The Omega Factor

{c}Copyright 2004 - Bruce Gaughran

Sunday, August 03, 2003

At 4:17 AM, the phone rang. Jason, dog-tired and hung over from another night out on the town, struggled for a moment to find the phone. “This had better be good,” he gruffly warns the caller.

“Look out the window,” the voice whispered.

“Who is this,” Jason grumbled – having a difficult time saying the words through his cottonmouth.

The caller ignored the question, “Jason Seaborne, look out the window. Do it now!”

Jason almost hung up the phone, but something in the caller's voice told him to look out the window. He struggled to get out of bed. As soon as his feet hit the floor, he realized how much his head hurt. It felt like it was a railroad spike and ‘John Henry’ was hammering it home. Never again, he mumbled to himself. I am hanging up the bottle for good this time. As soon as the thought entered his mind, he knew it was a lie. He drank to escape. His nightly visits with Jack Daniels were the only thing that helped ease the pain.

He pulled open the curtains, unlatched the window, and pulled it open. He almost lost everything in his stomach as he got a whiff of the strong odor permeating in from Frenchman’s Bay. The air smelled of rotten eggs. It must be burnt sulfur, he thought. Jason gagged, covered his nose with one hand and reached out with the other to close the window, and in doing so dropped the phone that was cradled on his neck. The phone landed on his big toe, and although Jason’s senses were dulled this morning, it still hurt like hell. He let out a yelp.

Jason reached down to grab his throbbing toe and lost his balance. His head hit the wall in front of him and he again yelled out in pain. As he lay on the floor rubbing his head he chuckled to himself, thank God that it was only my head, or the fall could have caused some serious damage. Then he noticed the unusually warm temperature outside. It felt like it was above freezing, but the only problem with that scenario was that it is January in Maine. It was close to 30 below zero when he came home last night.

Jason remembered the phone caller, rubbed the pain away, righted himself, and once again reached for the phone. “Okay, I have looked out the window. This is some kind of a joke, right! Now, I want to know who this is and why you are calling me at this hour of the night?”

“Never mind who this is,” came the response. “This is no joke. Now think, dammit! What do you believe is happening out there,” demanded the caller.

“How the hell should I know,” snapped Jason. “Look, I am tired of your games. Either you tell me who this is or I hang up the phone right now!”

“Jason, think back to to your last presentation to the Joint Chiefs of Staff. What did you tell them could happen if they did not have better back-up systems in place?”

Through the cobwebs in his head, Jason’s analytical mind began to kick into gear. "You must be kidding. It was only a theory - nothing more. Everybody knows the chances of something like that happening are …."

"Yes, a million to one,” the voice interrupted. “Well, it is no longer a theory. You were right and our worst nightmare is upon us."

Jason dropped the phone, started throwing on his clothes, and was out the door in less than five minutes.


As Jason fumbled with his car keys, he could not stop shaking. He stopped for a moment and looked at his hands. Is this the booze or adrenalin, he wondered. Or, is it fear. He finally rammed the keys into the ignition and the car roared to life. Jason, the scientist and engineer, knew the value of properly warming up an engine before driving, but tonight he just threw the car into gear and hit the accelerator.

He was ten minutes down the road before he wondered where he was going and what he planned to do. It was then he realized he had to get his head screwed on straight. He turned left at the next light and then turned into the drive-thru lane at Dunkin’ Donuts. He ordered a jumbo black coffee and a dozen glazed donuts. While he waited for his order to be processed, he pulled out a Camel, lit it, and took a deep drag. As the smoke filled his mouth, throat, and lungs, Jason sat back in the seat and closed his eyes. He rubbed the stubble on his chin and took another drag. He sat up and looked into the rearview mirror. The deep lines in his forehead and bags under his eyes made him look twenty years older. I look like crap, he thought.

Jason paid the clerk and as he was being handed the coffee was asked, “Hey mister, do you believe what is happening? It must be close to 40 degrees. All the radio and television stations are saying is that this is some unexplained phenomenon. They believe it has something to do with global warming. Can you believe that, man? A 10:00 PM last night, it was 30 below zero. By 2:00 AM, it was 10 above and rising. Far out!”

Jason threw the box of donuts onto the passenger seat, grabbed the coffee, smiled at the kid, and pressed the accelerator to the floor. The car’s tires screeched on the wet pavement and he at once backed off. He turned onto Hope Street, reached down, and pried the lid off the coffee. As he lifted the coffee to his mouth, his fingers danced around the cup to keep them from burning. The first sip burned his tongue and throat. He found himself sucking and blowing air rapidly in an attempt to cool his mouth and the coffee simultaneously. Five minutes later, Jason’s head began to clear and he realized the true power of mixing adrenaline, nicotine, and caffeine. He took a deep drag on his Camel and smiled. There is nothing better than the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mixed with cigarette smoke at 5:00 in the morning.

Global warming, he laughed to himself. What a joke. I wonder who thought up that one? Almost at once, the grin vanished from his face and he asked himself, “What if it is the Omega Factor?”

Just then, he realized where he needed to go. The Emergency Response Team at the Oceanographic Institute in Bass Harbor would be monitoring the situation. Perhaps someone there could shed some light on what was happening. The caller had to be wrong. He had estimated that there was only one chance in a million that this could happen. When he gave his presentation to the JCS, he just wanted to make them aware of the possibility; in no way did he believe it would ever come to this. There just had to be some other explanation.

Driving with his knees, he reached over and tore open the box of donuts. Between the next two stoplights, he managed to scarf down three of them. Besides booze, cigarettes, and coffee, Jason’s only other vice was fast food. Not bad, he thought, for a 44-year-old. Sure, he could loose a few pounds, but otherwise he was in perfect health. Jason’s stomach gave its response to the health comment by sending a little acid up his throat. He grimaced as the bile hit his tongue. He threw the rest of the donut back into the box and attempted to wash the taste out of his mouth with coffee. Consciously he reached up and rubbed the area around his heart thinking of the pain he experienced last night in bed. After all this is over, maybe I should go to the gym.

Thirty minutes later, flying high on caffeine and sugar, Jason stopped in front of the security gate at the Institute. As the security guard bent down to the window, he asked, “Dr. Seaborne, I hate to ask, but do you know what is going on?”

“Hey, Frank, how are the kids? What do you mean … are you asking about the 40-degree temperature and the rotten egg smell? No I hadn’t noticed.”

“Always the jokester, aren’t you, Doctor. Are you going to the Emergency Response Center?”

“Maybe … who is working tonight?”

“Everyone but you, I think. Most of them started arriving around midnight. The place has been crawling with people since 2:00. I even heard that there are some bigwigs from Washington, DC, on the way. Other than that, no one is saying a thing. Let me get your pass and I’ll buzz you in.”

