Tumble: The Andaman Event

By Bob Triggs

An unprecedented seismic event 249 km west of the Andaman & Nicobar Islands jostle the Indian, Australian, and Eurasian plate boundaries together, prompting thousands of earthquakes to ripple out across the globe. The abnormal upheaval triggers a massive underwater landslide that permanently transforms the geography in the Bay of Bengal.

But the Andaman Event is the catalyst for an epic disaster on an unimaginable scale. Poised to eradicate more than 8.2 million animal, marine, insect, and plant species, scientists predict it will surpass the Great Dying that occurred between the Paleozoic and Mesozoic eras 252 million years earlier. During that period, 83% of all genera was lost, and it is the only known mass extinction of insects. The next one is in 2020.

Amid unparalleled changes to the climate and extraordinary seism's, ecological and geological transformations are in progress that will purge Mankind along with almost every form of life, and a desperate struggle for survival begins.

A series of perplexing failures in the worldwide weather satellite network operated by Infinity Meteorological Database Systems is the first warning of Mother Nature's quest to sanitize the planet. For the first four days it is mistaken as a probable computer virus until the chief technical officer, Brad Bentley, makes a startling discovery. The company’s CEO, Steve Jaeger, presents the evidence to President Lloyd Sinclair who, despite his skepticism, seeks the opinion of renowned astrophysicist, Dr. Jack Bailey, PhD, of Harvard.

The professor’s preliminary evaluation confirms a global disaster is already in an advanced stage of development, but because the details are vague, he has the academic brought to the White House. His elucidation confounds the president even more and throws him into a quandary. The fallout over his response if he believes the doctor’s absurd summarization, will have disastrous repercussions with US allies and his presidency in an election year. On the other hand, if he disregards the assessment and it turns out to be true, the consequences will be even more deadly.

There is no middle ground.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bob Triggs
• Release date: Jul 31, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310411595

Bob Triggs

Bob Triggs was born on the Falkland Islands in 1957. He developed a proclivity for writing when he was ten, but his aspirations were prorogued at eighteen after he moved to live in England. He resettled in London, where the sprawling, densely populated conurbations were a vast departure to the remote, sparsely inhabited, windswept archipelago in the South Atlantic, but he assimilated to city life with surprising ease. He worked in London for nearly two decades before moving to Los Angeles, where he has been living since 1994.The Andaman Event, which is inspired by the 2004 Indian Ocean earthquake and tsunami, is the exordium to the six-book Tumble series.

