Authors: John Barnes
Mother of Storms (29 page)
It’s a good act but not a great one. Klieg enjoys it (it’s like something out of an old movie) but figures that big, scary guys in suits are fairly cheap.
Amazingly, the elevator in this building runs smoothly, and when he steps off onto Hassan’s top-floor offices, everything appears to be clean, nice, new, and well-cared-for; that, more than the skyscraper or the goons, makes Klieg think he’s dealing with a pro here.
Hassan is well-dressed and not overdressed, and that’s another good sign. He’s a small man, square in the shoulders with the kind of good posture that suggests he did some hard physical work twenty years ago and has stayed in shape since. “Mr. John Klieg,” he says. His accent sounds more Oxbridge than Pakistani; Klieg’s research tells him that Hassan is neither, coming instead out of the complex system of orphanages, foster homes, and street gangs that has produced millions of people with no defined nationality in the rubble of thirty years of war in old Soviet Central Asia.
“I’m pleased to meet you,” Klieg says, and they go in to tea; Klieg’s already swallowed two decaffeinaters and a nifty little tab that will keep his bladder from filling for a few hours, because he’s been warned that there will be at least a gallon of tea involved in being polite.
The seating in Hassan’s private office is on the floor, on big soft cushions laid carefully around a small table on a thick, pricey-looking handmade rug. There’s a huge silver samovar on the sideboard, and Klieg’s larger goon quietly fills a cup for each of them and sets them on the table, then goes out as quietly as a sigh.
Klieg sits on one side of the table, Hassan on the other, and they both drink tea for a little bit, talking about the weather. This is a situation where it’s just not polite to get down to business right away, so they don’t. On the second cup, Hassan says, “I am told you have no family, Mr. Klieg.”
“None at the moment,” Klieg says. “I’m working on that.”
“Ah. There is a woman in your life? Some young beauty you’ve taken to as a pleasure of age?”
Klieg smiles and shakes his head. “An older beauty, who’s been bringing up a child by herself. Someone with a lot of common sense.”
Hassan gets up and fills both teacups, and as he brings them slowly back, he says, “I see that I was not misinformed; you are wise and prudent. And naturally”—he hands Klieg a cup—“very naturally indeed, Mr. Klieg, with such personal matters coming along, you have a certain concern for the future, a desire to see things become firmly established, so as to make a secure world for this new family of yours. I understand this, I share the impulse myself—I have four daughters and an infant son, and when I look at the sort of violence that flares up so much in this part of the world, and at how brutal and grinding poverty can be here, I feel my spine stiffen and my shoulders settle and I put myself to work, hard, to keep such things away from them. Is it not that way?”
Klieg had told himself to be careful about trusting his feelings in this conference—after all, if Hassan is going to be good at anything, he’s going to be good at being liked. But there’s no getting around the fact that the man is likable. “Yes,” Klieg says, “that’s exactly the way it is. You start to think about how to make a place that’s strong and safe, because it’s a nasty world out there.”
Hassan smiles, nods, and without the least leaning forward or even added intensity of gaze, he says, “And yet, Mr. Klieg, here you are in a country where people get shot frequently, in a dirty city of foul streets and fouler doings, arranging to build for yourself here the only thing in this whole wretched nation that is ever likely to be worth stealing, under the protection of whatever random thieves happen to be the government of this dirty little hole of a nation. This is the sort of speculation a poor man with one chance would dare. It is not all what a man who is already wealthy, who has already taken the world in hand, is apt to do. This interests me a great deal, as a student of human nature—and which of us in business is not a student of that? I wonder what can be inside you to make you take such chances.”
Klieg nods, takes a sip of tea, and thinks to himself that the old routine about Asian indirectness and American bluntness is pretty dated; Hassan has started the serious part of this with the most important question. Indeed, it’s
not one Klieg is completely sure of his own answer to. He lets the tea roll over his tongue and then says, “As you’ve guessed, there are reasons. You do know what GateTech has been in the business of doing?”
not one Klieg is completely sure of his own answer to. He lets the tea roll over his tongue and then says, “As you’ve guessed, there are reasons. You do know what GateTech has been in the business of doing?”
“Yes—the blocking patent business.”
