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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
The Winds of Change
Chapter 6 (rating PG)
Springdale, Arkansas
August 16, 1997 0620 CST
Kevin came down, a few minutes later than normal. He was not surprised to find Jarod munching away
on the tub of taffy in front of him. Jarod was smiling from ear to ear and he looked better rested than
Kevin had seen him for days. Hmm, Kevin thought, maybe he got lucky.
“Good morning, Kevin!” Jarod was unusually happy this morning. Kevin hated morning people. As
long as Jarod didn’t tell him another stupid joke before Kevin made it to the coffee pot maybe he’d be
all right. “Say, Kevin, what kind of house is the easiest to lift?”
Damn. Just one morning he’d like to make it to the coffee pot unmolested. He had spent years training
Dorothy to leave him alone until after the second cup of coffee. Jarod showed no signs of learning this
particular habit of the household. He secretly thought Jarod was doing it on purpose. Kevin didn’t
even look in Jarod’s direction.
Jarod, who did experience a great deal of joy in irritating Kevin in the morning, continued despite the
lack of an attentive audience. “A lighthouse.” Jarod peeled off a burst of laughter that actually
convinced Kevin that the joke was a little funny.
“Real funny, Jarod. Where’s the coffee?”
“Oh, I already poured you a cup. I thought you might like to take a look at this.” Jarod pushed the
morning forecast towards Kevin.
Grabbing the coffee first, Kevin slowly began to look over the NeWS cast for the morning. How Jarod
got these direct feeds always puzzled Kevin. He figured Jarod had an NWS password or a friend in the
loop who fed them to him. Anyway, the isobars in the morning chart woke Kevin up much faster than
the coffee ever could. Damn, today would be a boomer.
A cold front had stalled over the Osarks and was just sitting still waiting for the remnants of Tropical
Storm Erika. Although downgraded long before to a simple high pressure system, Erika had pressure
readings over 1035 milibars. When that combined with the cold air mass sitting at about 995 milibars
the resultant pressure gradient would produce winds of incredible magnitude. Further, the warm air of
Erika would cause a turbulent mixing with the cold front already high in the mountains. Today the
question would not be whether they would have a tornado or not. The question would be where they
wouldn’t have a tornado.
“Jarod, do you know what this means?”
“Yeah, pretty cool, huh?” Jarod was far too glib about the turn of events for Kevin’s liking.
“We’ve got to get everyone up and get the gear together.”
“In a minute, I’ve got something I want to show you.” Jarod picked up a small backpack from
underneath his chair and laid its contents on the table. Twenty small cylindrical objects, smooth on
every edge, about two inches in diameter and six inches long rolled out onto the table. Kevin
involuntarily grabbed one and picked it up. They weighed less than one pound each.
“What are these?”
Jarod had been anticipating this moment for weeks. He always loved this part of the Pretend. Now it
was time to take over the situation, right the injustice and complete the mission. The adrenaline rush
was sexual. He could feel the high building. “Oh, that’s just a little something I threw together. They
are three-dimensional position indicators. Very similar to your design for the DOROTHY spheres. The
only major difference is that they have satellite referencing capability through the global positioning
network, laser height positioning and a one thousand square mile map memory. This morning I
downloaded local topographical defense maps from the DMA for this region of Arkansas.
“The devices will constantly orientate themselves to within one meter on satellite information alone. The
laser height system can measure the height above ground to within one hundredth of an inch. By
comparison between the DMA topographical maps, satellite fixes and laser height measurements over
four successive readings, these units can locate themselves three dimensionally to within one tenth of one
inch over the stored one thousand square mile area in their memory. They also have a small transmitter
which will transmit this data to any receiver within line of sight, including satellites.”
“Okay, Jarod, so it’s accurate. DOROTHY didn’t do anything for us. I’m very impressed at what
you’ve done here but it’s hopeless: ‘If you want to understand nature, your scope must be as broad as
nature.’ Holmes was right, nature produced man, therefore he can never understand nature.”
The high was intense now. Jarod had planned this conversation to every detail. The predictability of
people always amazed him. He was in rapture. “ ‘My dear Watson, endeavor not to make your facts fit
your solution, but instead make your solution fit your facts.’ If you cannot make your facts support any
conclusive solution, Kevin, you can’t just assume that no solution exists. Holmes put it another way:
‘The process starts with the supposition that once you have eliminated that which is impossible,
whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’” Jarod glowed.
Kevin sat dumbfounded. “I must say, you have me at a loss, Mr. Holmes.”
“Elementary, my dear Watson,” Jarod continued, pulling out the pipe he had taken to smoking lately.
“The data which you have obtained has been run through countless binary real number equations and
computer models to try and predict the future based on past model data. Instead, the data should have
been run through the complex model of a chaos system, enabling the reciprocating data to produce the
bifurial constant and allow us to predict future system behavior. To say it another way, you never used
the right equation.
“Edward Lorenz discovered that organic systems often defied the mathematical models which
supposedly defined their existence. He found through experimental methods of overlaying data for
multiple experimental runs that there always existed a common thread. He also found that every organic
system, that’s right, every organic system, had the same common thread. By simplifying the
mathematical models for each system to a seemingly unrelated, common equation, incidentally the one
for a water wheel, Lorenz discovered that the same common thread existed in the overlaid results. This
self-similarity was documented and called the Lorenz Attractor. Lorenz also noticed that if he deleted
the data which he experimentally obtained, his Lorenz Attractor would effectively produce predicable
results from experimentation.”
