JOHN ATKINS AND ELIZABETH HOLLERAN WATCHED the big helicopter slowly touch down, nose up, on the lawn of the earthquake center. Every geologist there had gathered along with a contingent of Memphis officials, including the mayor, a short, middle-aged man in a mud-splattered overcoat, who looked completely devastated. A squad of National Guard soldiers and Secret Service agents had fanned out around the perimeter of the landing zone.
It was the first time Atkins had seen the president in person. He was a bigger man than he’d expected and looked deadly serious as he stepped off the helicopter.
He recognized the president’s national science adviser, Steve Draper. He knew Draper, a physicist, by reputation—a solid researcher, who’d written one of the definitive college texts on physics. He’d hosted a well-received PBS documentary on recent scientific breakthroughs.
Draper broke away from the presidential entourage and approached Atkins and Elizabeth Holleran. He had longish sandy hair and looked younger than his age. He was nearly sixty and wore a thick parka with a hood.
“Are you John Atkins?” he asked.
Atkins nodded and introduced Holleran.
“Bob Holly at USGS said I should look you up when I got here,” Draper said. Holly was Atkins’ boss, one of the agency’s top men.
Draper asked Atkins whether they could talk privately for a few moments. He led him to the side of the library annex. He looked and sounded impatient.
“Just how bad is it?”
Atkins had anticipated the question as soon as he saw Draper start to head in his direction. He’d thought about how he should answer. In a matter-of-fact voice that surprised him, he heard himself say, “We could be heading for another big quake.”
Draper looked at him hard. “You’re willing to say that for the record?”
Atkins nodded. “At the very least, we’ve got to consider it as a possibility and run some scenarios.” He quickly briefed Draper on the new fault that had appeared in western Tennessee and Kentucky and the unusually strong aftershocks they were experiencing. “The way these new faults have opened up worries the hell out of me,” he said. “There’s got to be a lot of energy piled up down there.”
“Good Lord,” Draper said slowly, trying to comprehend what he’d just been told. It was much worse than he’d imagined. “Would you tell that to the president?”
“Yes,” Atkins said, knowing what he was doing, what he was risking.
Draper, understanding, squeezed Atkins by both shoulders. Then he walked off quickly, clutching a battered leather briefcase as he hurried after Nathan Ross.
Atkins explained to Holleran what had happened.
“I’ll support you,” she said. She’d guessed what they’d been talking about and had noticed at one point in the brief conversation how Draper’s face had suddenly tightened. She knew what had happened: he’d just been told what they were up against.
“Thanks, but no sense both of us sticking our necks out,” Atkins said, smiling gratefully. “Let’s just see how it goes.”
They joined the other scientists in the annex library. There were no preliminaries. Everyone was seated around tables that had been shoved together to form a U. The president sat near the front. Someone had given him a paper cup with steaming coffee.
Atkins got his first up-close look at Nathan Ross. The man’s eyes were red, dark-rimmed, the cheeks sallow. He was slumped back, holding the cup with both hands. He appeared utterly exhausted.
Paul Weston summarized what they knew—and what they didn’t. “We still need to gather a lot more data,” he said, concluding his brief presentation.
The president, who’d listened quietly, asked a single question. “Do you think we’re going to have another major earthquake down here any time soon?”
Taken aback by the president’s bluntness, Weston stammered, “That’s hard to say, Mister President. “We’re only starting to get—”
Ross impatiently raised a hand to cut him off. “I want your personal opinion, doctor. Your best guess as an expert. What do you think’s going to happen on the New Madrid Seismic Zone?”
Weston tried to hedge, but again Ross pressed him hard for his opinion. He was insistent and totally focused. Cornered, Weston finally said, “Mister President, I’m sorry. I can’t answer that. I don’t want to guess or speculate on something like this. I want to deal with facts, and we just don’t have enough of them to answer your question.”
When the president pressed them for their views, most of the other seismologists agreed with Weston’s assessment. They were professionally loath to make any predictions. Several bluntly told the president it would be unethical for them to try to do so. Like Weston, they insisted they needed more data.
Weston’s assistant. Stan Marshal, spoke about the need to set up more seismic instruments along the fault that had been discovered near Caruthersville. Missouri.
Atkins noticed how the big man glanced at Weston as if looking for guidance.
As he had with Weston, Ross interrupted Marshal in midsentence. “Let me ask you the same question I just put to Doctor Weston. Do you think we’re going to have another earthquake?”
Marshal shook his head. “I don’t know, sir.”
“I didn’t ask what you know, doctor,” Ross snapped. He had a sharp, lashing voice and looked increasingly angry. “I asked you what you think, your opinion. There’s a difference.”
Marshal didn’t respond. He sat back in his chair and shook his head.
Atkins was struck again by how physically exhausted Ross looked. Only the eyes showed any life. They were animated, boring, intense.
The president slowly surveyed the faces of those seated around him. “We’ve had one magnitude 8.4 earthquake and the ground, forgive me in this shrine to Elvis, keeps rocking and rolling. I’ve been informed about the three big quakes that occurred early in the last century. Does anyone here think we’re in for a repeat performance? Yes or no? I’ll settle for your best guess, anything.”
