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Dan scrolled through his contacts, made another call.

“Dr. Riley, please.”

“Dr. Riley’s a tad busy at the moment,” replied a camp but officious voice. “Can I take a message?”

This wasn’t the SEALs, Dan had no chain of command. He issued an order and Mr. Camp would hang up. He blew out a breath.

“Please tell her it’s Dan Jacobsen, that she needs to call me urgently.”

“Yeah, yeah. Everything’s urgent today. Storm’s urgent.”

“It’s about the storm I’m calling.”

“Yeah, well, I’m her deputy. You can try me.”

“It’s Dr. Riley I need to speak to. Please get this message to her, like now!”

There was a pause for a moment, then the guy seemed to relent. “Okaay. Okay!” Dan heard the scratch of pen on paper. The guy writing down his number.

Dan thanked him, hung up, paced. The wind was smashing into the windows. José would be in any minute, throwing him out, and he couldn’t place or take a call in the storm. Neither side would hear a word.

He eyed the wooden furniture, the framed images hanging on the wall, old black-and-white prints of the pristine Big Sur shoreline, of the clubhouse in which he sat, of members raising glasses to celebrate victory. He wondered if the clubhouse would still be here in a day or two.

Five minutes later José blew in. “Mr. Dan, you haveta go. Now! Real sorry but we all gotta leave.”

“Just a few more minutes, José. I’m down on my knees here, amigo. I have to wait for a—”

The trilling of his cell interrupted. Dan glanced at the number. Riley!

“Just let me take this. One minute. I promise!”

Jose opened his mouth to say something. Dan took the call.

“Dr. Riley. Thank you. First up, d’you know where Gwen is?”

“She rang me this morning from the Lab. Don’t know where she is now. Why?”

“She’s disappeared.”

“Whaaat?”

“Long story. No time. Dealing with it. Listen up. You won’t believe half of what I tell you, but it’s all horribly true.”

“Art said it had something to do with the storm.”

“Everything.” Dan gave her the sixty-second version.

“Boudy told me. That’s why she rang me. I’ve told my cohead. He won’t listen to me. Says it’s science fiction.”

“Shit! He has to listen.”

“You’re a journalist, Dan. Pond life to him. Not a source he would ever entertain.”

Dan swore under his breath. He hated to use his past as a calling card. Now he had no choice.

“How about if you told him I’m an ex-Navy SEAL. Three tours of duty in Afghanistan.”

“Fuck me! Come on in here and tell him yourself Dan.”