Kevin was floored. “Delete the data?”
“Yes, Watson, he found that in order to achieve an effective prediction of results, the experimental data
had to be deleted. The prediction of future results was the only piece of information retained from the
experiment. Consequently, this was another fault with your DOROTHY experiments. In keeping the
data, you only allow yourself to replicate the event, not predict future action. I only need one set of
tornado data to create a deletion database to produce for you a real tornado predictor program, much
in the same way one fractal equation can predict the growth of a forest.
“Tomorrow you will have the first real method of exactly predicting the location, strength, direction, path
and final stopping point of any tornado.”
*****
Beltway 495 East, Maryland
August 16, 1997 0745 EST
“Miss Parker, you still haven’t told me why we aren’t taking the jet.” With the top down on the
Porsche, Sydney had to yell his question across to his driving companion. The incredible volume of the
Chemical Brothers CD was further intended to dissuade conversation. Sydney, as usual, completely
ignored these outward symptoms of her foul temper. One day she would learn that her displays of
aggression and intimidation only prodded him on further.
“Syd, at ninety-five miles an hour, I think I should be paying attention to the road, and not to your stupid
questions. Shut up or I’ll test my theory regarding pain thresholds and consciousness.” Miss Parker
was all business and all woman. Sydney respected her for it.
“I see you have your Police Sentry in place. What is so important to warrant its use and not the use of
the jet?” The Police Sentry was a small device similar to a radar detector. Instead of warning the
occupants of the presence of police radar, it sent a signal to radar units indicating that the vehicle being
monitored was authorized for safe passage. The device had been created by the Centre and was
currently in use by the FBI, DEA, Secret Service and ATF units engaged in deep cover operations.
Occasionally, a random aircraft or silent pacing patrol unit would attempt a stop but this unit virtually
eliminated any chance of interference.
Use of a Sentry device had to be authorized through SIS. No doubt Miss Parker had little trouble
obtaining blanket approval for this. The Centre maintained four units that were usually reserved for
personnel transfers and special operations. Sweeper Teams could obtain permission from the Tower,
but rarely received it. All Sentry units were monitored via satellite by the FBI and the Centre did not
allow anyone to track the position of their Sweeper Teams. The real question was why the Centre
allowed the use of a Sentry to apprehend Jarod. Occasionally the use of a Sentry resulted in surprise
back-up from the FBI, who always wanted to ensure Sentries were not used for joy riding. The Centre
would not allow the possibility of the FBI interfering with the capture of Jarod, would they?
Sydney didn’t know that Miss Parker had intimidated Broots into crossing the satellite feed relays, thus
eliminating this particular problem on her personal Sentry.
The normal Sunday flow of traffic around the Capitol seemed to stand still around the darting Porsche.
Sydney noticed Miss Parker’s rather lax attention to detail as she passed 115 miles per hour. Although
the Porsche screamed by the surrounding traffic, Sydney couldn’t help notice they were merely churning
out 3400 RPM in fifth gear. With a red-line of over six thousand RPM, he knew that they would be
exploring the far side of 150 if they could ever escape the urban sprawl.
Sydney enjoyed a spirited ride as much as the next man, but this ride brought him too close to the last
ride he and Jacob ever made. Jacob had worn the same dogged determination prominently displayed
on the woman next to him. Despite the incredible late summer weather and the obvious differences in
circumstance, Sydney could not help feeling he was on a collision course with destiny.
Miss Parker just looked over and laughed as she shot horizontally across four lanes of traffic to barely
make the I-66 East exit. “Come on, Syd, lighten up. You look like you just saw a ghost!”
*****
Springdale, Arkansas
August 16, 1997 0800 CST
As the team scurried about the house to make final preparations for the impending day of chasing, Jarod
casually strolled out the garage to complete his second order of business. He had noticed a card from
Marty’s old tour group in the pocket of the dead photographer in Carthage. A quick check of Marty’s
bank records showed random deposits of five hundred dollars that roughly coincided with each tornado
site the team had responded to. Jarod had needed this last tornado to prove is fears. Marty had used
the information obtained through Kevin and Jeff to tell his supposedly old tour group where to find
today’s tornadoes. Apparently the tour paid him a bounty of five hundred dollars per tornado he
directed them to.
Contempt somehow didn’t cover the feelings in Jarod. How could this man lead innocent civilians, with
no training and no chance into the mouth of a tornado? What was his price for human life? Five
hundred dollars? Jarod was actually sick this morning when he discovered Marty had actually cashed
the check that sent seven people to their graves. Those lives were worth less than eighty dollars a piece
to him. Jarod knew he had to come up with something to strike a little fear in this man. No, Jarod
would have to teach him a lesson in fear: a very strong lesson.
