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

Doubtful. He doesn’t think one MOAB would do the trick. Needs more punch. Maybe a half dozen.”

Ashley said, “We always assumed it would be a series of bombs. Perhaps even different types of bombs. Maybe a few of those deep penetrating bombs to break things up and a MOAB to throw the debris aside.”

“Oh, do we have an engineer with us?” Marx said. “I was under the impression you were a history teacher.”

“Professor,” Ashley corrected.

“Excuse me, professor,” Marx said with a grin. “Did you think the United States Air Force would give us carte blanche? We’ll be lucky to get one for a test case. The expedited approval process for just the first one will take a couple weeks. We’ll let her rip on an isolated portion of the pass and see if the idea has merit.”

Surprised, Wilson blurted out, “The valley will be flooded by then.”

“We’ll still need to pull the plug in the drain, won’t we?” chuckled Marx.

“Have you commanded or observed a bombing operation previously?” Smith asked.

Marx smiled. “Naw, but I always wanted to try one.”

Marx laughed at his ill attempt at humor, and Gleason chuckled along with him. Everyone else appeared baffled.

“Are you serious?” Wilson asked.

“Don’t worry, ma’am. I have people who know their jobs. Despite popular misperception, we’re professional military. We just report to the governor instead of a president.”

“I am worried,” Wilson said. “You’ll be late. I’m not sure it’s worth the risk if it can’t be done before the valley is buried under water. If the Air Force performed the bombing, could it be done sooner?”

“Not happening,” Gleason said. “Did you not hear?”

“I heard,” Wilson said. “Seems bullheaded is all.”

“You sound like a federal bureaucrat. Oh, wait. You are a federal bureaucrat.” Gleason smirked. “I’ll be sure to pass your assessment along to the governor.”

“Why are we here?” Baldwin asked.

“This was your idea.” He waved a piece of paper. “Your memorandum. If we try this, and it doesn’t work, you own it.”

“That would have been the case anyway,” Baldwin said. “So, again, why are we here?”

He smiled. “I thought you should know, the governor’s making an address in a few minutes. He’s going to give this little group star billing. When he’s done, the media will believe you’re the four smartest people on the planet. Four people, five PhDs. You’re the people he relies on to keep the people of this state safe. Enjoy the spotlight. It will be dazzling. If all goes well, you’ll be able to write your own ticket. And if it goes badly, well … you’ll have trouble finding a community college position in Arkansas.”

“This is why you brought us here?” Baldwin said. “To threaten us?”

“No, of course not. You’re teachers. Excuse me—professors. I’m sure you appreciate a lesson plan.” Gleason smiled again. “The lesson here is, don’t go to the media to put pressure on the governor.” He paused, his face scrunched in anger. “It’s dumb. It’s a particularly naive thing to do, because he has a hell of a lot bigger megaphone than you’ll ever have.” With a smug expression, he added, “Class dismissed.”

He turned on his heel and stomped out of the room.

Marx stayed behind, grinning. “Listen, I know the governor’s angry. I don’t blame him. But I want to thank you. Thank you for giving me the grandest toy on the face of the planet. I’m going to enjoy the hell out of dropping that bomb.”

Marx also turned on his heel but merely sauntered out of the room, appearing quite pleased with himself.

Chapter 43

At the Lompoc café, the youngsters still chatted and laughed and traded cell phones to show off whatever was on the screens. Evarts hoped they weren’t sexting. He wanted to believe that their interactions were still on a more innocent level.

Evarts turned his attention back to O’Brian. “In answer to your question, I don’t know a lot about Project Plowshare. As I gather, it was someone’s nutty idea of using nuclear explosions to excavate huge amounts of dirt and rock. That’s the extent of my knowledge about the program.”

“That someone was Edward Teller, a certified genius, which didn’t preclude him from having nutty ideas. In fact, geniuses often lack good sense.”

“Is he still alive?”

“No,” O’Brian said. “He died around the turn of the century. I met him when President Reagan awarded him the National Medal of Science. Early eighties. He was already an old man by then, but still in control of all his faculties. At least, it appeared so. I was there with my boss, getting ready to brief the president on some crisis or other. My boss went off with the president, and I talked with Teller until they set up the lighting for the award ceremony photo shoot. I’m not one for small talk, so I asked him about Project Plowshare. It had already been dead for over a decade, but like you, I thought it didn’t sound all together sane. Teller launched into an animated defense of his baby. He believed we could contour the earth’s surface to serve our needs.”

“Are you saying it can work to drain the Central Valley?”

“I’d want to examine a topo map, but from what I see on Google Earth, it appears feasible. But … I’m not a scientist or a munitions expert.”

After a moment, Evarts said, “Here’s the million-dollar question: Will we radioactively contaminate Monterey Bay and the surrounding coastline?”

O’Brian shrugged.

“How do we find out?” Evarts asked.

“I’ll call Livermore Lab. I know someone there.”

“Can you call now?” Evarts asked.

O’Brian didn’t answer at first. He looked around the café. Evarts supposed that he was thinking about the kids. Did he want to get involved with a project that could jeopardize their lives or health? Evarts asked himself the same question. He trusted his wife’s judgment. If she thought this atmospheric river presented a clear and present danger, then he could at least help her assemble the facts.

Without another word, O’Brian pulled out his cell phone and made a call.

“Bill, Jim O’Brian.