AN ARMY UH-60 LANDED IN THE CLEARING, ITS rotors kicking up dirt and fallen leaves. Coming in at low altitude from the Missouri side of the Mississippi, the big blue helicopter made its approach as four Cobra gunships hovered overhead.
Atkins watched as Elizabeth Holleran, Guy Thompson, and Walt Jacobs scrambled out, heads down, running to get away from the strong downdraft. Two other men he didn’t get a look at followed them in the darkness.
Atkins ran over to meet Elizabeth. She put her hands on his face and gave him a quick kiss.
“I’m fine,” she whispered, smiling when he started to ask about the “trouble” Guy Thompson had mentioned. “I’ll tell you later.”
Atkins had been worried about her ever since he’d left Texas with the bomb. Wondering what had happened, he wanted to talk to her, but there was no privacy and too much was happening. He was struck by the power of his emotions when he saw her after their brief separation. Her smile and the touch of her fingers on his face lifted his spirits. The strength of his feelings for her continued to surprise him.
“I was hoping you’d be here,” he said.
“Sorry I didn’t make it until you were already across the river,” she said.
He laughed out loud, and it felt good. “You planned it that way, right?”
“Absolutely.”
He was surprised to see Walt Jacobs with her. Jacobs looked totally exhausted. His bearded face and bright eyes peered out from under his hooded parka.
Guessing what was on Atkins’ mind, Jacobs put up his hands apologetically. “I know. I still think this is a bad decision and that we’re taking a tremendous risk, but I had to be here, John. I want to help, and anyway, I feel like I got you into this mess in the first place.” His smile was genuine. “If this works, I’ll make sure you get a nice promotion.”
“And if it doesn’t?” Atkins asked, taking his friend’s hand and shaking it hard in gratitude. It meant a lot to have Jacobs here. And it was good to see him smiling again.
“Then we’ll both enjoy an early retirement.”
Or a jail cell, Atkins thought, only half in jest. He wasn’t sure a nuclear explosion at depth would work either, not completely, but he knew it was their only chance to stop another earthquake. He agreed with the president. He wanted to kill the beast that was growing ever stronger in the ground, kill it any way he could by whatever means. There was no way he was going to back away from this. They were going to explode that bomb. For once, they were going to fight back. They weren’t just going to sit there and wait for the country to be shaken apart again. Not this time.
Atkins was convinced this was the right place to try to end the nightmare. The American heartland. The heart and soul of the Mississippi Valley. It gave him an emotional boost just being there and knowing he was with the right people. Booker, Elizabeth, and now Jacobs.
And if it worked, if they actually pulled it off? What would that mean?
He didn’t want to try to think that far ahead. He tried to put those thoughts out of mind.
It was just after midnight. No stars were visible in the overcast sky. Lights were kept to a minimum. It wasn’t until they’d all jammed into the back of a windowless Army trailer to work out their plans that Atkins noticed the two men who’d also gotten off the helicopter with Walt and Elizabeth—Paul Weston and Mark Wren.
Not expecting them, he looked for Weston’s other assistant, Stan Marshal, the geologist who’d been operating the blaster when that unexpected explosion nearly killed Elizabeth and him a few days earlier.
He still hadn’t figured out what had happened. A freak radio signal might have triggered the premature detonation just as Marshal and Wren had suggested. That kind of thing happened often enough during highway blasting, often with tragic results. And yet Atkins still had his doubts and that bothered him.
One thing remained fixed in his mind: there was no way in hell he would have gone into a mine with Marshal. Weston must have realized that.
Looking well-groomed even in a dirty jumpsuit, Weston was clean shaven, something Atkins hadn’t managed for several days. He’d been wearing the same clothes for nearly a week—a pair of twill trousers, cotton sweater, and an insulated parka. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d changed or had a shower.
Weston started with the announcement that the Seismic Commission had broken all ties with the governor of Kentucky. “If I could make a personal comment,” he said. “I believe the course he’s taken is treasonable. I also believe it’s tragic. I liked the man.”
He then made a stunning comment. He said he’d come to agree with the minority viewpoint, believing that a deep explosion was their only viable chance to break the lethal cycle of earthquakes. He said he’d gone on record with this in a letter to the president.
“I want to apologize to anyone who feels I was short-tempered or… unreasonable these last few days,” he said, looking straight at Atkins and Elizabeth. “I’ve got to be honest. I doubt this will work, but I can’t think of any other option. I keep coming back to Doctor Holleran’s data about previous earthquakes. It’s what finally convinced me we’ve got to try something. The paleoseismic record of those earthquakes was overwhelming. I couldn’t ignore it.”
“Wow,” Elizabeth said softly to Atkins. “I knew about Walt. I wanted to let him tell you himself. But Weston’s a real surprise.”
It was interesting, but it didn’t change anything, Atkins thought. After this crisis passed—if it passed—he still meant to call for an investigation about those cracks they’d seen in the Kentucky Dam. He figured he owed it to the people who’d drowned when the dam was swept away. Weston should have called for an evacuation. He hadn’t done so, and Atkins vowed he wouldn’t let the matter drop.
Atkins had already mentioned it to Weston. He’d had a brief conversation with him just before he left for the Pantex plant with Booker. He wanted to see how Weston would react when he casually told him that he’d seen the cracks himself and thought they looked pretty large. Weston hadn’t even blinked. He simply told him his observations might be useful later when they did a postmortem on the disaster. Then he walked away.
The man, Atkins realized listening to him here, was incredibly smooth. It wasn’t going to be easy to nail him.
A brigadier general from the 101st Airborne had begun to bring them up to date on the fighting when there was a sharp knock on the trailer’s metal door.
“You people better take a look at this,” said a paratrooper, whose face was streaked with black camouflage paint. He carried a machine gun.
They all poured out of the trailer into the cold, damp air. The shooting had stopped. The sound of patrolling helicopters echoed overhead.
Everyone’s eyes focused on the eastern sky, where the thick cloud cover had broken open.
Bands of brilliant lights were streaking across the horizon—blue, white, pale orange. Shimmering waves of color that seemed to change in hue and vividness as they rippled in the sky. The hills were rimmed in greenish light that seemed to hover just over the ridgeline.
The spectacle was riveting. The earthquake lights were brighter, the colors more vivid than the last time Atkins had seen them.
He felt the first movement then, a slight quiver.
Elizabeth looked at him.
The ground had started to shake.