Under the dash, Jarod found the ignition wires with little effort. The remotely actuated ignition block
was designed to be installed in seconds. Carefully surveying the dash, Jarod knew Marty would never
know the difference. With the new remotes for DOROTHY, the team would take two vehicles today:
the panel van, which was their mobile command center, and the extended cab Chevy Z-71 pickup,
which served as their recon vehicle. Kevin and Jarod had already discussed that Jarod and Marty
would drive up to the tornado in the truck, set DOROTHY and run. They had chosen to stake out the
Fort Smith as tornado activity looked strongest in the vicinity. Jarod had a new rental car in place
parked outside the Varsity Sports Bar in Fort Smith, where he and Bridgett had gone to eat a few nights
before. Yesterday, he had run down to the car and put his DSA reader in the trunk, positioned for a
hasty retreat.
He really didn’t like to leave this way. He had no quarrel with Kevin and Dorothy and he knew they’d
figure he’d died in the tornado. Marty would tell them the truth, maybe. Marty would never make it out
of the state, regardless. Already, FedEx was delivering the incriminating documents to the county
prosecutor. Marty was an accessory to wrongful death, maybe even manslaughter. No doubt they’d
have Marty in custody by dark. He also hoped that his abrupt disappearance would turn the Centre
investigation away from Kevin and his group.
Perhaps this wasn’t the whole truth, through. Jarod never really liked to say good-bye and he knew
that this would be good-bye for him and Bridgett. He could never ask anyone to assume the life he led
even though he knew she would if he asked her. He had to just disappear and never see her again. It
was really better that way, he kept telling himself. This would be the easiest way for both of them. One
day, when the Centre lay in ruins at his feet, he would find her again, but not until that day. She gave
him hope and he knew he’d need that ray of hope to survive the coming months.
Jarod finished in the truck and started to load the team’s equipment into the back. After the
DOROTHY unit was loaded and Jarod’s special position indicators were loaded into DOROTHY’s
cargo bay, he backed the truck out of the garage and killed the motor. Convinced the truck worked
perfectly he pushed the small transmitter in his pocket and tried to start the motor again. Nothing.
Perfect, as usual.
Jarod didn’t notice the small set of blue eyes standing in a deep shadow next to the water heater in the
garage. Despite being less than six feet from her the entire time he was in the garage, Jarod never knew
that the woman he thought he could feel enter a crowded concert hall watched every move he made.
As he closed the garage door she went to work.
*****
Knoxville, Tennessee
August 16, 1300 EST
“Miss Parker, please let me drive for a while.” The constant strain of running at over one hundred thirty
miles per hour had to be getting to her. He knew it was getting to him and he was only the passenger.
“Can it, Syd,” she barked back. “I let you drive once before, remember? If I wanted to sight-see I’d
have taken Greyhound.” Sydney had taken a driving shift after stopping for gas in Bristol, Virginia.
Miss Parker had vehemently ordered him to the shoulder when he refused to run at more than one-
twenty.
“Listen to me, Jarod will still be there when we arrive. We must arrive in one piece, though, if we plan
on bringing him back.” Maybe reason would work where persuasion had not.
“I said can it, Syd. I’m not in the mood.” Truthfully she was never more in the mood. Her hormones
and endorphins were charging through her body and she never felt more alive. She could see every leaf
on every tree, every blade of grass and she could even see every startled glance thrown her way as she
flew by the Sunday traffic. Her raven hair blew strait back in the rush of wind over the short windshield.
Secretly she knew Sydney was going to have one hell of a sunburn on the top of his balding head, and
she positively giggled at the thought of it peeling over the next two weeks. She offered Sydney that
she’d tell her father that she had left without him, but the damn fool decided to join in. She loved
torturing him like this. Alone, she wouldn’t have broken 110. At least that’s what she told herself.
This was almost, no it was actually better than sex. Didn’t young Jarod once say that the anticipation of
pain was more effective than pain itself? Somehow, maybe that applied to sex as well. This impending
rush, the thrill of the chase in all its sexual glory could never match the final result. How could it?
Similarly to her fencing, she felt that the anticipation of the encounter and the thrill of obtaining the upper
hand in the battle was far superior to actually winning. The adrenaline rush at the moment where the tide
turned ebbed to an almost hollow joy once the final gasping victory was achieved.
She couldn’t help wondering if maybe this is what Jarod learned long ago. Maybe in performing his
sims he realized that the anticipation of the result could be as fulfilling as the actual achievement. By
simulating space missions, for instance, could he actually achieve the rush of take-off and the high of
achievement? Certainly reality was a pitiful substitute for the fantasies that we set up. Maybe through
sims, Jarod never encountered this reality let-down. Maybe he learned that reality could be as fantastic
and wondrous as our imagination tells us it should be. Maybe he doesn’t even realize that most people
allow reality to dim their hopes and achievements into mediocrity. Maybe he really was having as much
fun as he tried to make her believe he was. If he was, she would kill him for that secret.
Sydney saw her rapt concentration and set face and decided that he was relegated to the passenger’s
seat for the rest of the trip. He had attempted to put his bowler on earlier only to have it nearly torn
from his grip by the ferocious wind coming over the pathetically short windshield of the Porsche. He
knew he’d be burnt for weeks after this. Damn her, he silently cursed. Deciding he had best make the
best of a bad situation, he struggled to find a comfortable position for his large frame.
Miss Parker looked over and was amazed to find her overly concerned partner fast asleep.