“I prefer to call them something other than blocking patents, because my feeling is that I block nothing—I merely build way stations and roads between the frontier and those who wish to reach it, and charge them to pass the way I have pioneered. But yes, my money has come out of that process. It has involved staying very close to what is happening, racing against many other teams of bright people. But the race is not as easy as it once ways … .”
“When you began, you were the only one who knew there was a race; now they take your operations into account from the very beginning.”
“Exactly.”
“And so there is a change of strategy. This much I have deduced, Mr. Klieg, and it makes a great deal of good sense, if I may so compliment you. But it is there that I am stymied; clearly your next strategy would have been to begin to operate farther out toward the technical and scientific frontier than before, and to find ways to make the traffic run your way rather than just locating your ’way stations and roads’ where the traffic runs.
“But I do not see this. No, I see you working in this very dangerous environment, dealing with very difficult people, and doing all of this for a well-established and simple technology like space launch, something that has been around since the middle of the last century.
“And this tells me one of three things, I think.
“Either you are mad—and there is no evidence of this; or you are bored and looking for danger and excitement—and this new family you are hoping to find makes it seem very improbable, for to a man with a family the world is more than dangerous enough; or you know something that is not general knowledge in the world yet, and you are once again on the move to build a way station or a road, in a place the world will shortly be going. Of course that last is what I believe to be the case, because I greatly respect you.
“So, Mr. Klieg … as you know, I can help you a great deal. I have a cash price and that will be negotiated by underlings—indeed, your people are meeting mine at this very moment, as you know, and I’m sure we can reach some equitable arrangement on that matter. But there is something I want very much, and you will have to understand that I want it because I am already in that happy estate to which you aspire—I have a family to look out for.
“I want to know what you think is going to happen, and why this launch facility is likely to prove so important.
” Hassan has leaned forward and now
he does look eager. Klieg believes the man completely. There’s no question in his mind that Hassan is dead serious, and though anything could be an act, Klieg would bet that this is not.
” Hassan has leaned forward and now
he does look eager. Klieg believes the man completely. There’s no question in his mind that Hassan is dead serious, and though anything could be an act, Klieg would bet that this is not.
For one thing, in Hassan’s shoes, it’s just what Klieg would want. Clearly the man is not hurting for money any more than Klieg is. And just as clearly, when a big mystery comes onto your territory, an inside pipeline to its source is what you really want.
Klieg takes a long sip and a calculated risk. “Let me place a call to see if the money and contract matters are going as well as we both expect. And if it would appear the partnership is satisfactory in every other regard, well, then, we’ll shake hands and I’ll tell you everything.”
Hassan nods, once, firmly, and somehow or other a goon comes in with a phone for Klieg. Klieg dials, asks a couple of questions, hears what he expected to. Hassan’s price is high but
if
it’s truly “one-stop shopping,”
if
they will no longer need to come up with each bribe, permit fee, and payment one at a time and on a negotiated basis, then Hassan will be much cheaper, even before you figure in all the time not lost to delays every time cops and soldiers come out to make them stop work. “Well, then, close with’em, Jerry, sounds like we have a deal,” Klieg says, clicks off, and turns to Hassan.
if
it’s truly “one-stop shopping,”
if
they will no longer need to come up with each bribe, permit fee, and payment one at a time and on a negotiated basis, then Hassan will be much cheaper, even before you figure in all the time not lost to delays every time cops and soldiers come out to make them stop work. “Well, then, close with’em, Jerry, sounds like we have a deal,” Klieg says, clicks off, and turns to Hassan.
“A few weeks ago, when the big methane release happened …” he begins, and in thirty minutes Hassan not only knows everything, but is starting to smile with a warmth Klieg understands perfectly. It’s not every day that a global-monopoly-to-be walks in and asks for your help.
They agree to meet for dinner soon, and they talk of many different things; Klieg gets an inside look at the Siberian government and is no more appalled than he was when he began to understand Washington or the UN, but he notices how much cruder and more brutal the tactics are out here and resolves to keep himself out of trouble.
The rest of the morning goes into tea and talking about old movies; Hassan turns out to be an enthusiast for them, too. Or at least when he knew he would be meeting with Klieg, he became one, and he carries off the act well. That’s really all you can ask for.
“All right,” Di Callare is saying to Carla Tynan, over the phone link. “I can get you all the data you ask for. But this is not getting any easier.”