Before driving through the gate, Jason gave Frank the remaining donuts. The hangover, coupled with the caffeine and sugar, was now working against him. He did not need any more sugar. What he really needed was another drink. ‘Bite the snake that bit you’ – that will straighten me out. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his cigarettes. Panic set in – there was only one left in the pack. He reached across the seat and flipped open the glove box – paused for a moment as he viewed the bottle of Jack Daniels … nope, none there. He frantically searched through the pockets of his coat. Notta! Jason slammed on his brakes. For a moment, he considered turning around and driving to the 7-11 just around the corner. Five minutes more would not make that much difference. No, he needed to get inside and find out what was happening. Besides, he reasoned, you cannot smoke in the Center anyway.

Frank scared the crap out of him when he tapped on the window. “Are you okay, Dr. Seaborne?”

“You bet, Frank. I just realized I was out of smokes and was wondering whether I should run down to the store before I went inside.”

Frank smiled, unbuttoned his shirt pocket, reached in, and pulled out a pack of Pall Malls. “Here, take mine. I have a whole carton in my desk drawer.”

Jason almost said, ‘no’, because they were filters. If there was anything he could not stand, it was a filtered cigarette. There was something unnatural about the whole process. On second thought, he took the pack and thanked Frank for his generosity. I can always tear off the filters.

As he pulled into the parking lot, he recognized most of the cars including those of the Emergency Response Team, or EMRET as they referred to themselves. Dennis Shockley’s new yellow VW Bug, Tom and Maggie Benson’s Mercedes, Ted McGinnis’s Expedition, and Trish Anderson’s red Camero convertible were all in their assigned stalls. As he pulled into his space, he consciously compared his maroon 1974 Volvo to the rest of the cars in the lot. He again thought that it was time to trade in this beast for something a little newer and more practical. Something with air conditioning and power windows would be nice.

Jason sat back in the seat and lit another cigarette, probably the last one for several hours. As he inhaled the smoke deeply into his lungs, his mind wandered back to his first EMRET interview with Mr. Smith, if that was his real name, from the National Security Agency. Even though it had been six months ago, he could remember it like it was yesterday. Mr. Smith almost had his lights punched out that morning.


“Good Morning, Dr. Seaborne. Thank you for coming in.”

“You’re welcome. Can I ask what this is about? You were somewhat evasive on the phone.”

“Yes, I know, but I am pleased you could make the time to come in and talk with me. Can I get you anything?”

“No, I’m fine. No, check that, I could use a cup of coffee.”

“Are you feeling okay, Dr. Seaborne? You look a little under the weather this morning.”

“I’m fine, thank you. Could we please get on with this.”

“Well, yes, I think we can proceed. Do you know anything about the National Security Agency, Doctor?”

“Nothing more than what I have read about them in the papers. What does the NSA have to do with me?”

“I’ll get to that in a moment, Doctor, but if I may, I would first like to ask you a few questions. Is that all right with you?”

“Look, I do not understand what I am doing here this morning. You said on the phone that this would only take a few minutes. Can we just get on with this? And, one more thing, please, just call me Jason.”

“Doctor, …. I’m sorry, … Jason, I can assure you that the interview will not take that long. What I am about to discuss with you is of vital importance to the U.S. Government. First, however, I do need to make certain that the information I have in your file is correct. Can I proceed?”

“Wait a minute, why is our conversation of vital importance to the government? And, why do you have a file on me? Have I done something wrong?”

“Calm down, Jason, I assure you that you have done nothing wrong. Your answers to these questions are only a formality to help us understand your qualifications. Your background in nuclear physics makes you the number one candidate. However, before we can move forward with making you an offer, we need to validate the information in this file and understand a little more about your personality. Things like, are you a team player? Is that okay, Jason?”

“Yes, I guess so. Offer … what offer are you talking about? Also, could I have some more coffee?”

“Help yourself to whatever you want. Jason, are you certain you are feeling okay? You are sweating pretty heavily and I noticed that your hands are trembling a little.”

“Look, I’m fine. If you must know, I had a little too much to drink last night.”

“Do you drink often, Jason?”

“What kind of question is that? If you must know, I am a social drinker – that’s all there is to it.”

“Jason, I am certain everyone has a different definition of a social drinker. What does it mean in your case?”

“Okay, I’m done here. Thanks for the coffee, Mr. Smith.”

“Jason, hold on a minute. Why does that question upset you? I am just trying to learn a little more about you. If you feel uncomfortable with the question, we’ll just pass on it. Are you married, Jason?”

‘Yes, er…, well, no. My wife passed away ten years ago.

“Oh, I am so sorry to hear that. I just saw the wedding ring and assumed … anyway, do you have any children?

“What? No … no children. Why do you ask?”

“Are you involved with anyone today? Someone you would consider more than a casual acquaintance?”

“NO … and what kind of a question is that?”

“How did your wife die?

“She died in a car accident.”

“That must have been terrible for you, Jason. May I ask how you took the news of your wife’s death?

“Is this really relevant? Look, Mr. Smith, what does my wife and my drinking have to do with the NSA or some team of scientists?”

“Jason, please bear with me just a little bit longer. I am almost through. Now, I sense a little hostility. Would you mind sharing your thoughts on this?”

“The only hostility I feel right now is toward you, Mr. Smith. If you don’t quit prying into my personal life, you might see some of that hostility. Now, is there anything else you want to ask?”

“Jason, I assure you that I only have a few more questions. Let me summarize what I know so far. You are a social drinker. Your wife passed away ten years ago in a car accident. You have no children. You are not seriously involved with anyone today. Also, you have no hostility, except maybe a little toward me this morning. Am I correct so far, Jason?”

“Look, Mr. Smith, I did not want to come here this morning. I am hung-over, just like I am every morning. I drink a lot – more than I should. Some people might even call me a drunk. My wife died ten years ago yesterday. How did I take the news of the accident? I was there, Mr. Smith. That’s right, I was driving the car. You sense some hostility. Bull crap – what you sense is anger and guilt. Every day I have to live with the fact that I killed my wife. Now, Mr. Smith, are we done with this interview? I need a drink.”

“Jason, thank you for sharing that with me. I know it must be difficult, but I understand that the accident wasn’t your fault. It says in the police report that a drunk driver swerved into your lane hitting your car head on. You were also seriously injured. At one time, the doctors didn’t think you would walk again. The doctors I talked to said your recovery was a miracle and a reflection of your courage.”

“Courage, that wasn’t courage? If I had any courage, I would have taken my life ten years ago instead of hiding in a bottle every day. You are just like everyone else. You don’t understand what happened that night. You see, it was my idea to go out that evening. Carol wanted to stay home and watch a movie on TV. If I hadn’t forced Carol to go to that stupid dinner party, she … and our baby … would still be alive today. She was pregnant, Mr. Smith, pregnant with our first child. And, you are right; I am feeling some hostility toward you. Since you already know about my wife, and my drinking, and who knows what else, then why the questions? Do you just want to see how bad off I am? Well, now you know. Are we through?

“Jason, please understand that I am just doing my job. I have only one more question and then we are done. Would you mind telling me a little about your theory?”