*****
Springdale, Arkansas
August 16, 1997 1520 CST
Jarod and Kevin had held the team back from three large tornadoes in lower Missouri. The NWS
alerts had been received too late for them to intercept the tornadoes. Despite the prompting of Marty
and Jeff, Kevin would not let them reposition to Joplin. He did not tell them about Jarod’s prediction of
a larger tornado in their own backyard. He could not take the risk Jarod was wrong. Little of what
Jarod had said made any sense to Kevin but he was smart enough to know it made sense to Jarod. In
Kevin’s book, that was ninety percent of the battle. If Jarod was right, today would be truly the first
day of the rest of his life. If he was wrong, no one could blame Kevin for trusting the young man.
Kevin had been wrong before. Only the dedication and belief of his mentors enabled him to succeed
after so many failures.
As they impatiently waited, the team members each undertook a separate ritual. Although none
probably consciously set out to perform these rituals, Kevin knew them by rote. Jeff grabbed his Rubix
Cube and endlessly spun the tiles. Occasionally he would perk up from an apparent trance and solve
the mess he had made of the puzzle. Once solved, he would lapse into the trance again and mix up the
squares. Marty poured over topographical and road maps for the areas of highest activity.
Occasionally he would call friends who chased in order to get local conditions. Through it all, Marty
chain smoked like an alcoholic one day dry. Kevin could almost hear the adrenaline rushing through his
veins.
Bridgett had taken to the habit of putting on her Walkman and just sitting quietly. When Kevin asked
her what she was doing, she had replied that she was meditating. She was a strange contrast to the
nervous energy of the other two. Today, though, Jarod would not leave her alone. He was devouring
his taffy at an alarming rate, stopping only to spit out the very poor jokes on the back of the wrappers to
no one in particular. Dorothy comforted Kevin and usually rubbed his shoulders or talked to him while
he waited.
Jarod went over to Bridgett and asked her what she was listening to. “A Walkman,” she replied.
“Yes, I know, a personal portable stereo. I find them remarkable. I really meant can I listen to what
you’re listening to.”
Bridgett laughed like the sound of wind-chimes in a summer breeze, “Of course, Jerry.” She handed
Jarod the headset. Jeff had attempted to call Jarod ‘Jerry’ a couple of days ago. The arm bar Jarod
put on him convinced him that only one person in the household was allowed to use that name, besides
Dorothy.
“Hmm. This is really good,” Jarod exclaimed much too loudly. He obviously was unaccustomed to
regulating his voice while wearing headphones. “Who is it?”
Bridgett pulled one headphone away from his ears so she wouldn’t have to compete with the music as
well. “Jane’s Addiction.”
“Oh, what is Jane’s addiction?”
“The band, silly,” she abruptly released the headphone and it crashed into Jarod’s head jarring him back
to the music. He sheepishly smiled at his rather poor attempt at humor.
The music was slow and methodical. A guy with a high pitched voice was singing about a girl named
Jane over the driving acoustic guitar line:
“Jane says: I aint never been in love,
I don’t know what it means,
I only know when someone wants me
I wonder if they want me
Everybody wants me”
Bridgett removed the headphones from Jarod and explained that if he wanted to listen, he would have to
get his own Walkman. Seeing Jarod’s hurt expression, Dorothy went upstairs to get the Walkman she
used for her walking. She presented it to Jarod, much to his joy. He asked Bridgett to let him borrow
a cassette. She handed him the first one she came to: Alice In Chains, “Dirt”.
Jarod had a moment’s trouble opening the Walkman and inserting the tape the right way. He explained
that he had never operated a Walkman before, which everyone by now accepted. He shrugged any
difficulty off on a supposed lack of exposure. They had long ago accepted this as some character flaw
in him and wished he’d just admit he was absent minded. He had no problem finding the volume knob,
however. Before the third bar of the first song was completed, he had the volume turned up to
maximum and was searching the unit for some auxiliary volume control. Dorothy winced at the thought
of the damage Jarod had to be doing both to his hearing and her Walkman. Across the room, she could
plainly hear the music coming out of the headphones.
*****
It was just after five when the NWS bulletin came over the fax. Sebastian and Washington counties had
been upgraded to a Tornado Warning. Funnel clouds were spotted near Fort Smith. Jarod’s
prediction was perfect. If they hurried they could make Fort Smith in about one hour.
Kevin rounded up the troops and the five of them piled into the two vehicles and sped off towards their
destiny.
Dorothy waved to them as they sped off into the rapidly darkening sky. She turned and went inside to
perform a ritual of her own. She always baked bread whenever Kevin went out to chase a storm. The
baking relaxed her and besides, Kevin loved the fresh made bread when he got home.
As long as she made bread, she always knew he was coming home.
*****
Little Rock, Arkansas
August 16, 1997 1700 CST
Slowing to 115 within the city limits of Little Rock felt like crawling compared to the 150 they had been
running for the last hour. Miss Parker looked at the gas gauge and decided they would fill up in the next
big town. She didn’t feel like stopping in this poor excuse for a city.
Sydney had drifted in and out of sleep, something she envied him for. Even her resolve was beginning
to wear thin, though she could smell Jarod now. She could smell the impending fear. She knew he did
not expect her. Looking at the Alpine in-dash Navigator, she noticed that the next town was called Fort
Smith. It was about 128 miles away. With any luck, she could be there in about an hour.
