Russell F. Moran
A CLIMATE OF DOUBT
This book is dedicated to the emergency first responders of the world.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
As always, I thank my wife, Lynda, for her attentive reading and rereading of my many drafts, and for laughing at my jokes. I also thank my friend and copy editor, John White, for his proofreading and editing. And I especially thank my readers, many of whom are a constant source of inspiration and encouragement for me.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
You will find a Cast of Characters after the last chapter of the book. It can be frustrating to come across a character on page 150, who you first met on page 20, especially if you’ve put the book down for a few days. I’ve seen this done in Russian literature, and I happily add a cast of characters to A Climate of Doubt as well as my other novels.
Chapter 1
July 16
It was gradual, almost imperceptible, creeping up on us like an animal. We didn’t think about it at first; then, we couldn’t think about anything else.
“My God, it’s cold,” Ellen yelled.
“Cold? A few minutes ago it was 98 degrees. We’re in a heat wave, remember?”
“Rick, look at me. Forget what you heard before on the radio. Tell me how you feel.”
“I’m freezing my ass off, but that’s impossible. It’s July 16th.”
“Maybe it’s impossible, but let’s get into the house and talk about it over hot chocolate.”
Ellen and I were staying at our beach house in East Hampton.
“Steve, we’re heading inside,” I said into my phone. “I don’t know what the hell is going on with this weather, but no sense all of us freezing our butts off. We can find out more information on the TV.” Steve Trent is the head of my Secret Service detail.
We were only a couple of hundred feet from the house. The temperature dropped with each step we took. Just moments before, we were walking along the beach, cooling ourselves from the blistering heat wave.
I shook my head to adjust to our suddenly crazy reality. It was freezing cold—on July 16. Steve Trent walked to the back of the great room and looked out at the thermometer on the porch.
“It’s 35 degrees, Rick,” he said. “A few minutes ago, it was 98. That’s a 63-degree drop in about five minutes.”
I walked over to the thermostat, clicked off the air conditioning, and turned on the heat. It’s electric heat—expensive as hell but fast and efficient. Our house is huge, especially for only two people, but we entertain out-of-town guests and relatives a lot. The house is 5,000 square feet, covering two stories and surrounded by decks and walkways. The siding is cedar shake, in keeping with Hamptons-style architecture. Two years ago, the house won first prize for country homes by Architectural Digest, which wasn’t surprising because Ellen, my multi-talented wife, designed it. Ellen’s a partner in the Manhattan architectural firm of Whitney, Cox, and Bellamy. She’s also a brand-new TV star, which results in a ton of money.
I married well.
Steve’s guys were speaking into their shirt lapels, a second nature way of communicating for a Secret Service agent. They looked like they were performing an improv comedy routine. As Secretary of Homeland Security, I’m assigned a team of five Secret Service agents.
Ellen reached under the staircase and dragged out a large trunk. She opened the top and tossed me a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, and a woolen sweater. She also took out a bunch of blankets, sweaters, and sweat suits for the Secret Service guys.
I wrapped a blanket around Ellen’s shoulders as I turned to Steve Trent and the other agents.
“If anybody has any idea what the hell is going on with this weather, don’t be shy, speak up.”
I looked out at the wall thermometer on the porch. It was now 29 degrees outside.
Chapter 2
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, Wolf Blitzer here for CNN. It’s been a long time since I worked as a weatherman, but today’s weather is the news, the big news, almost the only news. Today is July 16, and those of us in the East woke up this morning to the second week of a scorching heat wave, with temperatures in the upper 90s for 10 days in a row. Well, the heat wave broke today, in a way nobody could have predicted. The current temperature in Central Park is 27 degrees. Across the nation, thermometers dropped over 60 degrees in less than an hour. The numbers are similar, not only across the country but across the world. Tomorrow’s headlines will all be a variation of ‘Cold Wave Grips the Earth in Mid-July.’ Before we try to analyze the situation, I want to help our viewers cope with the problem. Later we’ll attempt to figure it out.
“Freezing pipes are a menace in conditions like this, and a burst pipe in your home can make your life miserable. It can be dangerous as well. I want to remind you, if you need reminding, to ignore the calendar and get dressed for winter.”
The phone rang, and Ellen put the TV on pause. It was President Blake.
“Tell me what you know about this insane weather, Rick.”
“As of right now, Mr. President, I don’t know more than anyone else. I’m about to call the State and Defense Departments to see what’s going on with them.”
“My guess is that your wife Ellen and her army of news people are putting together a special program for The Ellen Bellamy Show as we speak. Sometimes TV people are miles ahead of the government when tracking unfolding emergencies.”
“Yes, Ellen’s on the case, Mr. President, and she’s feeding me information as she gets it from the news desk at NBC. We were walking along the beach when the freeze hit. The thermometer just dropped another few degrees. It’s 23 degrees in East Hampton. I’ll call you as soon as I find out anything, sir.”
As soon as I find out anything? What the hell is there to find out when the temperature drops over 60 degrees in minutes? One thing I did know—our world had just turned upside down, and we were in serious trouble.
Chapter 3
John Jay Park on the FDR Drive and 78th Street in Manhattan is a popular destination for New Yorkers on hot summer days. July 16, a scorching hot Sunday, saw a capacity crowd at both of its pools. The intermediate pool is big—145 by 45 feet, and was packed with splashing children. Older kids and adults used the nearby diving pool.
Myrna Jackson sat on a bench with her sister Jane Bauman as they watched Myrna’s six boys in the pool.
“I don’t care if this pool is for kids,” Myrna said, “I’m going in. It’s too goddam hot sitting on this bench.”
She walked down the wide steps to enter the pool.
“What the hell is going on?” she yelled, holding her arms and shivering.
Tom Barton, a lifeguard, sat next to his friend and lifesaving partner Dianne Puleo. His body tensed as the freezing wind blew across the pool. He stood, blew his whistle, and shouted into his megaphone.
“Everybody out of the water,” he yelled. “Get inside the building—NOW.”
As the kids climbed out of the pool the sudden freeze came on them in a claw-like grip. The sound of 95 screaming children added to the bizarre reality of a freezing wind in mid-summer. Barton and Puleo ran to the entrance of the indoor facility and waved the kids and parents inside.
“I hope this building is heated,” a woman yelled as she dragged her five-year-old to the entrance.
“This park closes after Labor Day, ma’am,” Barton said. “There’s no heat, but at least you’ll be out of the wind.”