Her Name Will Be Faith (39 page)

"The movie," Richard said contemptuously.
"Did you notice how
every time the director
wanted his characters to say something the wind dropped, how there was no
thunder or lightning, and how they climbed
trees
to survive? That was hokum. If Faith were to strike Manhattan
there
wouldn't be a tree left in Central Park. And a few other things are
going to be blown about as well. Come over
here." He went to stand at the plate-glass window looking down on
Manhattan; it faced east. "Do
we have any shutters for this
window?"

"Are
you crazy? We're forty floors up."

"Well, let me tell you something, Mr Kiley; if Faith
hits here with
winds of 18o miles an
hour or more, that window is going to disappear. You remember that storm which
hit Houston a few years back? It was
losing
force by then, and it had never at any time possessed anything
near the strength of Faith, yet the wind sucked
out glass like it was paper.
This
window..." he tapped it, "is going to go, and most of it will fall
into
the street in pieces as lethal as shrapnel. And if either you or JC happen to
be in this office at the time, the odds are you will go with it.
Now you tell me something: how many plate-glass
windows of roughly
this size are there in New York?"

Kiley
stared at him.

"Okay,"
Richard went on. "Let me make it easier for you. How many windows are
there in this building?"

"You're being hysterical," Kiley commented.
"I have a luncheon
date."

"Enjoy
it, and pray that Faith keeps out to sea." And destroy Michael Donnelly? A
man he loathed although he had never even seen him. But there were five other
men out there with him, and he had no cause to loathe any of them.

He
took the elevator down to the weather room in a thoroughly bad
temper. Jayme was out shopping; he had told her
he would need her over
the weekend.
Julian was on the phone, making notes. And his own phone
was buzzing. He
sat down. "Connors."

"Hi."

"Oh,
my darling," he said.

"Any
news?"

"Could
be something coming in now," he said, as he saw Julian's eyebrows bobbing
at him. "Listen, I'll call you right back."

"I'll
be here."

He
replaced the phone. "Give."

"That
was your friend Mark Hammond. He got back to base fifteen
minutes ago. He says Faith has sustained winds at
the center of 160 miles
an hour, and that she's still building."

"160?
Give me that." Richard took the pad and stared at the figures. "You
ever seen wind speeds like that before, at ground level?"

"The
ultimate storm, eh? But that ain't all." Julian took back the pad and
flipped the page. "Mark says she's starting to wobble."

Richard
found himself on his feet. "Where?"

"To
the west. There is a definite movement west of north, Mark says. Look at the
co-ordinates."

Richard stared at the paper, then reached for his phone.
"Find out if
Mr
White has left the building yet," he snapped at the girl on the
switchboard. "If you can, stop him. Tell him I have
to speak with him again, most urgently." He replaced the phone, gazed at
Julian. "That
old
bastard could be going to get what he most wants – a major hurricane
right on his goddamned doorstep." Then he thought
of Michael Donnelly,
trying
to get to the west of a storm which was now beginning to move
west, and faster than he could sail his yacht. He sighed;
Jo had to be told.
But Michael Donnelly,
and even Jo, were suddenly being upstaged, by Faith herself.

"I'm sorry, Mr Connors," the switchboard said.
"Mr White has already
left for Long
Island."

"He
has a phone in his car, hasn't he?"

"Of course, Mr Connors, but
we are under strict orders only to
call him once he has left the office for the weekend in an
extreme
emergency."

"This
is
an extreme emergency," Richard
snapped. "Get him. And get
me the Mayor's Office as
well."

"The Mayor's Office?" The woman's tone conveyed
a suspicion that
he must have gone mad.

"And
the police department."

"And
the police department," she said sadly.

Richard
replaced the phone, then picked it up again and dialed Jo.

"You
really feel this is it?" Julian asked.

"This could be it. Those co-ordinates place the
storm just 370 miles
away from us, and she
could be turning this way. If something isn't done
about it, and quick, we could be looking at the
disaster of the century.
Hi, Jo."

"What's
happening?"

"Nothing
good. Listen. I want you to pack a bag, for yourself and the kids, and leave
town."

"Do
what?"

"You
heard me, Jo. Leave New York. Go away for the weekend."

"Now?
You're pulling my leg."

"I
was never more serious in my life."

"But…
will you be coming with us?"

"No, I have to stay here. Listen, Jo, I'm very
serious. Didn't you tell
me your in-laws have a
house in Bognor, Connecticut?"

"Why,
yes. But..."

"Go visit with them, just for the weekend. Bognor
should be safe
enough."

"I can't just descend on them, Richard. They're still
suffering from
shock."

"Well, they could be going to get a lot more shock
in the next couple
of days. Faith is moving
west."