Chapter 6 (rating PG)
Springdale, Arkansas
August 16, 1997 0620 CST
Kevin came down, a few minutes later than normal. He was not surprised to find Jarod munching away
on the tub of taffy in front of him. Jarod was smiling from ear to ear and he looked better rested than
Kevin had seen him for days. Hmm, Kevin thought, maybe he got lucky.
“Good morning, Kevin!” Jarod was unusually happy this morning. Kevin hated morning people. As
long as Jarod didn’t tell him another stupid joke before Kevin made it to the coffee pot maybe he’d be
all right. “Say, Kevin, what kind of house is the easiest to lift?”
Damn. Just one morning he’d like to make it to the coffee pot unmolested. He had spent years training
Dorothy to leave him alone until after the second cup of coffee. Jarod showed no signs of learning this
particular habit of the household. He secretly thought Jarod was doing it on purpose. Kevin didn’t
even look in Jarod’s direction.
Jarod, who did experience a great deal of joy in irritating Kevin in the morning, continued despite the
lack of an attentive audience. “A lighthouse.” Jarod peeled off a burst of laughter that actually
convinced Kevin that the joke was a little funny.
“Real funny, Jarod. Where’s the coffee?”
“Oh, I already poured you a cup. I thought you might like to take a look at this.” Jarod pushed the
morning forecast towards Kevin.
Grabbing the coffee first, Kevin slowly began to look over the NeWS cast for the morning. How Jarod
got these direct feeds always puzzled Kevin. He figured Jarod had an NWS password or a friend in the
loop who fed them to him. Anyway, the isobars in the morning chart woke Kevin up much faster than
the coffee ever could. Damn, today would be a boomer.
A cold front had stalled over the Osarks and was just sitting still waiting for the remnants of Tropical
Storm Erika. Although downgraded long before to a simple high pressure system, Erika had pressure
readings over 1035 milibars. When that combined with the cold air mass sitting at about 995 milibars
the resultant pressure gradient would produce winds of incredible magnitude. Further, the warm air of
Erika would cause a turbulent mixing with the cold front already high in the mountains. Today the
question would not be whether they would have a tornado or not. The question would be where they
wouldn’t have a tornado.
“Jarod, do you know what this means?”
“Yeah, pretty cool, huh?” Jarod was far too glib about the turn of events for Kevin’s liking.
“We’ve got to get everyone up and get the gear together.”
“In a minute, I’ve got something I want to show you.” Jarod picked up a small backpack from
underneath his chair and laid its contents on the table. Twenty small cylindrical objects, smooth on
every edge, about two inches in diameter and six inches long rolled out onto the table. Kevin
involuntarily grabbed one and picked it up. They weighed less than one pound each.
“What are these?”
Jarod had been anticipating this moment for weeks. He always loved this part of the Pretend. Now it
was time to take over the situation, right the injustice and complete the mission. The adrenaline rush
was sexual. He could feel the high building. “Oh, that’s just a little something I threw together. They
are three-dimensional position indicators. Very similar to your design for the DOROTHY spheres. The
only major difference is that they have satellite referencing capability through the global positioning
network, laser height positioning and a one thousand square mile map memory. This morning I
downloaded local topographical defense maps from the DMA for this region of Arkansas.
“The devices will constantly orientate themselves to within one meter on satellite information alone. The
laser height system can measure the height above ground to within one hundredth of an inch. By
comparison between the DMA topographical maps, satellite fixes and laser height measurements over
four successive readings, these units can locate themselves three dimensionally to within one tenth of one
inch over the stored one thousand square mile area in their memory. They also have a small transmitter
which will transmit this data to any receiver within line of sight, including satellites.”
“Okay, Jarod, so it’s accurate. DOROTHY didn’t do anything for us. I’m very impressed at what
you’ve done here but it’s hopeless: ‘If you want to understand nature, your scope must be as broad as
nature.’ Holmes was right, nature produced man, therefore he can never understand nature.”
The high was intense now. Jarod had planned this conversation to every detail. The predictability of
people always amazed him. He was in rapture. “ ‘My dear Watson, endeavor not to make your facts fit
your solution, but instead make your solution fit your facts.’ If you cannot make your facts support any
conclusive solution, Kevin, you can’t just assume that no solution exists. Holmes put it another way:
‘The process starts with the supposition that once you have eliminated that which is impossible,
whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’” Jarod glowed.
Kevin sat dumbfounded. “I must say, you have me at a loss, Mr. Holmes.”
“Elementary, my dear Watson,” Jarod continued, pulling out the pipe he had taken to smoking lately.
“The data which you have obtained has been run through countless binary real number equations and
computer models to try and predict the future based on past model data. Instead, the data should have
been run through the complex model of a chaos system, enabling the reciprocating data to produce the
bifurial constant and allow us to predict future system behavior. To say it another way, you never used
the right equation.
“Edward Lorenz discovered that organic systems often defied the mathematical models which
supposedly defined their existence. He found through experimental methods of overlaying data for
multiple experimental runs that there always existed a common thread. He also found that every organic
system, that’s right, every organic system, had the same common thread. By simplifying the
mathematical models for each system to a seemingly unrelated, common equation, incidentally the one
for a water wheel, Lorenz discovered that the same common thread existed in the overlaid results. This
self-similarity was documented and called the Lorenz Attractor. Lorenz also noticed that if he deleted
the data which he experimentally obtained, his Lorenz Attractor would effectively produce predicable
results from experimentation.”
