Page 48

Edith Kanaka‘ole Stadium, Hilo, Hawai‘i

Time to eruption: 63 hours

The press conference had been going on for half an hour before General Rivers, Mac, and the Cutlers—both of whom were wearing the silver jumpsuits they favored for television appearances—joined Henry Takayama on the stage. Takayama had just finished explaining to the crowd of media and Hilo residents that the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Mark Rivers, had arrived on the Big Island and wanted maximum transparency going forward as they all prepared to confront the impending eruption at Mauna Loa.

Mac knew that was mostly bullshit—full transparency was the last thing Rivers wanted. But Rivers was confident that he could win these people over, so here they were.

Rivers stepped up to the microphone. “There is a problem here and we all know it,” he said. “But with your help, I can and will solve it.”

Mac watched him and thought: Now we’ve got a Patton of our own.

“I have been sent by the president to assure everyone in this community that we have a plan to contain the situation and keep Hilo safe,” he said. “Again, we can do this only with your full cooperation. And trust.”

“Let’s see you earn our trust!” a voice called out.

That touched off a lot of shouting from the audience, more people yelling out questions and others telling them to show some respect.

Rivers held up his hands for quiet.

“You all felt the tremors and quakes of the past few days,” he said. “That’s why I was sent here by the president—to show you that the fiftieth state is a number one priority for him. Our experts have indicated that a major event is imminent, most likely within the next forty-eight to seventy-two hours.”

“Define major, General!”

The people in the crowd were starting to sound like spectators at a sold-out sports event, and Mac wondered, not for the first time, if this had been the best decision General Rivers could have made, putting himself out there.

He once again raised his hands for quiet. “But I can assure you, as long as you follow the instructions from Mr. Takayama of Civil Defense”—he pointed to Takayama, now seated next to Rebecca Cruz—“and the army, Hilo will stand strong against this eruption the way it has against the eruptions of the past.”

“Says the haole man from the army!” It was a woman’s voice this time. “Why should we believe an outsider like you?”

Rivers stared at the woman, who was standing against the wall to his right, for what felt to Mac like a full minute.

“Because I give you my word,” he said solemnly.

He gestured to the people sitting behind him on the stage. “We have assembled a dream team of experts. Some of them, the people from the army and from the Hawaiian Volcano Observatory, have been studying the mountain for years. Oliver and Leah Cutler, world-renowned volcanologists, are also here. J. P. Brett, who has worked with the Cutlers previously, will be arriving shortly.”

Someone near the television cameras yelled, “J. P. Brett eats shit!”

A new voice shouted, “Nevertheless,” and the crowd turned to see J. P. Brett walking from the rear of the room toward the stage.