Blood Covenent, page 28
Why Connecticut?
The Chairman looked around him and said sternly, “I need some answers, people. Why would someone want to blow apart parkland in Connecticut?”
His staff turned to their boss wondering the same thing, and a female captain said quietly, “Maybe they missed.”
A smaller planning staff descended to the third subbasement level below the White House to theVault . A technical staff examined the computer hardware and communication links. Most of the equipment had not been used since the Gulf War. Some of it was broken, obsolete, and dusty. A couple of monitors blew fuses as the systems were activated and the air force technicians worked furiously to get the systems up and running. After years of neglect, the National Security Council staff decided they wanted to have their robotic eyes and ears activated.
Looking Glass—a modified Navy E-6—lifted away from Tinker AFB in Oklahoma. The larger National Airborne Operations Center rolled away from Offutt AFB. The two airborne command centers were joined by fighter escorts consisting of F-15Eagles and F-16Falcons. Tanker aircraft moved towards their failsafe positions over Greenland, Canada, and Alaska. Debris was still falling from the sky over North Westchester. It would continue to fall for several hours. The radiation cloud began to drift east toward Colchester.
* * * *
Russian Strategic Rocket Forces, Omsk, Russian Federation
There are four missile armies in Russia’s Strategic Rocket Forces (RVSN). Their respective commands are located at Vladimir, Omsk, Orenburg, and Chita. After signing the orders to retrieve Major Yevgeny Yarovitsin, General Oleksei Kolokol embarked on a readiness inspection. He knew what to expect and his only hope was that the erosion caused by budget cuts and shifting political priorities did not further jeopardize his command. In early June, he had been ordered to retarget his forces back to the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. The cessation of hostilities in Yugoslavia required a show of restraint on Russia’s part, and the Americans seemed to know exactly where the missiles were targeted. It was a problem Kolokol needed to solve. There was some comfort in the fact that the Americans did not know exactly whereeverything was though. The mobile SS-25 missile launchers were parked in abandoned rail tunnels, farm buildings, and under bridges. The Gulf War proved how difficult it was to track mobile launchers, and Kolokol fought to ensure his force had a healthy supply. He felt no compulsion to fully comply with the START I treaties, and neither did Moscow.
This morning found him in Omsk along the Kazakhstan border. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and checked the digital clock on the nightstand. It was little bit after five o’clock. Trouble was the only thing to rouse him before seven. “Bring me some coffee,” he ordered and sat back on the bed to pull his trousers on.
The watch officer motioned to a lesser-ranking aide, who disappeared towards the mess. Neither man was certain any coffee could be found. The cooks generally pilfered such luxuries for black market trading.
Kolokol stood with his shirt unbuttoned and a foul morning taste on his tongue. “What have you got?”
The watch officer handed Kolokol a clipboard and explained, “About one hour ago we detected heavy signal traffic on the American hardened command and control network.”
Now what?
“How heavy?” he asked.
“We believe it involves all major strategic commands.”
Kolokol shook his head hard and walked over to the basin. He splashed water on his tired eyes. “Were we notified about any exercises?” Of course, the Russian had just completed a snap exercise designed to rattle Russia’s rusty saber. The first indication the Americans were responding was when two F-15Eagles intercepted a flight ofBear bombers over Iceland.
“No, sir. I checked. Thirty minutes ago, the Kosmos-2556 satellite detected major activity at Minot, Warren, and Malmstrom. It also appears their strategic commands have buttoned up.”
Kolokol lifted his face from the basin and stared at the watch officer. “Find me someone at the embassy in Washington,” he snapped. “And get CNN piped into the command center.”
He looked down at the clipboard and paged through the dispatches. Signal traffic raged across the entire continental United States on a scale unprecedented since the Soviet Union’s collapse. This was not something the American president would sanction. Besides, their military forces desperately needed to stand down after Yugoslavia.
What was frightening them?
