“Anything new on earth to change the subject to something less exciting?” Cranston asked.
“Still totally fucking weird, Bill. The last we heard from Montana was that the temperatures nationwide are still well below freezing, and the blizzard shows no signs of letting up. I’m glad I volunteered for this mission. Playing around with a handsome hunk like you beats the hell out of shoveling snow in July.”
“Let’s check on our newly-launched satellites,” Cranston said. “Do you have any idea why we’ve launched so many? Twenty satellites seem like a hell of a lot for one company.”
“Bill, I don’t ask a lot of questions. Do you wonder why?”
“Yeah, why don’t you ask questions? Lack of curiosity?”
“No, I’m curious as hell,” Nancy said, “but last I checked I earn $305,000 a year, and I know that you earn the same. If they want to pay me that kind of money, I’m happy to keep my mouth shut as I’ve been politely requested to do. For that kind of dough, if it’s legal, I’ll do it.”
“What if they want to make a video of you and me fooling around?”
“Make me an offer, big guy.”
“Hey, let’s get back to work,” Bill said. “Headquarters wants us to send photos of earth. We also need to put each of the satellites through a round of tests. I wonder what these satellites are for.”
“Like I said, Bill, I don’t ask questions unless I have to. At $305K a year, I don’t care if they use the satellites to raise chinchillas.”
“I’m sending the earth photos to headquarters now,” Bill said. “It sure as hell doesn’t look like the earth we left behind. Instead of the beautiful colors, mainly blue, it now looks like a friggin snowball. Hey, stop that. Let’s finish the tests first.”
Chapter 18
July 19
The alarm went off at 5:30 a.m. and Ellen slept right through it. She was exhausted from back-to-back shows, each of which required extensive interviews with guests. She was still emotionally drained from seeing her parents being interviewed as disaster survivors.
I got out of bed as quietly as possible so as not to disturb her sleep. I walked over to the window, expecting to see our first morning in three days without snow. The weatherman got it wrong— again. It was still snowing like a pillow fight. The street scene in front of Federal Plaza looked like a snow-covered lawn. The snow was piled so deep that you couldn’t tell if anything was under it, including vehicles.
I turned on the TV to get the latest weather report. Our friend Al Roker, the NBC meteorologist, was earning his large salary.
“Good morning folks,” Roker said. “I fully expected to report a day without snow, but my expectation differs from reality. It’s still coming down heavily, although we thought it would end last night at around eleven. It’s now 6 a.m. and our winter wonderland in July continues without let-up. What shocks me is that our normal methods of predicting the weather are buried under snow, if you’ll pardon the pun. The snow accumulation tally in Central Park is 14 feet—that’s feet, not inches. My revised forecast calls for—and I can’t believe I’m saying this—snow. Behind the front that caused all the snow was, you guessed it, another front. Normally, with Doppler radar and satellites we can see a front approaching way in advance, but these fronts move blindingly fast. To bring you some perspective from a different part of the world, I call on Nancy Drummond, our NBC reporter on assignment at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba.”
“Good morning, Al. Nancy Drummond here, reporting from the American military base at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. The normal temperature for this time of year is 95 degrees, but this is anything but normal. It’s 25 degrees and snowing heavily here in the beautiful Caribbean. The accumulation so far is four feet, a bit more than expected for an area that never gets any snow at all. The number of prisoners in custody is currently 41. It took a lot of fast thinking to rearrange their accommodations to allow for heated living spaces. Follow the camera as we pan around the area near where I’m standing at the entrance to the prison. As you can see, the view is more like North Dakota in winter than Cuba in summer. That large mound of snow you see behind me contains a Humvee. I hope you weather forecasting people have some good news for us soon. Nancy Drummond reporting for NBC News from Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. Over to you, Al.”
“We turn now to our NBC affiliate in Chicago. Reporter Frank Nuevez is on the scene.”
“Good morning, Al, and good morning to NBC viewers wherever you are. Frank Nuevez here for NBC News. The Windy City in summer is typical of most northern cities—hot and humid. But as we all know, there’s nothing typical about the past few days. The scene behind me looks like a snow-covered parkway, but it’s not. I’m standing on the Wabash Avenue Bridge overlooking the Chicago River, which would normally be clogged with boats at this time of year. Well, it’s still clogged with boats, but they’re not going anywhere soon. The river is a link between the Great Lakes and the Gulf of Mexico, but for the past few days it’s anything but a link. The Windy City is living up to its name, with gusts of 65 mph feeding the blizzard. Back to you, Al. Frank Nuevez reporting for NBC News in Chicago.”
Nuevez is a big man at 6’4” and over 250 pounds. His size gave comfort to the viewers because his wind-whipped clothing made it look like he was about to be blown into the river.
Chapter 19
JULY 20 – 6:15 a.m.
Ellen walked up next to me in her bathrobe and handed me a cup of coffee. We stared at the white Manhattan cityscape when the phone rang. It was 6:15 a.m., July 20, the fourth day of the snowstorm.
“It’s either the White House or your producer. I’m betting it’s your producer,” I said.
“Hi, Elliott, she’s right here,” I said, handing Ellen the phone.
“Not another climate change asshole,” Ellen said. The foul-mouthed TV crowd was rubbing off on my normally soft-spoken Ellen.
“You know the guy, Ellen,” O’Keefe said. “He was on your show just last week talking about the heat wave, then we had him back to talk about the blizzard. This will be a great contrast to hear him talk more about the deep freeze again after discussing the heat wave a few days ago. The last two shows from your husband’s office worked great. The government is charging us a lot of money for use of the facilities, but it’s worth it.”
Ellen put down the phone and let out a sigh.
“You always tell me how even-tempered I am, hon, but I’m afraid I’ll lose it if I have to interview another self-indulgent idiot who worships at the altar of climate change. Their message never changes no matter what the weather is. If it’s warmer than usual, it’s ‘global warming.’ If it’s colder than usual, like now, it’s ‘climate change.’ How can so many people be so full of shit? If you dare ask a question or raise doubts about a statistic, you’re labeled as a ‘climate change denier.’”
“Hey, hon,” I said, “you didn’t get to where you are by being a pussy cat. Follow your instincts, which are sharp as hell. If you have a question, ask it, and don’t worry about repercussions. The American people need to know what’s going on, and you’re a major player in the game. You don’t get those sky-high ratings because you’re beautiful, even though you are. Remember, I was there when you blasted away a couple of terrorists with an AK-47. Pinning a tedious asshole to the wall should be easy.”