“You mean my theory that you are an asshole, Mr. Smith? I don’t think that is a theory. You have proven it to be a fact today.”

“Well, Jason, because of this interview, I also know two more things about you. Two things that were not in the report. One, you have a sense of humor. And, two, a high-ranking official from the NSA does not intimidate you. Regarding my question, no, I was referring to your theory - I believe you call it the Omega Factor.”


Jason still wasn’t certain how much the NSA knew about the Omega Factor. They were good at asking questions, but positively lousy at answering them. And, Mr. Smith’s condescending attitude throughout the interview still infuriated him. Mr. Smith knew all about me, but he forced me to talk about the one thing in my life that still causes immense pain. Yes, he came across as an understanding and caring person, but the indifference in his look and mannerisms as well as the occasional glance at his watch told another story. I was right. He is an asshole!

He took one more drag on the cigarette, pulled out another one, tore off the filter, lit it, and climbed out of the car. He chuckled to himself as he walked towards the building. The NSA must have been pretty desperate to have him join the Emergency Response Team. He couldn’t have given a worse interview that day. Threatening a government official didn’t help his cause either, but for some reason he got the job. He was still shocked that the NSA had so much background information on him. It just goes to show there really is no such thing as privacy today.

Jason climbed the eight steps to the front entrance of the Institute and while opening the door, took one last drag on his ‘converted’ Camel. Still exhaling smoke as he entered the building, the security guard just smiled and shook his head. “Doctor Seaborne, I swear that you wait until the very last second to put out those cigarettes of yours. One of these days you are going to set off the smoke alarm in here.”

Jason smiled at Clifton Carlson, the security guard and a good friend. “Clifton, my man, how are you doing this fine morning?” As he fumbled in his wallet for his badge, he noticed that Clifton had lost some weight and was looking pretty good for a 50-year old African-American that was disabled – a Vietnam War injury. He patted his stomach and nodded to Clifton, “You are looking pretty good. I see that you lost some weight.”

Clifton shook his head, “How am I doing? By the way you look this morning, I would say much better than you. I know it is none of my business, Doctor Seaborne, but you’re going to kill yourself if you don’t stop drinking that rot-gut every single night.”

Jason’s smile disappeared. “You’re right, Clifton, it is none of your business.” But, as soon as he said it, he wished he could have taken the words back. Clifton just shook his head in disgust and leaned over the metal detector – switching it on.

Trying to make eye contact with Clifton, he bent over the retaining bar of the detector in an attempt to force some kind of response. “Clifton, I am sorry. I didn’t mean that. What with everything going on this morning and me having one hell of a hangover, I’m just a little irritable. I know you are right and that you are just saying this because you care. Again, I’m sorry.” Jason reached out with his hand, “Friends?” … and after a brief pause; Clifton smiled, reached around the barrier, and shook it.

“Okay, okay, apology accepted. As I said, it really isn’t any of my business, but I care about you, man. Five months ago, you helped straighten out my life by getting me this job. I owe you.”

Jason walked through the metal detector and around the bulletproof glass partition, reached out, and gave Clifton a quick hug. Jason put on his best tearful expression and said, “I love you, man.”

Clifton shoved Jason away and smiled. “I said it was okay, Doctor Seaborne. Now back off, man, you are wrinkling my uniform.” They both laughed.

Jason turned serious and asked, “Is everyone already in the ERC?”

“You got it. They are waiting on you. They said that I should tell you to get your ass down there as soon as you arrive. Don’t stop for coffee. Don’t smoke another cigarette. Just get down there. All right, you’ve got the message. Now do whatever you want – you always do anyway.”

Jason smiled as he walked through the main corridor to the elevators. He pulled his pass card out from his wallet and inserted it into the access slot. He placed his right hand on the scanner screen and within seconds, the elevator door opened. Jason pulled out the card, clipped it onto his shirt pocket, and entered the elevator. He pushed the ‘S3’ button and waited for the familiar voice. An electronically generated voice asked, “Mr. Seaborne, please enter your security code.” Jason tapped in his six digit number and the voice responded, “Thank you, Mr. Seaborne; you are cleared to enter the Emergency Response Center. Have a good day.” Jason smiled and wondered whether Ms. Merry, the name everyone called the automated voice, ever had a hangover.


As the elevator surged downward, Jason’s acid-filled stomach stayed on the main floor for a moment before deciding to join him for the ride down. Jason thought back to the first day he was invited to the Emergency Response Center, or ERC as it was referred to, he was amazed at the technology and, even more so, the security. He kept on asking Dr. McGinnis how the Oceanographic Institute could afford such luxuries. The other thing that bothered him that day was why the institute built this room three stories below ground. It wasn’t until he received his Top Secret-Crypto security rating from the NSA that he finally was let in on the secret.

When the elevator stopped, his stomach and head didn’t until they bounced off the floor, or so it seemed anyway. Jason belched as the doors opened and the bile burned his throat again. Because there was no place to spit it out, he swallowed it back down and hoped that was its last visit of the day.

He glanced around the ERC, marveling at the design. He could never get used to what a work of art this room was for any scientist. Ted McGinnis told him it was the best money could buy, and he believed it. It was about forty feet wide and a hundred feet long with twenty-foot ceilings. The floor was tiered into three levels. Twelve operation analysts sat at the back of the ERC – the highest level – monitoring their terminals and the displays on the wall in front of them. The second level – actually one-step down – contained eight desks with each desk set up with two flat-screen monitors, computer terminals, a printer, two phones, fax machine, and a paper shredder. The lowest level – the front of the ERC – was an open area with one large table. The tabletop was a topographical map of the northeastern United States, eastern Canada, and about three-hundred miles of the Atlantic Ocean. On the wall in front of the map was a large screen – about twenty feet long by ten feet tall – that currently showed a satellite image of the northeast shoreline of Maine. On each side of the screen were three large monitors – each designed to show different information including weather, tides, ocean temperature, satellite positions, naval vessels in the area, and the bottom right one is always tuned to CNN.

Jason made his way to the second level and approached Ted McGinnis’ desk. Ted, the tall, stately 40-year old leader of the team, had received his Ph.D. from MIT in Astro-Physics. Everyone said he was a born leader, probably because he was good at playing company-politics. Seated to his right was Dr. Margaret Benson, Maggie, as she liked to be called. She also received her Ph.D. from MIT. Her specialty was Physics. Jason liked to call her “Mother Maggie’ because she was always looking out for him – inviting him over for dinner and trying to fix him up on dates that he never went on. To her right was the youngest member of the team, Dennis Shockley, better known as Shocky. With his blond crew cut and diamond earring, he looked like he was 22, but was actually 32. Shocky was the brains of this team, or so he thought. He was a graduate of Stanford with a Masters in Computer Science. At least he admitted he was a ‘gear-head’. On Ted’s left sat Dr. Thomas Benson, Maggie’s husband. Tom received his Ph.D. in Oceanography from USC and spent ten years at the Scripts Institute of Oceanography in San Diego before coming here. Mother Maggie’s good cooking had put thirty extra pounds on Tom. He didn’t mind because the weight and the white beard made him look more like Santa Clause to his grandkids. On Tom’s left sat Trisha Anderson. Trish, a nickname she hated, but everyone used, held a Masters Degree in Statistics from Penn State. A 5’2” redhead weighing in at maybe 110 pounds soaking wet, she was the best-looking 35-year-old he had ever seen. Including himself, this was the Emergency Response Team. The National Security Agency, their benefactor, had another name for them, the Northeast Corridor Crisis Management Team, or NECMAT for short.

