They weren’t.
Not because the plan was infeasible. And not because a sprinkling of unfortunate weather events — droughts and dust storms in some areas, tsunamis and floods in others — weren’t acceptable costs. No, there was one simple flaw in Simona’s otherwise brilliant model.
It didn’t work.
And it wasn’t a simple programming error. Simona had deliberately manipulated the model’s internal mechanisms to keep climate predictions in a tight range. Without those internal guidelines, the model’s forecasts were all over the map. Its predictive powers vanished into the ether.
Briggs paused outside the reception area adjoining Simona’s office. He tightened his tie. Then he loosened it.
He lingered for a few seconds, gathering his courage. Then he stepped to the doorframe. “Hello, Tessie. I need …”
Trailing off, Briggs studied the empty reception area. Evidently, Tessie had left her post for the day. She’d probably gone back to the bunks.
Briggs strode into the reception area. He started to close the door. Then he hesitated. Did Tessie usually leave the door open? What if a guard happened along and saw it was closed?
Deciding to leave it open, he ventured to the second door. Lifting a fist, he rapped gently on the metal surface. “Simona? Are you in there?”
When she didn’t answer, he tested the knob. It turned easily in his hand.
Briggs cracked the door. Seeing a dark interior, he entered the office. Shutting the door behind him, he exhaled in relief. Then he headed for the private elevator car.
He pressed the call button. The doors dinged and opened wide. He stepped into the car and spotted the key, still in its lock.
A slight smile crossed his face. The research station was outfitted with an array of impressive security devices. But they were useless unless paired with common sense.
He strode into the elevator and turned the key. Next, he tapped the keypad, duplicating what he’d seen Simona do the previous day. The elevator doors closed over. The car descended into the ground.
Simona had perpetrated a deliberate scam, probably designed to steal taxpayer dollars. Still, questions nagged at Briggs. She’d already had ample opportunities to skim money from the research station. So, why did she continue to stick around? Why not blow up the computers systems and fake her death in the process?
He suspected the answers to those questions lay beneath his feet. Simona had been reluctant to show the production facility to him. And when he’d finally visited it, she’d kept an unusually close eye on him. He was pretty sure she was hiding something down there.
And he needed to find it.
The car jolted. Startled, Briggs jumped. His heart began to pound all over again.
He knew his life hung by a thread. If Simona didn’t kill him, Samuels would probably do the job. His only option was to obtain proof of Simona’s true intentions. Then he’d leave the island and blackmail her for a quick payoff. He’d use his newfound fortune to change his identity, maybe move somewhere nice.
The doors dinged and opened wide. Briggs perked his ears. He heard the telltale sounds of machinery — whirring, clunking, and rattling — but no voices. Stepping quietly, he walked into the giant underground facility.
Two large cylinders, constructed from thick glass, dominated the space. They rose more than twenty feet off the ground. Pipes connected them to the ceiling. Additional pipes, positioned about ten feet off the floor, drifted backward. They connected the cylinders with the production area.
A frown etched its way across Briggs’ face. Oblivious to everything else, he approached the reservoirs. He studied the mixture inside them as well as the many pipes that helped direct it to the hangar.
His frown deepened. Simona had committed fraud. But it was a masterful fraud, a true work of art in its own right. And that mystified Briggs.
Why had she taken the deception so far? Why had she created such a revolutionary compound? Why had she taken such pains to build a state-of-the-art facility?
Briggs slid between the reservoirs. His eyes traced the second set of pipes as they shot toward the production area. He saw a few people working inside the area. Fortunately, none of them saw him.
He walked to the edge of the room. Then he circled the space, keeping a close eye on the concrete walls.
He’d studied the production area on his previous visit. It appeared fully functioning and he’d seen no obvious problems with it. Yet, he still felt like Simona was hiding something from him.
On the opposite end of the room, he noticed a thin crack in the concrete. Widening his gaze, he saw the crack continue above his head before angling back down again. It continued in an unending line, forming a giant oval.
Tentatively, he pushed the concrete. Slowly, it gave way, spinning on a center axis. He pushed harder. The right side of the oval shifted farther away from him. The left side shifted toward him. Looking through the gap, he saw a dimly lit tunnel, shaped like a tube.
Taking a deep breath, he walked into the tube. He stepped softly, but his footsteps sounded deafening to his ears. Gritting his teeth, he walked slower, softer.
His leg muscles protested and he realized he was walking on a slight incline. The tube twisted a bit. Then it twisted back again, continuing on a general northeastern heading.
The tube widened. Apprehensively, Briggs strode into a larger space. It wasn’t as big as the production and storage facilities, but it still took up a decent amount of real estate, roughly the width of four or five tubes.
Separate tubes shot away from the space. One continued to the northeast. Two others veered off to the north.
Against the east wall, he saw a cleanroom. It was almost an exact duplicate of the production facility. Several large generators, hooked up to the cleanroom, purred softly.
He walked to the outer partition. Oval-shaped windows, illuminated by orange and yellow lights, lined its surface.
He peered into a window. His eyes scanned some strange objects situated inside it. They, along with the surrounding equipment, baffled him.
He glanced at a series of printed materials stacked near the window. They read, Project Miasma. Shifting his gaze, he scanned a few lines.
His hands started to shake. He didn’t fully understand Simona’s plan. Nor could he explain her motivation. Didn’t even want to. He just knew he needed to report it.
And fast.
Lowering his briefcase, Briggs grabbed a satphone from his pocket. Given to him by Eco-Trek, it was one of the few working phones on Pagan. Pressing numbers, he started to dial his contact number. But he paused at the last second.
Was this really a good idea? Sure, it was the so-called right thing to do. But the moment he told Samuels about his discovery, he was in trouble. He couldn’t imagine a scenario where his life would be spared.
But if he didn’t call anyone, the consequences would be enormous. People would die. Lots of people. Could his conscience handle that?
Taking a deep breath, he punched a button, initiating the call. The line picked up almost immediately.
“This had better be important, Briggs,” Barney Samuels said.
The connection was scratchy and Briggs could hardly hear the man. He started to reply but his words came out in a rush. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to calm down. “We’ve got a problem,” he said. “The model … it’s a fake. This entire place—”
A loud blast rang out. It reverberated in Briggs’ ears.
His body jerked to the side. The satphone spilled out of his hands and clattered against the concrete floor. He tried to scream. But the only thing that came out of his mouth was blood.
“Briggs?” Samuels’ voice sounded fainter, scratchier. “What was that? Are you okay?”