Page 21 of Eruption
“No,” MacGregor said. “But the lava never reached Hilo either.”
“The ’84 flows came within four miles,” Kenny said. “Weknow that sooner or later, they’ll go all the way. Nearly fifty thousand people live in Hilo now. And there are more every year. So the question is, Mac, the next time an eruption threatens Hilo, how are we going to stop it? What good is all our knowledge if we can’t even protect the nearest big town?”
“That’s right,” Rick said. “I mean, let’s face it—the day will come when we’re going to be asked to control the lava flow, and the only practical way to do it is by venting. By directing the flow of magma from the deep reservoirs to the surface”—he paused for dramatic effect—“toward the places thatwechoose.”
MacGregor sighed, shook his head. “Guys—”
“We think it should at least be considered,” Rick said. “And the perfect place to try it is up on the saddle, where it doesn’t matter whether we succeed or fail. There’s nothing in the saddle except that army base, and they won’t care. They explode stuff all the time up there.”
“And what do you plan to explode to vent the volcano?” MacGregor asked.
“Not that much. We think that a sequence of relatively small explosions can mobilize preexisting rift zones to open a vent that—”
“Preexisting rift zones? No. I’m sorry, I can tell you’ve given this a lot of thought, but this is just total BS.”
“Maybe not, Mac. In fact, the Defense Department did a feasibility study on this back in the seventies and concluded it would be possible in the future,” Kenny said. “It was a DARPA project, run through the Army Corps of Engineers. We found a copy of the report in the files. Maybe you’d like to see it—”
MacGregor shook his head. “Not so much.”
“Well, here it is, Mac.” Kenny thrust a faded blue folder into his hands. The wordVULCANwas printed in large type; underneath it, in smaller type, were the wordsDefense Advanced Research Projects Agency.MacGregor flipped through the pages. The paperwas yellowing. He saw black-and-white line charts, typewritten paragraphs. Very seventies.
Mac shook his head. “Guys, you’re not hearing me.”
“And you’re not hearing us,” Kenny said. “At least take the time to read it.”
“All right. When I catch my breath.” He closed the blue file. The two men were looking at him as if they had just presented him with a unique opportunity. He felt, as he often did with the younger scientists, like a parent with small children. “Okay, look,” he said. “Tell you what. Take the next twenty-four hours to do your own feasibility study.”
“You mean it?” Rick asked.
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
“Great!” Kenny said.
“You two go out on the volcano, walk the rift zones, trace the route of those giant cracks that extend below the seafloor and send the magma to the surface. Then decide exactly where you think we should place explosives. Draw up a detailed map and a plan, and then we’ll talk.”
“We’ll have it for you tomorrow!” Rick said.
“That’s fine,” MacGregor said. He knew exactly how this little exercise would end. Once they started walking the lava, they’d see the magnitude of the project they were proposing. Hell, just walking the length of the northeast rift zone one way was a full day’s hike. “And now, if it’s all right with you two, I’m going home to fix myself a stiff drink,” he said. He looked down at the palms of his hands. They were still red, still hot, as if the fire had followed him here.
“You sure you’re okay, Mac?” Kenny asked as Mac walked toward the data room.
“I am,” John MacGregor said. “But I can’t lie, boys. I’ve had just about as much fun as I can handle for one day.”
CHAPTER 15
Kilauea Rim, Hawai‘i
Time to eruption: 110 hours
MacGregor pulled into the carport of his house on Crater Rim Drive, behind the tourist facility at Volcano House. There were six National Park Service houses on Crater Rim Drive, all rented by HVO staff. When he got out of his car, he heard the shouts of Rick Ozaki’s kids playing on the lawn in front of the brightly lit house down the road.
His own house was dark and silent. He went inside, turned on the lights, and walked into the kitchen. Brenda, his housekeeper, had left him a bowl of saimin—Hawaiian noodle soup—for supper. He clicked on the TV. It had been nearly a year since Linda moved back to the mainland, and he kept promising himself he would move out of the home they’d shared. It wasn’t that large, but it still held too many memories. He glanced into the twins’ bedroom, which he hadn’t changed since their departure. For awhile, he’d kept thinking they would come back, but they never did. They were eight now. Second grade. Charlie and Max.
They should have been outside making as much noise as Rick’s kids were.
He’d come home early one afternoon and found the twins sitting in the living room dressed in their good clothes and Linda packing in the bedroom. She said she was sorry, but she couldn’t take it anymore: the constant rainy weather, the isolation up on the mountain, the absence of her friends and family. She said that MacGregor had his work and it was fine for him to go around the world to strange places chasing volcanoes, but she was a lawyer and she couldn’t practice here in Hawai‘i, couldn’t do anything here; she was going crazy being only a mother, and she had tickets for the five o’clock plane to Honolulu.
She said the boys didn’t know yet—they thought they were going on a quick trip to see Grandma.