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Authors: Linda Davies

Ark Storm

BOOK: Ark Storm
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This is for my late brother, Professor John Eric Davies. You lived so well, died too young.

It’s also for his wonderful daughter, Eleanor Beaton.

 

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

There are many people to whom I owe many thanks for this book.

My husband, Rupert Wise, has supported me in every imaginable way. He has always believed in my writing and he knew that one day a big story would come along. Like a magician, he guides me to the stories and the stories to me. And he does so much more in helping me craft them. He is an insightful (and brave) critic. He is also an invaluable source of research information with his wide-ranging expertise.

Our children have my eternal thanks for giving it all meaning.

David Vigliano reached out through the ether, summoning my ideas and giving them the oxygen of his faith. The whole crew at Vigliano Associates—Matt Carlini, David Peak, Thomas Flannery, inter alios—have been wonderfully brilliant and supportive both on the business and on the creative side, giving me invaluable editorial input.

My brother Roy, via the website he set up many years ago for me before I even knew that such a thing existed, was the conduit that put David in touch with me. He also is a source of diverse information.

David took me to the fabulous Tor Books. Bob Gleason, editor and writer extraordinaire, you are a genius and I’m not saying that because you spotted me and my book! Tom Doherty, you have created a wonderful enterprise full of talent and energy and brightness. It is a pleasure to know you. Kelly Quinn, fellow Oxonian, you are always cheerful and upbeat, seamlessly professional and never wrong!

Huge thanks to the entire Tor team across sales and marketing and general administration. Without you guys I wouldn’t be out there.

I would also like to thank the lovely Hanca Leppink for all her support over the years. Thanks too to Marga de Boer and all the team at Luitingh-Sijthoff.

Yilin Press in China—thanks, guys! My first Chinese translation.

In the writing of this book, I have come across many brilliant and fascinating people who have helped me with research across a very wide range of subjects. I owe you all profound thanks.

Some of you I cannot publicly acknowledge here: the man with the murderous animals—glad you are on the side of the angels! The traveler and his son: I would not wish to bump into either of you on a dark night but your knowledge is impeccable. Mr. Electronica, love the live insights …

The scientists and their backers, thank you for sharing your brilliant creation.

Those whom I can thank publicly:

The U.S. Geological Survey, Multi-Hazards Demonstration Project—ARk Storm 1000 scenario, were extremely informative and helpful.

Professor Mark Saunders of University College London gave generously of his time and expertise many years ago when I first explored the idea of writing a novel around the weather.

The wonderful Rupert Allason is always forthcoming with his time and his extensive knowledge.

My brother Kenneth gave me detailed input on Singapore—clubs, restaurants, traffic, and other wonderful local detail.

Marcel Giacometti and Andrew Stuttaford were most helpful with all things financial. Marcel also gave freely of his considerable gastronomic and viticultural expertise.

Dirk Wray was a wonderful source of surfing stories. You big wave surfers are mad!

Doris, Jenie, Andrew, and Tony buy me time to write.

And I thank you, dear reader, for picking up this book.

 

CONTENTS

Title Page

Copyright Notice

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Chapter 81

Chapter 82

Chapter 83

Chapter 84

Chapter 85

Chapter 86

Chapter 87

Chapter 88

Chapter 89

Chapter 90

Chapter 91

Chapter 92

Chapter 93

Chapter 94

Chapter 95

Chapter 96

Chapter 97

Chapter 98

Chapter 99

Chapter 100

Chapter 101

Chapter 102

Chapter 103

Chapter 104

Chapter 105

Chapter 106

Chapter 107

Chapter 108

Chapter 109

Chapter 110

Chapter 111

Chapter 112

Chapter 113

Chapter 114

Chapter 115

Chapter 116

Chapter 117

Chapter 118

Chapter 119

Chapter 120

Chapter 121

Chapter 122

Chapter 123

Chapter 124

Chapter 125

Chapter 126

Chapter 127

Chapter 128

Chapter 129

Chapter 130

Chapter 131

Chapter 132

Chapter 133

Chapter 134

Chapter 135

Chapter 136

Chapter 137

Chapter 138

Chapter 139

Chapter 140

Chapter 141

Chapter 142

Chapter 143

Chapter 144

Chapter 145

Chapter 146

Chapter 147

Chapter 148

Chapter 149

Chapter 150

Chapter 151

Chapter 152

Chapter 153

Chapter 154

Epilogue

Introductory and Explanatory Note

Preview:
Hostage

Books by Linda Davies

About the Author

Copyright

 

P
ROLOGUE

What if you could control the weather?

 

“What if one man could control the weather?”

“Only Allah can control the weather.”

“Not true.”

Thousands of miles away, in Iran, the ayatollah snorted with derision.

“You think you have the power of Allah, now? You think your billions of dollars make you God? This is heresy.”

“Not heresy. Technology. I can make it rain. I can stop the rain. I can harness the power of the storm and I can magnify it. I can bring the Flood. I can wash away hillsides, destroy homes; I can take a swath of some of the most expensive real estate in the United States and I can rain down upon it the wrath of Allah at the infidel.”

“You would wage jihad by weather?”

“Does it not say in the holy Quran,
we helped him against those who rejected him. They were surely a wicked people, so we drowned them all
. Is it not a beautiful idea?”

“When will you do it?”

“When the right storm comes. Then I shall magnify it. I will give California the ARk Storm of their nightmares.”

 

1

Late Summer

HURRICANE POINT, CALIFORNIA, MONDAY, 6:00 A.M.

The wave came silently, like a killer in the pellucid light of dawn. Huge and beautiful and murderous.
Come and get me. C’mon, let’s see if you can.
She could see the swell, bigger than those that had gone before. Maybe a twelve- to fourteen-footer, with a likely twenty-five-foot face. Massive. At the outer limits of a wave that she could surf without a Jet Ski tow-in. Her heart began to race as she lay down on her board, reached out long, powerful arms, and paddled hard She could see the wave in front explode in a frenzy of white water. She could no longer see the monster behind her, gaining on her, rising up behind her, opening its maw, but she could feel it. It raised her up, terrifyingly high. No backing out now.
Paddle for your life, harder, faster
.

She grabbed the board, snapped to her feet as the wave took her, propelled her down its gnarly face. She balanced, knees bent low, arms outstretched, warrior pose, riding it, wild with glee, high on adrenaline. She skimmed down the face, muscling the board against the yank of hundreds of tons of water. She rode into the barrel, into the unearthly blue, into the moment when time stopped and the universe was just you and the barrel and the roaring in your ears. And then time started again and the barrel was closing, just one split second of escape remaining. She ducked right down, shot out of the barrel, flipped up over the back of the wave. Feet still planted on her board, she flew through air, over water, riding the two elements. Conquering them. This time. Her spirit sang and she yelled out loud. No one to hear her. She surfed alone, breaking the surfer’s code. Just the woman and the sea with the gulls screaming and soaring and bearing their wild witness.

*   *   *

The gulls watched her paddle round to the quiet water, where the waves did not form up to do battle. They watched her paddle in, walk from the water, sun-bleached hair falling down her back: golden skin, freckle-flecked over the patrician nose, which was a shade too long, saving her from mere prettiness. They watched her glance back at the sea, a look of reckoning, part gratitude, part triumph, part relief.

BOOK: Ark Storm
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