Her Name Will Be Faith (40 page)

"Why should I do
that, Mr Connors? If you wish to make an apology
for the scurrilous attack you launched on this administration last night,
I suggest you put it in writing."

"Okay, I'll apologize.
But right now I want to talk to Mayor Naseby about the hurricane itself."
Richard kept himself from shouting with an effort.

"The hurricane? Our
information is that she no longer poses a threat
to New York."

"Well, I have news
for you. She does pose a threat, more than ever
before. She is changing direction and could well be coming straight at
us.
You tell the Mayor that there is a distinct possibility that
Hurricane Faith may hit this city within 36 hours."

"36 hours," the
man said, thoughtfully.

"And that I consider it
absolutely essential that he order the evacuation
of all low-lying areas of the city, immediately."

"Evacuation immediately," the man repeated;
obviously he was now making notes. "Immediately? You mean, like right
now?"

"I mean, like right
now."

"Mr Connors, the Mayor isn't going to be happy to
be told this. And you're not his favorite person, right this minute."

"You ask him if he's going to be happy when he
has a 20-foot wall of water rushing up Wall Street."

"20-foot… well, I'll
call him, Mr Connors. But I must warn you that
he doesn't like being interrupted when on an official function except in
an
emergency."

"I think this could
just be described as an emergency," Richard said. "Tell him NABS is
ready to broadcast such an evacuation order, with details of routes to be used,
and call me back here. Right?"

He
replaced the phone. Julian scratched his head. "Think he'll call
back? Because if JC gets
to hear of this, after telling you to cool it, he's gonna have your guts for
garters."

Before Richard could reply, the phone buzzed again.
"I have Assistant Commissioner McGrath on the line, Mr Connors."

"Oh, Christ,"
Richard muttered. McGrath was the man he and Kimmelman had interviewed
yesterday morning. "He won't do anything on my say so."

"He won't do anything at all
without directions from the Mayor,"
Julian
pointed out.

"So you talk to him.
Tell him we anticipate receiving such authority
within the hour." He got up. "I'm going to obey JC's orders,
at least for
a while. Call me at
Josephine Donnelly's apartment the moment you hear
from the Mayor."

"My
God, you're sopping wet!" Jo exclaimed as she opened the door.

"Well,
it's pouring with rain out there." Richard made to kiss her, then saw the
children. "Hi."

"Hi,
Mr Connors," Owen Michael said. "This is Mr Connors, the
weatherman," he told Tamsin. "I have his autograph," he added
proudly.

"Hello,
Mr Connors," Tamsin said. "May I have your autograph too?"

"Sure.
Just bring your book."

"Maybe you'd like to stay to lunch," Jo
suggested, handing him a
towel to dry his head;
she had already spread his jacket over the back of a chair.

"That
would be very nice, Mrs Donnelly."

"Have
you any news on what's happening with Dad?" Owen Michael asked.

"Well..."
Richard wrote in Tamsin's autograph book. "I guess he's having some rough
weather out there."

"Dad
doesn't worry about rough weather," Owen Michael declared.

"Well,
that's great," Richard said.

"Fix yourself a drink," Jo said. "I'll have
one too. And you two run
along
and watch TV until lunchtime. They haven't been able to go
outside
all day," she explained.

Richard
watched the door close. "Jo..." he took her in his arms.

"Is
it bad?"

"Bad,
and getting worse. This is hurricane rain."

"And
Michael?"

"I don't know, Jo. I just don't know. I simply can't
imagine what it
might be like out there.
And it's going to get worse."

She sighed, and rested her head on his shoulder.
"And you want me
to go up to
Connecticut."

"Don't
you think you should? You have your children to think about."

"And
not my husband?"

"Jo, you can't help your..." They both spun
round as the phone
buzzed.

Jo ripped it from its stand. "Jo Donnelly? Oh.
It's for you."

Richard took it. "Anything good, Julian?"

"Not
a damn thing."

"What
did McGrath say?"

"You
want his exact words? Get off my back, you punk."

"That
sounds in character. What about the Mayor?"

"Ah…
the guy at City Hall came back and said he'd been in touch with the Mayor and
had been instructed to tell us that when the Mayor wishes the assistance of the
National American Broadcasting Service in running New York City, he will most
certainly ask for it. What do we do now?"

"What
can
we do, save wait for six o'clock? I'll be along in a couple of
hours." He replaced the phone, took the glass
Jo was holding for him.
She watched him pace the room, drink in one
hand, while the fingers of the other clenched and unclenched. Anger,
frustration, and worry were boiling in his mind, obviously, and she waited for
the inevitable overspill.

Aware of her eyes on him, he stopped, and, shoulders
hunched, spread
his arms wide in a
gesture of despair. "They just don't believe it can happen."

"Surely
New York has been hit by a hurricane before," Jo said.

"Sure
it has. And there's the trouble. Because the city was virtually undamaged on
those previous occasions, they all reckon it can ride anything."