Kevin was floored. “Delete the data?”
“Yes, Watson, he found that in order to achieve an effective prediction of results, the experimental data
had to be deleted. The prediction of future results was the only piece of information retained from the
experiment. Consequently, this was another fault with your DOROTHY experiments. In keeping the
data, you only allow yourself to replicate the event, not predict future action. I only need one set of
tornado data to create a deletion database to produce for you a real tornado predictor program, much
in the same way one fractal equation can predict the growth of a forest.
“Tomorrow you will have the first real method of exactly predicting the location, strength, direction, path
and final stopping point of any tornado.”
*****
Beltway 495 East, Maryland
August 16, 1997 0745 EST
“Miss Parker, you still haven’t told me why we aren’t taking the jet.” With the top down on the
Porsche, Sydney had to yell his question across to his driving companion. The incredible volume of the
Chemical Brothers CD was further intended to dissuade conversation. Sydney, as usual, completely
ignored these outward symptoms of her foul temper. One day she would learn that her displays of
aggression and intimidation only prodded him on further.
“Syd, at ninety-five miles an hour, I think I should be paying attention to the road, and not to your stupid
questions. Shut up or I’ll test my theory regarding pain thresholds and consciousness.” Miss Parker
was all business and all woman. Sydney respected her for it.
“I see you have your Police Sentry in place. What is so important to warrant its use and not the use of
the jet?” The Police Sentry was a small device similar to a radar detector. Instead of warning the
occupants of the presence of police radar, it sent a signal to radar units indicating that the vehicle being
monitored was authorized for safe passage. The device had been created by the Centre and was
currently in use by the FBI, DEA, Secret Service and ATF units engaged in deep cover operations.
Occasionally, a random aircraft or silent pacing patrol unit would attempt a stop but this unit virtually
eliminated any chance of interference.
Use of a Sentry device had to be authorized through SIS. No doubt Miss Parker had little trouble
obtaining blanket approval for this. The Centre maintained four units that were usually reserved for
personnel transfers and special operations. Sweeper Teams could obtain permission from the Tower,
but rarely received it. All Sentry units were monitored via satellite by the FBI and the Centre did not
allow anyone to track the position of their Sweeper Teams. The real question was why the Centre
allowed the use of a Sentry to apprehend Jarod. Occasionally the use of a Sentry resulted in surprise
back-up from the FBI, who always wanted to ensure Sentries were not used for joy riding. The Centre
would not allow the possibility of the FBI interfering with the capture of Jarod, would they?
Sydney didn’t know that Miss Parker had intimidated Broots into crossing the satellite feed relays, thus
eliminating this particular problem on her personal Sentry.
The normal Sunday flow of traffic around the Capitol seemed to stand still around the darting Porsche.
Sydney noticed Miss Parker’s rather lax attention to detail as she passed 115 miles per hour. Although
the Porsche screamed by the surrounding traffic, Sydney couldn’t help notice they were merely churning
out 3400 RPM in fifth gear. With a red-line of over six thousand RPM, he knew that they would be
exploring the far side of 150 if they could ever escape the urban sprawl.
Sydney enjoyed a spirited ride as much as the next man, but this ride brought him too close to the last
ride he and Jacob ever made. Jacob had worn the same dogged determination prominently displayed
on the woman next to him. Despite the incredible late summer weather and the obvious differences in
circumstance, Sydney could not help feeling he was on a collision course with destiny.
Miss Parker just looked over and laughed as she shot horizontally across four lanes of traffic to barely
make the I-66 East exit. “Come on, Syd, lighten up. You look like you just saw a ghost!”
*****
Springdale, Arkansas
August 16, 1997 0800 CST
As the team scurried about the house to make final preparations for the impending day of chasing, Jarod
casually strolled out the garage to complete his second order of business. He had noticed a card from
Marty’s old tour group in the pocket of the dead photographer in Carthage. A quick check of Marty’s
bank records showed random deposits of five hundred dollars that roughly coincided with each tornado
site the team had responded to. Jarod had needed this last tornado to prove is fears. Marty had used
the information obtained through Kevin and Jeff to tell his supposedly old tour group where to find
today’s tornadoes. Apparently the tour paid him a bounty of five hundred dollars per tornado he
directed them to.
Contempt somehow didn’t cover the feelings in Jarod. How could this man lead innocent civilians, with
no training and no chance into the mouth of a tornado? What was his price for human life? Five
hundred dollars? Jarod was actually sick this morning when he discovered Marty had actually cashed
the check that sent seven people to their graves. Those lives were worth less than eighty dollars a piece
to him. Jarod knew he had to come up with something to strike a little fear in this man. No, Jarod
would have to teach him a lesson in fear: a very strong lesson.
