Caldera Read online

  Bainbridge, forty-five years her senior, chided, “You’re going to have to get in better shape if you expect to take over for me and keep this equipment operating.”

  Carlene took several more deep breaths. “There’s a method to my madness. I got you to start digging, didn’t I?” She grinned revealing the dimples in her flushed cheeks. She leaned over and grasped the cable that led up the side of the antenna, and gently pulled. A frayed end with several strands of smaller wire dangled from her clutched mitten. “Could this be the problem?” she asked.

  From the smirk on her face he could see she was proud of herself. She was a good student. He had already recommended she stay on in his place after he retired.

  “As soon as I get the snow cleared away you can rewire it,” he said.

  “Looks like some critter thought he’d make a meal out of the insulation,” she said examining the colored wires. “Maybe we should be using coaxial cable.”

  “It’s not uncommon in the spring,” Bainbridge said. “Animals coming out of hibernation and looking for their first meal. Probably a ground squirrel.” He finished digging down to the concrete pad that housed the sensor. “Be glad it isn’t a bear that’s been using these things for scratching posts. We had to replace three of them last year.”

  Bainbridge tossed the shovel aside, straightened up putting his hand in the small of his back and flexing. “I’m not as young as I used to be. Would you believe twenty years ago I went down this slope on a snow board? Bet you didn’t know an old fart like me could hot dog on a snowboard.”

  Carlene removed her pack, dropped to her knees and peered down the hole. “I noticed you didn’t bring your board today.” She removed her mittens and reached down for the other end of the cable. “You’d think if we were going to give them a free meal they’d at least leave enough cable for us to make a splice. I’m going to have to run new wire. Could take awhile.”

  “Try a butt splice,” Bainbridge suggested.

  She nodded. “Temporary fix. I’ll come back after the snow is gone and run new wire. Another hour in this storm and we’ll be icicles.” She removed a pair of electrical pliers from her pack, stripped the ends of the frayed wires, attached butt splices and sealed them with shrink tubing heated with a mini propane torch. “You want to check the signal?”

  Bainbridge pulled a radio from his pocket and tuned it to the transmitter frequency. “Loud and clear. Good job.”

  Carlene picked up the shovel and started to hand it to Bainbridge, but he was staring at the ground. “Did you feel that?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “The ground is shaking. I could swear there was a small earthquake.”

  Carlene was about to answer when she heard a rumble. “Avalanche!” she yelled dropping the shovel and grabbing Bainbridge. They struggled to get out of the way but were bogged down in the deep snow. Carlene moved out in front and Bainbridge was gaining on her as a tidal wave of snow thundered down the mountainside. Carlene tripped and fell forward as the crushing wave of ice and snow thundered past. In a few seconds it was over. She lifted her head to see the last remnants of the slide come to a halt a hundred feet below.

  “Wow! That was close,” she said dusting herself off. It was eerily quiet and she realized Bainbridge wasn’t there. She put her hands to her face. My God, he was right here. She forced back tears as she frantically scanned the jumbled layer of new snow for any sign of her boss. Six feet away, she saw a blue gloved hand sticking out of the snow. It wasn’t moving. God, let him be alive, she silently prayed as she took her best guess at where his head might be. She knelt down and furiously started digging with her bare hands.

  “Please God, let him be alive,” she mumbled as she brushed the snow away from his face. She put her freezing fingers to his blue lips to see if he was breathing. “Don’t let him die, don’t let him die,” she whispered. The warmth of a shallow breath touching her fingers gave her new energy. Satisfied he was alive, she dug around the rest of his body removing as much snow as she could. She put her fingers in her mouth to warm them and started digging again. When he was mostly free she moved back to his face and rubbed his beard with her hands. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  Bainbridge opened his eyes, flexed his shoulders and scooted on his back and kicked a foot free. Carlene dug at the other leg until he could move it.

  She could see he was alert, taking stock of himself. It was only then that she felt the throbbing pain in her fingers. She rubbed her hands together and cupped them in front of her mouth. “You didn’t break anything did you?”

