‘The primary storm front is the one with the hurricane winds and the worst seas, and the storm surge. We estimate that once this is past you’ll be looking at moderating conditions. Moderating through severe storm to storm. Winds coming down from gusts of over one hundred miles an hour to between forty and fifty. From twelve down to nine or maybe eight on the Beaufort scale, moderating further in time. With increasing periods of calm, perhaps the occasional dead calm, especially at ground level, though there will be strong winds higher up. But even if the wind moderates and the seas begin to settle, the rain won’t stop. What you have above you is what I described at the Chamber of Commerce. A river of warm, saturated air stretching from where you are right the way back beyond China, and it’s going to come across the ocean non-stop and precipitate everything its carrying as it hits the Sierra Madre.’
‘Yes. I’ve seen it.’
‘No. That’s my point. With respect, Captain Mariner, I don’t think you have seen it. So far, bad as things may have been for you, you haven’t been at the leading edge when it hits land. That’s where the real downpours are occurring. And that’s where the big winds are too, though up high for the most part. We’re looking at precipitation rates of one, perhaps two inches an hour. Have you any notion of the damage potential of precipitation of that intensity? How long has this incident been going on so far? Three days? Seventy-two hours. One hundred and forty-four inches of rain. That’s twelve feet of rain.’
‘No wonder it flooded California in 1862. But, Doctor Jones …’
‘Yes, Captain?’
‘On the west coast of Mexico there’s no big central valley like the one stretching down from Sacramento to Bakersfield. The mountains in Mexico come right down to the beaches. I’m not sure whether that’s a good thing or not.’
‘We’re hearing here that the Mexican authorities have advised anyone who can get away to run south or east over the Sierras to Guadalajara. They’re setting up temporary evacuation centres south of the main storm front from Vallarta on down to Acapulco. But there’s been nothing from Puerto Banderas.’
‘There’s only one way to be certain. And I’d like to be more certain than I am now — before I take Sulu Queen into Puerto Banderas harbour.’
‘Good luck, Captain Mariner, whatever you’re planning. Stay in touch.’
‘I will, don’t worry. All relevant details will be exhaustively logged and passed straight along to you and your colleagues at USGS and NOAA.’
Richard broke contact and sat back for a moment, looking at the blank screen of his laptop. Then he pulled himself upright and strolled through on to the bridge with studied nonchalance. ‘Mr Cheng,’ he said. ‘We have agreed the course we want Sulu Queen to follow during the next couple of hours?’
‘Yes, Captain,’ answered Cheng. ‘Why do we need to agree this?’
‘Because, Mr Cheng, you have the con. I’m stepping out for a while.’
‘Stepping out?’
‘Precisely. Major Guerrero, would you like to accompany me?’ He walked forward to the communications console and pressed the All Hail. ‘This is your captain speaking. Would Biddy McKinney report to the bridge, please? I repeat, Biddy McKinney to the bridge …’
THIRTY-SIX
The Bell 429 skipped low over the round lake in the dead volcanic crater of Isla Santa Isabel and settled towards sea level beside the sheer, rocky islets of Las Monas. ‘You were right, Richard,’ called Biddy through the earphones. ‘The air is quieter just above the waves — as long as I keep clear of the spray and foam. Do you think the rain is beginning to ease a little too?’
‘Looks like it,’ answered Richard. A flaw in the wind combined with the easing of the downpour giving him a glimpse of the high white surf-line stretching away northwards, where the reefs reached out from the little island. Even in these conditions, the air above the boiling water was dark with flocks of boobies and frigate birds hunting the breakers. He turned his attention to Juan Jose Guerrero, who still looked more than a little shaken from the scarily stormy lift-off. ‘This take you back to your youth, Major?’
‘A bit. Though I have to admit I was never out here in a chopper. And, given half a chance, I won’t ever be again. Getting the Bell ready for take-off and then lifting off in this weather has aged me by decades. Not years. Decades. Anyhow, it all looks different from a fishing boat. Bigger. And, of course, I’ve never been out in conditions like these.’ The cabin tilted slightly as Biddy put the Bell’s nose down and pushed her airspeed up. The grey corrugations of foam-webbed wave-sets sped past at hypnotic speed. The bellow of the wind quietened and the rainfall seemed to ease a little more. But Richard could see the major’s point. Nobody in their right mind would bring a boat out in this. He was even beginning to have second thoughts about his own massive ship. But he was committed now; he had given his word. And there was the matter of finding Robin …
Biddy was taking the Bell on the route by which Richard was proposing to bring Sulu Queen into the harbour at Puerto Banderas. Conditions in the air were not quite as bad as those they had experienced over Baja California Norte, Richard thought. But they were still a way out from the land. And if what Dr Jones said was accurate, it was where the aerial river of the ARkStorm met the ten thousand foot wall of the Sierra Madre Occidental that he would find the heaviest downpours. He tried to imagine what twelve feet of water poured on to the west-facing slopes of those massive mountains would unleash. Only to give up. Speculation was a waste of time. He would see the reality of it soon enough.
See it at once. ‘What’s that?’ demanded Guerrero. ‘A whale?’
Richard strained to see what he was pointing at. A long black shape was tossing in the grip of the waves. ‘No,’ he answered. ‘It’s the keel of a boat.’
The upturned wreck was only the beginning. As the Bell sped shorewards the rain began to intensify again. But it was still possible to see everything in the water beneath them. The waves steepened. The colour of the water changed — from grey-green to grey-brown. And the pieces of flotsam became more numerous. More varied. ‘What’s going on here?’ asked Biddy.
‘It’s the outwash,’ said Richard grimly. ‘The eastward set of the ocean is being met by the westward flow of floodwater washing out from the land, bringing with it anything that will float.’
‘Anything that’s been washed off the hillsides — whether it’s from the jungle or the town.’ Guerrero nodded.
‘With, first of all, anything that’s been washed out of the harbour by the floods coming out of the river or down off the land. Hence the boats. There’s another. At least it’s the right way up. Looks abandoned, though.’
There was almost a surf-line where the waters of the ocean and of the flood fought for supremacy. A solid-looking band of rubbish heaved and rolled, defining the line where the waters met. ‘You’ll have to take Sulu Queen through that pretty carefully,’ said Guerrera.
‘I was thinking the same thing. And from the look of some of the ropework, tackle and netting down there I was thinking, thank heavens for the Spurs cutters on my propellers.’
‘I don’t know about your propellers,’ Biddy added, ‘but it looks as though an ice-strengthened bow would be useful. Is that a car?’
‘Looks like a Volkswagen,’ said Richard, as precise as ever. ‘Heaven knows how it’s floated out this far.’