02 Thunder of Heaven: A Joshua Jordan Novel Page 9

  As the president of the United States addressed the small audience in the Rose Garden ceremony, Joshua was still wondering what had truly brought him to that place.

  He found himself in a row of eight recipients, all standing behind President Virgil Corland. The president spoke from a podium embossed with the familiar presidential seal, as press cameras whirred and fluttered. They had a great shot. The sprawling trees of the White House lawn framed the event, and far off in the background stood the white obelisk of the Washington Monument. Joshua looked out and located Abigail’s warm, loving face.

  Joshua had not been prepared for how haggard the president looked: tired eyes, pale, sunken skin. He realized why the administration had denied the cameras any close-ups.

  When it came time for Joshua to receive his medal, Corland said it was for recognition of his “acts of bravery and civic duty in foiling a criminal plot at Grand Central Station, which not only threatened the life of his own son, Cal Jordan, but also posed a threat involving America’s national security.” Joshua thought it was strange to get a medal for that; he’d have walked through hell to save his own son. That’s just what a father does.

  Most likely the president was ramping up for his reelection campaign and wanted to pander to voters who supported a strong national defense. But beyond that, Joshua got the feeling that he was there, in this glittering Rose Garden ceremony, because he was a chess piece in some kind of high-stakes political game.

  When it was over, the president went down the row of medal recipients and shook hands with each of them. Joshua noticed that he took the time to converse at length with every other medalist, but when he got to Joshua, he simply gave a quick shake, silently smiled, and then moved on without saying a word.

  When those on the dais dispersed, the president was quickly ushered by his staff and Secret Service detail back inside the White House. Joshua strode over to Abigail. Around his neck was the blue ribbon, and dangling from it was the white five-pointed star edged in gold and laying against the background of a red pentagonal shield.

  Abigail reached out to touch the medal. Her smile was uncontainable, a gentle explosion of love, passion, and pride.

  She was about to say something when her eyes darted off to something behind Joshua. Before he could turn around, Joshua felt a hand on his arm. Two square-shouldered men in suits stared at him from behind sunglasses, with tiny electronic ear buds in their ears.

  “Mr. Jordan, please come with us.”

  “What’s this about?” Joshua asked.

  “You need to come now, Mr. Jordan …”

  Abigail tried to keep things light. “I hope our Medal of Freedom winner here isn’t in some hot water,” she said with a halting attempt at a joke.

  The men didn’t smile.

  “I’m not just his wife,” Abigail said. “I’m also his lawyer.”

  One of the men, ignoring her comment, said, blandly, “Mrs. Jordan, you need to go back to the check-in tent beyond the West Wing. Wait there for more information.”

  Joshua turned to Abigail. He looked her in the eye but was staring right into her heart. “Don’t worry, Abby. I’ll be right back.”

  “You’d better be,” Abigail snapped, loud enough for the two men in suits to hear.

  She kept her eyes on Joshua as he walked away, sandwiched between the two federal agents, until they disappeared in the milling crowd of smiling families and glad-handing politicians.

  PART 2

  The “Gods” of Climate

  The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration released data showing that, from January to July, the average global temperature was 58.1 degrees. That was 1.22 degrees over the average from the 20th century, and the highest since 1880, when reliable records began. Although, NOAA experts say global climate change isn’t the only reason 2010 has been so hot—an El Nino event earlier in the year pushed temperatures up.

  David A. Fahrenthold, The Washington Post, August 14, 2010

  At a gathering held during the climate summit of spiritual leaders from Christian, Buddhist, Hindu, and other traditions, I asked those in the audience to listen to the voice of the Source as it spoke through the leaders assembled… . They reinforced my view that these spiritual values, more than science and data, might be the basis for true human partnership among our leaders to achieve their ultimate objectives and avoid the cataclysms of melting polar ice, vanishing permafrost and glaciers.

  Wangari Maathai, 2004 recipient of the Nobel Peace Prize

  and the United Nations’ “Messenger of Peace”

  More science and more technology are not going to get us out of the present ecological crisis until we find a new religion, or rethink our old one.

  Lynn White, U.C. Berkeley professor,

  from a 1967 article in Science

  The filling of a spiritual vacuum by environmentalism creates an ever greater spiritual vacuum. The environmental religion based on climate change catastrophism is itself a catastrophe that we inflict upon ourselves at huge intellectual, moral, spiritual, and economic cost.

  Dr. Ian Plimer, award-winning professor in the School of Earth

  and Environmental Sciences, University of Adelaide, Australia

  TWENTY-TWO

  The United Nations General Assembly, New York City

  The U.N. had urged the Conference on Climate and Global Warming to hold its emergency session in the General Assembly chambers. The consensus was that a mind-bending climate disaster was fast approaching. What better place to discuss the future of planet earth?

  No one was surprised that Dr. Robert Hamilton had not been invited to speak, not even at one of the smaller breakout sessions. Henry Smithson had used his influence to ensure that. But a few of his professional colleagues suggested that Hamilton’s controversial theory should be heard, maybe at some future conference.

