Eruption

Chapter 14

Hawaiian Volcano Observatory, Hawai‘i

The doors of the ambulance slammed shut. MacGregor watched as it pulled out of the parking lot and headed around the caldera, lights flashing in the growing darkness. He turned to Jenny. “We going to get press on this?”

She shook her head. “I doubt it. I don’t think Jake or that cameraman is particularly eager to publicize this.” She reached up and touched his cheek, unable to stop herself. “I thought I was going to lose you,” she said.

“You know better than that.”

“Not today I didn’t,” she said.

For a moment, Mac thought she might cry. He felt a sudden urge to pull her into an embrace but fought it, not knowing who was watching them.

They walked back toward the main laboratory building. The night was clear, and Mauna Loa loomed high above them, the line of its dark slope just visible against the deep blue sky.

Jenny said, “Rick and Kenny want to talk to you about something.”

MacGregor looked at his watch. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“They say it can’t.”

When Mac and Jenny walked into the data room, Rick Ozaki wasn’t afraid to hug him. Mac was grinning when he stepped back.

“Any longer and we’d be picking out furniture,” he said.

Rick grinned back. “Kiss my ass.”

“And here I thought we were having a moment.”

“Listen,” Rick said. “I’ll make this short.”

MacGregor sat beside him and stared at the screen. The monitor showed a computer-generated cutaway view of Kīlauea and Mauna Loa that rotated slowly in three dimensions. Beneath the volcanoes, the magma pipes and reservoirs were outlined in pale gray, the image courtesy of hundreds of optimally positioned sensors. “So,” Rick began, “from seismic and ground-deformation data, we get our model of the internal structure of Mauna Loa, down to about forty kilometers underground. As you know, we’ve been refining this model for ten years.”

Rick zoomed in, enlarging the image. Beneath Mauna Loa the gray magma structures reminded MacGregor of a tree: a central lumpy trunk rising upward, splitting into thick branches, and then, near the top, fanning out into a series of horizontal magma reservoirs like leaves.

“These are the locations of the magma transport system inside the volcano,” Rick said. “We had this ten years ago. What’s different is now we know that it’s accurate. Here is the full data series for six months, and you can see how tremor epicenters align with the magma pipes.” Black squares representing earthquake centers dotted the vertical magma columns. “Okay?”

“Okay,” MacGregor said. “But I think—”

“Let me finish telling you what I think,” Rick said. “Here’s the inflation data from the GPS net.”

“Yes, yes.” MacGregor sighed. He found himself looking at Rick’s bulging waistline. MacGregor was old enough to remember when being a volcanologist meant being in shape. To members of the field team, like Tim Kapaana, hiking across the slopes of mountains to make observations, tending the monitoring stations, pulling colleagues out of dangerous spots—all of that was a rush. MacGregor heard nothing but complaints whenever he ordered the systems and data analysts into the field. It was hot out there, hiking across the lava fields was difficult, and the sharp lava cut their boots and melted the rubber soles. For better or worse, this new generation of scientists was entranced with computers, addicted to them the way kids were to their phones. They were content to sit in the lab and manipulate data on monitors. MacGregor believed that led to a kind of computer arrogance. He saw it in Rick Ozaki’s attitude.

Rick said, “Mac, Kenny and I and some of the others have been talking.”

“Shocker.”

Rick let the word die between them and continued. “Look, everything is sharper now. When old Thomas Jaggar started this observatory in 1912, he used to predict eruptions within a range of a few months. Later scientists could predict them within a few days. Now we can predict them within hours.”

“I’m well aware.”

“And I’m aware that you are,” Rick said. “We have a better grasp of timing, but we also have a much better idea of where exactly an eruption will occur. Before the ’84 eruption, they knew within a square mile where it would happen, and everybody stood out in the field and looked for the lava. The 2022 eruption was a small one, but we learned from it. Kenny and I believe we can predict the sites lava will erupt from within ten meters.”

MacGregor nodded. “Go on.”

“So we’ve been thinking, Mac. We’ve got the predictions down—we can say when and where the lava is going to come out—so maybe it’s time for the lab to take the next logical step.”

“Which is?”

Rick paused, then said, “Intervene.”

“Intervene?”

“Yes. Intervene in the eruption. Control it.”

MacGregor frowned. “Rick, listen, you know I respect your opinion—”

“And you know how much we all respect yours, even with all the smack we like to lay on you,” Kenny said, coming over. “But we think we can set explosive charges at specific places along the rift zone and vent the volcano.”

“Really.”

“Yes.”

MacGregor barked out a laugh.

“We’re serious, Mac.”

“Vent the volcano?”

“Why not?”

MacGregor didn’t answer. He just turned and walked up the stairs to the observation deck, located above the main laboratory. Rick and Kenny followed him.

“Seriously, Mac,” Rick said. “Why the hell not?”

