Peter Hernon - 8.4

Lauren wasn’t the only one who’d heard the water blasting through the dam’s big gates. A lot of people who lived along the Tennessee River—some as far as five miles from the dam—had been awakened by the pounding roar. Many of them were in the gym. So were about a dozen sheriffs deputies and state troopers, who stood in the back.

Paul Weston and two other members of the Seismic Safety Commission sat at a table at the head of the basketball key. Weston, as usual, was formally dressed—suit, crisp blue shirt, paisley bow tie. Governor Tad Parker had ordered Weston to hold the meeting that evening. Parker, who was in the state capital at Frankfort, expected a full report.

Television crews from Memphis, tipped off about the session, had their cameras and lights on as Lauren walked to the stand-up microphone in front of the table. She wore jeans and a brown leather jacket and was holding a legal pad.

“I want to know, we all do, what’s going on,” she said. She described what she’d seen and how Tom Davis, the hydrologist in charge, had told her they’d almost lost the dam.

“We’ve spoken to Mister Davis,” Weston said. “He tells us he doesn’t recall making such a comment.”

“That’s not true,” Lauren said, struggling to keep her voice calm. “I know what I heard. What I don’t know is why someone would want to make Tom change his story. And where is Tom? I asked him to come tonight, and he told me he would. Have you already gotten to him?”

“That dam’s never been safer,” Weston said in a warm, friendly voice. “We’ve had four engineers go over it from top to bottom. We made another inspection just this morning. There are several minor cracks on an interior wall that need some patching. Those repairs are now being made. Everything else looks in fine shape.”

“If they were just minor cracks, why did Tom open those gates?” Lauren persisted.

Weston nodded understandingly and said, “I know some of you must have wondered what was going on up there during the draw off. Well, the fact is that Mister Davis was perfectly justified in opening the locks. He thought he had a… problem after that last quake. We may have some disagreement over what exactly he said to Ms. Mitchell here, but the bottom line is he did the right thing. Maybe he overreacted a little. In hindsight, we could have handled all this better. Let people know what we were doing and why. That’s why the governor was so eager to arrange this meeting tonight. He wants everyone here to know he understands how inconvenient it is for you folks to have 641 closed. We’ll get it open as soon as those repairs are made. Shouldn’t take more than a few more days, but we want to do it right.”

“What if there’s another earthquake?” Lauren said. “We’ve been getting shakes out here every day. Is that dam going to hold if we get another good one?” She got a round of loud applause. Many of those in attendance were farmers or people who owned small businesses along the Tennessee River. Marina operators like her, grocery store and gas station owners, who depended on tourists. Men and women alike, they favored flannel shirts, work boots, and quilted parkas.

“I can speak to that question,” Weston said. “I know you’re all concerned with the series of aftershocks we’ve been experiencing. That’s normal after a strong earthquake. The seismic activity could keep up for weeks or even months. But there’s no evidence we’ll get another big quake in the magnitude 7 or greater range any time soon. I’d stop worrying about that. It’s not going to happen.”

JOHN Atkins and Walter Jacobs had arrived at the gym just after Lauren Mitchell walked to the microphone. They’d driven to Mayfield straight from the mine after Jacobs got a cell phone call from Weston’s office, asking them to attend the meeting.

Atkins remembered Lauren from his visit a few days earlier to her boat dock and hadn’t forgotten the unnerving sight of all those frogs and snakes crawling out of the frozen ground near the lake. Surprised to see her, he was interested in what she was saying, but his mind was preoccupied.

Jacobs and he hadn’t had a chance yet to discuss with anyone what had happened in the Golden Orient. They wanted to return first thing in the morning with additional instruments to measure the heat and magnetic fields that were being generated in the mine. There were examples of such phenomena in the literature, but they were extremely rare. The ground was highly unstable.

At the very least, Atkins wanted to install a strain meter to see if he could get any readings that might help them analyze how much energy remained stored in the crust.

Standing there in the back of the gym, he remembered the heat, the strange, overpowering smell, and the sound welling up from the deep rock. Mainly he remembered how scared he was in that open elevator cage during the agonizingly slow ride up to the surface. They’d gotten the call to head back to Mayfield just about the time they’d climbed into the Explorer.

Distracted by his thoughts, he watched Lauren standing at the mike. She obviously wasn’t buying what Weston was telling her. Neither was anyone else in the gym. They all looked skeptical, worried. The children had picked up on the current of fear in the room. Some of the littlest ones were crying.

Atkins noticed a woman in an olive-green trench coat get up from a seat in the back of the gym and approach the microphone. She had dark blond hair.

Elizabeth Holleran.

She walked up to Lauren Mitchell, who was still standing at the mike. Paul Weston’s sudden anger was clear to see. It could be felt, measured.

Holleran smiled at Lauren and introduced herself. She nodded to the men seated at the table. Some of the same faces she’d addressed yesterday.

“You’re doing very well,” Holleran told Lauren, smiling at her. “Would you mind if I ask a few questions?”

“Not at all,” said Lauren, who looked pleased to get the help. “Be my guest.”

“This is starting to get interesting,” Jacobs whispered to Atkins. He was struck by Holleran’s poise as she approached Weston and the others. She was cool, steady under pressure.

“Doctor Weston, there’s a simple way of determining how serious the damage was to the dam. Then we can assess what’s been done to repair that damage. Could you tell us if there was any sideways movement or settling?”

“You have no standing before this panel,” Weston exploded. His earlier warmth completely gone, he looked like he wanted to come up out of his chair. “I promise you that I’m going to lodge a formal complaint with the head of your department at Cal Tech.”

“It’s an easy question, really,” Holleran said, ignoring the threat.

“Why don’t you answer the lady’s question instead of barkin’ her down,” someone shouted from the back of the auditorium.

“Damn right! Answer her question!” shouted another.

Atkins enjoyed watching Holleran in action and found himself wanting to cheer. It was a simple, albeit crucial question. She deserved an answer.

Holleran said, “For the benefit of anyone here who might not know this, the shock waves from a big earthquake like the one three days ago can cause large structures such as dams to sway or settle. A sideways movement greater than, say, seven or eight centimeters could cause serious damage. You’d need to do major repairs, provided repairs could even be made. It’s the same thing with settling. If the dam settled only a few centimeters, there’s no real harm. But if it was greater than seven, eight, or nine centimeters, you could have major, possibly fatal damage.”

Weston’s reddening cheeks looked wind-burned. He was leaning forward in his chair, arms folded, trying to appear patient, under control.