Acronyms, Jason thought, the government had an acronym for everything. Shocky mentioned once that he heard that ‘bathroom’ was a government acronym. It stood for something like ‘Biological Accommodation for Temporarily Housing Residue ….’, he couldn’t remember the rest, but it was pretty funny.

Ted looked up from his printout as Jason approached. “How did you get the message?”

“I don’t know. The man who called wouldn’t identify himself, but he knew of my work and presentation to the JCS.”

Ted smiled, looked around the room for a moment, and whispered, “I can’t be sure, but Shocky was running around here about 4:30 this morning giving everyone ‘high-fives’ and laughing. I overhead him say that he had really pulled one over on somebody. If I were looking for your caller, I would start by questioning him.”

Jason looked over at Shocky and caught him staring at him. Immediately Shocky looked down at some papers on his desk, but Jason could see he was smiling. “Thanks Ted, that sounds like a stunt of his. I’ll have to figure out some way to get back at him. Payback is a bitch.” Jason took another glance over towards Shocky and this time the gear-head burst out laughing. He looked back and asked the question that needed answering. “Ted, is he correct? Does this have something to do with my theory?”

“If you are referring to a possible nuclear submarine accident/incident, your guess is as good as mine. The NSA says that it couldn't be one of our boats - they have all checked in. We are not aware of any other nukes in the area, but are having diplomatic discussions with the Chinese, Russians, Indians, and whoever else has nuclear subs to determine if they have any missing.”

Just then, someone taps Jason on the shoulder and as he turns, he sees Tom’s smiling face. “Welcome aboard, Jason.” Tom looked at Ted and said, “I feel a lot better now that our nuclear physicist is here.” Tom searched through some papers he was holding and pulled out a printout. “Here are the most current conditions at sea. We have two research ships about twelve miles off the coast monitoring the situation for us. It is not good.”

Jason and Ted quickly ran through the printouts capturing all the key points. Tom summarized the data for them. “High levels of radioactivity? Water temperatures within a ten-mile radius of Point Alpha have risen 40 degrees in the past twenty-four hours. That is amazing. No seismic activity reported within the last four weeks. Something is going on out there and it sure stinks of some-sort of nuclear accident.”

Ted tapped a few keys on his terminal and pointed up at the overhead display. “We all agree, Tom, this is not some natural-caused anomaly. These are the most recent pictures of the northern shoreline. Tons of seaweed and animal life are washing up on our shores. We have a team of ecologists on Whitehead Island running tests on everything they can collect. They just reported in thirty minutes ago. They said the radioactivity readings on the beach are eight times normal and increasing every hour. The team is recommending an immediate evacuation of the island.”

Jason shook his head, “What are we hearing from our friends at Yarmouth?”

As Tom leafed through another stack of papers he was carrying, he walked down to the topographical map. The rest of the team silently followed him not wanting to miss anything he said. He found the fax he was looking for, “Nova Scotia is reporting similar conditions, but not as severe. The same goes for Seal Island. The naval base at Newport, Rhode Island, doesn’t report any unusual conditions. When you triangulate a location based upon radioactivity readings, ocean temperatures, tidal currents, and reports of shoreline debris, it appears the epicenter of this anomaly is about here – thirteen nautical miles east-southeast of Mount Desert Island. Ocean depth is somewhere around 30 to 45 fathoms in the area.”

The team congregated around the map and everyone was transfixed on the location that Tom was pointing to off the Maine coastline. Ted turned to the back row of analysts, speaking to no one in particular, “Get a message to our two research ships. Have them both converge on Point Alpha. Tom will give you the exact coordinates. Ask them to exercise the appropriate level of caution for a nuclear disaster. If they do not have the proper equipment, have them back off and we will have to wait for the Navy to arrive. Also, contact Brunswick Naval Air Station and ask if they have anything in the area. We need some low level aerial shots of Point Alpha.”

Ted thought for a moment as if he forgot something. “One other thing, put in a call to Fred Johnson at the NSA. Use his secure cell phone number and the scrambler, because he is on his way here. I need to advise him of the location of Point Alpha and that our two research ships are heading there now. Fred should be arriving around 11:00 A.M., let’s be ready for him.”

Tom shook his head, “Thirteen miles – I thought the U.S. Contiguous Zone was 24 miles. If it is a foreign sub, they are very close to the twelve-mile Territorial Limits.”

“Most of the super-powers only recognize our twelve-mile U.S. Territorial Sea Boundaries – the one that was established by the 1954 Law of Sea Convention,” Jason commented. “The Russians for years have stayed at least 25 miles off the coast, but the Chinese have continually tested the Contiguous Rule and only honor our twelve-mile territorial boundary. It is often a mess out there – especially when one of our Communist friends decides to flex its muscles.”

Maggie stepped forward and handed out a report to each of the team. “Trish and I just developed a potential scenario if this is a nuclear incident/accident. Taking everything into consideration that we already know and theorizing the worst case, we have come up with the following. First, a fifty-degree rise in ocean temperature will drive our aquatic population north and east. That isn’t the major problem, however, because most of the sea life will already be exposed to lethal levels of radiation. They will die within the next ten days. What survives will be exposed to substantial radiation poisoning - enough to cause severe health issues – cancer, or worse. Because of this, we are recommending a prohibition on all commercial and recreational fishing within a four hundred mile radius of Point Alpha for the next month. We also believe that any catch that is taken within a thousand miles of Point Alpha be tested for radioactivity and excessive concentrations of iodine, strontium, and cesium. This is nasty stuff with half-lives of 8 days, 29 years, and 30 years respectively.”

“Maggie’s right,” commented Jason, “These three are the worst elements. Iodine has a direct link to thyroid cancer. Strontium increases the rate of leukemia in children. The worst is Cesium. It spreads the farthest and stays around the longest. Cesium affects the entire body and it has been associated with numerous psychological disorders. The meltdown at Chernobyl has shown us how dangerous these by-products are to all living organisms.”

Ted’s head snapped up, “My God, that recommendation will cripple, if not destroy, the economy from southeast Canada to Delaware. I don’t think we have the authority to make such a recommendation until we know more.” Ted rubbed the back of his neck as if trying to release some tension. “Jason, I need you to look over this scenario before the NSA arrives. I want everyone on the team agreeing on our recommendations before we present them. Agreed?” Ted looked at each member of the team and waited for his or her acknowledgment.