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Contents

Part One

Wednesday, December 25, 2019

1: Khaolak Golden Place Hotel, Khao Lak, Thailand; 1725h

2: Mehganinagar, Sector 28, Gandhinagar, Gujarat, India; 2004h

Thursday, December 26, 2019

3: Khao Lak Beach, Khao Lak, Thailand; 0600h

4: Fortune Resort Bay Island, Port Blair, South Andaman Island; 1009h

5: Institute of Seismological Research, Gandhinagar, Gujarat, India; 1031h

6: Khao Lak Beach, Khao Lak, Thailand; 1033h

7: Rashtrapati Bhavan, New Delhi, India; 1217h

8: Institute of Seismological Research, Gandhinagar, Gujarat, India; 1609h

9: 97-20 57th Avenue, Corona, New York, USA; 1759h

Part Two

Sunday, June 21, 2020

10: Davis Street, Stanley, Falkland Islands; 1540h

11: 97-20 57th Avenue, Corona, New York, USA; 1907h

Monday, June 22, 2020

12: Infinity Meteorological Database Systems, Palo Alto, California; 0815h

13: Met Office, Stanley, Falkland Islands; 0959h

14: Infinity Meteorological Database Systems, Palo Alto, California; 1417h

15: M/V Akademik Knipovich II, South Atlantic Ocean; 2104h

Tuesday, June 23, 2020

16: Met Office, Stanley, Falkland Islands; 0916h

17: Infinity Meteorological Database Systems, Palo Alto, California; 1022h

18: Infinity Meteorological Database Systems, Palo Alto, California; 1347h

Wednesday, June 24, 2020

19: National Weather Center, Buenos Aires, Argentina; 0811h

20: Infinity Meteorological Database Systems, Palo Alto, California; 0827h

21: Dover Heights, Sydney, Australia; 1347h

22: Infinity Meteorological Database Systems, Palo Alto, California; 1506h

23: The Oval Office, The White House, Washington, DC; 1559h

24: Infinity Meteorological Database Systems, Palo Alto, California; 1637h

25: CPC Central Headquarters, Jing-Jin-Ji, Beijing, China; 1800h

Thursday, June 25, 2020

26: Infinity Meteorological Database Systems, Palo Alto, California; 0758h

27: National Weather Center, Buenos Aires, Argentina; 0823h

28: Infinity Meteorological Database Systems, Palo Alto, California; 0902h

29: The Oval Office, The White House, Washington, DC; 2104h

Friday, June 26, 2020

30: Infinity Meteorological Database Systems, Palo Alto, California; 0814h

31: The President’s Private Study, The White House, Washington, DC; 1123h

32: Infinity Meteorological Database Systems, Palo Alto, California; 1242h

33: Bir Lehlou, Western Sahara; 1317h

34: Infinity Meteorological Database Systems, Palo Alto, California; 1446h

Saturday, June 27, 2020

35: Los Robles Avenue, Barron Park, Palo Alto, California; 0601h

36: The President’s Private Study, The White House, Washington, DC; 1017h

37: Petro Santa Nella Service Station & Diner, Gustine, California, USA; 1114h

38: LAX International Airport, Los Angeles, California, USA; 1326h

39: The Oval Office, The White House, Washington, DC; 1434h

40: Arland Avenue, South San Gabriel, California; 1647h

41: The President’s Private Study, The White House, Washington, DC; 1812h

42: Arland Avenue, South San Gabriel, California; 1903h

43: The President’s Private Study, The White House, Washington, DC; 2101h

Acknowledgments

Part 1

1

Khaolak Golden Place Hotel

Khao Lak, Thailand

Coordinates: 08° 37' 48.4 N, 98° 14' 40.2 E

Wednesday, December 25, 2019, 1725h

A blue-and-red taxi sweeps through the entrance of the Khaolak Golden Place Hotel and comes to an abrupt halt on the red herringbone forecourt with a screech of underinflated tires. The driver’s door swings open, and a small, aging Thai who could not be a day less than seventy, leaps out with surprising sprightliness. He scurries around to the boot and takes out a suitcase while Peter Hutchins, a forty-seven-year-old computer software engineer from London, climbs out of the front passenger side and gazes at the five-story hotel with a distant expression in his blue eyes.

Peter is six feet tall, slim, muscular, and his dark brown hair is turning gray, but he’s still handsome and an attractive catch for any woman. Casually dressed in a white golf shirt and loose gray flannel trousers, he takes a moment of pause to swallow back an emotional lump as mental images of the disastrous trip fifteen years earlier remind him that he is not here for a holiday. He has been wallowing in a stagnant pool of guilt, self-pity, and grief for too long, and this is supposed to be a therapeutic journey intended to kick-start his life.

His eyes rove over the front of the structure, and he is filled with disenchantment. Has anything changed at all? Even the facade has been rebuilt to its original design. Yes, very little has changed, yet nothing is the same. His ruminations are interrupted by the taxi driver, who places the suitcase on the ground in front of him before requesting payment by rubbing his thumb and index finger together several times in rapid succession. Peter takes a wallet from his pocket and counts five hundred Thai baht into the cabbie’s hand, which he scrunches together and stuffs into a pocket before climbing back into his car.

Peter turns his head in the direction of the ocean. The beach is hidden from view behind a tall hedge and a line of palm trees, but he doesn’t need to see the sand and water to know where it is. How could he forget? It’s been the bane of his miserable existence for the past one and a half decades.

