Wyatt’s Hurricane. Desmond Bagley
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give me, I consider the possibility of a hurricane hitting this island to be very remote. The last one, I believe, was in 1910.’
It was evident that he had been given a quick briefing by Schelling.
Wyatt said, ‘That’s right, sir. The death-roll on that occasion was 6,000.’
Brooks’s eyebrows rose. ‘As many as that?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Continue, Mr Wyatt.’
Wyatt gave a quick résumé of events since Mabel had been discovered and probed. He said, ‘All the evidence shows that Mabel is a particularly bad piece of weather; the pressure gradient is exceptional and the winds generated are remarkably strong. Lieutenant-Commander Hansen said it was the worst weather he had ever flown in.’
Brooks inclined his head. ‘Granted that it is a bad hurricane, what evidence have you got that it is going to hit this island? I believe you said that there is a “strong possibility”; I would want more than that, Mr Wyatt – I would want something more in the nature of a probability.’
‘I’ve produced some figures,’ said Wyatt, laying a sheaf of papers on the immaculate desk. ‘I believe that Commander Schelling is relying on standard theory when he states that Mabel will not come here. He is, quite properly, taking into account the forces that we know act on tropical revolving storms. My contention is that we don’t know enough to take chances.’
He spread the papers on the desk. ‘I have taken an abstract of information from my records of all the hurricanes of which I have had personal knowledge during the four years I have been here – that would be about three-quarters of those occurring in the Caribbean in that time. I have checked the number of times a hurricane has departed from the path which strict theory dictates and I find that forty-five per cent of the hurricanes have done so, in major and minor ways. To be quite honest about it I prepared another sheet presenting the same information, but confining the study to hurricanes conforming to the characteristics of Mabel. That is, of the same age, emanating from the same area, and so on. I find there is a thirty per cent chance of Mabel diverging from the theoretical path enough to hit San Fernandez.’
He slid the papers across the desk but Brooks pushed them back. ‘I believe you, Mr Wyatt,’ he said quietly. ‘Commander, what do you say to this?’
Schelling said, ‘I think statistics presented in this way can be misused – misinterpreted. I am quite prepared to believe Mr Wyatt’s figures, but not his reasoning. He says there is a thirty per cent chance of Mabel diverging from her path, and I accept it, but that is not to say that if she diverges she will hit San Fernandez. After all, she could go the other way.’
‘Mr Wyatt?’
Wyatt nodded. ‘That’s right, of course; but I don’t like it.’
Brooks put his hands together. ‘What it boils down to is this: the risk of Mabel hitting us is somewhere between vanishing point and thirty per cent., but even assuming that the worst happens, it’s still only a thirty per cent risk. Would that be putting it fairly, Mr Wyatt?’
Wyatt swallowed. ‘Yes, sir. But I would like to point out one or two things that I think are pertinent. There was a hurricane that hit Galveston in 1900 and another that hit here in 1910; the high death-roll in each case was due to the same phenomena – floods.’
‘From the high rainfall?’
‘No, sir; from the construction of a hurricane and from geographical peculiarities.’
He stopped for a moment and Brooks, said, ‘Go on, Mr Wyatt. I’m sure the Commander will correct you if you happen to err in your facts.’
Wyatt said, ‘The air pressure in the centre of a hurricane drops a lot; this release of pressure on the surface of the sea induces the water to lift in a hump, perhaps ten feet in a normal hurricane. Mabel is not a normal hurricane; her internal air pressure is very low and I would expect the sea level at her centre to rise to twenty feet above normal – perhaps as much as twenty-five feet.’
He turned and pointed through the window. ‘If Mabel hits us she’ll be coming from due south right into the bay. It’s a shallow bay and we know what happens when a tidal wave hits shallow water – it builds up. You can expect flood waters to a height of over fifty feet in Santego Bay. The highest point on Cap Sarrat is, I believe, forty-five feet. You’d get a solid wall of water right over this Base. They had to rebuild the Base in 1910 – luckily there wasn’t much to rebuild because the Base hadn’t really got going then.’
He looked at Brooks, who said softly, ‘Go on, Mr Wyatt. I can see you haven’t finished yet.’
‘I haven’t, sir. There’s St Pierre. In 1910 half the population was wiped out – if that happened now you could count on thirty thousand deaths. Most of the town is no higher than Cap Sarrat, and they’re no more prepared for a hurricane and floods than they were in 1910.’
Brooks twitched his eyes towards Schelling. ‘Well, Commander, can you find fault with anything Mr Wyatt has said?’
Schelling said unwillingly, ‘He’s quite correct – theoretically. But all this depends on the accuracy of the readings brought back from Mabel by Mr Wyatt and Lieutenant-Commander Hansen.’
Brooks nodded. ‘Yes, I think we ought to have another look at Mabel. Commander, will you see to it? I want a plane sent off right away with the best pilot you’ve got.’
Wyatt said immediately, ‘Not Hansen – he’s had enough of Mabel.’
‘I agree,’ said Schelling just as quickly. ‘I want a different flight crew and a different technical staff.’
Wyatt stiffened. ‘That remark is a reflection on my professional integrity,’ he said coldly.
Brooks slammed the palm of his hand on the desk with the noise of a pistol shot. ‘It is nothing of the kind,’ he rasped. ‘There’s a difference of opinion between the doctors and I want a third opinion. Is that quite clear?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Wyatt.
‘Commander, what are you waiting around for? Get that flight organized.’ Brooks watched Schelling leave, and as Wyatt visibly hesitated he said, ‘Stay here, Mr Wyatt, I want to talk to you.’ He tented his fingers and regarded Wyatt closely. ‘What would you have me do, Mr Wyatt? What would you do in my position?’
‘I’d get my ships out to sea,’ said Wyatt promptly, ‘loaded with all the Base personnel. I’d fly all aircraft to Puerto Rico. I’d do my damnedest to convince President Serrurier of the gravity of the situation. You should also evacuate all American nationals, and as many foreign nationals as you can.’
‘You make it sound easy,’ observed Brooks.
‘You have two days.’
Brooks sighed. ‘It would be easy if that’s all there were to it. But a military emergency has arisen. I believe a civil war is going to break out between insurgents from the mountains and the government. That’s why this Base is now in an official state of emergency and all American personnel confined to Base. In fact, I have just signed a directive asking all American nationals to come to Cap Sarrat for safety.’
‘Favel is coming down from the mountains,’ said Wyatt involuntarily.
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s what I heard. Favel is coming down from the mountains.’
Brooks nodded. ‘That may well be. He may not be dead. President Serrurier has accused the American Government of supplying the rebels with arms. He’s a pretty hard man to talk to right now, and I doubt if he’d listen to me chitchatting about the weather.’
‘Did the American Government supply the rebels with arms?’ asked Wyatt deliberately.
Brooks bristled and jerked. ‘Definitely