Free Fault Line by Sarah Andrews Page A

fresh paint on the walls.
    The man smiled proudly. “Yes, it was all restored just a few years ago. Lucky, too.”
    â€œLucky?”

    â€œWell, the earthquake. They didn’t just fix the paint and carpeting; they did a full seismic retrofit.” He shook his head meditatively. “I got to admit, I thought like everyone else that the thirty-four-million-dollar price tag was a bit steep, but the building rode out this morning’s shaker like it was just a little sneeze. Why, up to home we lost half the crockery, and there’s cracks running all up along the plaster, but here? Nothing. A couple pencils on the floor. Nothing.” He finished with a neat little gesture like he was flicking a little dust.
    Everybody’s got an earthquake story, I mused. “Yeah, it was something. Tell me more about the retrofit, please. I’m a geologist, so I’d love to know how it held up.”
    â€œOh, you should get the guard to take you around sometime,” he said. “They’ll show you the base isolation system in the basement, and all the reinforcement in the clock tower. Of course, you can’t take any pumpkins up there.”
    I was just opening my mouth to ask him what all this stuff about pumpkins meant when Agent Jack returned from the copy machine. As he closed the final ten feet between us, he went so deep into his Bubba Jack act that I was afraid his knuckles were going to drag on the floor. The city employee saw him coming and took a step backward. Bubba Jack gave him a toothy smile laced with a malevolent insouciance that suggested that he was ready to smack anyone who messed with his woman. The man with the beard melted away.
    I said, “Nice work, Jack. I was just about to unravel the secret of the pumpkins.”
    â€œJus’ love workin’ fer Tom,” Jack gurgled.
    â€œI can see why you two get along,” I countered. “Between the two of you, you could act out all the different characters in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”
    Jack managed to hide his amusement in a stiff-lipped smile that made him look like a half-witted adolescent who’d just heard a great fart joke. “Next file,” he said, guffawing gently.

    In all, he showed me five files covering the two development projects, and not a one had even a paltry reference to what I’d call a geological appraisal. I compared the dates on the files, and the titles. There was a clear pattern to them: preliminary reports gave way to revised, and in the case of the project that had three reports, revised gave way to final. “So,” I murmured, “any chance the developer has turned in any reports marked ‘Report on Geologic Hazards,’ or perhaps ‘Environmental Impact?’”
    â€œOh yeah, we got the EIRs right here,” Jack replied, dropping a final two reports on the table.
    I went through them page by page. Lots on traffic mitigation, noise levels, utilities consumption, and the like, but not a word on the fact that there might just be a honking big fault running right through either project, ditto landslide potential, or any of a half dozen other delightful geologic hazards. And the housing development lay perilously close to the swanky neighborhood where Faye lived. I looked at the map a second time. In fact, it was where Faye lived. Suddenly, I wanted to know a whole lot more.
    I turned to Agent Jack and put an arm around him. “Let’s take a spin over to the Utah Geological Survey, Pa,” I murmured. “Got a little ol’ map or two there I’d like to take a squint at.”
    Agent Jack gave me a toothsome grin. “Sure, Ma.”

9
    MICAH HAYES SAT AT HIS SPACIOUS DESK ON THE TWELFTH floor of the Eagle Gate Tower in downtown Salt Lake City. From this rarified perch in the downtown Salt Lake City business district, he stared straight down on Brigham Young’s Lion House. He could look across Temple Square and up the hill