He hears a click of hurried footsteps on the Omega block paving approaching from behind, and he swings around to see a porter rushing across the forecourt. Peter only has one suitcase, but because it isn’t very heavy, he declines the offer of assistance from the bellhop. He picks it up and walks over to the main entrance, where a concierge opens the door to let him pass unimpeded into a spacious lobby. Inside, the floor is covered with blue carpeting overprinted with golden designs of the Ratchaphruek tree in full bloom, which represents a combination of the national flower and the Thai monarchy. A large artificial pine tree adorned with twinkling lights, colored balls, and garland is standing in one corner, and the back wall is beautified with bright, multihued paper decorations. The soft sound of Christmas music drifts around the atrium, and a subtle aroma of cinnamon has a soothing effect on his senses as he walks over to the reception desk.

The young clerk gives him a pleasant smile before addressing him in perfect English. Good afternoon, sir. How may I help you?

I have a reservation for the next three nights. My name is Peter Hutchins.

The receptionist turns to a computer and checks the files with a few swift strokes on the keypad. I see you’ve flown in from London, Mr. Hutchins, she says, turning her head to look at him as she speaks. Are you here for the memorial service tomorrow?

Yes.

The young woman validates the key card for his room before laying it on the countertop in front of him, and then she pushes an open registration book in his direction with a pen lying on the facing page. Please sign here, Mr. Hutchins. Your room number is 304. Peter picks up the ballpoint and signs the log while she continues to talk. Did you know someone who died in the tsunami?

Yes, my wife and two daughters.

Perhaps the blunt response is making her feel she’s being too intrusive, because her cheerful expression changes to one of embarrassment and she stammers a hasty apology. "Oh … I-I’m sorry."

Peter replaces the pen on the open page with a wistful sigh and tries to dispel her unease by sounding more upbeat. That’s okay, love. What’s done is done. No one can go back and change what happened.

She slides a pamphlet and a coupon across the countertop. People will be congregating on the beach for prayer around the time the tsunami came ashore. This is a list of various religious organizations who will be holding memorial services throughout the day, and the tsunami warning sirens will sound a three-minute accolade starting at ten twenty-seven. She taps the face of the voucher with her forefinger. This is for a special prayer service open to hotel residents and guests in our banqueting suite. It starts at one o’clock and it’ll be followed by a free buffet, compliments of the manager.

Peter gives her a weak smile as he picks the pamphlet and ticket up from the countertop. Is there somewhere nearby where I can buy flowers?

The receptionist nods and points to a wide passageway leading out of the lobby on his left. There’s a florist at the end of the shopping hall, but I think they’re closed for the day. They’ll be opening early tomorrow morning, though—around six o’clock, I believe.

Thank you. Tomorrow morning will be fine. The shopping hall is a new feature that has been added to the hotel since his last stay, but everything else appears identical to how it was fifteen years ago, and he walks across to an alcove on the right where the elevators are located. He’s feeling more relaxed, and after pressing the call button, he begins humming to the strains of Silent Night while he waits for the car to arrive.

Once in his room, he opens the suitcase and takes out a dark suit, a neatly pressed white shirt, and a black tie, which he hangs in the closet before transferring his socks, underwear, and casual clothes into a drawer unit. He is desperate for a long, hot shower to wash away the dried perspiration and grime that have accumulated on his body over the last twenty hours, and when he’s finished unpacking, he picks up the toiletries and heads into the bathroom. He emerges forty minutes later, fatigued but refreshed.

Peter decides to rest for ten minutes before going down to the restaurant for supper, and he flops onto the bed dressed in a maroon bathrobe. He lies on his back with his hands clasped behind his head and stares insipidly at the ceiling, sifting through the events that now bind him eternally to this place.

Fifteen years ago, he was thirty-two and an affectionate husband to a beautiful twenty-nine-year-old wife, Beverly. They could not have been happier; the epitome of a perfect couple and the caring parents of two daughters—Kathleen, eleven, and an energetic six-year-old, Angela.

