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“Five in Bangladesh, six in India.”

“Stay with it, Gail. I want our best people on the communication boards. We have the finest equipment available; let’s make sure we get everything we can out of it. In the meantime, I’ll personally contact their family members and let them know we’re doing everything we can. Let’s not give up hope.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Albert, how are we fixed on resources?”

“Resources, medical, food, and temporary shelters are in good supply, but none are in the area. I’ll need to draw from our reserves in Tanzania, but it can be done.”

David nodded. He went around the table formulating a plan of action. Food and tents would be sent, and so would medication. Barringston Relief wasn’t big enough to handle this alone. It would work closely with other organizations. Tom Templeton would handle those contacts.

The discussion went on for twenty minutes, each person clearly defining a next step. The discussion was fast paced and intense. So much so that it took Osborn several attempts to get their attention.

“Yes, Oz, what is it?” David asked.

“I think we may be overlooking something here.”

“Like what?” Kristen asked.

“Hurricane Claudia. I know that what has happened in the Bay of Bengal is disastrous, but let’s not forget that another tragedy is just a day away.”

The reminder sobered David. Osborn was right. They were facing catastrophes on both sides of the world. David shook his head, “Two major natural disasters occurring within days of each other. What are the odds of that?”

“Better than most realize,” Osborn answered. “In fact, it’s not unusual at all. Multiple natural disasters are common, but they are not always this intense.”

“Common?” David said.

“Sure. August 1992 saw a volcano eruption in Alaska as well as an earthquake. Shortly after that, Hurricane Andrew struck the Bahamas and tore through the southeastern states of Florida and Louisiana. A week later Tropical Storm Polly inundated eastern China and took 150 lives. Typhoon Omar impacted Guam and the Philippines. In Afghanistan, flash floods swept through the valleys of Hindu Kush, killing hundreds. Most people aren’t aware of these events because many of them take place on foreign soil. You’re not aware of it because Barringston Relief has been primarily concerned with hunger issues.”

“You’re not saying that another catastrophe is on its way, are you?” Kristen asked.

“You must understand,” Osborn said firmly. “Catastrophes are not unusual, they are the norm. They happen every year. Some years are worse than others, but every year has its share of disasters. I can’t tell you if there will be another one soon or not, but there will be others.”

“But how can we deal with multiple disasters like this?” David asked. “We have many resources, more than some countries, but the well is not bottomless. How do we help everyone?”

“You don’t,” Osborn said. “You have to make choices. Some you will save; others you will be forced to lose.”

The comment shocked David. “That’s not what I want to hear, Osborn.”

“Nor is it what I want to say. It is, however, a fact of life. Choices must be made, and as far as Barringston Relief is concerned, you will have to make them.”

Cueva del Toro, Cuba

Seven-year-old Angelina Costa Ruiz strolled along the white sands of the Peninsula de Guanahalabibes near the town of Cueva del Toro. The warm sand stuck to her bare feet, and a stiff breeze ruffled her dark brown hair. She loved the shore, with the cry of gulls, the smell of salt, and the rolling waves. Twice a year her father would take a weekend off from the Center for Agricultural Engineering in Havana, where he worked as a senior research scientist, and drive to his sister’s house. They would make more such trips, but gas for the family’s old Ford was difficult to come by.

Papa worked hard and spent many hours at things that Angelina did not understand, but she did understand that a weekend at the beach with her cousins was more fun than school. Turning, she looked back at her father who lay upon a towel in the sand, a straw hat covering his face, his dark skin glistening in the sun. He looked so alone, and Angelina wished for him a new wife and for herself a new mother.

It had been six months since Mama died. Cancer, Papa explained. But it had been so sudden, so fast. Now it was just she, Papa, and her older sister, Juanita. Juanita was engaged to be married in October, and soon the house would grow by one when Juanita’s new husband moved into their home on the outskirts of the city. Roberto, Juanita’s fiancé, was a kind man and always had a joke for Angelina. He was tall and skinny with big eyes that flashed when he laughed. He was also a teacher like her mother had been and helped Angelina with her homework when Papa was working late—something he did almost every night.

“The future of Cuba is in biotechnology,” Papa always said. He was proud of the work he did, and Angelina was proud to have such a smart and respected father.

The shrill sound of children at play caused Angelina to redirect her attention to her cousins as they frolicked in the ocean, splashing each other and diving under the small rollers that lumbered toward shore. Five cousins. Angelina’s family was small compared to her aunt’s. It was fun being around so many children, like being at recess in school. Still, Angelina preferred her own company. Papa said that her mother had been the same way: quiet and thoughtful.

She missed her mother so much. Tiny tears began to float on her eyes. Papa did the best he could. When he was home, he even tried to braid her hair like Mama had done. Papa was a smart man, a good scientist, but he knew nothing about braiding hair. More than once, Juanita had had to undo what Papa had done. They often laughed about it together, but neither would say anything to Papa. He was the best father any child could have, even if he was gone a lot and couldn’t braid hair.

