6:00 Hours: A Dystopian Novel (10 page)

              “Exactly. Baxter is one of the few officials who do
not
have a background in climate science, but is just a political administrator.”

              “I remember that. But it didn’t seem like a problem at the time, the rest of the staff all had science backgrounds.”

              “There’s something else you should know, too, sir,” Claire said, lifting her eyes so she looked at Robert over the top of her glasses. “He’s the President’s half-cousin.”

3.

Robert did not see eye-to-eye with the President. Fitzwilliam, while not a climate-change denier by any means, was about as close to one as you could be during these times. He had made the mistake of being too dependent on big donations from CEOs and politicians with their own agendas early in his career, and now that he was President, they expected those favors returned in one form or another. That meant ignoring certain climate change data and allowing Big Oil and Big Coal to have a little fun. Robert found Fitzwilliam to be a weak man. He made a lot of promises but wasn’t able to roll up his sleeves to get it done. He didn’t like to step on anyone’s toes. Robert was wary of what Fitzwilliam would have to say at their meeting. Robert looked at the rain from the car window as they drove to the restaurant. It seemed to get more aggressive when they drove into the city. There weren’t many people out; just a few with umbrellas who ducked into their cars from stores or offices.

              “Do you think this meeting has anything to do with Baxter?” Claire asked.

              “Possibly. His office must have been notified that Baxter didn’t issue a warning in time.”

              “Hmm,” Claire murmured. She turned her head to look out the window. “Miserable day,” she remarked.

              Robert looked over at her. She was gazing out her window, her hands folded in her lap. When she turned to face the front again, Robert noticed that she had two unusual hair clips that held her dark hair in place. Two gold bumblebees, very detailed, with their tiny wings and limbs outstretched as if caressing Claire’s hair. It had been a while since Robert had seen a real bumblebee. One of the major effects of climate change was the bee shortage. Colder temperatures and harsh winters affected bee survival rates, which in turn affected flower and other vegetation that depended on pollination. Conversely, shifts in climate affected the growth of the plants bees needed, and the vicious cycle continued. The survival of the honeybee became a major issue, spurring both country and urban beekeeping. People didn’t keep bumblebees though; they were not honey-makers. It was sad to Robert that humanity was not driven to protect anything that didn’t have a direct benefit to it; one of the reasons why the polar bear had gone extinct during his lifetime.

              “We’re here, sir.”

              Claire slid over to Robert’s side and waited while he exited the car first. The driver was already there, umbrella opened, and they both hurried into the restaurant. A cold wind whisked them inside, causing a shiver to go up and down Robert’s spine.

              The restaurant was empty. Robert had been there a few times before, as he knew it was the President’s favorite place in the Capitol. It had good food and Robert could see why Fitzwilliam liked it so much. The President, VP, and a few other staffers were seated at the large round center table, which was laid with a white cloth. They all stood when they saw Robert and Claire enter, and Fitzwilliam’s clean-shaven face broke into a large smile.

              “Robert! Made it in this bad weather, I see!”

              It was a harmless comment, but Robert couldn’t help but inwardly smirk at its triteness. “Bad weather.” A little rain, a little lightning, and that was “bad weather.” It wasn’t like there were earthquakes, tsunamis, and tornadoes ravaging the rest of the country or anything.

              “Mr. President,” Robert said, putting on his politician smile. “Good to see you. This is my assistant, Miss Doherty.”

              Fitzwilliam shook both of their hands warmly and gestured for them to sit.

              “Are you a vegetarian, Miss Doherty?” The President asked, fixing his blue eyes on Claire.

              “No, sir. I find an omnivorous is the best of all worlds,” Claire responded coolly.

“Well, it’s just that if you like vegetables, this place has the freshest.”

Robert looked at the menu before him. It did have a lot of vegetable-based meals, which was unusual.  Yet another one of the negative impacts of climate change was a shortage of everyday fruits and vegetables like avocados and oranges. This restaurant must put a lot of money into getting the literal cream of the crop.  After a few moments, a crisply-dressed server approached the table.

“Everyone know what they want?” Fitzwilliams asked, casting a quick glance around the table. “Excellent. I will have my usual. Robert?”
“Um, I will have the scallops with the orange and mint salad, and then the salmon.”

“Great choice, Robert,” the President exclaimed. “Miss Doherty, please.”

“Grilled octopus, please.”

“And the zucchini with that is acceptable?”

“Yes.”

The others at the table placed their orders: crab cakes, peppers, Greek salad and filet mignon,were just some of the choices. Fitzwilliam ordered two bottles of light red wine for the table and made an inside joke with the server, who chuckled politely before leaving. Fitzwilliam turned his attention back to Robert.

“How’s the family?” he asked cheerily.

“Not great,” Robert replied. “My daughter is on the Emerald Coast and my son was in the path of a tornado, so Elisa and I are very worried.”

Fitzwilliam’s face fell and he looked genuinely concerned.

“My God, Robert, I am so sorry. If you have to make a call or anything, please, don’t hesitate to excuse yourself.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“This weather is really something, isn’t it?”

Robert nodded. “The worst I’ve personally seen.”

“I’ve been getting updates from your office about it, but I wanted to get more details right from you. What kind of damage are we looking at?”

Robert looked at Claire, who quickly opened her black binder with the data reports.

“The earthquake was a 7.3. magnitude, and triggered the tsunami, which made landfall at 11:00 hours, our time. Around that same time, a series of tornados hit Stoneholt, Middlebury, and Valcoht, as well as two handful of other communities. There are heavy rainstorms on the Ruby Coast, but nothing too serious there yet, sir. However, the local ECAG office has issued a hurricane warning and many coastal towns have evacuated.”

The President listened intently, his eyes narrowed. His staffers scribbled notes and murmured to each other. Terrace, the VP, sat motionless at the President’s left, staring down at the table.