The cold, wet, and windy summer of 2004 prompted the idea of swapping the damp climate for a fortnight in the sun, and one blustery evening in October, he sat down with his wife to flip through some holiday brochures. Peter used to be an avid wildlife photographer, and a visit to the rainforests of Kaeng Krung National Park in the northwestern Surat Thani Province of Thailand was at the top of his bucket list. The two mountain ranges of protected forestation included creatures such as tigers, tapirs, gaurs, and numerous bird genera, and in addition to the faunas, they would see some of the most spectacular scenery the world had to offer, but he knew it would be an uphill battle to get Beverly interested. She never shared his enthusiasm for uncivilization, a word of her own creation, yet he wouldn’t be a worthy husband if he failed to understand these little verities after eleven years of marriage. He knew she’d come up with a myriad of reasons not to embark on a camping adventure, and neither would she hesitate to use the children as an excuse if it suited her schema. Beverley’s summarization of a perfect break was to laze around on a beach with a margarita, and bearing this in mind, Peter worked on a solution to accommodate his desire as well as hers. However, he still gave her the opportunity to go to Kaeng Krung, but as he expected, she firmly decried the proposition by pointing out how uncomfortable and exhaustive it would be.

"Honestly, I have no aspirations to gad about in a foreign country on the back of an elephant. I really don’t know how anyone can construe that as a relaxing holiday."

Peter picked up a brochure with pictures of an idyllic beach at Khao Lak. Golden sand. Blue waters. Sunny skies. How about here? He waited in anticipation for several minutes while she leafed through the pamphlet.

Do you think we can really afford a holiday in Thailand then?

I don’t see why not. Our finances are in good shape.

She took a few moments to answer. All right, let’s do it.

Peter was unable to contain the excitement in his voice. Khao Lak is a hundred and fifteen miles from Kaeng Krung. I can book a three-day elephant safari for Kathleen and myself while you hang out at the seaside with Angela.

She hesitated, probably to grasp the fact that she’d been outflanked, but he knew there was no good reason for her not to compromise. Why do you want to take Kathleen?

Well, as you know, she’s developed strong inclinations against the exploitation of animals since we encouraged her to join the junior branch of the World Wildlife Association, and this will be a perfect opportunity to introduce her to some of the creatures in their normal habitat and experience the rawness of nature firsthand.

Later that night he went online and made reservations for an elephant safari. He expected Kathleen to be excited, so he was stunned when he revealed the plan to her on the following evening and she immediately snubbed the idea by proclaiming it would be too scary to sleep in a tent with tigers and other creatures roaming around in the darkness.

There’s nothing to be afraid of, sweetie. They’re not going to attack us while we’re asleep.

But what if they do?

It won’t happen, babe. We’ll be sharing the same tent.

That won’t stop them.

Yes, it will, because I’ll be there to protect you.

She inclined her head to one side and asked a question with the candid logic of a young child. "And who’s going to save me after you get eaten, Daddy?"

Kathleen remained resolute in spite of his best efforts to change her mind, and he finally capitulated with a warning. I may not be able to rebook your proviso once it’s canceled.

That’s okay, she replied offhandedly.

However, he clung to the hope that she might change her mind and waited for a couple of days before he eventually rescinded her place on the safari.

Their flight landed at Phuket International Airport late on the morning of Christmas Eve. They had hired a car in advance, but a mix-up in the rental company’s booking department meant they were unable to furnish him with their preferred vehicle choice. He expressed his dissatisfaction, but his first impression of the LR2 substitute inside and out was one of surprise, and after a few minutes behind the wheel, he couldn’t deny that he’d fallen in love with the off-roader.

Peter turns to lie on his side and gazes at the pastel-yellow wall through a film of moisture. This is a crusade he’d vowed to make more than a decade ago, but he was filled with dread each time the date drew near and always postponed the trip ‘until next year.’ Even while his reservations as to whether a pilgrimage would be efficacious in providing the closure he needs, it became obvious that procrastination wasn’t an effective panacea, so whatever happens over the next couple of days is now in the hands of Providence.

He tries to disinter happier memories from his subconscious, and yuletide is at the forefront because it used to be his favorite time of the year. Kathleen and Angela would charge into the bedroom on Christmas morning, and even before he had a chance to open his eyes, the two high-spirited youngsters would be bouncing on the bed and pleading for them to wake up so they could go downstairs and open their presents. The gleam of elation in their eyes, the surprised expressions on their faces, and the happy squeals of delight when they opened their gifts always brought immense pleasure. But in 2004, they let the girls unwrap one present each on the eve of their holiday with a promise they would open the rest when they got back home. Fifteen years later, those same gifts are stored unopened in the attic at the home of his in-laws with the name tags still attached.