He tossed the clipboard aside and strode out of his quarters. The base was running in the hush of late night and early morning. A sense of urgency had not emerged. Kolokol hardly acknowledged the security troopers as he walked into his control center. Some of his best computers had been sold to Iraq and Iran for hard currency. His forces were reduced to landline communications and teletypes. He had visited Cheyenne Mountain andthe hole . He had nothing approaching the digital imagery his counterparts took for granted. Half the computer monitors were blank either from a lack of spare parts or blown fuses. He was blind and something had happened!
What?
One of the best communications systems in his command center was the gray, eighteen-inch satellite dish mounted atop his command bunker. He stared at the feed from CNN and the block red letters parading sideways across the screen: BREAKING NEWS.
“Turn that up,” he ordered.
* * * *
Boston, Massachusetts
Michael Rehazi walked down the gate ramp to the arrival lounge at Logan International Airport in Boston. He noticed a knot of people milling around one of the several television racks mounted above the bench seats. He paused, considering the people and the televisions. The American upper class was composed of businessmen, academics, and the idle rich, but they were all news junkies.
The anchor was sitting inside a local news bureau. The name Hartford was emblazoned on some banners behind the reporter. He was looked earnestly into the camera lens and saying, “To repeat our earlier story for those of you just joining us. There has been a communications blackout in the middle of the state. We have reports of spontaneous fires east of Hartford.”
A Connecticut map popped up on the screen. A target icon in the form of a bull’s-eye was positioned between Hartford and Norwich. There were fire icons in the form of small candle flames scattered around the bull’s eye.
“About ninety minutes ago a tremendous explosion was reported. It was heard for several miles around the affected area. A fireball visible for several miles has been reported by many people, and extremely high winds—some said hurricane force winds—have also been reported.
“We’ve had rumors of some sort of natural gas explosion or a plane crash as the cause of the problem. For now all roads leading into the area are closed either by fire or by state police units.”
A cold shiver ran through Rehazi. Any freight transport would transverse Connecticut to reach Boston from New York. Most likely, there would be other deliveries along the way, but the bomb was not capable of arming itself. He shook his head and walked away from the news broadcast.It couldn’t be.
* * * *
USS Theodore Roosevelt Battle Group
Eastern Mediterranean Sea
TheUSS Theodore Roosevelt started a slow turn into the wind. Dawn was coming about slowly in the Eastern Mediterranean. The sun reflected off the huge block letters on her bow. CVN 71 was barely finished fighting one war when orders came from USSTRATCOM to prepare for offensive nuclear operations against the Russian Federation. Admiral Thomas Flanagan stared at the orders and demanded confirmation. Confirmation came minutes later with the same incredible orders.
Signal traffic to the rest of the battle group lit up the early morning. He sent orders he fervently prayed he would never send to theUSS Leyte Gulf andUSS Vella Gulf. The guided missile cruisers were instructed to replace their conventional warheads with nuclear ordinance and begin mapping targets across theBlack Sea.
HisLosAngeles class attack submarines, theUSS Albuquerque andUSS Boise, moved aggressively to set up hunter-killer search patterns below the surface while the three destroyers and two frigates in theTwenty Eight Destroyer Squadron strengthened and extended the picket surrounding theTheodore Roosevelt. The Battle Group expanded like a bad dream towards the Aegean Sea, and the combat air patrol doubled over the carrier.
Tom Flanagan descended into the Combat Information Center (CIC) as E-2CHawkeyes screamed off the catapults with their ungainly radar domes. TheBear Aces became the eyes and ears for the battle group’s combat operations. The twoHawkeyes came on station to provide interlocking coverage and started a computerized downlink to the CIC.
TheTophatter’s F-14Tomcats followed theHawkeyes across the sea. The first element took up combat air patrol over the carrier and second fighter elements came up from the hanger deck and were mounted on the steam catapults with their engines running hot. TheTeddy Roosevelt was steaming to fight another adversary, and this one had the capability of fighting back. Tom Flanagan shook his head.
