Ambassador Vollmer recalled that they had each accepted a one-year degree course at the University of California in Santa Cruz. Both men were specialists in volcanology and in the ensuing landslides that could devastate areas in the immediate vicinity after an eruption. He had thoughtfully marked on the photographs which prof was which. Jimmy Ramshawe guessed from the men’s body language that Professor Hatami was the senior man, and the serious, frowning look of Professor Fatahi suggested he too was an expert in his field.
Ambassador Vollmer’s phone call to the University of Tehran confirmed that they were both back in Iran, members of the faculty, and lecturing at the Department of Earth Physics. Both were resident in Tehran, and traveled widely, observing and researching the behavior of the subterranean forces that occasionally change the shape of the planet.
“Wow,” said Jimmy. “That Vollmer ought to be working here, not scratching around in the bloody desert with a bunch of nomads.”
He was both relieved and amazed that the matter had been so easily cleared up, and with some slight feeling of pride, he drafted a note to the Big Man.
His E-mail ended with a flourish…A couple of volcano professors doing their thing…here endeth the mystery of the Arabs on the mountain.
Kathy picked up the E-mail, as she always did. Her new husband was always threatening to hurl the expensive laptop computer into the Potomac—It was so goddamned slow.
Arnold read the note with great interest and thanked Jimmy, asking him to keep a careful watch for any information on the other two anonymous figures in Harry’s cliff-top snaps.
“Typical Admiral Arnie,” Jimmy reported to George Morris later in the day. “He gets a ten-million-to-one triumph, and still wants to know more. You’da thought the two professors would be plenty. Cleared it all up. Just four volcano academics having a careful look at their subject.”
“You know him nearly as well as I do,” said George. “It’s not his fault. It’s his brain. The damn thing is unable to relax while there are questions to be answered. And he wants to know who those other two guys are…Can’t help himself.”
“He’ll be lucky,” replied Jimmy.
Prophetic words indeed.
Four days later an encrypted signal from the CIA landed on Lieutenant Commander Ramshawe’s desk. It was the cyber note heard round the world…MI5 London passed on your request of June 5 to British Army Special Forces. Colonel Russell Makin, Commanding Officer 22 SAS, says the figure on the far right, not facing the camera, is the missing SAS Maj. Ray Kerman. Four other SAS personnel confirm. Mr. and Mrs. Richard Kerman driving to Stirling Lines tomorrow. Please forward date, time, and place of photographs soonest.
Lieutenant Commander Ramshawe nearly jumped out of his skin.
He strode along the corridor, knocked and barged into the office of Rear Adm. George Morris. The room was empty, so he stormed out again and found the Admiral’s secretary.
“He’s around somewhere, sir. You want me to have him call you?”
“Tell him to come to my office. I have something which will shrink his balls to the size of a jackrabbit’s…” James Ramshawe could hardly contain his excitement, never mind his language.
Ten minutes later, George Morris picked his way through the piles of paper on the floor, sat down, and read the note.
He nodded sagely. “Well, Jimmy,” he said, “we just proved what we already knew. One — Major Kerman was definitely alive five months ago, and two — we all ignore the instincts of Arnold Morgan at our peril. I am sure you have considered the fact that it was he who first felt uneasy about those guys, he who had them photographed, and he who suggested we find out who they were.”
“I have, sir. That’s really all I’ve been doing for the past fifteen minutes.”
“You haven’t told him yet?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, don’t. I’m gonna give him a call, and suggest you and I take a run over there this evening. With a bit of luck, Kathy’ll ask us to dinner.”
“I agree with all that, sir. I think a chat with the Admiral right now would be a very good exercise. He might come up with something else.”
“Meanwhile, find out anything more you can about those two professors. If they’re working with Major Kerman, there’s got to be a plot. And if he’s in it, that plot’s likely to be big. And you know Arnie’s likely to fire a lot of questions.”
“Okay, sir. I’ll get right on it.”
And for the next four hours, he scanned the Internet ceaselessly, starting with the University of California. He discovered a substantial department of geophysics and, to his surprise, a special area devoted entirely to the phenomenon he’d been discussing with his future father-in-law a few weeks back. Tsunamis. There were several world-renowned computer models of great volcano-induced tsunamis of the past, and a number of highly detailed research studies of those that could happen in the future.
Several of them pinpointed the hot spots in the South Pacific, especially around the Hawaiian Islands. Interestingly enough, an entire section dealt with what could potentially be one of the biggest landslides in the entire history of the world: the southwest corner of the island of La Palma in the Canaries.
One of the most renowned professors in the United States had published a thesis in which he stated flatly that because of the initial size and shape of the unstable flank of the Cumbre Vieja, the waves would most likely retain a significant proportion of their energy as they propagated outwards from the Canaries, heading for the U.S.A., Europe, and northern Brazil. The initial wave heights would be approximately one kilometer and as the tsunami traveled westwards at high speed — as fast as a passenger jet aircraft — it would slow down and pile up, increasing its height as it entered shallower water. Those waves could be 50 meters high — approximately 160 feet, considering the evidence of massive undersea boulders and other deposits off the coast of the Bahamas, from the last tsunami that developed in the Canary Islands several thousand years ago.
The irrevocable conclusion of this computer model, perfected over years of study, was the same that Arnold Morgan had outlined for Kathy: some six to nine hours after the initial landslide from La Palma, the collapse of the Cumbre Vieja would cause devastation on the Eastern Seaboard of the United States.
The Web site provided brilliant modern graphics, particularly in reference to wave heights, red bands, blue bands, and yellow dots. Jimmy Ramshawe’s eyes were on stalks.
“One hundred and sixty feet,” he breathed. “Christ, there wouldn’t be a coastal city left standing, from Boston to Miami. No wonder the bloody Arabs were checking it out. But I dunno what Major Kerman was doing there…unless he’s planning to wipe out half the U.S.A. in one fell swoop—”
But then he gathered himself up. No, he couldn’t be doing that…he might be all right having a whack at a power station or a refinery that basically blew themselves up…but this stuff is different. This is the giant power from the core of the bloody earth. This is God, and Christ knows what. This is a greater power than the human race has ever seen. Right here we’re talking the fist of the Almighty, not a bunch of half-assed terrorists…I think.
Other than his find on the University of California Web site, there was little hard copy on the two Iranian professors, and nothing about Major Kerman, who hadn’t been seen in the West since his defection five years previously. There were a few reluctant statements from the Ministry of Defence in London, but nothing casting any light on his whereabouts and certainly not his future plans.