  Vice President Jessica Tulrude gave the opening address. She talked tough about the need for “the community of nations to forge a courageous agreement to save our way of life, no matter what the political backlash.” Several climatologists reported on their findings, and they all agreed, with only minor variations, that the recent planetary spike in temperatures presented a worst-case scenario. Earth was now in the early stages of catastrophic global warming as a result of human-created carbon dioxide emissions. Admittedly, it had happened faster than anyone had calculated, but the question now went far beyond abstract theory. It was a question of human survival.

  Some of the morning editions of the international news outlets had previewed what would be discussed at the conclave. The global conference sponsors had given them talking points, couching the issues in less-than-apocalyptic terms so that the general population wouldn’t react with riots, but the message was dramatic enough to still ring like a fire bell. The press release read:

  The nations of the Earth must construct a new way of solving climate problems as a global community, and it must be accomplished immediately. International climate law must be preeminent and binding on every human being, on every enterprise and business, on every nation. Global cooperation of all citizens of Earth will be our urgent mission. Our survival as a species depends on it.

  It was Romanian ambassador Alexander Coliquin’s address that was to draw all the presentations together. The plan was for him to introduce Caesar Demas, the international financier and consultant to numerous heads of state, second richest man in the world. Demas was privately reputed to be the most powerful nongovernmental person in the world. As it turned out, Coliquin’s remarks went beyond mere introduction.

  Coliquin’s warmly intelligent, winsome style was much different from that of the arrogantly brilliant and aggressive Caesar Demas. While Demas had changed the face of international politics by the sheer force of his personality and wealth, Coliquin was more personal, more focused, and he had been, at least up to now, much more private. He had personally supported orphanages in Romania and other former Soviet bloc countries and helped to start leper ho
spitals in Africa, but he ferociously avoided media interviews about his good-Samaritan gestures. Coliquin was younger and enjoyed glamorous good looks, but like Caesar Demas, he was gifted with genius. With a Ph.D. in international finance from the London School of Economics, and another degree from the Sorbonne in Paris, Coliquin was a masterful communicator. Yet according to some pundits, he lacked the ability to “go for the jugular.” His friendly demeanor hinted that he lacked the killer instincts of a truly successful geopolitician. But things would change that day.

  Earlier a limo had stopped near the north plaza of the U.N. building. The door opened. When Alexander Coliquin’s ridiculously expensive custom-made Berluti wing tip shoes stepped out of the black sedan, more than a thousand adoring fans were waiting to cheer him. No one knew how the climate activists had learned of his arrival. For them, he was the combination of a rock star and a latter-day Albert Schweitzer. The conference delegates had apparently never considered the possibility that Coliquin had already gained a following among the ecology and global-warming groups. Some conference leaders speculated that Coliquin himself must have orchestrated the impressive lovefest outside of the U.N., but they couldn’t prove it.

  Their underestimation of Coliquin was even more surprising given his track record in promoting the CReDO. With his acumen in finance, he was a natural promoter of this new global currency. Even Jessica Tulrude, who sold the Corland administration and Congress on joining the new currency, had to admit that he had a certain administrative genius.

  In his address to the more than eighteen hundred delegates at the conference — scientists, politicians, writers, leaders of ecological NGOs, and others — Coliquin explained that he would be introducing “that brilliant, international treasure known as Caesar Demas” but added, “rest assured, though, that I have not come to bury Caesar, but to praise him!”

  After the warm laughter died down, it didn’t take him long to bring the audience into the core of his sobering message. Borrowing from the poet T. S. Eliot, he warned, “If we do not today begin a revolutionary new approach to controlling the factors that are destroying our climate, then we will see the poet’s horrifying vision of a world that ends ‘not with a bang, but a whimper.’ ”

  The camera shutters from the media box fluttered like a million locusts as he spoke. He struck a good pose with his athletic physique, well-fitted Italian suit, and Hollywood face framed by boyishly tousled hair. Coliquin previewed the plan that Demas would explain in his remarks: a global treaty giving extraordinary powers to an international climate-control coalition, which would study all industrial sources of CO2 emissions and would police with an iron hand the activities of all companies, enterprises, and nations that in any way contributed to global warming.

  But there was one lingering question, a practical one. What could bring the community of nations to agree to this startling new approach when so many attempts at global-warming conventions had failed in the past? Doubters pointed to the failed Kyoto Protocols from decades before. What would motivate the citizens of the world to embrace this new way of thinking?

  Coliquin had an answer. “The solution to this crisis is not just political,” he said, “nor is it just scientific. I believe in the final analysis the real remedy will elude us until we grasp the fact that this is ultimately a crisis of faith. We have in our midst today leaders from all the world’s religions. In addition, there are representatives from the World Church Coalition, the Global Coalition of Religions, and many other ecumenical organizations. Most of the denominations of Christendom are represented here in this room. I have met privately with all of these leaders, and it is no accident that they all share a common element of faith — preservation of the earth. Christians believe in the redemptive act of Jesus who died ‘for the whole world.’ We must finish the work of Jesus and redeem the climate. And doesn’t Buddha himself say that nature shows us the way to Dharma? The Hindus know that Krishna was a lover of nature and nurtured it in his lifetime. And the Muslims understand the directive of the Qur’an, that Allah makes us guardians of the earth and ‘loves not those who are wasteful of it.’ ”

  With a smile, Coliquin began wrapping it up. “It would seem that God Himself is here today, and I think He’s mad at our squandering and destruction of His majestic creation. He’s sad that we have failed to solve this problem until now. But more than anything, I believe that God is urging us to unite. One family of people. One opportunity. One great mission. To save our one, common earth. The only earth we shall ever have.”

