“NAWAPA: the North American Water and Power Alliance. This is a plan to use water, currently completely wasted, for irrigating the Midwest.”
“That sounds promising. I wasn’t aware any such water existed.”
“Indeed it does, and this project to utilize it was first conceived back in the 1950s. The idea is to reverse the flow of rivers emptying into the polar seas, where it benefits no one.”
“That is very imaginative, Mr. Jonas, but will it work?”
“Yes, Congressman Castle, it will, for it has already been done on a limited scale by the Russians, to irrigate their virgin lands. We propose a similar–”
“And how did the Russian project work out, Mr. Jonas?”
Jonas hesitated.
“Well, actually, there were a few snags.”
“Such as?”
“For one thing, the Caspian Sea level has fallen because its historic sources were diverted.”
“You mean it has dried up?”
“Well, not completely.”
“You’re saying, I believe,” persisted the chairman, “that the Russians have destroyed the largest body of fresh water on earth and that we should follow their example.”
“No, no,” said Jonas, beads of sweat appearing on his upper lip. “We intend, naturally, to avoid their mistakes.”
“Details,” snapped Castle. “Details, Mr. Jonas.”
“Yes, sir. Above the fifty-fifth parallel the Mackenzie, the Yukon, the Coppermine, and many other rivers empty into the Beaufort Sea in the Canadian Arctic. NAWAPA proposes to preserve these waters for mankind by means of a series of great dams, thus reclaiming some 36 trillion gallons of sweet water a year. Think of it–an amount equivalent to 6,000 gallons for every man, woman, and child on earth.”
“Remarkable,” said Castle dryly. “You will dam those rivers, then?”
“Exactly. The impounded waters will then be piped southward to create a reservoir five hundred miles long in northeastern British Columbia by damming both ends of the Rocky Mountain Trench.”
“Canada gets the water?”
“Only a small portion. We pay for the project, we get the lion’s share.”
“How, pray tell? Between British Columbia and the plains states are Idaho and the Rocky Mountains. How do you propose to get the water over the mountains–by siphons?”
“Very shrewd of you to suggest it,” said Jonas with an ingratiating smile. “Actually, though, a more feasible method is to drill a tunnel through the Rockies.”
“The tunnel’s dimensions?”
“Nothing the Corps of Engineers can’t take in its stride, I can assure you.”
“Assure me with numbers.”
“The tunnel will be eighty feet in diameter and fifty miles long.”
“Which is to say, the diameter of this committee room
and as long as the distance from here to Baltimore.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Requiring the removal–correct me if I’m wrong– of more than 1.3 billion cubic feet of solid rock?”
“I, uh, think that is substantially correct,” said Jonas, his confidence ebbing fast.
“Through mountains charged with uncharted springs under high pressure, which if breached during drilling could flood the works instantly, killing hundreds?”
“Well, sir, as to that, I–”
“Go on, Mr. Jonas. What happens next, if our hundreds of workmen survive drowning?”
“The emerging waters,” said Jonas hastily, “are channeled to the Great Lakes for distribution where needed and to the Missouri River, from which they can be withdrawn downstream.”
“How very neat! And what will be the cost to the taxpayer of this little adventure in civil engineering?”
“I–ah–it is hard to compute, given the inflation over thirty years. I–”
“Let me help you,” said Congressman Castle with a mongoose smile. “Would you say, for example, $900 billion, in round figures?”
Jonas mumbled something.
“Speak up, Mr. Jonas. We didn’t hear your answer.”
“I said,” replied the miserable Jonas, “that that would be pretty close.”
“In other words, an amount equivalent to our total social service expenditure for two years. On the other hand, we are buying a tremendous quantity of water, aren’t we? Thirty-six trillion gallons a year I believe you said.”
Jonas brightened. “Yes, it can supply six thousand gallons to–”
“–every man, woman, and child in the world. True, and Dr. Garbolotti told us that in 1964, 36 trillion gallons would have sufficed for our national needs for four months. But during the intervening forty years, as a result of the explosive growth of our population, manufacturing, and agriculture, water use has increased by a factor of seventeen–I’m quoting figures from your department, Mr.
Jonas. Now the question is this: How many days will NAWAPA’s new water suffice for the United States, today?”
Mr. Jonas cursed Castle under his breath.
“Seven,” he answered between clenched teeth.
“Therefore,” said Castle, smiling wickedly, “we must expend $900 billion and the labor of whole regiments of men for two decades, we must transform the geography of North America, we must dislocate whole populations, and wreck the environment of the entire Midwest. And at the end of all this, we gain one week’s supply of water. Is that the way you see it, Mr. Jonas?”