Under the dash, Jarod found the ignition wires with little effort. The remotely actuated ignition block
was designed to be installed in seconds. Carefully surveying the dash, Jarod knew Marty would never
know the difference. With the new remotes for DOROTHY, the team would take two vehicles today:
the panel van, which was their mobile command center, and the extended cab Chevy Z-71 pickup,
which served as their recon vehicle. Kevin and Jarod had already discussed that Jarod and Marty
would drive up to the tornado in the truck, set DOROTHY and run. They had chosen to stake out the
Fort Smith as tornado activity looked strongest in the vicinity. Jarod had a new rental car in place
parked outside the Varsity Sports Bar in Fort Smith, where he and Bridgett had gone to eat a few nights
before. Yesterday, he had run down to the car and put his DSA reader in the trunk, positioned for a
hasty retreat.
He really didn’t like to leave this way. He had no quarrel with Kevin and Dorothy and he knew they’d
figure he’d died in the tornado. Marty would tell them the truth, maybe. Marty would never make it out
of the state, regardless. Already, FedEx was delivering the incriminating documents to the county
prosecutor. Marty was an accessory to wrongful death, maybe even manslaughter. No doubt they’d
have Marty in custody by dark. He also hoped that his abrupt disappearance would turn the Centre
investigation away from Kevin and his group.
Perhaps this wasn’t the whole truth, through. Jarod never really liked to say good-bye and he knew
that this would be good-bye for him and Bridgett. He could never ask anyone to assume the life he led
even though he knew she would if he asked her. He had to just disappear and never see her again. It
was really better that way, he kept telling himself. This would be the easiest way for both of them. One
day, when the Centre lay in ruins at his feet, he would find her again, but not until that day. She gave
him hope and he knew he’d need that ray of hope to survive the coming months.
Jarod finished in the truck and started to load the team’s equipment into the back. After the
DOROTHY unit was loaded and Jarod’s special position indicators were loaded into DOROTHY’s
cargo bay, he backed the truck out of the garage and killed the motor. Convinced the truck worked
perfectly he pushed the small transmitter in his pocket and tried to start the motor again. Nothing.
Perfect, as usual.
Jarod didn’t notice the small set of blue eyes standing in a deep shadow next to the water heater in the
garage. Despite being less than six feet from her the entire time he was in the garage, Jarod never knew
that the woman he thought he could feel enter a crowded concert hall watched every move he made.
As he closed the garage door she went to work.
*****
Knoxville, Tennessee
August 16, 1300 EST
“Miss Parker, please let me drive for a while.” The constant strain of running at over one hundred thirty
miles per hour had to be getting to her. He knew it was getting to him and he was only the passenger.
“Can it, Syd,” she barked back. “I let you drive once before, remember? If I wanted to sight-see I’d
have taken Greyhound.” Sydney had taken a driving shift after stopping for gas in Bristol, Virginia.
Miss Parker had vehemently ordered him to the shoulder when he refused to run at more than one-
twenty.
“Listen to me, Jarod will still be there when we arrive. We must arrive in one piece, though, if we plan
on bringing him back.” Maybe reason would work where persuasion had not.
“I said can it, Syd. I’m not in the mood.” Truthfully she was never more in the mood. Her hormones
and endorphins were charging through her body and she never felt more alive. She could see every leaf
on every tree, every blade of grass and she could even see every startled glance thrown her way as she
flew by the Sunday traffic. Her raven hair blew strait back in the rush of wind over the short windshield.
Secretly she knew Sydney was going to have one hell of a sunburn on the top of his balding head, and
she positively giggled at the thought of it peeling over the next two weeks. She offered Sydney that
she’d tell her father that she had left without him, but the damn fool decided to join in. She loved
torturing him like this. Alone, she wouldn’t have broken 110. At least that’s what she told herself.
This was almost, no it was actually better than sex. Didn’t young Jarod once say that the anticipation of
pain was more effective than pain itself? Somehow, maybe that applied to sex as well. This impending
rush, the thrill of the chase in all its sexual glory could never match the final result. How could it?
Similarly to her fencing, she felt that the anticipation of the encounter and the thrill of obtaining the upper
hand in the battle was far superior to actually winning. The adrenaline rush at the moment where the tide
turned ebbed to an almost hollow joy once the final gasping victory was achieved.
She couldn’t help wondering if maybe this is what Jarod learned long ago. Maybe in performing his
sims he realized that the anticipation of the result could be as fulfilling as the actual achievement. By
simulating space missions, for instance, could he actually achieve the rush of take-off and the high of
achievement? Certainly reality was a pitiful substitute for the fantasies that we set up. Maybe through
sims, Jarod never encountered this reality let-down. Maybe he learned that reality could be as fantastic
and wondrous as our imagination tells us it should be. Maybe he doesn’t even realize that most people
allow reality to dim their hopes and achievements into mediocrity. Maybe he really was having as much
fun as he tried to make her believe he was. If he was, she would kill him for that secret.
Sydney saw her rapt concentration and set face and decided that he was relegated to the passenger’s
seat for the rest of the trip. He had attempted to put his bowler on earlier only to have it nearly torn
from his grip by the ferocious wind coming over the pathetically short windshield of the Porsche. He
knew he’d be burnt for weeks after this. Damn her, he silently cursed. Deciding he had best make the
best of a bad situation, he struggled to find a comfortable position for his large frame.
Miss Parker looked over and was amazed to find her overly concerned partner fast asleep.
