Deluge (The Best Thrillers Book 2) by James Best (ebook reader with built in dictionary .txt) 📕

“We had a scuffle. She wore casual civvies. I thought she was my target’s girlfriend.” He laughed. “Your officers are well trained. She put me on the ground in nothing flat.”

“You tried to hit her?”

“Hell, no. I put my arm out to hold her at bay, and she used it as a handle to throw me over like a sack of potatoes.”

“Not department training. She’s a black belt in aikido.” Evarts found it hard to believe O’Brian remembered her name after one encounter. “That your only contact with her?”

“No. After that incident, I introduced her to my daughter. Now, she’s her sensei.”

Chapter 20

As they gradually climbed toward Vacaville, the water receded until it stood only a few inches above the pavement. Everyone continued to honk aggressively at them. Baldwin decided it was a contagion spread by boredom. After half an hour, they had driven only four miles, but that put the cloud-enshrouded city on a hill only five miles away. No one impeded their way, but a few with off-road capability copied their technique of keeping one set of tires on the shoulder.

Traffic to the right of them started moving again, so Smith bullied his way back onto the highway. Their speed did not increase, but it felt comforting to have four wheels on solid, flat pavement. Smith exhaled a long breath, signaling his deliverance from fighting a squirrely steering wheel.

Ever since Baldwin’s blow-up, Smith had hardly spoken a word.

“Eureka!” Wilson shouted from in back. “I have cell service. Hello, world. We are now back amongst the living.”

Wilson had not finished telling her news before Baldwin called her husband. Evarts answered immediately. She heard the same relief in his voice that she felt. They alternately relayed the highlights of their respective evenings. Both had experienced close and harrowing encounters with flood waters. It alarmed Baldwin to hear about the discovery of the dead body, but she felt the most anguish for the young boy and his missing sister. This storm presented more than a colossal nuisance—it threatened and took lives. How in the world would she ever get home? She no longer cared about Los Angeles. Some attendee would have a speech ready to fill the void in her absence. She just wanted to get home. To be dry and safe on her hill with her husband, watching the storm from behind glass, with white wine and a crackling fire. She felt guilty even thinking such a thing. The collapse of the Cachuma Dam had caused death for the unfortunate and havoc for the fortunate. She supposed similar stories could be told in the wake of the failure of the Oroville Dam. Would there be others? She suddenly realized she had work to do and quickly finished the conversation with her husband.

“I’m calling Paul again,” Baldwin said.

She tapped his number.

“Lieutenant Governor Gleason, please,” Baldwin said, and then hurried on before whoever was at the other end could verbalize an excuse. “This is Dr. Patricia Baldwin. It’s crucial that I speak with Paul or Brad. We have vitally important analysis to present … ways to mitigate this statewide disaster.”

“Who’s we?” a voice asked.

“Dr. Thomas Smith with Caltech, Dr. Jonathan Ashley with UCSB, Dr. Sherrell Wilson with the USGS, and myself, Dr. Patrician Baldwin. We were called to an emergency meeting of the Seismic Safety Commission to offer analysis and advice on the current crisis. Paul also knows me from our mutual days at UCLA.”

“Dr. Ashley? This Dr. Ashley called previously. He hotly insisted that he must speak to the LG, and then hung up when the LG couldn’t answer immediately. That was very embarrassing for me. I’m afraid you’ve used up your opportunity. Now if—”

“No, please, we’re driving on I-80. Cell service dropped while we waited for the LG. We only just received service again. Please, we have solid recommendations.” She was begging. Damn it. That shouldn’t be necessary. Suddenly, she got angry. “In fact, it’s our job. We’re supposed to report out to Lieutenant Governor Gleason. This isn’t some crank call, damn it, it’s our job. Now tell Paul that Trish is holding for him.”

The phone remained silent for a long moment. Finally, Baldwin heard, “Very well,” and then music.

Ashley had been right. The only way to penetrate bureaucratic armor was to pierce it with words hurled at high volume.

It took five minutes for the LG to answer. “Yes, Trish. This had better be good.”

“You know who’s in the car?”

“I do.”

“Can I put you on speaker?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Baldwin said. “The only way to mitigate this disaster is to drain the water to the sea or store it someplace where there are no people. That’s your—”

Gleason interrupted to say, “Natural disaster.”

“What?” Baldwin asked.

“Never say disaster. Always say natural disaster.”

Baldwin bit her lip and then said, “Fine. The only way to mitigate this natural disaster is to drain the water to the sea or store it someplace where there are no people. The USGS predicts heavy rains for days and maybe as long as a week. We need to make room to store additional water by immediately accelerating the release of water from every reservoir. Open the spigots wide. Further, we—”

“Wait! You called me for this? I’ve heard some dumb ideas in the last two days, but this one takes the cake. Damn it, I haven’t got time for nonsense. For your information, the Central Valley is already flooding. Big time. Sacramento is under two feet of water, and you want me to release more water on our unfortunate citizens. That’s neither sane, nor defensible.”

“You think this is new information to us?” Smith voice had an edge. “We drove through a foot of water to climb out of that flood plain. If we don’t continue to close on Vacaville, the water will rise again.”

“Then why did you suggest such a half-baked idea?” Gleason asked.

Wilson jumped in. “You’ve already had two dam failures. If you don’t open the spillways, you’ll have more. The destruction will be worse than