Department.”

“The state has a military department?” Baldwin blurted.

“Of course,” Gleason said. “It consists of the National Guard, the Air National Guard, reserve units, and a number of youth programs. I shared your memo with General Marx, and he thought the idea showed promise.”

“I’d say potential, rather than promise,” Marx said jovially. “Captain Blanchard of the Engineering Battalion thinks the concept might work, but there are some big nasty hurdles in the way.”

“What hurdles?” Smith asked.

“First, we don’t have a MOAB.” Marx laughed. “Or any bombs, for that matter. Nor do we have military aircraft set up for delivery of a MOAB. Instead of being dropped from a bomber, a MOAB slides out the back of a C-130. Although the California Air National Guard flies C-130s, it would be easier to borrow an Air Force asset rather than to modify one of our own.” He looked pleased with himself. “I submitted a request for both just moments ago.”

“I’m confused,” Wilson said. “Why not have the Air Force do the job?”

Marx burst out laughing. “Ma’am, the Great State of California will never allow itself to be bombed by the national government. That’s just not going to happen. No … the Air Force needs to supply us with the wherewithal to perform this mission ourselves. A mission, I might add, that will be under the direct and strict supervision of the governor. By the way, this is not just me talking. I only moments ago left the governor, and those were his words.”

“What did the Engineering Battalion say about the likelihood of success?” Smith asked warily.

“First off, that’s a bit of a misnomer,” Marx said with a chuckle, as if the query were amusing. “The Engineering Battalion comprises only Captain Blanchard.”

“Only Captain Blanchard,” Baldwin gasped. “What are his credentials?”

“Oh, don’t worry, ma’am, he has a degree in civil engineering.”

She didn’t ask for clarification. She was sure Blanchard’s degree hadn’t come from a first-tier university. She glanced at Smith. He didn’t look annoyed or inquisitive. Just bored.

Ashley asked, “What was his assessment of the feasibility of the idea?”

“Blasting a canal through the Pacheco Pass?