Jack Du Brul - Deep Fire Rising

“There has to be a better way,” a young volcanologist currently on La Palma said.

“I hope there is, but we have to explore every avenue. What did your models say about an underwater blast on either the western or eastern side of the island?”

Dr. Marie glanced away and admitted, “We didn’t run those scenarios.”

Although he’d been out of the loop with these scientists, Mercer took it for granted that as the president’s special science advisor he’d spearhead any effort to minimize the damage from the eruption. However, he would be relying on them for everything they could give over the next weeks. With that in mind he kept the recrimination from his voice. “Why don’t you look into that before we consider higher-yield nukes. We might get lucky.”

“I’ll get on it as soon as we’re done here.” It was clear she appreciated his conciliatory tone.

“To those of you on La Palma right now,” Mercer continued, “I’d like to see an underwater survey of the coastlines on either side of the Cumbre fault zone.”

“What are we looking for?”

“Vents. I’m just thinking out loud, bear with me. You were all in agreement earlier that you needed to drill eight hundred feet for the bomb to collapse the volcano.” On Mercer’s computer eight heads nodded in unison. “What if we can find an old vent that allows us to get even deeper into the mountain?”

Dr. Marie’s eyes lit up. “If we go deep enough, we don’t need to be so precise with the weapon’s placement. A kilometer or two in either direction might not matter. Rather than cutting open the volcano with a chisel, we can smash it with a sledgehammer.”

Her metaphor made Mercer wince. The handful of over-the-counter painkillers he’d found in the aft washroom did little to ease the fire in his back or the countless other aches and pains.

The young volcanologist on the island, Les Donnelley, typed notes onto a laptop computer mounted below his video camera. “I can hire a fishing boat, if there are any left here.”

The comment triggered Mercer’s next questions. “What is the situation on the island? What’s happened in the past twenty-four hours?”

“For one, the media picked up on the story,” Ira said with a mixture of irritation and relief. He would have liked more time to work without public scrutiny, but also appreciated that people could make their decisions about evacuating early. “It broke just as you took off from-” He stopped before divulging Mercer’s mission. “It broke early yesterday in New York. The networks have been preempting ever since. The panic hasn’t been as widespread as we first feared, but most people are still in shock. The president is going to address the-”

“No,” Mercer interrupted. As much as he cared about how the world was taking the news that a hundred million people might perish, he couldn’t let it distract him. “Tell me what’s happening on the island. From now on that is our focus. Let the politicians and disaster-relief people debate evacuation strategies and refugee issues. We stick with the science.”

“All right. Les, you want to fill him in? You’re in charge on La Palma.”

“You’re aware that the island is comprised of dozens of volcanoes, each one corresponding to La Palma’s history of tectonic activity. The one that concerns us is the San Juan volcano. It was the actual volcano on the Cumbre ridge that erupted in 1949 and caused the fault to slip.” Donnelley was covering familiar ground to the video-conference participants and moved on quickly. “Up until yesterday morning our time, the monitors placed around its summit and near some of its secondary vents and fumeroles were quiet considering the activity on the island’s extreme southern tip.”

“And that’s changed?”

“Yes, Dr. Mercer. Unlike previous eruptions here that were localized to one finite area, this one seems to be affecting others as well. San Juan shows every sign that it’s about to blow. We have some equipment lowered down a bore hole. We’re detecting a hundred microquakes an hour, and temperature and pressure are both up, leading us to believe that the magma chamber is beginning to fill.”

Mercer’s expression was grim. “This dovetails into the five-week prediction.”

“I have to agree, though I don’t understand how you can say that with any degree of confidence. It could take much longer.”

“Trust him on that,” Ira said. “It’ll be in five weeks.”

“What else is happening?” asked Mercer.

“The Spanish government has ordered a full evacuation of the island. The people here are taking it very seriously. Gas and ash levels are rising. Several elderly have already died and a previously unknown vent near the Teneguia volcano suddenly burst open under a school. Forty-three students and three teachers were asphyxiated. With Teneguia erupting at the southern tip of the island and San Juan showing signs in the middle of the island, people here recognize how the two are joined by the fragile Cumbre ridge. They don’t want to be anywhere near here if it goes.”

“There’s something we have all overlooked,” the twerp in the bow tie interjected. “No one has gone to the United Nations about this. I mean they know about the potential of a mega-tsunami, but don’t we need permission to detonate a nuclear device on another nation’s sovereign soil. Don’t forget they’re still smarting because we lost several bombs off of Spain’s south coast in the late 1960s. They won’t take too kindly to us intentionally blowing up one of their islands.”

“Who are you again?” Mercer spat.

“Professor Adam Littell of MIT.”

“And your specialty, Professor?”

“Fluid dynamics with an emphasis on wave propagation,” he replied archly.

“We all know about the waves if we can’t stop the slide so we don’t need your services. Kindly turn off your camera.”

“Excuse me?”

“Admiral Lasko, can you cut him off?” No sooner had Mercer made the request than the portion of his computer monitor showing the professor went dark.

“He does raise a good point,” Lasko said.

“That’s for the politicians, Admiral. Let them worry about it. I suspect when the UN’s secretary-general realizes a fifty-foot wall of water is going to wash away his shiny skyscraper he’ll see that the right thing gets done.”

“Provided it’s the right thing,” Briana said.

“That’s why we’re talking.” Mercer drained his coffee and poured more from a sterling carafe. “Okay, other ideas to minimize a slip. Has anyone thought about trying to blast the western side of the Cumbre ridge into strips? Or what about pinning the top layer of material to the underlying rock to hold it in place?”

His questions were met with blank stares.

“Someone start an equipment list.” Ira nodded to an assistant off camera. “We need as many rotary drill trucks as we can get to the island, machines capable of boring at least a thousand feet.”

“Once you drill the holes, what do you use to pin the rock together?” Les Donnelley asked.

“The drill pipe itself. We’ll leave everything down hole and move to the next site with new bits and new drill string. That means we need drill mud, pipe, as many diamond bits as we can lay our hands on and enough support personnel to keep crews working around the clock.”

“And your idea about cutting the slope into strips?” Ira prompted.

“Expert explosives people, liquid explosives, blast mats, detonators. The works. I’ll call Bill Janson at Blastech in Houston. I’ve worked with him a few times at the open pit mines out west. He’s the best surface blaster in the business. Admiral Lasko, you’ll have to organize transport. What’s the airport at La Palma?”