MacGregor stared at the vast outline of Mauna Loa, a dark shape against the darkening sky. The volcano filled the horizon. “That’s why not,” he said, pointing.

“Yeah, I know, it’s big,” Kenny said, “but—”

“Big?” MacGregor said. “What you can see of that beast in the distance is big. If you measure it from its base on the ocean floor, that volcano is almost six miles high—more than three miles underwater, two and a half miles above. It is by far the largest geographical feature on this planet. And it produces fantastic volumes of lava—a billion cubic yards in the past thirty years. The eruption in 1984 wasn’t particularly large, but it produced enough lava to bury Manhattan to a depth of thirty feet. For Mauna Loa, that was hardly a belch. And then there’s the speed. In 2022, lava production was between fifty and one hundred cubic yards per second. That’s enough lava to fill one Manhattan apartment every second.

“And you’re talking about venting the sucker? You guys have been spending too much time in front of your screens. That mountain isn’t some false-color satellite image that you manipulate with a couple of keystrokes. It’s a goddamn gigantic force of nature.”

In the darkness, Kenny and Rick tried to remain patient while Mac corrected them as if they were schoolchildren. “We understand that, Mac,” Kenny said. “We’re big boys.”

“Do you understand? When was the last time you were up there?” MacGregor said. “It takes four or five hours just to walk around the caldera. It’s a big-ass mountain, guys.”

“Actually, we’ve spent quite a lot of time up there lately,” Rick said. “And we think—”

“What we’re really thinking about,” Kenny said, interrupting him, “is not Mauna Loa, Mac. It’s that.” He pointed away from the volcano, toward the ocean and the glowing lights of Hilo. “Lava has threatened Hilo four times in the past century. Jaggar himself tried diversions, dams, and bombing to stop it. None of it worked.”

“No,” MacGregor said. “But the lava never reached Hilo either.”

“The ’84 flows came within four miles,” Kenny said. “We know that sooner or later, they’ll go all the way. Nearly fifty thousand people live in Hilo now. And there are more every year. So the question is, Mac, the next time an eruption threatens Hilo, how are we going to stop it? What good is all our knowledge if we can’t even protect the nearest big town?”

“That’s right,” Rick said. “I mean, let’s face it—the day will come when we’re going to be asked to control the lava flow, and the only practical way to do it is by venting. By directing the flow of magma from the deep reservoirs to the surface”—he paused for dramatic effect—“toward the places that we choose.”

MacGregor sighed, shook his head. “Guys—”

“We think it should at least be considered,” Rick said. “And the perfect place to try it is up on the saddle, where it doesn’t matter whether we succeed or fail. There’s nothing in the saddle except that army base, and they won’t care. They explode stuff all the time up there.”

“And what do you plan to explode to vent the volcano?” MacGregor asked.

“Not that much. We think that a sequence of relatively small explosions can mobilize preexisting rift zones to open a vent that—”

“Preexisting rift zones? No. I’m sorry, I can tell you’ve given this a lot of thought, but this is just total BS.”

“Maybe not, Mac. In fact, the Defense Department did a feasibility study on this back in the seventies and concluded it would be possible in the future,” Kenny said. “It was a DARPA project, run through the Army Corps of Engineers. We found a copy of the report in the files. Maybe you’d like to see it—”

MacGregor shook his head. “Not so much.”

“Well, here it is, Mac.” Kenny thrust a faded blue folder into his hands. The word VULCAN was printed in large type; underneath it, in smaller type, were the words Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency. MacGregor flipped through the pages. The paper was yellowing. He saw black-and-white line charts, typewritten paragraphs. Very seventies.

Mac shook his head. “Guys, you’re not hearing me.”

“And you’re not hearing us,” Kenny said. “At least take the time to read it.”

“All right. When I catch my breath.” He closed the blue file. The two men were looking at him as if they had just presented him with a unique opportunity. He felt, as he often did with the younger scientists, like a parent with small children. “Okay, look,” he said. “Tell you what. Take the next twenty-four hours to do your own feasibility study.”

“You mean it?” Rick asked.

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Great!” Kenny said.

“You two go out on the volcano, walk the rift zones, trace the route of those giant cracks that extend below the seafloor and send the magma to the surface. Then decide exactly where you think we should place explosives. Draw up a detailed map and a plan, and then we’ll talk.”

“We’ll have it for you tomorrow!” Rick said.

“That’s fine,” MacGregor said. He knew exactly how this little exercise would end. Once they started walking the lava, they’d see the magnitude of the project they were proposing. Hell, just walking the length of the northeast rift zone one way was a full day’s hike. “And now, if it’s all right with you two, I’m going home to fix myself a stiff drink,” he said. He looked down at the palms of his hands. They were still red, still hot, as if the fire had followed him here.

“You sure you’re okay, Mac?” Kenny asked as Mac walked toward the data room.

“I am,” John MacGregor said. “But I can’t lie, boys. I’ve had just about as much fun as I can handle for one day.”