His flight to Kaeng Krung was scheduled to depart Phuket at ten-thirty on Boxing Day morning, and when he asked Beverly to drive him to the airport, she refused, citing her inexperience at driving on the wrong side of the road. She suggested he should drive himself, but he adjudged it as an unsatisfactory arrangement because it would leave her without transport in the event of an emergency. Beverly was adamant, though, emphasizing that she would never get behind the wheel in a foreign country regardless of the situation.

That morning, Peter accompanied his wife and two daughters to the seashore and he waited for Beverly to spread a colorful beach towel on the sand before he tried to persuade her one last time. I wish you’d keep the car … just in case.

"Seriously, Pete, the girls and I will be fine. All you’ve got to do is forget we exist for the next few days; otherwise, you’re not going to enjoy your trip."

He watched Angela and Kathleen playing tag on the beach, laughing, and giggling boisterously as they chased each other around in circles before turning back to his wife. I have my mobile, so make sure you call me if there’s a problem, all right?

She gently cupped the palm of her left hand over his cheek. "Like you can do what, darling? You won’t even get a signal once you’re out in the jungle, so stop fussing and just go and have fun."

Peter put his hands on her hips and pulled her close to him. I love you.

Beverly responded by wrapping her arms around his neck. I love you too. She pressed her lips against his and began to give him a lingering kiss until Angela’s voice interrupted their moment of bliss.

Oooo … look at Mummy and Daddy kissing, which was followed by a hand-over-the-mouth titter.

Beverly giggled and pulled away. "Go on, you silly human being. You’ve got a plane to catch. She raised her voice. Angela! Kathleen! Daddy’s leaving now. Come and give him a hug before he goes."

Kathleen ran up to him, raised herself on tiptoe, and gave him a cuddle. "I love you, Daddy. I hope you have a good time … and I really won’t mind if you bring me back one of those cute little monkeys from the jungle."

Peter looked into her eyes and laughed. I’ve got monkeys enough with you two. Why would I want to punish myself even more?

She gave him a lighthearted slap on his arm before stepping aside as Angela, who had been farther away, scampered across the sand toward him. She leaped into his arms in a single bound, clinging to him with her legs wrapped around his waist and her hands clasped behind his neck. Her brow was beaded with perspiration, and panting hard from exertion, she pressed a clammy cheek against his. "I love you, Daddy, she said between gasps of air, and then she gave him a sloppy kiss on the cheek before leaning back in his arms to gaze at him with a mischievous sparkle in her blue eyes. I want one of those cute little monkeys too."

Before he could respond, the energized youngster chuckled and pushed herself out of his arms to land square on her feet. She spun on her heels and cast a glance over her shoulder at Kathleen as she ran toward the water, and after she’d given herself a decent lead, she yelled out to her sister, "Last one in is a dork!"

Peter shook his head in amazement. "That girl has far too much energy."

Beverly laughed before surmising. Well, if I’m lucky, she’ll sleep well tonight.

He bade farewell and walked off to recover the Land Rover from the resort’s parking structure, but he threw a final backward glance as he reached the beachhead. Beverly was sitting on the towel, rubbing sunscreen on her arms, and the girls were splashing around at the edge of the water.

It took an hour to drive to the airport, and after checking in, Peter discovered he’d be flying on an old 1950s DC-3 owned by a small company affiliated with the national parks of Thailand. The first thing he noted when boarding was the well-worn cabin furnishings and fading decor, which was a little disconcerting because it gave him cause to worry about the Dakota’s mechanical condition and whether it could fly the seventy-five-minute journey without falling from the sky. However, in spite of a bumpy flight, the pilot landed the seventy-year-old ex-military aircraft safely on a grassy strip that served as an airfield.