* * * *
Russian Strategic Rocket Forces, Omsk, Russian Federation
Kolokol shouted, “Get a tape running.”
The CNN anchor explained, “The footage we are about to broadcast was captured by LANDSAT-5. This is a civilian/commercial imaging satellite owned jointly by NASA and Boeing Corporation. The explosion was large enough to be captured from a low earth orbit of four-hundred-forty miles.”
The screen switched to the familiar greens, blues, and browns of land imagery that people took for granted after all the shuttle missions. Kolokol stepped towards the monitor as a pinprick of light grew to the size of a dime on the screen. The area was circled in red on the image, and across the bottom of the screen was the time readout according the Greenwich Mean Time. The pinprick turned black and gray, burying the light in a larger more ominous cloud.
Kolokol cursed.
“Get Vladimir, Orenburg, and Chita online now! Have them make preliminary preparations for launch. I want imagery from whatever birds we have over North America, now!” He spun around glaring at his staff, “And where’s my coffee?” He sat down in his command couch and picked up the phone embedded in the armchair. He punched the appropriate button and hoped it worked. It was time to talk to Moscow.
* * * *
Andrews Air Force Base, Washington, D.C.
Air Force Onewent wheels-up from Andrews AFB outside of Washington. A pair of F-15Eagles followed her into the sky.No one knew what was going on, except America had just launched her most important airborne command post and theEagles flew with a complete combat load. They rocketed into the night and hopefully away from any primary targets. It was rumored the President and the Secretary of State were aboard. Further scuttlebutt suggestedAir Force Two was launched in the opposite direction. Their orders were short and explicit.Shoot down all comers and ask questions later.
* * * *
Boston, Massachusetts
Rehazi heard someone laugh nervously. “That looked like a nuke.” He glanced at a businessman in his mid thirties. If any civilization should have some idea what nuclear explosions looked like it would be the Americans. Hollywood seemed to produce an endless cavalcade of films depicting the use of nuclear weapons, even though only two—andnow three —had ever been used offensively.
He realized the Boston bomb had detonated.
But how?
He would figure those details out later. The Americans would move quickly to deal with this crisis. While their leadership would mislead the general public as to what really happened, those who understood the truth and the stakes would redouble their efforts. He had intended to change credit cards, but he needed to leave Boston immediately. Rehazi made his way through the crowd to theUnited Airlines desk and booked the next flight using the First Chicago Visa Card. It left for Cleveland in twenty minutes.
Rehazi realized he had to contact his masters. They would be wondering at his target selection, and certain confusion would guide their discussions. He needed to replace the modem cable, or maybe it was easier to replace the entire modem. He would deal with those problems tomorrow as well. A nuclear blast was a devastating event when properly placed, but this one had missed the intended target.TheTerror of Tehran had drawn first blood, but not in the manner he expected.
* * * *
New York City
Harper popped the top on a Diet Mountain Dew can. He handed a second can to the twenty-nine-year-old Webmaster who was starting a thirty-six-hour weekend shift supporting the ISP’s system. This particular Internet Service Provider had the dubious honor of hosting a call from Suite 5310 at Trump Tower. The ISP was a set of four Sun servers and five banks of rack-mounted 56k V90 modems. They were hooked into ten 800 and 888 toll-free lines on a rotary switching system enabling them to handle five thousand simultaneous connections before something broke.
Harper came armed with the telephone call sheets from the Trump Tower suite. He had a timestamp for when his phantom connected to the ISP. It was simply a matter of elimination and patience before Harper discovered a name to attach to the evil he was stalking. The hunter settled down for a quiet wait. The task became coordinating the clocks on the servers with the clocks from the phone company’s system and reducing a possible universe of thirty-thousand accounts to a handful. Harper knew what to do. He was here to make sure it got done.