  Bainbridge grinned, showing wrinkles in the tanned skin around his eyes. The hood of his parka had been ripped from his head. His beard was crusted in ice. He patted the snow around him. “My glasses are missing.”

  Carlene glanced around. “I hope you have another pair.”

  “You’re a lot faster when you’re scared to death,” he said still grinning.

  Carlene tugged on his sleeve. “We’d both be a sorry mess if I hadn’t out run it. Come let’s see if you can stand.”

  He flipped the snow from his parka hood and with Carlene’s help struggled to his feet. His legs wobbled. “Give me a minute to catch my breath. That thing came out of nowhere.” The wind had died down and he looked up at a patch of blue sky.

  Carlene turned and looked over at the antenna they had just repaired. “Thank God, it’s still standing. If I could find my back pack I’d make sure it was transmitting.”

  Bainbridge removed the radio from his pocket and handed it to her. “Takes a lickin’ and keeps on tickin’,” he said. “How about we get back to civilization?”

  She checked the transmitting frequency, and certain it was operating, they headed down the trail.

  At the bottom of the mountain, in front of a white Jeep with green Yellowstone markings, Bainbridge handed her the keys. “You drive. I’m not feeling too well.”

  Carlene glanced over at her boss. He seemed preoccupied and she wondered if it was the avalanche or something else that was bothering him. Usually on field trips the professor in him took over and he would give her the history of the park. He would point out geological outcroppings, lava flows from ancient eruptions, and the obscure rim of the caldera from the last big eruption over six-hundred-thousand years ago. Being with Bainbridge was like having your own personal tour guide.

  She had learned that the caldera, over forty miles across in some places, was so large that its boundaries were mere speculation until satellite images were available to verify the ancient rim of the collapsed volcano. The satellite images showed the caldera encompassed over a third of the three-thousand-square-miles of Yellowstone Park.

  “You’ve hardly said a word,” Carlene said as they turned into the parking area in front of the temporary monitoring cabin. It was a small wooden frame building in the Lake Area. They had moved into the cabin only a week earlier to be more centrally located in the park. Bainbridge had insisted they needed to spend more time in the field.

  Bainbridge reached over and touched her arm. “Thanks for what you did back there. I saw it coming and couldn’t move. It would have taken me for a ride for sure.”

  “I was saving myself as much as you,” Carlene said trying to brush it off. She stopped the car and opened the door.

  “I’m serious,” Bainbridge said. “Most people would have only been concerned for their life. You kept your head about you. I mean it when I thank you.”

  Carlene blushed and got out. “You want to make it up to me, approve my Masters thesis. A woman can’t get anywhere without a piece of parchment these days.”

  “I’ve been reading it and it’s good, but I can’t be bribed even by someone who just saved my life.” He chuckled and shook his head.

  She had completed her masters in geology while working in the park as Bainbridge’s assistant. There wasn’t a better volcanologist or teacher than Milton Bainbridge, but he was as hard as granite when it came to handing out credits. It will be
worth it, she reminded herself. His students were recognized as the best in the world and she had no intention of settling for anything less when it came to her career.

  Carlene entered the shack as they called it and immediately went to her computer and logged in. She brought up the YVO website. Yellowstone Volcano Observatory operations were based in three locations, the University of Utah, Yellowstone National Park and the USGS (United States Geological Survey) in Menlo Park, California. YVO operated in conjunction with other observatories in Alaska, California, Washington, and Hawaii. Together the observations monitored forty-three potentially hazardous volcanoes in the United States. By far the greatest potential hazard was posed by Yellowstone, known to be a super volcano, one of only seven in the world.

  Carlene brought up seismic activity in Yellowstone. “Thirteen events in the past hour,” she said glancing over at Bainbridge who was shedding his parka. “The one that nearly got us was only a four-point-five.”

  Bainbridge dropped in the swivel chair in front of his desk. “Let me show you something. I was going to wait until after my vacation, but I might as well show you this now.” He raised the screen on his laptop. Yellowstone Caldera was displayed in large print. A topographical map of the park appeared with numbers dotting the screen.

