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At the frozen bottom of the world, a madman sits. Supposedly a weather monitoring installation, TESLA can actually control the weather…and Greg Simpson, TESLA’s designer, isn’t about to give up that control to anyone. Not the international agribusiness corporation that bankrolled TESLA; not the US military, who have made a secret pact with Simpson to turn weather into a weapon; and certainly not Tess Beauchamp, an upstart weather scientist who had the nerve to disobey ...
At the frozen bottom of the world, a madman sits. Supposedly a weather monitoring installation, TESLA can actually control the weather…and Greg Simpson, TESLA’s designer, isn’t about to give up that control to anyone. Not the international agribusiness corporation that bankrolled TESLA; not the US military, who have made a secret pact with Simpson to turn weather into a weapon; and certainly not Tess Beauchamp, an upstart weather scientist who had the nerve to disobey Simpson ten years earlier.
Simpson’s removal triggers planetary cataclysms: massive storms, earthquakes, and tsunamis are just the tip of the iceberg. Unless Tess and the equally brilliant Nik Forde can crack TESLA’s programming, Mother Nature’s fury will quickly turn the Earth into a lifeless husk.
“Engrossing…reads like tomorrow's terrifying headlines.” —Publishers Weekly
“Compelling reading.” —George Stephanopoulos, Anchor, Good Morning America
“Scarier than a terrifying tornado!” —Regis Philbin
“Excites and entertains from first page to last. Not just a great thriller, it’s sometimes funny and always deeply human.” —Bill Cosby
“Evans skillfully wields his knowledge of meteorology to develop weather as a compelling and fearsome character in the action of the story. Bad weather has never been this good!”
—Sam Champion, ABC-TV Weather Editor
“A thrilling, compelling tale of what could happen when modern technology is able to shape global weather patterns to achieve military advantages. Storm warning: as events unfold you will not be able to put this down!” —Lieutenant Colonel (ret.) Gordon Cucullu, author of Inside Gitmo
“Bill Evans is my one of my favorite weather men. When he combined Nicholas Tesla, a lab in Antarctica and folks who are trying to weaponize the weather, then I knew I was in for a great ride. Buy this book!” —Whoopi Goldberg
“An intercontinental thriller that imagines how future atmospheric discoveries could tip the balance of corporate and political power. New York's weather expert creates meteorological mayhem with a dose of reality you can only get from a weather expert.”
—Brian Norcross, Hurricane Specialist, The Weather Channel
“Dry Ice teeters right between between science fiction and science-fact. Just like a tornado, it takes you in its grip immediately and then scares the hell out of you.” —Dave Price
“A wild ride from beginning to end. Antarctica may be thousands of miles from you, but you're not safe. Look out, it's Survivor: Earth.”
—Paul “Cubby” Bryant, morning radio personality, WKTU-FM, New York
“Bill Evans has written an excellent techno-thriller with an amazing sense of detail. The tension builds throughout." —Jeffrey Lyons, Lyons and Bailes
Praise for the New York Times bestseller, Category 7
“A superb thriller of a disaster untold until now. Suspenseful and shocking.”
—Clive Cussler, New York Times bestselling author
“Category 7 is a well-researched thriller whose building devastation will keep the reader ‘churning’ through the pages.” —Steve Alten, New York Times bestselling author of MEG
“Just sit back and let the action wash over you. A fast-paced action-adventure that promises a rousing finale and delivers it.” —Booklist
“A clever debut…fast-paced storytelling.” —Kirkus Reviews
In the most remote location on the most remote continent on earth, the eerie landscape lay shadowless under a moonless sky as dark and vast as eternity. The high, empty, frozen plains of snow and ice cast up a feeble, hungry glow. The only light came from stars that glittered intermittently through the heavy cloud cover.
It was mid-March in central East Antarctica, and late in the evening of just another workday at the Terrestrial Energy Southern Land Array—TESLA—installation. The only sound to be heard, inside or out, was that of the wind, screaming at more than one hundred miles per hour across the empty, miles-thick ice sheet. The torrent of air slammed into the state-of-the-art research station and blasted across the large fields of radomes covering the many antennae that comprised the station’s sole purpose and reason it existed.
The people of TESLA, twenty scientists and software developers and fourteen support staff, were the only island of humanity in this part of the earth’s coldest, highest desert. Their nearest neighbor on that high-altitude plateau was the aging Soviet-era Vostok Base. Located as it was near the Pole of Inaccessibility—the most isolated outpost on earth—Vostok sat tantalizingly close to the South Geomagnetic Pole, the best place on the planet to study, monitor, and alter nature’s electromagnetism.
The industrial giant Flint AgroChemical had chosen to quietly build the sleek, high-tech, $250 million TESLA even closer to that pole.