“How bad is the tsunami? Really?” Fitzwilliams asked.

“It’s bad, sir,” Claire replied. “The levees broke, so it looks like the flooding will be the biggest concern.”

“Have you ordered any rescue/aid choppers out yet?”

“Still waiting on that, sir. It’s too dangerous up there to fly.”

Terrace leaned into the President and whispered something in his ear. Fitzwilliam frowned, but did not reply. Robert felt ill at ease. He didn’t like Terrace. He found the man sneaky and dishonest. Some of the President’s staff asked a series of specific questions which Claire answered. She handed out copies of the data report as she spoke. Robert stayed focused on Terrace, who seemed distracted. He kept looking down at his phone and acting like he wanted to talk to the President, but continued to hold back. Robert checked his phone as well, to see if he had gotten any new messages or calls, but there was nothing of note to be seen. What was Terrace so wrapped up in?

The servers brought their meals and the party was distracted for a few moments by the arrival of their food. Robert savored the fresh, airy taste of the orange and mint. The scallops were also excellent, seared perfectly, and deliciously buttery.

“I haven’t had seafood in so long,” Claire remarked to Robert in a quiet voice. “It’s gotten so expensive.”

              After asking everyone how their food was and sending his compliments to the chef, the President informed Robert that he would be sending an additional military force to the Emerald Coast along with ECAG’s pilots.

              “The range of the flooding seems like it would stretch your people thin,” Fitzwilliam hypothesized. “That area needs all the help it can get.”

              “A very wise decision, sir,” Robert said, relieved. “Thank you.”

              More forces there meant a better chance for Rachel to be rescued.

              “And what about the tornado areas? Do you suggest more help there?” a staffer asked.

              “The local office is very well-stocked. And staffed,” Robert said. “They’re used to tornados, just not at this scale, of course, so with our support they should be fine.”

              “Excellent,” Fitzwilliam declared, breaking into another smile. “I hate to dash off, but you will excuse me, Robert. Say hello to Elisa for me. And I will keep your family in my prayers. Please let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

              Taken aback at such an abrupt exit, Robert stammered some brief words and thanks and shook the President’s hand. He was surrounded by his staff and a herd of bodyguards as he whisked out the door. Robert felt a little like he had just had the wind knocked out of him. He raised his eyebrows at Claire before turning to Terrace, who had not moved. For the first time since Robert and Claire entered, Terrace put down his phone.

              “Have you or your office had any communication with Kirk Baxter?”

              “The director of the local Emerald Coast office? Yes, briefly.”

              “It is true that he chose to not issue any kind of warning following the earthquake, and by the time you spoke to him, it was too late to issue an order about the tsunami?”

              Terrace spoke as if he was interrogating a criminal.

              “That is true,” Robert replied, slowly.

              “Hmm,” Terrace murmured.

              He sat back in his chair and ran a hand through his silver hair. A shadow crossed his face as he thought in silence. Robert and Claire glanced at each other, unsure of what to do. Terrace suddenly leaned forward again, fixing his grey eyes at Robert.

“The President’s office would greatly appreciate it if you kept this whole Baxter thing under wraps,” Terrace said, his voice low.

“What do you mean?” Robert asked, feeling uneasy.

“If it came out that the President had family ties to a man who failed to warn millions of a massive tsunami, you can imagine the impact on the President’s character and credibility would be disastrous.”

As disastrous as a tsunami?
Robert thought bitterly.

“I don’t know what you’re asking me to do, Mr. Vice President,” Robert pressed. “I’m not going to shout it from every rooftop, but if you’re asking me to intently fabricate”

“That
is
what I’m asking you to do,” Terrace said bluntly. “Change your records. As of last week, Kirk Baxter was just an assistant at the Emerald Coast office, not the director.”

Robert glanced at Claire, whose mouth had fallen open slightly. She picked up her water glass and took a long drink.

“Sir, I don’t know if I can do that,” Robert admitted.

“Then we will seize your records. We have the legal right, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” Robert sighed.

Terrace took his wine glass by the stem and peered into it, swishing the red liquid around.

Could he look any more like a TV villain?
Robert thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

“I wish you could understand what is at stake here, Robert,” Terrace said, still looking into his glass. “If the truth came out, it would make it seem like the President appointed Baxter just because of their family connection, and that that decision ended up costing millions of destroyed or lost lives. Do you understand what that could do to the nation at this fragile time?”

“I do.”

“Are we on the same page, Director Morgan?”

Robert wouldn’t meet Terrace’s gaze, but he didn’t say anything to counter Terrace’s statement. Taking Robert’s silence as affirmation, Terrace took a sip of his wine. He peeled his lips back and made an “Ah” sound before tossing his napkin on the table.

“A pleasure as always, Robert,” Terrace said, extending his hand. “You are free to use the car, of course, to go back to your office.”

“Thank you,” Robert said, taking the VP’s hand.

Terrace said his goodbyes to Claire and was escorted from the restaurant by his two black suits. Robert and Claire were left alone, plates with scraps littering the table around them. Servers began to scurry about, clearing dishes and making apologetic sounds. Claire balled up her napkin in her lap and smiled grimly.

“Do you think the President did appoint Baxter because of their family connection?” she asked.

Robert sighed. He thought back on what he remembered from Baxter’s credentials, and felt sure that he would have had some objection if Baxter was clearly not qualified. That in itself did not mean that the President’s primary interest in the appointment was to do a family member a favor, but it did mean he at least had the decency to not risk so many lives in doing it. It also meant that Robert had not made a grievous mistake in staying quiet.

“I don’t think so,” Robert said after a while. “But I don’t understand how it wasn’t publicized at the time. The media has eyes and ears everywhere; did no one think it was suspicious?”