  “What is it?” Carlene asked, standing over him.

  Bainbridge tapped on the keyboard before answering. “Our volcano may be waking up.”

  She furrowed her brow and moved closer to the screen. “You think the increased activity in the past few weeks is significant?”

  He shrugged. “All the symptoms are there. When I get back from vacation, if the activity continues, I’m going to declare a Level One alert. I’ve been waiting because I know it will upset a few people.” He paused a moment in thought. “Namely Peter Frank. He’s sure to call Sanders. As park manager he worries about anything that will affect the tourist levels at the park.”

  “You think Sanders will back you?” Carlene asked. “Rumor has it since he made that wrong call in El Salvador a few years back, he’s declined to put any place on alert.”

  It was well known and quietly discussed among volcanologists that Sandy Sanders, now the head of USGS, had had threats on his life after he ordered the evacuation of an entire town for two months and it turned out to be a false alarm.

  “Sometimes these mountains throw you a curve ball,” Bainbridge said in defense of Sanders. “Anyway, I wanted you to see what I was doing so you could stay on top of it while I’m away.” He saw her concern and added, “Nothing to worry about.” He closed his laptop and stood up. “I’ve had enough excitement for one day.” He picked up his coat and the laptop. “You have my cell number. Don’t hesitate to call if anything significant happens. Otherwise I’ll keep tabs on things through the Internet.”

  “Yes sir.” Carlene stood at attention and gave him a sloppy salute. “I’ll hold down the fort, El Capitan.”

  Bainbridge laughed out loud. “It’s only a week. The warm weather will do me good.”

  Carlene went up to him and kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t overdo it.”

  His eyes twinkled. “Golf and sunshine, I think I can handle it.”

  She watched as Bainbridge drove off. In spite of her performance for her boss, she was uneasy. This was the first time she had been left alone. He had always been there to fall back on. She made a promise to herself not to call him. Let him enjoy his vacation. He trusts you or he wouldn’t be leaving, she reminded herself.

  Back inside Carlene removed her parka and slipped off the waterproof coveralls. She went into the bathroom and ran hot water and warmed her fingers under the stream. She noticed her hair was a mess and ran her wet fingers through it. She checked herself in the mirror. She was barely a hundred pounds in her plaid western-style shirt and blue jeans. She ran her fingers over the large horseshoe belt buckle she’d won running barrels at the local rodeo; one of the proudest moments of her life. She rubbed her cheeks, still cold and red and fluffed her amber hair again. Why had Bainbridge picked this day to tell her about the alert? A Level One alert was nothing more than a watch, yet her boss, through his actions, seemed to put more significance on it. She went back to her desk and checked her computer again. Seismic activity had stopped. Yellowstone caldera was quiet again and she let out a sigh of relief.

  May 18th Southeastern Nevada

  The glass-lined caverns under the solid granite mountain were made in the early 1980s by a nuclear-powered boring machine called a subterrene. It was invented by a team of scientists at Los Alamos National Laboratory and assigned to the Atomic Energy Commission in 1972. The tunnels, hidden in the high desert were the abandoned remains from the original testing of subterrene technology. Away from any civilization the tunnels had become the secret headquarters for the World Liberation Republic, a radical terrorist group that was yet to make the FBI’s terrorist watch. The plan was for the WLR to remain unknown until they were ready to take over the country.

  The man standing in front of a bank of machines was tall and handsome, in superb physical shape and though he was in his mid sixties, Joseph Talant could easily be mistaken for a much younger man. The opaque green walls of the well-lighted cavern rose in a high arch above his head. He heard his name called and glanced up from his computer. He held up a finger for Vladimir Mishenka to wait a moment, but the stocky man seemed to quicken his pace.

  Mishenka was a solid block of beef, a weight lifter in a business suit. In the harsh light of the mercury vapor lamps high overhead it looked as if Mishenka had taken a shoe-shine rag to his shaved head. Underneath the navy blue suit jacket he carried two Russian-made Imez pistols and a third in an ankle holster befitting a hit man for the organization.