Flint’s decision had left the Russians livid, the Americans astonished, and the Australians amused. The Chinese, aggressive newcomers to the Ice, still seethed with silent, stoic rage. One by one, those nations, and several others, had turned their polar-orbiting reconnaissance satellites toward TESLA to watch the goings-on.
Although the installation’s antennae covered nearly one hundred acres, there wasn’t much for the cameras to track—by design. Every antenna at TESLA was either buried under many feet of snow and ice, as was the Extremely Low Frequency field, or hidden under massive radomes. Some of the shelters were spherical, some geodesic; some low, others nearly two stories tall. Whatever their shape, the carefully crafted structures offered little resistance to the wind while protecting the delicate equipment within their walls. But that wasn’t the only defense they provided.
The radomes frustrated the prying “eyes” of the multi-spectrum, high-resolution cameras trained on them from non-Flint-owned satellites. The complex composite materials used to build the radomes prevented snow and ice from building up on the surfaces while also preventing the units from emitting a heat signature. Their non-reflective surfaces bore a subtle camouflage pattern that rendered the large edifices nearly invisible during both the twenty-four-hour sunlight of the Antarctic summer and the deep-space darkness of the polar winter. No matter the intensity of the light directed at them, the radomes appeared no more sinister than the oddly carved snowdrifts surrounding them.
That invisibility was little more than a gesture really, a high-tech Bronx salute to those who made watching the installation a priority. Interested parties—competitors as well as nations—had antennae of their own that continually swept the earth’s atmosphere, alert to the faintest of electromagnetic signals, which made it impossible for Flint to hide the signals TESLA sent out. The company’s sole consolation was that no outsiders knew what the strange and heavily encrypted signals meant. Or did.
The vast arrays of receivers, composed of numerous shapes and configurations, captured communications from transmitters in precisely chosen locations the world over. This delicate but powerful network existed to gather and monitor vast quantities of minute data about the world’s weather. The rest of the antenna arrays were powerful transmitters that sent forth data and commands to receivers and repeaters across the globe.
TESLA’s control center and habitat sat not two hundred yards from the edge of the nearest antenna array. The elliptical, three-story structure stood tall above the ice plateau on massive hydraulic pillars. The exterior skin was the same dull, patterned covering the radomes wore, and a bracelet of windows encircled each of the floors. The garage unit sat at ground level between the pylons.
The station’s long-legged, shallow-domed design was more functional than aesthetic. Too many early polar stations had been lost within mere decades to encroaching snowdrifts that slowly, inevitably, built up and then froze solid, encasing the stations in impenetrable prisons of ice. TESLA’s sleek, aerodynamic design was cutting-edge, yet the entire installation resembled nothing so much as a 1950s cinematic concept of a futuristic moon station.
The scientists and developers living and working at the installation represented the pinnacle of their fields of study—artificial intelligence, informatics, agrometeorology, plasma physics, ionospheric mechanics, and other even more arcane subjects. They had willingly eschewed the pleasures of civilization to work at changing the way the world worked.
A small cluster of the resident geniuses tapped away at their keyboards, working silently and nearly elbow to elbow in the “sandbox,” the sequestered communal work area that occupied one end of the installation’s high-security upper level. Some of the researchers were crafting new algorithms or speculating on outcomes, while others conducted white- and black-box testing of their software. Uniformly, their tasks were labors of love in a research endeavor never before undertaken by any private company. Governments had tried, but none had succeeded because none had had the leadership of a man as single-minded and intent on success as the one in charge of TESLA: Greg Simpson.
The existence of the Terrestrial Energy Southern Land Array was an open secret within a small group of scientists, corporate executives, and American military commanders, but its true purpose was known to few. TESLA existed to influence the weather. Perhaps control would be the better word. Or manipulate.
In the deliberate darkness of his office near the sandbox, TESLA’s chief scientist, Greg Simpson, sat hunched over his keyboard, watching data stream onto his screen in real time.
It was always this way: the lights off, the room lit only by the soft glow of the bank of flat-screen monitors on his desk. The first time he’d brought a transmitter array on line—telling no one that he was going live, only that he was conducting a power test—he’d sought the darkness instinctively, perhaps to lessen the magnitude of what he was doing. But that unconscious, reflexive timidity had been quickly usurped by an almost otherworldly elation. Greg had come to believe that his actions deserved a reverence reserved for the miraculous, and he savored the experience alone, in this hushed gloaming that recalled cathedrals. And tombs.
Greg had always longed to apply the theories of the twentieth-century scientist and visionary Nikola Tesla to the greater world. To Greg, Tesla had always been both a genius and a virtual mentor. He revered Tesla as much as others had reviled the man. No, “reviled” wasn’t the right word. The scientific community had dismissed Tesla as an interesting crackpot, part forward-thinker and part snake-oil salesman. But that hadn’t stopped any of them from blithely cherry-picking his ideas. When Tesla died, the U.S. government had moved in like a strike force to confiscate his papers. They tested and even implemented his most immediately useful inventions. The rest had been left to molder.