Yet as good a father as Papa was, a little girl needed a mother. Someone to tuck her in at night and tell her stories and teach her about cooking and about growing into a woman. Perhaps she should pray for a new mother. Papa didn’t believe in God, but Mama had. She had said, “When you’re sad or frightened, pray. There’s power in the prayer.” Twice a month, Mama would go to a little church that was a twenty-minute walk away. The people met in a small, old building with walls covered in peeling white paint. They prayed there too. When Mama had first become ill, Angelina prayed. She prayed hard. She prayed often. But even so, Mama died. Angelina hadn’t prayed since.

At first she had been angry with God. How could He take her mother? He was God, what did He need with her? Angelina needed her Mama more than God did. Now that months had passed, she no longer felt that way. She still missed Mama, but she was no longer angry with God. She didn’t know when that change had happened, but it had. Now she was beginning to pray again. Would it be right to pray for a new mother for herself and a new wife for Papa? Perhaps God would understand.

A gust of warm wind startled Angelina. Sand blew past her feet and stung her bare legs. Quickly she shut her eyes and raised her arms to cover her face. It was blowing harder now, swirling, twisting. She could hear a faint moan as the wind blew past her ears. Was this God talking?

Seconds later the wind was gone. Angelina looked at the other children as they stood in the surf. They too had covered their eyes against the sudden breeze. Now that the breeze was gone, they looked at each other and resumed their play.

Odd
, Angelina thought.
I don’t think I like that.
She
looked in the direction from which the wind had come, but could see only boats on the ocean and large billowy clouds in the sky.

Juanita had said that Mama lived with the angels above the clouds. The thought made Angelina happy. A new warmth filled her. Except Mama wouldn’t live above those clouds. Mama liked pretty things, and the distant clouds were dark and puffy and looked like old bruises.

No, Mama wouldn’t live above those clouds.

David pushed the play button on the remote for the fourth time in the last twenty minutes. He was seated behind the custom teak desk that stood near the large picture windows that made two of the four walls of his office. Across from the desk and on the opposite wall was an entertainment center that housed a large-screen television. The television was a tool, not a luxury. Barringston Relief was a global operation, and the monitoring of international news necessary. In addition to that, many reports from relief workers abroad came via video. This allowed the staff not only to read or to hear a report, but to see events with their own eyes. Consequently, every executive office was equipped with a television and VCR.

No sound came from the television; David had muted it, preferring instead to take in the images without the voice of the aircraft’s passengers. He was watching the same video that had been played in the conference room. The communications department routinely recorded such special broadcasts and distributed them to those departments that might be affected by the news.

David was in awe of what he was seeing. Despite the
visual proof before his eyes, he was having trouble believing that such a monster could rear its head so quickly and cause so much damage. It was, after all, just water. He knew the illogic of that thought. Osborn Scott had made it very clear that water was dangerous in many situations. David had seen news coverage of floods in the Midwest that had literally carried two-story houses for miles before depositing them, broken and twisted, along a muddy bank. In essence, this tsunami was a gigantic flood that had traveled through the ocean at five hundred miles per hour and impacted the shore at over seventy miles an hour. At that speed, water was not the soft, giving liquid that people used every day—it was a wall nearly as solid as brick.

A knock on the door jarred David from his thoughts. “Come in,” he shouted as he pressed the pause button on the remote. Timmy peeked around the corner. “Hey, come on in, buddy.”

“Hi, David,” Timmy said as he entered. He walked straight in, then stopped abruptly, turned, and went back to shut the door that he had left open.

“What are you up to?” David asked with a big smile.

“Nothin’,” Timmy replied. “Mrs. Winters just left.”

“Did you learn anything new today, buddy?” Mrs. Winters was the tutor that David had hired to work with Timmy. Although Timmy’s mind would never develop beyond that of an eight-year-old, eight-year-olds were capable of doing many things, including reading. There were many good books on the market for minds as young as Timmy’s. David was committed to helping him grow to his full mental and emotional potential.

“Yeah, we read a Dr. Seuss book. It was neat.”

“I like Dr. Seuss. He uses a lot of rhyming words.”

“Yeah.” Timmy noticed that the television was on. “Are you watching a movie? I wanna see a movie.”

“It’s not a movie, Timmy. It’s from a newscast.”

“Oh,” Timmy said with disappointment. “Is that the ocean?”

“It’s called the Bay of Bengal, and the shore you see is India. Someone took this video while they were flying in an airplane.”

“Neat!”

“Well, not really Timmy. Unlike a movie, real people got hurt, not actors.”

“Oh,” Timmy replied. David had explained to Timmy the work of Barringston Relief. “Are you going to help those people?”

“We’re working on that right now, Timmy.”

“Can I see?” he asked, nodding at the television.

David hesitated, wondering how Timmy would respond to such devastation. “I don’t know, Timmy. It’s not pleasant.”

“I don’t care. It’s important, and you’re always saying that I should know important things.”

David studied Timmy for a moment, attempting to discern his motivation. Timmy was a sensitive person who often felt the pain and sadness of others. Seeing the tape could prove traumatic. On the other hand, it might help him understand better the work of Barringston Relief and why David had to travel so much.

“OK, Timmy, but if it frightens you, or if you have questions, then you must tell me. OK?”

“OK, but movies don’t scare me.”

That wasn’t true. More than once David had had to leave
a theater with Timmy because a movie monster was too frightening for him to handle.