*****
Springdale, Arkansas
August 16, 1997 1520 CST
Jarod and Kevin had held the team back from three large tornadoes in lower Missouri. The NWS
alerts had been received too late for them to intercept the tornadoes. Despite the prompting of Marty
and Jeff, Kevin would not let them reposition to Joplin. He did not tell them about Jarod’s prediction of
a larger tornado in their own backyard. He could not take the risk Jarod was wrong. Little of what
Jarod had said made any sense to Kevin but he was smart enough to know it made sense to Jarod. In
Kevin’s book, that was ninety percent of the battle. If Jarod was right, today would be truly the first
day of the rest of his life. If he was wrong, no one could blame Kevin for trusting the young man.
Kevin had been wrong before. Only the dedication and belief of his mentors enabled him to succeed
after so many failures.
As they impatiently waited, the team members each undertook a separate ritual. Although none
probably consciously set out to perform these rituals, Kevin knew them by rote. Jeff grabbed his Rubix
Cube and endlessly spun the tiles. Occasionally he would perk up from an apparent trance and solve
the mess he had made of the puzzle. Once solved, he would lapse into the trance again and mix up the
squares. Marty poured over topographical and road maps for the areas of highest activity.
Occasionally he would call friends who chased in order to get local conditions. Through it all, Marty
chain smoked like an alcoholic one day dry. Kevin could almost hear the adrenaline rushing through his
veins.
Bridgett had taken to the habit of putting on her Walkman and just sitting quietly. When Kevin asked
her what she was doing, she had replied that she was meditating. She was a strange contrast to the
nervous energy of the other two. Today, though, Jarod would not leave her alone. He was devouring
his taffy at an alarming rate, stopping only to spit out the very poor jokes on the back of the wrappers to
no one in particular. Dorothy comforted Kevin and usually rubbed his shoulders or talked to him while
he waited.
Jarod went over to Bridgett and asked her what she was listening to. “A Walkman,” she replied.
“Yes, I know, a personal portable stereo. I find them remarkable. I really meant can I listen to what
you’re listening to.”
Bridgett laughed like the sound of wind-chimes in a summer breeze, “Of course, Jerry.” She handed
Jarod the headset. Jeff had attempted to call Jarod ‘Jerry’ a couple of days ago. The arm bar Jarod
put on him convinced him that only one person in the household was allowed to use that name, besides
Dorothy.
“Hmm. This is really good,” Jarod exclaimed much too loudly. He obviously was unaccustomed to
regulating his voice while wearing headphones. “Who is it?”
Bridgett pulled one headphone away from his ears so she wouldn’t have to compete with the music as
well. “Jane’s Addiction.”
“Oh, what is Jane’s addiction?”
“The band, silly,” she abruptly released the headphone and it crashed into Jarod’s head jarring him back
to the music. He sheepishly smiled at his rather poor attempt at humor.
The music was slow and methodical. A guy with a high pitched voice was singing about a girl named
Jane over the driving acoustic guitar line:
“Jane says: I aint never been in love,
I don’t know what it means,
I only know when someone wants me
I wonder if they want me
Everybody wants me”
Bridgett removed the headphones from Jarod and explained that if he wanted to listen, he would have to
get his own Walkman. Seeing Jarod’s hurt expression, Dorothy went upstairs to get the Walkman she
used for her walking. She presented it to Jarod, much to his joy. He asked Bridgett to let him borrow
a cassette. She handed him the first one she came to: Alice In Chains, “Dirt”.
Jarod had a moment’s trouble opening the Walkman and inserting the tape the right way. He explained
that he had never operated a Walkman before, which everyone by now accepted. He shrugged any
difficulty off on a supposed lack of exposure. They had long ago accepted this as some character flaw
in him and wished he’d just admit he was absent minded. He had no problem finding the volume knob,
however. Before the third bar of the first song was completed, he had the volume turned up to
maximum and was searching the unit for some auxiliary volume control. Dorothy winced at the thought
of the damage Jarod had to be doing both to his hearing and her Walkman. Across the room, she could
plainly hear the music coming out of the headphones.
*****
It was just after five when the NWS bulletin came over the fax. Sebastian and Washington counties had
been upgraded to a Tornado Warning. Funnel clouds were spotted near Fort Smith. Jarod’s
prediction was perfect. If they hurried they could make Fort Smith in about one hour.
Kevin rounded up the troops and the five of them piled into the two vehicles and sped off towards their
destiny.
Dorothy waved to them as they sped off into the rapidly darkening sky. She turned and went inside to
perform a ritual of her own. She always baked bread whenever Kevin went out to chase a storm. The
baking relaxed her and besides, Kevin loved the fresh made bread when he got home.
As long as she made bread, she always knew he was coming home.
*****
Little Rock, Arkansas
August 16, 1997 1700 CST
Slowing to 115 within the city limits of Little Rock felt like crawling compared to the 150 they had been
running for the last hour. Miss Parker looked at the gas gauge and decided they would fill up in the next
big town. She didn’t feel like stopping in this poor excuse for a city.
Sydney had drifted in and out of sleep, something she envied him for. Even her resolve was beginning
to wear thin, though she could smell Jarod now. She could smell the impending fear. She knew he did
not expect her. Looking at the Alpine in-dash Navigator, she noticed that the next town was called Fort
Smith. It was about 128 miles away. With any luck, she could be there in about an hour.