“Louie thinks they’re on his track too,” she points out. “And without him we’d have no real data to go on. So tell me, Di, what do you make of Hurricane Clem? He’s been moving east for longer and farther than any hurricane in Pacific history.”
“He’s also farther north,” Di points out. “We don’t know much about
what a hurricane does when it stays well above the thirtieth parallel. It’s never been warm enough up there to keep them running, let alone gaining energy. For all we know this is perfectly normal behavior for a giant hurricane on a hot ocean.”
what a hurricane does when it stays well above the thirtieth parallel. It’s never been warm enough up there to keep them running, let alone gaining energy. For all we know this is perfectly normal behavior for a giant hurricane on a hot ocean.”
“It’s counter to the Coriolis force—”
“But it’s right in line with the steering current,” Di responds, impassively. “And now that it’s so far off the equator we aren’t getting the data we’d like—the satellites along the equator can’t look down into it, the Japanese are keeping their aerial data to themselves, the Siberians and Alaskans don’t seem to be flying anything, and we’re still trying to get a maneuverable satellite up there in a polar orbit—the government doesn’t want to spring for one, and since all the commercial load that was going to go through Kingman Reef has been shifted back to Aruba and Edwards, there’s not any space to spare unless they’re willing to commandeer it. So anything at all could be going on inside Clem—maybe there’s the biggest outflow jet in history.”
Carla leans back in her chair, rubbing her back; as a relaxing, comfortable semi-retirement, this whole business with
MyBoat
is a complete flop. She’s been short on sleep for days, her butt is just as chair-sore as it ever was in Washington, and the aftermath of Clem has left the Pacific too stormy and rough for her to get much time on the surface sunbathing. “Say that again,” she says.
MyBoat
is a complete flop. She’s been short on sleep for days, her butt is just as chair-sore as it ever was in Washington, and the aftermath of Clem has left the Pacific too stormy and rough for her to get much time on the surface sunbathing. “Say that again,” she says.
“What, that maybe there’s the biggest outflow jet in history? It was just a thought that Gretch, our summer intern, had—she was doing mass balance for a hurricane that big, and the only way it didn’t strangle itself was—”
“Was that it was pushing a whole lot of wet air a long way from itself—of course! Hug that intern for me and don’t let her go back to school for the duration. You need her. I’ve got an idea, Di, and I’ll be back with you shortly.”
He gives her a little half-salute, half-wave, and they break contact. She wonders how he’s finding an excuse to go to a different pay phone twice a day, and whether her direct bounce to Louie is secure enough … and once again she wonders why anyone would want to get in the way of figuring out what’s going on. Well, politics was always Di’s gift, not hers.
An outflow jet is a peculiar thing some hurricanes have some of the time. As the air streams out of the top of the spiraling eye wall, sometimes instead of dispersing in all directions and coming down as rainy weather a long way away, the hot air will organize itself as a single stream moving in a single direction; that stream is called an outflow jet.
An outflow jet can carry much more mass than conventional dispersal—so it takes away one of the limits on the size of the hurricane, for only as much air can swirl in at the bottom as can flow out at the top, and since the outflow jet removes air more efficiently, the hurricane can be bigger.
But it has another and more significant effect; it all comes down in one place, on one side of the hurricane, and the addition of so much descending air there creates a high-pressure spot. Air moves from high to low pressure, and the eye of a hurricane is a low-pressure spot, lower than anywhere except the center of a tornado—thus the wind begins to blow from where the outflow jet descends toward the eye of the hurricane, and the hurricane in turn moves on the wind—opposite the direction of the outflow jet. The outflow jet works like the open end of a released toy balloon, blowing the hurricane around the ocean.
It works like a toy balloon blowing around the room in another sense too, for the outflow jet’s position is not stable with regard to the hurricane; just as the nozzle swings around the balloon as the balloon moves, the outflow jet wanders around the outside of the hurricane. Thus a hurricane with an outflow jet can quite suddenly move forward or backward, contradict the steering current (the winds at about 20,000 feet that normally determine the path of the hurricane), accelerate, or loop around. One hurricane can have more than one outflow jet. Bigger hurricanes are more apt to have outflow jets, which is why some of the biggest killers among hurricanes in history have been not only the ones with the strongest winds and storm surges, but also the least predictable ones and the ones that have suddenly lurched off their expected paths to slam into coasts they were supposed to bypass.
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