  “My good friend,” Mishenka said impatiently, “What have you for Telska?” In spite of many years of studying English in the former Soviet Union and the ability to speak the language without an accent Mishenka ignored his training and elected to speak with a heavy Russian accent when he was among comrades.

  Joseph Talant brought up a chart from the USGS volcano watch website. “Look at this. In the past week Yellowstone has been plagued with hundreds of earthquakes, at least one of them magnitude six.” He knew the information meant nothing to the muscle-bound bald man, but he continued anyway. “Co-spec readings are up and the dome at Mallard Lake and Sour Creek have been rising steadily. We need to think seriously about how we’re going to keep Bainbridge from calling an alert.”

  “I’m sure Telska will allow us to go ahead with the plan.” Mishenka walked over to a satellite phone and picked it up.

  Chapter 3

  May 20th Sumatra, Indonesia

  At thirty-six Dr. Jason Trask was the youngest scientist on the front line for USGS. Single and always looking for an adventure, he was willing to fly on a moment’s notice to wherever he was needed, yet he had delayed this trip for twenty-four hours to be with his mom and sister for their day of remembrance on Mt St Helens. In an effort to catch up he had reviewed the history of Talang on the flight to Jakarta. Talang was a mountain that had suddenly gone active. It was 2597 meters high about 8400 feet above sea level and located in West Sumatra right on the equator. It had been monitored continuously since increased fumarole activity had been reported in 1967 when the temperature of a hot spring had increased by 6° C. The mountain had been quiet during the 1990s and into the new millennium. Without warning, on May 18th, Talang woke up. It may have been coincidence that it picked the 30th anniversary of the Mount St. Helens eruption to become active again, but Jason Trask considered it was a bad omen. He didn’t consider himself superstitious, but the date, May 18th, held significance for the bad things that had happened in his life. His birthday, every birthday, had been a reminder of the day he’d lost his father and another volcano erupting on that day gritted at him.

  In an eight-passenger helicopter, three hundred feet above the devastation from the eruption of Talang, Jason stared at a dull gray wilderness reaching as f
ar as he could see. He grimaced and shook his head at the thought of the carnage. He knew there were hundreds, maybe thousands of people, entire families, buried under the suffocating blanket of ash. He looked angrily at the landscape not wanting to accept what had happened. The ventilation system of the Syscorsky aircraft was not able to filter out the wretched stench of sulfur and hydrogen sulfide that hung in the air around the steaming mountain. He put his hand to his nose and closed his lips wanting to rid himself of the bitter taste in the air. It was the taste of death and he couldn’t keep the tears from welling up in his eyes..

  He gave thumbs down to the pilot, and as they set down he tried to peer through the whirlwind of ash that engulfed the chopper. They were a mile outside the Red Zone, but the lush green jungle vegetation was missing as far as he could see, obliterated and replaced by smoldering, black, lifeless twigs jutting from a rolling gray wasteland. In stark contrast, a team of rescue workers dressed in bright orange body suits were digging through the aftermath. Their suits were ventilated and contained activated-charcoal-filtered breathing masks. They looked like alien beings on a strange and hostile planet.

  Jason watched as they removed a victim of the pyroclastic flow. He had seen the devastation of a pyroclastic flow before. A two-hundred-mile-per-hour tornado of blazing rock and ash had rushed sixteen miles down Mount Pinatubo in the Philippines in 1991 wiping out everything in its path. He had visited the site as an intern under Milton Bainbridge several years after the eruption. Here it had done its damage in less than five minutes. He had arrived too late. There was nothing he could do. He pondered the devastation and cursed himself for not taking the call from Sanders when he was on St. Helens. He had traveled for twenty hours not counting the calendar day he’d lost when he’d crossed the International Date Line, and for what? The mountain had already exploded. He sank his head in his hands and choked back a lump in his throat. He didn’t want to think about it.