Maggie spoke up in an effort to justify the recommendations. “I understand your concerns, Ted, but we don’t see any way around it. Both Trish and I felt the same way at first, but the more we analyzed the data, the more we realized how serious this situation is. The super-heating of the ocean is creating a massive temperature change throughout the northeast. Here along the coastline, we are experiencing temperatures in the 50’s. Further inland, the impact is not quite as severe with average temperatures in the 30’s all the way to New Hampshire and Massachusetts. We are already beginning to see a snowmelt. If the temperatures remain constant for over a week, we will see an ice melt – something we don’t normally experience in January. We predict some flooding could result within 40 to 80 miles of the coast. We also predict that New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, and potentially Prince Edward Island will have similar conditions.”

“Also, the rotting vegetation and sea life along the shoreline will create air and water pollution, the likes of which has never been seen before. Third, and worst of all, based upon current readings, radiation poisoning will affect a massive portion of the northeast coastline – most of it spread by ocean water, rotting vegetation, and ground water contamination. The latter is caused by the super-heating of the water around Point Alpha. This will cause condensation - as if you were boiling water. The southerly winds will blow the radiation for hundreds, possibly thousands of miles mixing it in with normal rainfall.”

Jason nodded his head in agreement. “I hate to add any more bad news, but if this is a meltdown, it could mean that 200 times more radioactive material will be released into the ocean and atmosphere than what the Japanese experienced when we dropped the atomic bomb on Hiroshima.”

It was Ted’s turn to shake his head. “I cannot believe this is happening. I hope Mr. Johnson arrives soon. Based upon your report, Maggie, I believe he will want to brief the President before we make any decisions. Maggie, I want Trish and you to take another reading in an hour and update your scenario. This is all happening way too fast.”

Jason interrupted Ted’s instructions. “Aren’t we forgetting one more important consideration?”

“And, what do you think that might be, Jason,” Ted shot back.

Jason could tell that Ted was a little miffed with the interruption. The stress must be getting to him. “Well, if it is a nuke, and, if it is involved in a meltdown, what happens if it is a ‘boomer’, you know a ballistic missile sub? There could be twenty-two or more birds with nuclear warheads attached to them. What happens when these things start to leak plutonium into the ocean?”

Trish was right on it, “Jason, you’re right. We didn’t even consider that possibility as part of our ‘worst-case’ scenario. Is there any chance of those things going off?”

“Not likely,” replied Jason. In fact, it would almost be impossible without the arming keys. I think you should confine your considerations to a plutonium leak. NSA can provide you with some general specifications for the type birds carried aboard these boomers. You can take it from there.” Everyone stood frozen around the table as if they were digesting the magnitude of this new information. Jason tried to ease a little of the tension by asking whether it was okay to smoke down here. After a couple of seconds of silence while everyone refocused on his question, they all started to chuckle, turned away, and went back to their workstations.

Jason caught up with Ted and asked, “Besides going over Maggie’s data, what else do you want me to do?”

“Well, if it is a sub meltdown, I think you become the expert at that time. You understand the inner-workings of a nuclear propulsion system better than anyone here does. NSA will want to understand the potential magnitude of this incident including how long it will last, what will take place during the process, and what happens if it is a boomer. I think they would also want your recommendations as to how this situation could be mitigated.”

“That’s fine, Ted, but how soon will it be before we know for certain whether one of these other countries lost a sub off our coast?”

Ted dropped his papers on his desk and looked up. Jason noticed the strain on Ted’s face. Ted rubbed his eyes, shook his head as if clearing out the cobwebs. “Jason, I don’t have a clue. You know how international politics work as well as I do. It could be days before anyone fesses up to it.”

“The trouble is, Ted, we don’t have days.” He started to turn away, but then thought of another question. “What if it isn’t a meltdown?”

Ted looked up and stared at Jason for a moment. “I don’t know, Jason, but whatever is happening out there isn’t good.”


An hour later, the first research vessel, the Brunswick, was on location and reporting in. The second vessel, the Canterbury, was reporting that it was less than two miles from Point Alpha. Ted asked to have the Brunswick’s report piped over the loudspeaker system.

“Captain Jamison, this is Ted McGinnis at NECMAT. Before you proceed with your report, please switch over to your scrambler.”

After a brief pause, the speaker hissed and crackled. “This is Jamison aboard the Brunswick. How do you read me?”

“This is McGinnis, Captain. We read you five-by-five. We understand you are at Point Alpha. Can you give us an update?”

“Roger that. This is a real mess out here. This ship was never designed to operate in these conditions. We are now reading 1,570 rems per hour at the surface.”

Jason helped clarify the situation by adding, “A normal chest x-ray is around 72 millirems. That type of activity could only be caused by a reactor breach.”

“Water temperature is now 180 degrees Celsius and rising. The water is boiling and appears to be releasing gases into the air. To make matters worse, there is a thick fog surrounding Point Alpha.”

Jason chimed in again, “These conditions are also reflective of a reactor nearing a meltdown of its core. Temperatures need to rise above 2000 degrees within the containment vessel to generate a meltdown. If this occurs, there will be a massive release of hydrogen gas. If the containment vessel is still intact, this could trigger an explosion. Once the vessel breaches, we will see the release of 100% of the iodine, cesium, and noble gases in the reactor plus other radionuclides. I would recommend that the two vessels move away from Point Alpha right away. If the reactor vessel does breach, there could be three or four more explosions within a four hour period.”

“Jamison, this is McGinnis again. Did you copy Dr. Seaborne’s comments?”

“Affirmative. What do you want us to do?”

Ted thought for a second before responding. “Make for shore, Captain, and stand-down until further notice. Do not allow your crew to make any contact with family or friends during the stand-down; we need this kept quiet until the Feds tell us otherwise. While docked, perform a NBC scrub down of the exterior of the ship. Bring aboard provisions and enough NBC warfare gear to sustain you and your crew for a week’s voyage. Further orders will follow.”

“Roger that. Jamison out.”


Ted looked back at the third row. “Relay the same orders to the Canterbury. Use the scrambler.” Ted looked around at his team now assembled around the map. “Okay, guys, it doesn’t look good. Jason, I am assuming that you now believe this is a nuclear submarine that has gone down. Is that correct?”

“Ted, the information provided by Captain Jamison correlates to everything that is reported from earlier nuclear sub accidents where there was a core breach. I might recommend that Tom pass this information along to Yarmouth and Seal Island. We need to keep our Canadian friends in the loop on this thing. If it is a nuke, or for that matter, whatever it is, this is far bigger than a Maine situation.”

“Tom, I think Jason it right, but before we pass this information along to our neighbors to the north, I need to clear it with the NSA.”

Shocky’s brain was working overtime digesting this new information. “Jason, if it is a breach, won’t the ocean water cool the core’s temperatures enough to stop the meltdown?”