Peter spent three exhilarating days in the wild that exceeded his expectations, and he arrived back at the base camp on the morning of December 30 with two hours to kill before the return flight was scheduled to leave. He was surprised to see hundreds of people surrounding the small building that doubled as a ticket office and departure lounge. Everyone appeared disheveled and weary, but he never read anything into it because his own image left a lot to be desired after three days in the jungle. What he failed to detect was the heavy cloud of despondency that hung over the crowd.

A middle-aged man with a European countenance sauntered past, and Peter took a step in his direction. Excuse me, do you speak English?

"I am English."

Why are there so many people here?

The man stared at him with disbelief on his face. "You haven’t heard, then?"

Heard what? I’ve been out in the jungle for the last few days and I only got back about thirty minutes ago.

A tsunami hit the west coast on Boxing Day. Phuket International is closed to nonessential domestic flights, and the only aircraft allowed to land are those bringing in emergency supplies, equipment, and international aid.

Peter was aghast. You’re joking, right?

Nope—I’ve been stuck here for three bloody days, and as you can see, a lot of people are waiting to get out.

Bloody hell, I need to get to Khao Lak. Do you know if they’re putting on buses or something as an alternative?

Nothing like that, mate. From what I understand, most of the roads are impassable, resorts have been washed away, and hundreds of thousands of people are dead.

This had a sobering effect on Peter, and a wave of fear swept through him as the enormity of the tragedy suddenly sank in. Boxing Day? But that’s when I left Beverly and the girls on the beach! The euphoria of the last three days died in an instant. What time did it happen?

Somewhere ‘round ten-thirty.

At night?

No, in the morning.

Peter shed the backpack from his shoulders and fumbled inside for his iPhone. It had slipped somewhere to the bottom of the bag, and several seconds passed before his fingers curled around the slim-bodied device. He was relieved to see the green signal symbol flashing, and his hands trembled as he dialed Beverly’s number, but it went straight to voicemail. Damn! She’s turned the phone off! He left a short message asking her to call back.

The Englishman spoke to him. If you’re trying to call someone on the west coast, you won’t get through. I buggered up my batteries trying to get in touch with my uncle.

Are there any public telephones?

The man nodded toward the small airline building. "Over in the departure lounge, but good luck with that. The landline services are disrupted too."

Peter picked his backpack up by one strap and set off at a half run while the man was still talking. He pushed his way into the packed ticket hall with a band of anxiety tightening his chest. A flat-screen on the far wall was switched to a news channel, but as the broadcast was in Thai, he ignored it.

There was a long queue waiting to use the telephone, and while the urge to shove his way to the front and demand to be next was irresistible, Peter realized their urgency was no less than his own was and he reluctantly joined the end of the line. His nervousness grew over the next forty minutes as he shuffled forward a few paces at a time until he finally dropped several fifty-satang coins into the slot. He was greeted by an animated message spoken in Thai, and in a state of agitation, he beckoned to a young Asian woman who was waiting behind him.

Do you speak English?

She hesitated before she responded. A little.

That was good enough for Peter, and he held the handset out toward her. Can you translate for me … please?

I try, she said and stepped forward, took the receiver, and listened for a few moments before looking up at him with a puzzled expression in her eyes. Here is no one.

He snatched the handset back and raised it to his ear. Silence. The automated exchange had either disconnected or diverted the line to a message service, so Peter pulled more coins from his pocket and redialed the number. He gave the receiver straight back to the woman, and she listened for about twenty seconds.

The lady says the telephone cannot connect. Where do you call?

I need to speak to my family in Khao Lak.

No call Khao Lak.

He swallowed back the panic that welled into his throat. "Why?"

She pointed to the TV screen on the opposite wall. "Khao Lak is very, very bad."

He left her holding the phone and pushed his way forcefully through the crowd toward the television where footage salvaged from security cameras was being broadcast, but the huge volume of water washing ashore needed no translation.

"Bloody Norah!" he whispered as the powerful wave surged inland at incredible speed, sweeping hundreds of people off their feet and crashing through the resort with devastating consequences.