When Greg had earned his own lab space, his own assistants, and just enough autonomy, he had begun refining and even testing some of the great man’s less well-known theories. He used them to build his own reputation and then, as Nikola Tesla was never able to, Greg cashed in.
Greg typed commands on his keyboard and the sensitive mechanisms within certain of the radomes responded. Without so much as a click or a hum to compete with the roar of the wind on the other side of its shelter, a fixed, towering dipole array came to life. In other radomes, oddly curved dishes spun and tilted, some dramatically, some imperceptibly, moving into new positions that targeted specific coordinates in the sky.
The movements were timed and calibrated to the nanosecond. By the time each rig was settled in its place, alert and awaiting the next command, the generators in the low-slung power station on the near side of the antenna fields had achieved peak operational efficiency. Dedicated power boxes placed among the radomes ramped up to “go” mode, ready to supply the enormous wattage needed by the arrays. With a gentle tap of his finger, Greg executed the command. Mere nanoseconds later the fully juiced antennae emitted synchronous bursts of unimaginably powerful electromagnetic energy into the southern sky.
Instantly, though invisibly to the naked eye, the suddenly supercharged bands of the ionosphere, miles wide, began to shiver and shimmy, to warp and buckle as electrons and protons reacted, alternately colliding and repelling each other in ways that nature never intended. The effect was that of a massive earthquake in the atmosphere.
Seconds later, the secondary effect triggered, sending streaks of luminous greens and blues rippling through the clouds and across the endless black of the sky, flashing and shimmering like a kaleidoscope spun too fast. To any untrained eye, it would appear to be just another glorious display of the aurora australis.
The huge waves of energy snaked their way around the globe as TESLA’s transmitters powered down and returned to “sleep” mode to await the next assignment. The installation’s scientists dispassionately noted the direction, duration, and magnitude of the bursts, then moved on to other tasks.
Within hours or days, depending on where they called home, citizens of the planet would marvel at the beautiful spring weather, curse the autumn storms that pummeled them, or weep at the unfathomable devastation caused by nature’s unpredictability.
The financial markets would churn, creating vast wealth for the executives at Flint. And, in the Pentagon, military leaders would smile grimly as field reports came in, for they had learned how to play God.
Copyright © 2011 by William H. Evans and Marianna Jameson
Posted November 7, 2012
Bill Evans comes out with another weather thriller. He has learned from his mistakes in Category 7 (not saying it was bad) which suffered from little action, too many plots, and little character development. Dry Ice has only two main plots, better character development, and no big gaps between action. My only complaint is that they swore too much. I recommend this, overall.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted September 29, 2011
Bill Evans' climate-based novel, Dry Ice, nicely skirts the question of whether global warming is man-made, man-assisted or just imaginary. His characters have mastered the secret science of manipulating weather, and the author has mastered the art of making that science sound plausible. There's big business with huge investments in food crops and parallel interests in technology. There's government with political investments in favored regimes. And there's Tess Beauchamp, scientist, who's invested her life in honest science.
Sent to take over Flint Agro-Chemical's super-modern facility in Antarctica, Tess is reunited with former lover, Nik Forde, and her intellectual nemesis, Greg Simpson. But no-one has realized how far Greg will go to avenge losing control of TESLA, or how far his rather shady military controllers may have already gone.
High-tech science and low-tech action combine in this meteorological thriller, and the author's clear understanding of climate and weather gives a fine sense of plausibility to the tale. The use of recent events certainly gives verisimilitude to the story, though it can sometimes be distracting-memory replaying the details left out, giving rise to a few too many questions. Perhaps that says more about me than about the book.
The writing is clear, the science well-written, dialog convincing, and scenery beautifully described. The tension builds as the story progresses and the final action, though delayed, makes a great movie-scene. In fact, the whole story would make a great movie. In the end, I still believe the scientists who study global warming. But this is a very scary, very intriguing tale of man's control over nature exceeding his control over himself. In a world of disasters, Dry Ice suggests man might cause the biggest disaster of all-and might equally resolve it. A fun science fiction novel, set firmly in the present day, with the whole world hanging in the balance, it's a fine addition to the genre.
Disclosure: I was given a copy of this book by a generous friend and enjoyed reading it.
Posted August 25, 2011
Bill's first two books -- "Category 7" and "Frozen Fire" -- were great reads. This one is even better! Loaded with factual scientific and meteorological information woven into a fast-moving story with a great plot twist at the end! A real page turner and a must-read for everyone! And if you haven't read the first two books, put them on your list too. Can't wait to see Bill's next book. "Dry Ice" is worth at least 10 stars. Congratulations on another winner, Bill -- you and co-author Marianna Jameson have done it again!Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.