“Maybe yes, and maybe no. If the first or second steam explosion breaches the vessel walls, there is a strong likelihood that the ocean will cool the fuel rods enough to stop the meltdown. If that occurs, we should count ourselves fortunate. The level of contamination will be serious, but not anything near that of a full internal core meltdown. However, if the two explosions are contained within the vessel, then we have a full meltdown on our hands. If the containment vessel breaches as the result of the hydrogen explosion, we will have a massive release of radiation into the air. Finally, if the nuke is a boomer, we then could face further radiation leakage of plutonium from the warheads. Either way, it isn’t a pretty scenario, but the latter is almost inconceivable.” Jason placed both of his arms on the edge of the map table and his shoulders slumped forward as he looked down. The weight of his comments started to sink in and the team all looked down at Point Alpha on the map.


“The Omega Factor,” mumbled Trish to no one in particular.

Jason looked up at Trish for a moment and saw tears streaming down her face. He wondered for a moment why he ever wrote that book. “It’s just a theory, Trish. No one has ever been able to prove the likelihood of that scenario. The odds of something like that happening …”

Trish wiped the tears from her cheeks and interrupted Jason’s comments. “And, no one has ever been able to disprove it either. Right, Jason?”

Ted felt it was time to jump in. He needed to divert the team’s focus from thinking about the worst-case scenario to one of considering all the alternatives, “Okay, let’s get back to work. Trish and Maggie, use the information provided by the Brunswick to update your worst-case scenario. Run your thoughts by Jason to make certain he agrees. Tom, I need Shocky and you to develop a radiation distribution map. We need to know how far the currents will take the radiation within a day, a week, and a month. I also need a separate map for the air disbursement of radiation including assumptions about wind speed, direction, the effect of rainfall, and so forth. Jason, based upon what we now know about the incident, it seems that you are the expert. When Fred arrives, you need to be prepared to brief him on the most recent sub disasters and what we have learned from them. Also, you might want to bone up on the Chernobyl meltdown and Three Mile Island incident if the NSA needs a correlation. Okay, let’s get moving, people!”

As the team began to disassemble, Trish handed Jason a folded piece of paper. Before opening it, he looked into Trish’s eyes searching for the answer to what was on the paper. “Page 34 of your presentation to the Joint Chiefs of Staff,” was all she said before turning and walking away.

Jason looked down at the handwritten note and his eyes snapped back up to where Trish sat at her desk. She was staring at him, but then consciously looked down at the printout in her hands. The note read, ‘There has to be an END to what we know and cherish before a NEW BEGINNING can occur – The OMEGA FACTOR’. He shook his head, crumbled the note in his hand, slipped it into his pocket, and mumbled, “I don’t need this … not today anyway.”


At 11:02 AM, Fred Johnson walks out of the elevator into the ERC. Ted, who had been notified by Clifton that Fred was on his way down, was standing there ready to greet him. “Fred, how was your trip?”

“Ted, you can dispense with the greetings, what do you have for me?”

“Right … let’s go down to the situation table.” As the two walked to the front of the room, Ted asked the team to join him.

Jason looked up and couldn’t believe his eyes. Standing next to Ted was Mr. Smith – the same Mr. Smith that he had threatened six months ago. He hadn’t changed much since the interview, Jason thought, as he took in the short, pudgy, red-faced bureaucrat with thick round glasses. How could someone wearing a $500 suit look so bad in it? Jason smiled to himself and thought that even on his worst day, he looked better than Fred did. Well, there was one striking change - his hair. Six months ago, Fred was bald on top. Now, he sported a new hairstyle. His hair was parted just above his left ear. Jason thought there must be six inches of hair combed from his left side over the top of his head to the right side. Jason wondered how much hair spray it took to plaster that much hair down. He smiled and thought this might be fun.

Jason made certain he was the last member of the team introduced to Fred. As Fred and Jason locked eyes, Ted commented, “And, I think you two have met before.”

Jason reached out his hand and commented, “Mr. Smith, I like what you’ve done to your hair.”

Ted, not understanding the situation, immediately stepped in, “No, Jason, this is Fred Johnson.”

Fred shook Jason’s hand, glanced at Ted, and laughed, “Ted, when I interviewed Jason six months ago, I introduced myself as Mr. Smith. When I worked for the CIA, you never used your real name. I guess you can leave the Agency, but you never take the ‘spook-training’ out of you.” Fred then looked Jason right in the eye, smiled, and commented, “I never did have a chance to officially welcome you to the team, Doctor. How are you doing these days anyway? I see that you don’t look any better today than you did back then.” Fred leaned forward, lowered his voice, and commented, “You at least sound a little better then you did at 4:30 this morning.”

Jason took a step forward challenging the man, but Ted stepped in between the two at the last moment. He didn’t know what was happening, but whatever it was, it wasn’t good. He put on a false smile and raised his voice, “Team, as I mentioned before Mr. Johnson arrived, we feel honored to have someone from the NSA join us here today. Now, if we could get started, I know Mr. Johnson is anxious to be brought up to speed on the situation off our coast. Tom, perhaps you could start and then Maggie and Trish could follow.”

“Before we get started with the briefing, let me tell you what I know,” Fred announced. “The Chinese government has confirmed that they have lost a sub off our coast. They have stressed that it is in international waters.”

“What kind of sub is it, Mr. Smith,” Jason asked.

“It is a reconditioned Soviet Hotel-class nuclear submarine. I believe it has two reactors.”

Jason pulled out a notebook from his shirt pocket and quickly leafed through the pages. “Yes, the Hotel-class subs were commissioned in the 60’s and early 70’s. These are missile subs carrying twenty birds. Unfortunately, these subs do not have a back-up cooling system. The newer versions of the Hotel-class run the VT-1 type, liquid metal cooled reactors. Assuming that the sub was operating at normal temperatures and pressure before the accident, then that would mean that a breach could release 8.1 x 1018 Bq of mixed fission products of which 4 x 1016 is iodine 131. This would be equivalent to one-seventh of the total released in the Chernobyl disaster.”

Jason looked up from his notebook just in time to see Fred roll his eyes. “Thank you, Doctor Seaborne. I am certain none of us knows or cares to know what all that means. Now, if we could move on to …”

Feeling the way Jason did this morning, he didn’t need much to set him off. Fred’s condescending reply was all it took. “Now just wait a minute, Mr. Johnson, or Mr. Smith, or whatever you call yourself today. Chernobyl affected the lives of over 200,000 people within Russia alone. Thousands of others were affected all over Western Europe and England. If this is a meltdown, and based upon our most recent reports - it is, then anyone within a 45 mile radius of Point Alpha needs to be evacuated at once.”

Fred Johnson had heard enough, “Now you just wait a minute, Doctor. We are not going to panic the entire population of Maine just because you think this could be something like a Chernobyl accident. My God, man, do you know what this would do to the President’s ratings if YOU were wrong? What if this is nothing more than a minor leak in a reactor?”

“Is this about approval ratings, Mr. Smith, or about saving people’s lives,” snapped Jason.

Ted saw that no good was going to come from this conversation, so he tried to interject by mentioning that perhaps it was time to hear Tom’s update.