Flights into Phuket resumed the following day, but they were restricted to a couple of daily trips. Repeated calls to Beverley’s iPhone kept going to voicemail, but he tried to console his trepidation by reminding himself that she had a habit of misplacing it, and he was convinced this was more plausible than being swept off in a giant tsunami. He tried in desperation to get a seat on the DC3, but with such a huge backlog of passengers, they made him wait his turn. It almost drove him crazy, and to make things worse, he tortured himself repeatedly by watching the agonizing images on the television and scrutinizing each distressing scene to see if he could identify his family among the people struggling for their lives.

More than three hundred people were still stranded at Kaeng Krung for the New Year, and instead of celebrating the transition into 2005 with champagne, cheers, and laughter, they held a prayer vigil on the grassy airstrip. It was a solemn, poignant service that lasted several hours, and someone led a threnodic rendition of Auld Lang Syne at midnight, first in English, followed by a version in Thai, Chinese, and another language he didn’t recognize. There wasn’t a dry eye on the field when the last words faded into the darkness. It was a rare occasion where a vast diversification of religions including Buddhism, Taoism, Confucianism, Islamism, Catholicism, Judaism, and Christianity came together with mutual respect for each other’s faiths. There were no ordained ministers, clerics, or other religious leaders among the group; otherwise, this historic event would likely have never happened, yet its acknowledgment never extended beyond the halo of light on the edge of a rainforest. The spiritual ambiance that hovered over the assembly was electric, and the experience gave Peter comfort, strength, and renewed hope.

His name came up for a seat on the DC3 on the following morning. The seventy-five-minute flight took an eternity, and he was unable to relax as the cumbersome machine lumbered through the sky. He was one of the first to disembark after it landed at Phuket International, and close to physical and mental exhaustion, he shoved his way through the enormous throngs of distraught, tired, and disgruntled travelers in the main terminal. They had probably spent days at the airport waiting to escape the disaster-stricken country, but Peter didn’t care. His only mission was to find his family.

The long journey to Khao Lak was slow, and he had no reprieve from the appalling devastation that continued to worsen as he drew closer to the coast. He drove past groups of locals who were trying to clear mud-clogged roads to reach the outlying villages, but their interest in him was ephemeral. No one cast a second glance at the foreigner passing through their midst, and he wished his own recollections could be as evanescent. The aftermath of the tsunami was horrifying, but his mindset was positive as he pressed forward because he was certain he’d be reunited with his family once he reached the resort. He never dared to think otherwise.

He was still several miles out when the road disappeared beneath a foot-deep mire, and the wheels stirred up an obnoxious odor of sea salt and decaying marine life that was fermenting in the lower layers. It took four hours to reach the Khaolak Golden Place Hotel, and he stared in horror at the ruins when he finally rolled to a stop two hundred feet from the edifice. The northeast corner had collapsed, the facade and framework were skewed, and every window was broken. The structure looked like it had been derelict for years.

He stumbled toward the dilapidated building and stepped through a gaping hole in the wall. What was once a warm, convivial lobby had been transformed into a cold, malevolent chamber, and the overpowering stench inside made him nauseous. The depth at the peak of the flooding was recorded by a watermark that ran around the foyer two feet beneath the ceiling cornice molding, and the walls were covered in dark stains, drying mud, green algae slime, and Stachybotrys spores that had begun to reproduce in the damp, murky corners.

Peter booked into a motel close to Khao Lak and began a daily routine to search for his family. He walked through the wards at the overcrowded hospitals every morning, where extra mattresses were laid out on the floors to cope with the enormous number of casualties, and then he went to the emergency shelters. The authorities had made the task easier by posting the names of the refugees registered in each facility on a notice board beside the main gate, but the three people he was looking for were never on the lists. The day would end at the airport, where he spent hours wandering through the ticket halls and departures lounge in case they were trying to leave the country.

Two days after he arrived back from Kaeng Krung, the telephone company reestablished international communications, which filled him with renewed optimism. Beverly was close to her parents and she would have contacted them at the first opportunity; perhaps she was even back in the United Kingdom. His sanguinity was dashed when his in-laws told him they hadn’t heard from her.

