54

 

THE RITZ-CARLTON HOTEL, HALF MOON BAY

Gwen and Dan sat huddled at their table after Rochelle had left. They stayed silent as the waiter cleared the detritus of lunch. Background Muzak tinkled.

“Who the hell is Haas or Hans?” Gwen asked herself aloud. “I don’t know anybody going by either name.”

“Haas could be a fake name,” hazarded Dan. “Just as Rochelle suggested. Or Hans could be a real, and incidentally, a German name.”

“Intense, crazy eyes. That description could fit Messenger all right,” said Gwen. “Maybe Hans is his middle name.”

“That’s easy to find out. I’ll get onto it in a bit.”

Dan braced his elbows on the table and leaned across to Gwen. “Let’s assume, in the absence of any other ideas, that it is Messenger. The thing that’s really freaking me out is the suggestion you can make an ARk Storm!”

Gwen lowered her voice, even though no one was near.

“If the ionizers were correctly positioned and programmed, if there were enough of them and they were all sent up on drones, and a big enough atmospheric river storm roars in, then I’d have to say, yes. It is theoretically possible you could make an ARk Storm. The ARk Storm 1000. Clearly someone, and we have to assume it was Messenger, believes that they can do it. Intends to do it. And here’s the thing,” added Gwen. “Monday, Messenger comes to me, gives me a laptop with the Paparuda model loaded onto it, asks me to play with the model, see if I can get it to yield more rain.”

“Shit!”

“Yeah, shit. It is quite possible that I have helped him.”

“But why? Why the hell would someone want to make an ARk Storm?” Dan peered intently at Gwen, seeking the answer in her eyes.

“Three reasons. Because he’s crazy, because he can, and to make money.”

“How d’you make money out of this? Riley said an Ark Storm could cost the state of California a trillion dollars.”

“Exactly. He’d short the companies that insure property against severe weather events like this. Even better, he’d buy put options. And he’d go long on wheat, orange juice, all that kind of thing.”

“And I thought I’d seen evil,” mused Dan, eyes looking away.

“Comes in many guises,” said Gwen.

Dan looked back to her. “You’re very well informed, on the financial front.”

“We discussed it at the Lab. One of the traders has it all planned out, with Messenger’s backing. How to make money out of my prediction of an ARk Storm.”

“And scores of people would die, hundreds of thousands would lose their homes, harvests’d be washed away.…”

“Yeah, but Messenger would make out like a bandit.”

“There must be easier ways to make money, legally and illegally,” said Dan, frowning. “There’s something we’re not getting here.”

“The mania of the scientist testing his invention?” suggested Gwen.

“Have to be one hell of a mania.”

“Evil, then.”

“Messenger strike you as a psychopath?”

Gwen fell silent. “He’s an extreme person. He seems to live on the edge—fast cars, fast bikes. He likes playing head games. He seems to be holding himself in so tight, like he’s afraid of his shadow.” Gwen shrugged. “Does that make him a psychopath?”

“Not that, but the hidden stuff could. They’re not easy to spot. They wouldn’t have a head count if they were.”

Gwen’s mouth felt dry. She drained her Coke. “No, I guess not.”

“And, if he thought someone, say Al Freidland, had heard about his plans, from Elise, say, and was threatening to blow the whistle on him,” suggested Dan. “That would be ample motive for murder, especially if he’s ready to fill the morgues just to line his bank accounts.”

“Ample motive for murder,” agreed Gwen. “Add to that, with Freidland dead, he gets sole charge of Zeus. Gabriel Messenger gets to play God.”