“Ted, do we time for all these updates,” questioned Jason. “A nuclear sub is down and based upon the Brunswick’s report and your team on Whitehead Island, we need to make a decision now before more people are exposed to this radioactive menace. We can’t save the fishing industry or our crops, but we can save people’s lives. And, if the winds pick-up from the east, hundreds of thousands of people might be affected. I’m not just talking about radiation sickness, I am also talking about longer-term diseases such as thyroid cancer, birth defects in newborn children, neurological disorders – the list goes on and on. We also need to bring in HAZMAT teams from all over the country to help minimize the long-term damage. Miles of beach sand and debris will have to be dug up, contained, and then stored someplace for up to thirty years.”

Jason stopped talking when he heard Fred laughing. “Oh, I forgot that I am listening to the man that told the Joint Chiefs that once a reactor reaches a certain point … I forget the exact details, but … that there was no stopping the meltdown ... yada – yada - yada … and that the amount of radiation would contaminate perhaps millions of people and impact billions of dollars of our economy. No wonder you were laughed out of D.C., you are a drunk and a lunatic.”

“If I am as bad as you say, then why did you hire me in the first place?”

The animosity in Fred’s face for Jason was worn like a badge of honor as he turned and announced to the entire team, “I would have never hired you if it weren’t for Doctor McGinnis. When we first discussed who should be on the team, he said he wanted you.” Fred turned back to face Jason and the next words he spat out, “He also told me to be nice to you. When I baulked, he threatened to walk himself. Without the doctor, there would be no team. So, do you see, I had no choice in the matter at the time … but I do have a choice on what recommendations are made to the President.”

Fred paused to let his comment sink in before continuing. “There is no way I am going to recommend to the President of the United States that we evacuate any place until we know for sure what we are up against and what all our options are.”

Jason was smoldering. His face was bright red, his hands clenched, shoulders tensed, and the blood was pounding so hard in his head that he thought it was going to explode. He took an aggressive step towards Fred and now stood less than six inches from him. Looking down on this 5’6” wimp that he hated more than ever, he asked, “Don’t you even care about these people? If we don’t evacuate them now, they don’t stand a chance.”

Fred sensed that his next action could mean the difference in how far the confrontation would go. He took a step back, turned away from Jason, chuckled, and commented, “Ted, what kind of a team are you running around here anyway? I’m beginning to wonder who is in charge.”

Before Ted could reply, a hand grabbed Fred’s shoulder and spun him around. Jason leaned down so he was only inches from Fred’s face. He could smell the cheap cologne and see the sweat on Fred’s forehead. Jason was trembling all over; he wanted to deck this son-of-a-bitch. Not because of what happened six months ago, but because of what Fred stood for. He could now smell fear mixed in with the cologne and see it in Fred’s eyes. “I’ll ask you one more time, Mr. Smith, what are we going to do about all the people within the dead zone?”

Fred blinked several times before regaining a little of his composure. “Doctor, we have to consider them ‘acceptable losses’.” He turned away from Jason looking for Ted. “Now can I hear from the others, Doctor McGinnis, or did I waste my time coming up here today.”


At that moment, Jason was aware of three things. One - he needed a cigarette. Two, and even more important, he needed a drink. He felt like hell. And, third, if he didn’t get out of ERC right away, he was going to hit someone. He walked up to Ted and whispered, “Ted, can I speak with you for a moment.” Ted nodded and asked Tom to bring Mr. Johnson up to date. Ted then took Jason’s arm and the two walked to the top level just out of earshot of the rest of the team.

“I need to get some fresh air and have a smoke. If I don’t get out of here and calm down, I might kill that SOB.”

Ted looked into Jason’s eyes for several moments as if searching for something. “Jason, we need you here right now. If this is a meltdown, you are the only one that fully understands what this incident means. Look, I know you don’t agree with Mr. Johnson, but I am certain he will listen to you if you will only calm down. I also need you sober.” Ted waived his arms around the room, “We all do.”

Jason grabbed Ted’s arm and slid in close to his face. “Dammit, Ted, don’t treat me like a child. I know I am right about this. This Johnson, or Smith, is trouble. He is only trying to protect the President’s ass ... and you’re acting like Fred’s lap dog. These recommendations will save people’s lives, Ted. We can’t wait on this. It is just too important. Will you support me on this?”

Ted wrestled his arm loose from Jason’s grip, looked around to see if anyone was watching, and lowered his voice so that only Jason could here him. “If I had anyone else that could do your job, I would release you right now. I don’t have time to put up with your crap.” Ted took a deep breath and let the air out of his lungs, “Look, Jason, whether I agree with you or not, I have to support the decisions of the NSA. If it weren’t for them we wouldn’t have the ERC.” Ted paused for a moment hoping his words would sink in. “Now, I hate to put it this way, but it appears you don’t want to play by anyone’s rules but your own. You are one of the best minds in the world … but you are a drunk! The next time you show up drunk or hung-over, you are off the team. Understand?”

Jason didn’t back away. “Understood! Now I am going topside to have a cigarette. If you need me, you know where I am.” He turned and walked over to the elevator without giving Ted the satisfaction of the final word. As he stepped into the elevator and the door closed, he noticed his entire body was shaking. He put his hands against the walls of the elevator to steady himself and took several deep breaths. After a couple of moments, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and pushed the ‘Ground Floor’ button.

When Clifford saw him walking toward the front door, he asked, “Is everything okay down there, Doctor Seaborne? You look like World War III was just declared.” Jason didn’t even look at Clifford or respond. He walked straight through the metal detector and out the door without slowing. Once outside, he ran down the steps and jogged to his car.


By the time he got to his car, he was shaking so badly that he couldn’t unlock the door – this is the second time this morning, he thought. Once inside the safety of his trusted Volvo, he sat back in the seat, pulled out the borrowed pack of smokes, tore off the filter, and lit up. After two long inhales, he let out his breath with a loud sigh. Looking into the rear view mirror, he again saw what everyone else did today. The puffy bloodshot eyes, yellowish complexion, uncombed hair, and unshaven face didn’t reflect anything but a man in trouble. No wonder everyone questioned his recommendations.

Reaching across, he opened the glove compartment, pulled out the fifth of Jack Daniels, placed the bottle between his legs, and unscrewed the cap. As the aroma of the booze filled his nostrils, he thought, next to coffee and a cigarette, this is the best smell in the world. Placing the cigarette in the ashtray, he lifted the bottle up to his mouth.

But … something stopped him from taking the drink. Perhaps it was something Ted had said moments ago, or what Clifton mentioned when he arrived this morning. Whatever it was, he knew it was a sign. Somehow, he managed to screw the cap back on the ‘Jack’ and return it to the glove box.