Scott Greg might be twenty-nine but he was already totally bald. His cube was an amalgam ofDilbert, Garfield, andFar Side comic strips. A pyramid of blue Foster Lager cans sat in one corner of the cube. There was a plastic dart gun andNerf basketball hoop suction-cupped to a smooth side of the wall above his cube. A May 1999 copy ofGuns & Ammo was open to an article on another 1911 .45 ACP wonder-weapon. The only real work-related items were six clocks displaying the six time zones for most of North America.
Scott clicked along on the keyboard and said casually, “So you want to know the accounts that connected at two thirty-three this afternoon?”
“Yeah.”
Scott glanced sideways at Harper. “You a cop or something?”
“Or something.”
“Is that a Glock you’re carrying?” he asked quickly.
Harper smirked. He looked back to theGuns & Ammo magazine. “You a shooter?”
“Yeah. I think they’re neat. I mean guns. I think they’re real neat. I mean, I got a Ruger P89 and an old Colt Woodsman,” he said quickly as he brought up a window on his machine.
Harper decided Scott Greg was not a threat, but very few people struck Harper as threats. He pulled the Glock 19 from his holster, dropped the magazine in his palm, and racked the slide open. Generally, Harper did not carry a round up the pipe. He handed Scott the Glock and leaned back.
“You ain’t a normal cop,” he breathed, taking the Glock respectfully.
Harper shook his head.
Scott hefted the weapon and said, “You put a Hogue grip sleeve on it.”
“Yeah, it feels better in my hand. I did the same for my 17 as well. Never bothered to put one on my 21 though, seems the .45 was big enough to be manageable.”
“How many Glocks do you have?”
“Three so far, but I am interested in that single stack .45 that’s supposed to be coming out.”
Scott handed him back the gun. “Thanks.”
It was amazing what Mountain Dew and basic civility can accomplish. Over the next two hours, they narrowed the list down to seventeen accounts. Scott set alarms on each account and set an automatic email system to alert them to activity. As Harper got ready to leave, Scott said, “If you need anything call me at these numbers in this order.” He handed Harper a list of six phone and pager numbers.
“What if you’re off duty?”
“Hey, no problem man. You seem to understand this stuff, and you don’t act like some suit that knows it all. You need something, you call Scotty.”
CHAPTER 29
The White House
Friday, July 16, 1999
Midnight EDT
Louis Edwards took a sandwich from the tray sitting in the middle of the table. He was one of the people summoned tothe Vault. The Secret Service arrived at his office around six-thirty. They explained quickly that his presence was required at the White House immediately. His bodyguards—Mister Smith and Mister Jones—were brushed aside. The natural animosity between different gun-toting federal services threatened to erupt, but Louis calmed his own men and went along with the Treasury Agents.
He found a disheveled group of advisors. The National Security Advisor was ashen, and the Chief of Staff had cornered Lou Feldman demanding to know what went wrong. The louder he shouted the further Feldman sunk into his chair. The Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) Director found a place at the table. The yuppie, flower children types had vanished. The prospect of becoming a radioactive French fry had cooled their ardor to cluster about the power brokers.
The Secretary of State was absent. Most likely, she had been removed to a secure location by the Secret Service. It was ironic that the Secret Service would now have to scramble to find safety for the national leadership since it was this administration’s very policies of appeasement that led to the abandonment of the Greenbriar and Mount Weather leadership protection bunkers. The Secretary of Defense materialized on a monitor next to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. The military component was connected via hard-wired fiber optic cable running under the Potomac from the Pentagon to the White House. They were dressed in their BDUs from theTank, a larger command center buried below the Pentagon. A team of four Navy technicians was working on the equipment. Some of it seemed to still be dark. Three floors above them the ninja-clad Secret Service officers prowled the White House grounds in full battle gear with their German shepherds.
TweedledeeandTweedledum jointly called the meeting to order. “We will be reporting to the President after this meeting and presenting him with options concerning the current crisis,” explained the NSA.