"I
don't understand," she said. "If it was undamaged..."

"Let
me give you a few facts. The last hurricane seriously to affect New
York was Gloria. She passed over Long Island,
right? A big storm,
Category Three. Faith is already blowing 40 knots
more than that. Then there was Belle, in 1976. She tracked over Long Island,
too. But she was
already collapsing, was
only Category One when she came ashore. In
1960 there was Donna. Donna was a Category Three when she got up
here, a big storm. But like the others, she was
already turning northeast
and went over Long Island. Same with Carol in
1954, and according to the records she shook people up and then some. But how
many people
remember back more than thirty
years? They didn't give names before
1950, but New York had hurricanes
in 1944, in 1938 and in 1916, all
following
the same route, a sweep to the mainland, then a sharp turn
away to the
north-east. So what's the operative phrase in all that?"

"The
north-east?"

"Correct.
And Long Island. The centers of all those storms passed over Long Island. That
means that in each of those hurricanes New York was
on the left, the western side of the track. The side where the winds are
not only weaker but start to blow from
the west earlier as the center
passes
through. The side where the storm surge is minimal. New York
has never
been in the northeast sector, the dangerous sector. Do you
know what mariners used to do in the days before
forecasts, when the sky
or the barometer indicated a big storm was
about? They faced the wind, and knew the center of the storm would be just over
90° to their right hand, in the northern hemisphere. It's a natural law, named
after the
Dutchman, Buys Ballot, who
discovered it. So the ship would alter course
to the left, to make sure
it stayed on the weaker side, the navigable side. That's all New York has ever
experienced, the navigable semi-circle."

"And you think Faith is going to behave differently
from all the
others?"

"Ultimately,
no. I think she will turn northeast after hitting land. But it's where she hits
land that matters, and right now, if this turning movement continues –
and don't forget that she did just this over Eleu
thera on Wednesday – she could come ashore south of Manhattan, and
if
she does that, with the kind of winds she is generating, it's going to be like
nobody can even imagine."

"Surely
those people, the Mayor and the police, can see that on the weather map?"

"No they can't, because it's not on the weather map,
as yet. All they
can
see is a big storm behaving exactly the same as every other big storm.
Up
to two hours ago they were right. The fact that she has begun to turn
west won't be clearly apparent for several
hours." He drank some whisky.
"The administration is at least
basing its ideas on history. I feel they are dreadfully wrong, but I can't prove
it until Faith's new track is clearly defined, and that may be too late. But
you know, at the other end of the
scale
there are people like JC. He is mad. Quite insane. He actually wants
Faith
to hit New York so he can take the credit for his station having
predicted it would happen, and thus score a big
win over the Mayor. Can
you believe
that? He doesn't give a damn about the possible loss of
hundreds, thousands of lives, doesn't seem able to
assimilate the fact that
he'll probably be amongst the victims."

"But doesn't he accept the fact that she is coming
this way? And that
if
you put out a definitive warning now you'll still be scoring off the
Mayor?"

"He
won't take the risk that we might be proved wrong. He was pretty upset during
the eastward movement, after our attack yesterday: quote `we'll be left with
egg on our faces' unquote. So now I'm banned from
issuing any warning just in case she moves off again. The most important
thing in life is JC's public image." He drained his glass, and Jo
got up to
refill it. "My darling..."
He caught her wrist. "Will you listen to me?
Believe me?
Please?"

"I
do believe you."

"Well,
then, get out of town."

She
took the glass to the bar, poured. "I can't, right now. God knows
my marriage is over, Richard. But Michael is the
father of my children. I have got to be where he can get in touch with me, tell
me he's safe .. .
or where I can be
told of his… well, whatever happens. He's out of
radio range right this
minute; he only has an MF set, with a maximum range of 280 miles. But I know
he'll call; as soon as he nears the coast."

He
sighed. "Which will be when?"

"Well…
he should be back within range by this evening."

"By
this evening, if I have my way, this entire city will be under evacuation, and
there are going to be some real traffic jams. Listen, you can call him from his
folks' place, surely."

Jo
hesitated. The last thing she wanted right this minute was for Big
Mike and Babs, not to mention Belle and Dale, to
hear the sort of slanging
Michael had taken to dishing out to her. But
she could see Richard was deadly serious. "Okay," she said.
"Listen. I'll hang on here until seven
tonight,
and see if I can raise him then. And if Faith is still coming
straight for us this evening, I promise I'll go as
soon as I've spoken to
the yacht."

"You
don't really believe me, do you," he said sadly.

"Well..."
She bit her lip. It was really impossible to imagine anything
serious happening to New York. "Of course I
do, Richard, but I really
don't want
to descend on the Donnellys in their present state unless I
have to.
Besides..."

He knew what she was thinking. "Listen, Jo, I have
no doubt at all
that
this is one hell of a fine building, and can stand up even to 160 mile
an
hour winds. But what about that window?"