A grief-stricken Peter returned to England a week later, where his life became mundane and robotic. He spent most of the time in seclusion with a friendly whiskey bottle and sat for hours staring in abject misery at the unopened gifts beneath the Christmas tree.

Peter sighs and wipes another tear from his eye. There are no bodies to mourn over or headstones to visit, and until he has irrefutable evidence that their lives were claimed by the deadliest tsunami in modern history, he can’t seem to get the closure he desperately needs. He closes his eyes and sobs quietly. On the morrow, he’ll be standing on the spot where he kissed his wife and daughters good-bye for the last time, and he tries to imagine how the girls might look like now. Kathleen would be twenty-six, and perhaps she’d even be married with her own children. And Angela? She would’ve celebrated her twenty-first birthday just three weeks earlier.

But as he drifts into a deep slumber, the only images he can conjure up are those frozen in his memory: two young girls of six and eleven who stopped growing on Boxing Day in 2004.

2

Mehganinagar, Sector 28

Gandhinagar, Gujarat, India

Coordinates: 23° 14' 40.4 N, 72° 39' 26.6 E

Wednesday, December 25, 2019, 2004h

Robert Andrews was born into an affluent family from Scotland and was a bonnie one-year-old when the British Financial Foundation appointed his father to supervise a five-year transition of their Asian assets over to the Indian Investment Bank in Mumbai. He has no recollection of life in the United Kingdom, and his older brother, who was six when they migrated, told him that his own memories were contained to a few flash images of their nanny and a large house that could have been either their Scottish home near Edinburgh or their English countryside estate in Kent.

Impressed by his father’s financial management skills, the government of Gujarat viewed him as a valuable asset, and they seized the opportunity to poach him by waving a golden package in his direction when the reassignment was nearing conclusion. The proposal included huge starting and annual bonuses, a large house on 320 acres of prime land, full citizenship for the family, and other incentives that were too good to turn down.

Now forty-five, Robert’s youthful features are enhanced by deep, brown eyes, a full head of sandy-brown hair with no sign of gray, and his broad shoulders and strong, square-set jaw project an air of confidence. He is mild-mannered and probably the most eligible bachelor in Gandhinagar, but his career takes primacy over relationships. He once came close to getting married until his fiancée got tired of the inattentiveness. The long hours he spent at the institute, often working late into the night, gave her prescience as to the direction their marriage would go, so it was no real surprise to her friends when she decided to move on.

Robert developed a fascination for geoscience when he was ten, and he spent hours viewing educational documentaries and reading every textbook he could acquire on the subject. After attending secondary school, he went on to college, graduating with a degree, full honors, and a certificate of achievement. This qualified him for a place at the University of New Delhi, where he dedicated the next eight years to earn a Doctorate of Philosophy in geophysics and a Master of Science. He studied for both papers concurrently, making many personal sacrifices along the way, but his devotion paid dividends because he’s now the head of the Institute of Seismological Research, which was set up by the government of Gujarat in 2003. Under his guidance, the facility rose up to be one of the world’s leading foundations on seismology and geological research.

Seth has not aged quite as gracefully, though, and his appearance is close to that of their father prior to his death. The graying hair on the fifty-one-year-old is receding fast, and a developing potbelly is getting harder to conceal. Their mother was a renowned cardiologist with a thriving practice in London’s exclusive Harley Street and another office in Gandhinagar, so she was elated when he started medical school. He has since emerged as one of the leading neuroscientists in the world, and when he’s not absorbed in a research project or involved in a complex surgical procedure in front of a study group, he can be found in a packed auditorium delivering one of his notable lectures to dozens of eager students.

The family was struck by a double tragedy in 2007, which began with the death of his mother in February. She succumbed to the rare parasitic meningitis caused by the Naegleria fowleri amoeba, which health investigators connected to a recent camping trip she took with acquaintances in the Nallamala Hills, Telangana. She went for a daily swim in a nearby lake, and even though her friends swam in the same stretch of water, she was the only one who became infected with the parasite. Seven months after her premature death, the front tire of a rental car driven by his father blew out, and the vehicle careened out of control. It flipped several times,