Read Taking for Free Online Page A

for the crew and then, with mindless conviction, concluded that they were certainly safe because “those marine-research guys really know their way around the sea.”
    Through a smile as constant as that of a ventriloquist’s wooden partner, Veronica revealed that she had spent one semester of college aboard a sailing vessel in an at-sea learning program.
    Molly wanted to scream at them, as if her voice might travel back along a microwave path to New York City or Washington, or to wherever they were located. She wanted to rock them out of their self-satisfied journalistic detachment, which always seemed to her to be merely smug superiority and emotional indifference masquerading as professionalism.
    Additional video had been recorded and transmitted via satellite by military personnel aboard the USS
Ronald Reagan,
an aircraft carrier currently under way three hundred miles due west of Japan. This tape documented the astonishingly swift development of a dense cloud cover out of a previously clear sky.
    Subsequently, at three points of the compass, within sight of observers aboard the aircraft carrier, waterspouts had formed. The diameter of their funnels grew rapidly until each was larger than the single twister captured on video by the French. An officer aboard the carrier, unable to keep either the awe or the tremor of fear out of his voice, added narration to the incredible visuals.
    Again, neither the sea nor the spinning funnels revealed any trace of the scintillation that characterized the falling rain.
    Impossibly, reports of giant waterspouts were also coming in from ships in the Atlantic Ocean and the Mediterranean Sea, though these were not supported by video.
    Obviously reading from a TelePrompTer, in a pedantic but still ingratiating tone, Veronica said, “Although waterspouts appear to be twisting tubes of solid water, they consist of mist and spray, and are not as formidable as they look.”
    “However,” Jack chimed in, “relying on sophisticated computer analysis of Doppler-radar images, technicians aboard the
Ronald Reagan
determined that the spouts under their observation did not conform to any known models of the phenomenon. These
are
nearly solid forms, and Dr. Randolph Templeton, a meteorologist with the National Weather Service, who joined us in the studio just a short while ago, estimates that each of these funnels is drawing water from the sea at the rate of a hundred thousand gallons per minute.”
    “More,” said Templeton when he came on-screen. “Twice that, at least.” He had the good sense not to smile.
    In the meteorologist’s eyes, Molly saw the measured fear of an informed intelligence.
    Needing to touch Neil, she put a hand on his shoulder, and was less reassured than usual by his solid physique.
    With furrowed brow, in a solemn voice, Jack asked Dr. Templeton if these phenomena were the result of global warming.
    “The vast majority of meteorologists don’t believe there is any global warming,” Templeton replied with a note of impatience, “at least not any that isn’t natural and cyclical.”
    Jack and Veronica both appeared dumbfounded by this statement, and before a producer could murmur a suitable comeback question in their earpieces, they both looked simultaneously at the ceiling of the broadcast studio.
    “A very hard rain has just begun falling here in Washington,” said Veronica.
    “Remarkably hard,” Jack agreed. Apparently, the producer at last whispered in his earpiece, for Jack turned to the meteorologist. “But Dr. Templeton, everyone knows the effect of greenhouse gases—”
    “What everyone knows is bunk,” Templeton said, “and if we’re going to get a handle on this, what we need right now is analysis based on
real
science, not—”
    Neil thumbed the remote control repeatedly until he found one of the three major networks, which had belatedly risen to the crisis like a shark to a swimmer.
    The anchorman was older than the pair on cable news, and