The Storm - Cussler Clive - Страница 7

They were not government representatives but businessmen, men with an interest in Jinn’s plan.

“By the grace of Allah we are together again,” Jinn began.

“Please dispense with the religious pronouncements,” Mr. Xhou said. “And tell us of your progress. You have called us here to ask for more funding and we have yet to see the effects that you’ve already promised.”

Xhou’s bluntness rankled Jinn, but he was the biggest investor, both in funds given to Jinn and in money spent betting on the payoff Jinn had promised. Because of this, Xhou was impatient and had been from the beginning. He seemed most anxious to get past the investing phase and into the profiting phase. And with Aziz stiffing them, Jinn needed Xhou’s backing more than ever.

“As you know, General Aziz has been unable to release the assets he promised.”

“Perhaps wisely,” Xhou said. “So far, we’ve spent billions, with little to show for it. I now hold two million acres of worthless Mongolian desert. If your boasts do not come true soon, my patience will end.”

“I assure you,” Jinn responded, “the progress will soon become apparent.”

He clicked a remote, and the little screens in front of each guest lit up. A larger screen on the wall showed the same diagram, a color representation of the Arabian Sea and the Indian Ocean. Red, orange and yellow sectors displayed temperature gradients. Circulating arrows showed the direction and speed of the currents.

“This is the standard current pattern of the Indian Ocean based on the averages of the last thirty years,” Jinn said. “In winter and spring this pattern is from the east to the west, flowing counterclockwise, driven by cold, high-pressure dry winds from India and China. But in summer the pattern changes. The continent heats up faster than the sea. The air rises, drawing wind onshore. The current changes and flows in a clockwise pattern, and it brings the monsoon to India.”

Jinn clicked the remote to show the pattern changing.

“As you know, the temperature and pressure gradients drive the winds. The winds drive the ocean currents, and together they produce either dry air or monsoon rains. In this case, pumping moisture over India and Southeast Asia, creating the monsoon rains that drench those lands, allowing them to feed their massive populations.”

New animation on the display showed clouds streaming over India and into Bangladesh, Vietnam, Cambodia and Thailand.

“We know all this,” Mustafa of Pakistan said abruptly. “We have seen this demonstration before. While they have abundant crops, our lands remain dry. Your sands are parched. We have come here to see if you are succeeding in changing this for we have invested a fortune in your scheme.”

“Yes, that’s right,” another representative said.

“Would I have called you all together if I had no proof?”

“If you have it, show us,” Xhou demanded.

Jinn tapped the remote, and the screen changed once again.

“Three years ago we began to seed the horde into the eastern quadrant of the Indian Ocean.”

On screen, a small, irregularly shaped triangle appeared near the equator.

“Each year—with your funds—we have seeded further sections. Each year, the horde, as promised, has grown on its own. Two years ago it covered ten percent of the target area.”

The irregular triangle elongated and stretched with the current. A second curving section stretched toward it from the west.

“A year ago it reached thirty percent saturation.”

Another click, another diagram. The two dark smears joined and were spreading across the southern loop of the Indian Ocean current.

“We already know that the rains have become less plentiful in India. Last year’s crop was the lightest in decades. This year they will be waiting on clouds that do not come.”

He clicked the remote one more time. The sparse black swaths had thinned, but a thicker, darker pattern in the central section of the Indian Ocean had grown. Through the natural action of the ocean currents, and Jinn’s manipulation, the horde had become highly concentrated in an area known to oceanographers as a gyre, the center of the Great Whirl. Concentrated this way, it would produce a far stronger effect on the water temperature, and the weather that flowed from it.

“Water temperatures are dropping, but the air temperatures above the sea are increasing, becoming more like the fluctuations one feels over the land,” Jinn said. “The weather patterns are changing course. Already it is raining more than ever in the highlands of Ethiopia and Sudan. After years of drought, Lake Nasser is in danger of exceeding maximum capacity.”

The group seemed impressed. All except Xhou.

“The starvation of India will do none of us any good,” he said. “Aside, perhaps, from Mustafa, who sees them as an old enemy. Our intent is to have grain to sell them when their silos are bare. Which cannot happen unless there is a corresponding change in the rainfall over our own countries.”

“Of course,” Jinn agreed. “But you cannot have the second effect without initially accomplishing the first. Your rain will fall, your worthless dry land will sprout with crops and you will make even greater fortunes than you already have by selling rice and grain to a billion starving people.”

Xhou settled back with a harrumph and folded his arms. He did not appear satisfied.

“The science is simple,” Jinn said. “Six thousand years ago the Middle East, the Arabian peninsula and North Africa were fertile, not dry. They were grasslands, savannahs and tree-covered plains. Then the weather pattern changed and turned them to deserts. The cause of this was a change in ocean currents and the temperature gradients of those currents. Almost any scientist you speak to will confirm this as a fact. We are in the process of changing it back. The first sign of progress was last year. This year will be undeniable.”

Sheik Alhrama of Saudi Arabia spoke next. “How is it no one has spotted your horde? Surely something this large cannot be missed by satellites.”

“The swarm remains below the surface during the day. It keeps the heat from penetrating into the ocean’s lower levels by absorbing it. When night falls, the swarm surfaces and radiates the heat back into the sky. There is nothing to see. A normal satellite picture will show only ocean water. A thermal image will show odd radiation.”

“What about water samples?” Xhou asked.

“Unless it, the horde, is placed in its most aggressive setting, even a sample of water will appear to the naked eye as little more than cloudy, perhaps polluted, water. Unless they are viewed under an extremely powerful microscope, the microbots of the horde cannot be seen individually. There is nothing to give us away. But just in case, we keep an eye on the research ships. The horde steers clear of them.”

“Not all of them.”

Jinn was taken by surprise. He guessed what Xhou was about to say but was surprised he had such information. Then again, one didn’t rise to the top as Xhou had without knowing how to dig up information.

“What is he talking about?” Mustafa asked.

“A small research vessel took us by surprise,” Jinn said. “Americans. They’ve been dealt with.”

Xhou shook his head. “The Americans you speak of come from an organization known as NUMA. The National Underwater and Marine Agency.”

A murmur went through the group, and Jinn sensed he had to control the situation quickly. He needed the next installment of funds or the whole operation would collapse.

“It could not be helped,” he said. “We had no reason to suspect a sailboat with a crew of three. They filed no permits, made no announcements. By the time we realized what they were up to, they were on the verge of discovering the horde. They had already sent data on the temperature gradient back to their headquarters.”

“What happened?” the Sheik asked.