Jason mumbled a prayer to anyone that would listen, “God, I need help. How low do I have to sink before I can get this behind me? Do I have to alienate all of my family, co-workers, and friends first?” With hands grasping the steering wheel and head resting on his chest, tears flowed down his cheeks and began to soak his shirt. An occasional shudder of his body was the only perceptible movement. The cigarette burned untouched in the ashtray.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity for Jason, he looked up, rubbed the tears from his face, wiped his hands on his pants, and looked around the parking lot. At that moment, he didn’t care if anyone saw him crying. That was the least of his worries. He didn’t want a drink. He didn’t even want to finish that cigarette still burning in the ashtray. He just wanted someone to talk to – someone that would listen and hopefully understand. As the tears began to flow again, unconsciously his head raised up, “Carol, what have I done?” For the first time since the accident, he spoke to the one person that could forgive him. “I am so very sorry. I was such an ass that night. I love you, Carol. I will always love you. Can you ever forgive me for taking your life … and … the life of our baby?” His head once again rested on his chest as he sobbed cleansing tears.

“Carol, I can’t go on this way. I would rather die than live the rest of my life like this. You were always the strong one – so confident and self-assured. You got me through school. You continually reassured me in Grad School that I should finish my book when the professors thought I was off base. Without you I would have been … I am … nothing … worthless … a drunk that everyone hates to be around.

It was then he realized how much of an ass he had been to everyone since the accident. When anyone offered to help, he rejected it with indignant righteousness. And, instead of trying to help himself, all he did was wallow in self-pity and use every excuse to drink himself to death. So many tried to help him and he just pushed them all away. He wanted nothing to do with anyone except for Jimmy, the bartender at the Sea Dragon. And, when Jimmy refused to serve him, he cussed him out and just bought his “Jack’ at the liquor store.

At that moment, he remembered something - Trish’s handwritten note. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the crumbled piece of paper. He read the words as if he had never seen them before, ‘There has to be an END to what we know and cherish before a NEW BEGINNING can occur – The OMEGA FACTOR’. Carol had mentioned those words to him when he was looking for an ending - a way to finish his paper on the Omega Factor. He liked it so much he used it.

He reached up, unbuttoned his shirt, and pulled out the chain that hung around his neck. On it was Carol’s wedding ring. The day he buried her, he had taken the ring, placed it on a gold chain, hung it around his neck, and never removed it – not once in the last ten years. It was his constant reminder of what he had lost … and of his responsibility for the accident. He unhooked the chain and held the ring in the palm of his right hand. He reached over and slipped off his wedding band. Using the chain, he meticulously wrapped the two rings together. Once securely wrapped, he held the rings up to his lips, kissed them, and said, “Carol, with this ring I thee wed … until death do us part.” He slipped the two bound rings into his coin pocket and took another deep breath. At that moment, the pain in his chest was excruciating.

Jason was smart enough to realize that twenty minutes in a car wasn’t going to cure his addiction, or release his blame and grief. At the same time, he knew that this was a turning point in his life – the beginning of the healing process … he corrected himself … the ‘forgiving’ process. He unconsciously looked into the rear view mirror again, bent forward as he pulled out his handkerchief from his pants pocket, and wiped his face. He thought that, yes, he did look a mess, but at least he was a sober mess. That raised a chuckle and caused a few more tears to flow. One more time he dried his eyes, crushed out what remained of his cigarette, and stepped out of the car. After one last look around the parking lot, he took a deep breath and headed back inside.

He remembered what a psychiatrist had told him once, ‘healing takes place one day at a time, if you can get through today; you start all over again tomorrow’. Today was the first day. He knew better than to make any promises, he had made enough of those in the past. He just wanted to get through today without self-pity and without a drink. “One day at a time,” he thought, “an end to the old ways … and, a new beginning … starts today.”

Jason stopped dead in his tracks, turned around, and walked back to the car. He opened the door, reached across the seat to the glove box, and pulled out the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels. On the way back inside, he noticed a limo pulling away from the curb and thought it must be Mr. Johnson’s. He thought that things were already looking up. Good riddance to bad rubbish.

As he walked through the front doors, Clifton looked up. Jason saw the concern on his face, but raised his palm and smiled. “It’s okay, Clifton. I think everything is going to be okay.” Jason placed the bottle of Jack on Clifton’s desk, commented, “You’re welcome,” and continued walking down the corridor. Clifton’s mouth opened, but no words came out. His eyes just followed Jason as he walked through the security area and over to the elevator.


When Jason re-entered the ERC, he walked over to the coffee table, poured himself a large cup, and grabbed a couple of sandwiches. The ERC was fully equipped to house the team for a week, if needed. There were twelve beds and a kitchen in another room adjacent to the ERC – one of the perks for not knowing when you could go home.

As he walked over to Ted’s desk, he took a couple of quick bites of the ham and cheese sandwich. It actually tasted pretty good. It was then he realized that he hadn’t had anything to eat except for a few donuts in the last 16-18 hours.

“Ted, can I speak with you a second, please.” Ted’s head snapped up when he heard Jason’s voice. Expecting more crap from him, he put down his pen, looked around to see who was in earshot, and nodded.

Jason leaned over Ted’s desk and whispered, “I’m sorry, Ted. I was totally off-base when I grabbed your arm earlier and gave you a ration of shit.” Ted started to speak, but Jason raised his palm to silence him, “Let me finish, please. I need to get this off my chest, okay?” He waited for Ted to nod, ‘yes’. “I know I haven’t been at my best for some time, but I think I am finally on my way back. The road I have been down wasn’t a pretty one, but I guess it was necessary. Anyway, I just want you to know that I was wrong … wrong about everything. You deserve better from a member of your team. What you are trying to do here is good, and you don’t need me hanging around here feeling sorry for myself. I just wanted to say, I am sorry … and, I am here to help. You also need to know that I am here for the duration. Okay?”

The look on Ted’s face went from frustration to wonder. For several moments he looked Jason square in the eye testing him to see if this was some kind of a joke. He then smiled, nodded his head, and reached out his hand, “Okay. I am glad to have you back on the team. We need you, Jason. You are the best we have when it comes to something like this,” Ted gestured at the screens across the front wall. “Now you need to know something. I agree with you … actually, I agree with all your recommendations. Furthermore, I believe Mr. Johnson is wrong and I told him so … right before he left. After listening to your concerns, I did something I don’t normally do; I called the governor. He is prepared to order a full evacuation of the ‘dead zone’ and is calling up the National Guard to facilitate the process. We have a conference call with him in less than an hour to review our other recommendations. Based upon the information we provide him at that time, the governor is also prepared to call the President asking for Federal support. Jason, I would like you on that call. I need you to brief the governor on the situation as well as review your … no, strike that … OUR recommendations. Can you be ready by then?”

Jason put down his sandwiches and coffee, smiled back, and reached out to shake Ted’s hand. “Thanks, Boss. I’ll be ready and I won’t disappoint you or the team.”

He picked up his food, turned, and walked over to his desk. Just before he sat down, he glanced around the room at the rest of the team and noted their worried expressions as they worked feverishly to prepare for the governor’s conference call. Jason cleared his throat and called out so that everyone could hear, “Ladies and Gentleman, the doctor is in!”