AS SOON AS THE EMERGENCY MEETING ENDED AT the University of Memphis, Seismic Safety Commission Chairman Paul Weston got into a waiting car. He was driven to an airplane hangar set back in a remote corner of Memphis International Airport. Weston was escorted to a rear door, where a young man with a cell phone and a clipboard ushered him inside.
Tad Parker, the governor of Kentucky, had landed only minutes earlier. His private Learjet was parked in front of the hangar.
Two other men were waiting in the empty, unheated building. Stan Marshal, the older and more nervous of the two, was a seismologist, a big man who wore a snap-brimmed cap. Mark Wren was both an engineer and a geologist. They worked for Weston and had just returned from Kentucky Dam. Their overcoats were buttoned to their necks. It was cold enough inside to see their breath.
Parker had flown in from Frankfort, the Kentucky capital. His presence in the city was a secret.
The governor, always immaculately groomed, was wearing one of his trademark double-breasted suits. A big man, six-foot-four, he’d retained the athletic good looks of his youth when he was a starting point guard for the University of Kentucky basketball team. A conservative Republican, Parker had been elected governor twice by huge majorities and was starting to raise serious money, much of it from Wall Street, for a run at the presidency. Insiders figured he had a good chance. Kentucky’s economy was booming, thanks in large part to Parker’s decidedly low-tax, pro-business stance. The incumbent, President Nathan Ross, was unpopular. Parker was on a roll.
He’d delayed a fund-raising trip to California to talk to Weston. Only his closest advisers were aware that he was in Memphis.
The governor curtly greeted the geologist. He’d worked hard to get Weston appointed head of the powerful five-state Seismic Safety Commission. Two of his biggest campaign contributors, the CEOs of major engineering companies, had lobbied for Weston so he’d done them a favor, albeit reluctantly. He found the man’s coolness off-putting. Parker didn’t like Weston, but he had no reason to criticize his performance. He seemed competent and on top of things.
The commission, unique in the country, crossed both state and federal lines and had complete authority to assure that new public buildings and structures met seismic safety standards. They were also in the process of retrofitting some older structures, including several major bridges across the Mississippi. Their jurisdiction also extended to the big TVA dams in the five-state region.
“What’s the situation at Kentucky Dam?” Parker asked.
Weston said, “We’ve got some cracks in the base wall. They opened up after the main shock. We’re trying to get them repaired and reinforced as quickly as possible. It’s nothing that can’t be handled.”
He’d spoken with slow deliberation. If anything, he almost sounded upbeat about it.
“You’re sure those cracks can be repaired?” Parker asked.
“Yes, governor,” Weston said in his crisp, efficient voice. “It’s going to take a couple weeks to do it right. We’ve moved a lot of heavy equipment in already. I should mention that people are starting to talk. They know there’s a problem at the dam. One of the marina operators up there, a woman, is making some noise. She’s talking to people. Wants a public meeting.”
“What’s her name?” Parker asked, interested.
“Lauren Mitchell.”
“Maybe she’s right. Maybe we ought to have a meeting,” Parker said, considering the idea, weighing its possibilities.
“Let people know what’s happening. Tell them the truth. That there’s been some damage, but it’s being taken care of and there’s no danger. You have any problem with that, doctor?’’
“None, sir. I couldn’t agree more.”
Parker’s eyes locked on Weston, drilled into him. “You think we could have another bad quake up there any time soon? A big one strong enough to knock out that dam?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“Is that a hedge?”
“It wasn’t meant to be, sir,” Weston said. “The statistical odds are hugely against another strong quake. In terms of seismic energy left in the ground, it’s almost an impossibility.”
Parker made his decision.
They’d repair the dam as rapidly as possible. He wanted the work completed in two weeks. He didn’t care what it cost. He’d get the other governors to go along and approve the funding, a state-federal match. The governors had to vote to approve expenditures to repair earthquake damage. They’d also need the TVA’s okay, but that had never been a problem.
Parker raised another subject. “Should we consider an evacuation from the towns below the dam until the repairs are finished?” he asked.
“I don’t think that’s necessary, governor,” Weston said. “The cracks aren’t a threat to the dam’s structural integrity. I think an evacuation order would cause unnecessary hardship and create panic.”
Parker mulled it over and said, “All right. Keep me informed.”
The meeting was over. Within moments Parker was back on board his Learjet, getting ready to return to Kentucky. He’d put off that fundraiser to California for a few days to give him time to tour the quake damage in his state.
Relieved to see the governor depart, Weston knew he hadn’t been totally forthright. He’d downplayed the damage at the dam and was lucky Parker hadn’t pushed him for more information. The cracks—five of them—were thirty feet long and leaking. They were running pumps to keep the water level low enough inside the dam’s inner wall to make the repairs.
He was going to send Marshal and Wren back there immediately to make sure the work was completed as quickly as possible. They were pushing their luck, and they knew it.