It wasn’t, but Jonas hadn’t gotten where he was by contradicting congressmen.
“Something like that,” he compromised.
“The committee thanks you for your candor, Mr. Jonas,” said Congressman Castle.
He banged his gavel.
“This session stands recessed until two o’clock this afternoon.”
Minutes before he was due to resume the hearings, Congressman Castle received a telephone call from William S. Grayle.
“Have you heard the news?” said the sepulchral voice.
“What news?”
“If you don’t know, you obviously haven’t heard it. You have a certain Delia Ann Mukhaiber scheduled to testify at two o’clock, I believe?”
“Yes.”
“Cancel her appearance and call Professor Scott Randolph.”
“Who’s he?”
“Oh, of course, you don’t know. Well, he’s the man you’re going to call,” said Grayle, ringing off.
Another of Grayle’s simpleminded jokes, thought Castle angrily, but knew better than to ignore his consultant’s instructions. So far they had worked perfectly. The hearings had gone smoothly, the press was unanimous in praise of his handling of this complicated issue, and according to the television polls, an unprecendented 24 percent of
the viewing public was tuning in to this public service program, nearly as many as were following The Guiding Light.
“I call Professor Scott Randolph,” said Chairman Castle as the committee settled into its chairs shortly after two o’clock.
Professor Randolph, a very tall man with an air of amiable, scholary distraction, was sworn and took his place at the witness table.
“Professor Randolph, since some of the viewers of these proceedings may not be as informed of your brilliant accomplishments as we, perhaps you’d be good enough to tell us a little of your background.”
“Distinguished Professor, particle physics, Stanford. Ten years’ study of effect of human activity on stratospheric ozone layer. President, PTA, Palo Alto. California high jump champion, 1966. Oh, yes, Nobel Prize in chemistry, 1989.”
Castle looked at him blankly, none the wiser for the professor’s burst of telegraphese. Then he recalled Grayle’s words.
“But it’s the implications of the latest news that brings you here today, is it not, Professor?”
“Right.”
Castle smiled and relaxed.
“Then perhaps you’ll tell us all about it, in your own manner. From the beginning.”
“August 2002?”
“Yes,” said Castle confidently. “Not everyone will recall the background.”
“True. August 15, 2002. Mount Kharjak blows top in Russian Kazakhstan. Five point five on Richter scale. United States yawns. Everybody forgets quick. Remember Krakatoa?”
“How forget?” said Castle, getting the hang of the language but wondering whether Krakatoa was an exotic tropical plant or the latest dance rage.
“Krakatoa. Javan volcano. Put up six cubic miles of fine dust in 1883, not so? Cloud envelopes earth for three years, cutting solar radiation. Kharjak no Krakatoa–then. But second explosion today equivalent to five Krakatoas.
Sound waves shatters windows in Moscow, tsunami– tidal wave–created in Mediterranean. Maybe wipe out Alexandria, Naples, Barcelona, Marseilles.”
“Frightful!” acknowledged Castle. “But what will be the effect on the United States, Professor?”
“Frightful squared. Forty cubic miles of stratospheric dust. Ten years to settle. Solar radiation reduced in high latitudes by order of magnitude. Cooler ocean surfaces, less evaporation. Less evaporation, fewer clouds. Fewer clouds, less rainfall. Rivers and streams dry up. Meanwhile, less sunlight, reduced photosynthesis, less plant life. Synergism of reduced sunlight and reduced rainfall– catastrophic for food supply.”
“Are you telling this committee, Professor,” said Castle, the implications of his words sinking in, “that we’re facing an imminent worldwide food shortage?”
“Yes.”
“Many will starve?”
“Yes.”
“Millions?”
“Billions.”
“But surely something can be done.”
“Yes. Vastly increase water supply. Compensate for diminished rainfall. Only way to go.”
“But that’s impossible. You heard the past four weeks of testimony, didn’t you, Professor?”
“Every word.”
“Then you’ll agree there just isn’t any practicable way to increase the water supply.”
“Not just no practical way–no way at all.”
7. TURNBULL
11 FEBRUARY 2005
“BUT I’M TELLING YOU, MR. PRESIDENT, THE SON OF A bitch is killing us.”
“Now, now, Pat,” said Horatio Francis Turnbull soothingly, “don’t panic. It’s forty-five months to election day. Castle will ran out of gas long before then.”