No one raised a hand. Atkins wasn’t surprised. He understood that Weston wasn’t being an obstructionist on this issue. He was merely voicing the real concerns of the scientific majority. Offering an opinion that proved wrong in such dire circumstances would be a professional death sentence. You simply didn’t risk such a thing without a lot of careful thought and soul searching. But there was no time for any of that. The president wanted an answer. Now.
Ross crumpled his empty coffee cup and angrily threw it against the wall. “You’re the goddamned experts. You’re supposed to weigh the pros and cons and offer an opinion. I need some kind of prediction, and if you don’t like that word, call it a risk assessment. The people who live here need it, deserve it. Is that too much to ask? Are we going to have another major earthquake?”
Draper spoke up. He was standing behind the president taking detailed notes.
“Doctor Atkins, what do you think?”
It had been much easier to offer an opinion outside. Atkins decided to keep it short and simple. “From the data I’ve seen, the way the fault keeps expanding, yes, I think we’ve got to consider the likelihood of another high-magnitude earthquake. It would be negligence on our part not to.”
Ross shot a glance at Steve Draper. Staring straight at Atkins, the president said, “Do you think another major quake is likely?”
“I think we should assume so and try to prepare accordingly,” Atkins said. “My personal opinion is that the chances of a big quake sometime soon are a little better than fifty percent. And that’s just an opinion.”
Weston and several other seismologists in the overheated room spoke up at once, objecting. As sweat rolled down his cheeks and soaked his shirt, Atkins knew what was happening. Now that he’d stuck his neck out, his esteemed colleagues were going to chop it off.
“I’ve got to disagree with Doctor Atkins,” Weston said coolly. “I’ve seen nothing in the data we’ve been able to collect that shows conclusively another 8.4 event is likely. The issue of how much strain energy remains locked in the ground after an earthquake is fraught with difficulties of interpretation. No adequate measurement tool exists. We can check for strain in any number of ways. We can measure dilatancy, the degree of cracking, uplift. We’re trying to get some of that information by satellite. But the problem is you could get seismic measurements right now along certain gaps or segments of the San Andreas Fault that would indicate a big quake is imminent. There’s plenty of deformation, plenty of seismic energy in the ground, but nothing’s happening there. Everything’s been quiet for over a century. Mr. President, the truth is we don’t know what’s going to happen here. If we issue a public statement suggesting we think another major quake is likely, it’s my opinion we’d be criminally responsible for the panic it would cause.”
“I second that,” said one of the USGS geologists, who was quickly supported by Stan Marshal.
The president asked for a show of hands. Seven of the ten in attendance voted with Weston. Three highly respected USGS scientists were among the group.
With Atkins were Holleran and Walt Jacobs.
“I’d be more inclined to agree with Doctor Weston if it weren’t for the power of the aftershocks we’ve been experiencing and their locations,” Holleran said. “I’m not aware of anything comparable to what’s happening here. Certainly nothing in my experience in California. We know big earthquakes kick up lots of aftershocks, but nothing like this.”
“Not to mention the existence of two new fault planes,” Jacobs said. “Both of them are larger than any other known segment in the New Madrid Seismic Zone. And we’ve also got the history, which you’ve already alluded to, Mister President.”
“The history is meaningless,” Weston said. “All we know is that within the last two hundred years three powerful earthquakes occurred in sequence. We know nothing about the previous seismic record.”
“Is there any way we could find that out?” Ross asked.
Holleran said, “We could dig for it, Mister President.” She explained how they could do trenching to search for the geological record of previous earthquakes. Their imprint would be left in the layered subsoil. It was just a matter of finding the right location and going deep enough.
Ross was intrigued and asked how it could be done.
“I’d dig a trench along one of the fault segments and see if we could find any evidence of old earthquakes—things like sand blows, fissure scars. Then I’d try to find something we could radiocarbon date—peat, carbonized wood.”
Weston shook his head. “That would be a costly diversion. It would take weeks to dig a trench even if we could find a suitable site and get backhoes out to it. Then more weeks to analyze the data. We don’t have the time or equipment to go on an archaeological fishing expedition.”
“It seems to me what we need more than anything right now is additional seismic data,” Draper said. “You’ve said as much yourself. Doctor Weston.”
Atkins had a suggestion, breaking the tense silence. “We could do some bore shaft explosions and tamping along that new fault.” He explained how they could capture computer-enhanced “images” of the fault by using sound waves generated by dynamite charges. Another technique was to use gas-powered tampers that resembled jackhammers. The results provided a seismic CAT scan. They used a sonogram technique, whereby the explosions produced sound waves harvested by special receivers. Low wave speeds indicated the presence of a fault and serious fracturing of the adjoining rock. These cracks, in turn, were evidence of strain building up. All of this could be transformed into two-dimensional computer images.
It would give them a better idea of what they were dealing with—the shape and structure of the fault and how deep it extended. Atkins especially wanted to look at the place where the newly discovered Caruthersville Fault intersected with the New Madrid Seismic Zone. It was certain to be an area of severe stress.
Jacobs and some of the other seismologists liked the idea.
“So tell me what I can do to help,” the president asked.
“Get us a helicopter,” Atkins said.