  The speech was electrifying. The delegates rose to their feet. Men and women from the four corners of the earth were, for one brief moment, united. Their applause thundered through the great chambers of the United Nations.

  Coliquin waited until the very last hand had ceased clapping. Then he made the required introduction: “Now for a more important voice than mine. Caesar Demas has been called by the International Journal of News one of the most influential men of the century. That is an understatement. Caesar has unparalleled access to the most powerful leaders on the planet. His brilliant global negotiations have brought us to this point, this conference, this moment in history. If we succeed in saving the human race from the disastrous rise in global temperatures, we have one man to thank — our next speaker. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Mr. Caesar Demas!”

  As Demas strode confidently to the rostrum, he gave Coliquin an uneasy smile and a quick handshake. As his introducer stepped away, Demas threw an almost imperceptible glance at Coliquin’s back, a look of camouflaged contempt for his scene-stealing speech. But Demas was ready to launch into his own explosive address. Regardless of his feelings about this Romanian upstart, Demas knew that the crowd had been ignited. That was good. Now all he had to do was to fan the flames.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Joshua Jordan hadn’t expected his day would end this way. He sat forward in the chair, his hands cupped in his lap, waiting, anticipating, and tense.

  Finally President Corland strolled into the Oval Office. His chief of staff, Hank Strand, was standing off to the side. Strand had greeted Joshua when the Secret Service first led him past the president’s smiling appointment secretary, Judith, and then into the historic office. Joshua felt a flush of pride at being an American when he entered that alcove of power and, once again, recognized the Great Seal embossed in the carpet and the famous Resolute Desk in front of the bay windows.

  A pale, tired-looking President Corland walked over to Joshua. He sidestepped the ornate oak coffee table that had been a gift from the president of Belarus. Corland reached out and shook Joshua’s hand. Corland plunked down on the gold-brocaded couch, an arm’s length from Joshua.

  The president began with startling informality. He asked about Joshua’s wife and wanted to know if she had ever considered rejoining her previous Washington-based law firm, one of D.C.’s most prestigious.

  Joshua smiled. “No, she has other pursuits and other clients now.”

  But Joshua didn’t say what he was actually thinking: No, Mr. President, keeping me out of trouble seems to be her full-time job lately.

  President Corland asked about his daughter, the soon-to-be West Point graduate, and then asked about Cal by name. “How is he doing? Did he recover from his injuries in the Grand Central Station incident?”

  Joshua appreciated that. “Yes, thank goodness his injuries were minor — at least physically — which is amazing, considering what could have happened.”

  “You were severely injured yourself, saving your son,” said Corland. “I read the rundown of what you went through. You’re a tough customer.”

  “I had a lot of help that day.”

  The president nodded. “By ‘help’ you mean …”

  “FBI Agent Gallagher, the NYPD, others …”

  More nodding from the president; then he added, “And help from other places? Divine providence, Mr. Jordan? … It has shaped the history of this room we’re sitting in. Do you believe in divine inter
vention? Your wife was known to be a woman of faith while she was still working in D.C.”

  Hank Strand fidgeted in the corner.

  Corland noticed him. “Hank, come over here and join us.”

  Strand dutifully walked over and sat at the end of the couch.

  The president continued, “So, divine guidance … where do you stand on that?”

  It was a surreal moment, nothing like what he had planned for. An almost out-of-body experience, especially for someone like Joshua. Even as a flier and an engineering genius he had been able to go through life with his feet firmly on the ground.

  “I think the way things turned out at Grand Central Station that day … you might say was a miracle, Mr. President.”

  “And the North Korean missile episode? That too?”

  Joshua thought it eerie that the president of the United States would have put it that way. In his own private thoughts, not even shared with his wife, Joshua had replayed that day in Manhattan: the incoming nuclear missiles from the North Korean ship. The disabled East Coast antimissile defenses. The scrambled jets that wouldn’t have made it in time to intercept. Joshua, his team, and their partners at the Pentagon had only one shot at two approaching missiles with the Return-to-Sender laser system. It hadn’t even been fully tested at that point. He knew that day — in the hollow of his gut as he stood with his team, every muscle tensed and sweat beading on his back as they synchronized with the weapons guys on the USS Tiger Shark to launch the RTS-armed defense missile in hopes of turning the North Korean nukes around — he knew the odds were against him, against catching both missiles perfectly and redirecting their guidance data. But that’s what happened. And Joshua knew, deep down, that it wasn’t his weapons design genius that had actually saved New York City. Not really.