"West?
Oh, my God! But Michael..."

"Yeah. I know. Maybe he'll be able to outrun her.
That's all I can
offer. But you, Jo..."

"I can't go running off when he's out there,
maybe fighting for his life,
Richard. I have
to be here, in case he wants to get in touch. And
anyway, I'm in the center of New York. What danger
could there be
here?"

"For
God's sake," he shouted. "Will nobody listen to me? Jo..."

"I
have Mr White on the phone, Mr Connors," the switchboard said.

"Hell…
I'll call you back, Jo," Richard said, and pressed the transfer button.
"JC?"

"Something
on your mind, Richard?" JC's tone was deceptively quiet. "Something
important, I hope."

"I
thought you'd like to know that hurricane Faith has stopped moving
north-east."

"Yes?"

"And
she's starting to wobble to the west."

"Does
that mean she may be coming our way after all?"

"It
certainly creates that possibility."

"Well, that is splendid
news, Richard. Splendid news. Maybe she'll
come
close enough to wipe some of that egg off of our faces. Keep me posted. Call me
this evening at home. Well done, Richard."

"JC," Richard begged. "If she does come
west, she could pose a serious
threat to New
York."

"Well,
that's what we've been saying all along, isn't it?"

"Yes, but now we have to
stop warning and start doing. JC, I'd like
to put out a hurricane alert, right now. I'd like to
interrupt the scheduled
programming to tell people that Faith could be making straight for
us."

"Richard," JC said.
"Listen to me, boy. I know how interested you
are in this hurricane thing. But obviously you've let
it get on top of you.
Now here's what you
do, and this is an order. You hand over the one
o'clock forecast to Julian, with strict instructions to give the
co-ordinates and the present wind strengths and nothing more, and you go home,
and
have a drink and a good lunch and a nap, and then you return to the
studio this evening, and you call me and give me an update then."

"Mr White, we don't have
those six hours to waste. This storm is
carrying
winds at the center of more than 160 miles an hour, and she is still building.
She is going to be the biggest storm this century. Maybe of any century."

"Great stuff. And we predicted it.
You
predicted
it, Richard. Congratu
lations. It'll sure
boost the ratings. And we'll get those chats of yours
going again."

"Mr White. Faith is going to
kill people. Maybe a whole lot of people.
We have to do something about that, now. You have to do
something.
You have to call the Mayor,
and the police, and get them to endorse our warning and move the people out of
all low-lying areas."

"Richard,
you are starting to sound hysterical. How far away is this system?"

"The center is approximately 370 miles south-east of
us. You could
say, due east of Norfolk, Virginia."

"And
how fast is she moving?"

“Approximately
10 knots. That is real slow, and that is additionally
dangerous,
because every minute she spends over the sea she builds some
more."

"But she is still at
least 36 hours away."

"36
hours isn't very long to evacuate Manhattan. And storm conditions,
especially
the rise of tide, will happen some time before the center
arrives."

"36
hours gives her one hell of a lot of time to change her course again,
though." As usual, JC
was concentrating on what he considered the
essentials.
"If we started sounding off the way you want to, and she went
off again, as she could well do, Jesus would we
be in shit alley. We'll issue
our warning when we're absolutely sure
she's gonna hit."

"Mr White, that will
be too late."

"We
have done our bit, Richard. We forecasted this storm, and we
were
laughed to scorn. Okay. Now it's up to the Mayor and the police,
as you say, to do
something about it. Hell, they must watch the forecasts too. Nobody can now
hold us responsible for what may happen. If Faith does come close, you, me, the
whole station, will have had one mighty
lucky
escape from an acutely embarrassing situation. We'd be crazy to go sticking our
necks out again without proof positive. You can't have
that before tonight. If Faith is still coming at us
then, we'll reconsider
the situation. But we do nothing further until
then. Got me? Now either
get off the phone
and go home and take a rest, or let me have your
resignation Monday
morning. Have a good day." The phone went dead.

Richard looked at Julian,
and Julian looked at Richard.

"I have City Hall, Mr
Connors," the switchboard said.

Richard picked up the
phone again. "May I speak with the Mayor,
please?" he asked. "This is Richard Connors on behalf of
Station NABS."
He wondered why he was wasting his time.

"The Mayor has gone
to lunch."

"I thought he might
have. What time do you expect him back?"

"We don't, today. It's an official function which
will last late into the afternoon and afterwards he's going straight
home."

"Well, look, it is vitally important that I
contact him, or at least get a message to him."

"Yes?" the man
said.

"Is that
possible?"

"No," the man
said.

"But you can contact
him, presumably. If it's important enough."

"If it's important
enough, yes."

"Then will you do
so?"