Chapter 35
The Pentagon, Washington D.C.
Monday
6:55 p.m. Eastern Time
“So, let us make certain that we have this entirely clear. What you are telling us is that you now believe that there indeed are six stolen nuclear warheads. These six nukes are being put on a Russian rocket, this Zenit-3SL or variant thereof, that will be launched from an oil rig somewhere in the Black Sea tomorrow?” the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, Army General Harold “Harry” Galveston, summarized. “Is that correct, Lieutenant Colonel Alvarez?”
“Yes, sir!” The marine lieutenant colonel on the other end of the VTC responded from a full-attention posture even though he’d been told to at ease. The CIA senior analyst sat next to him almost as stiffly. The two of them had been tag-teaming the briefing in rapid-fire style. There had been a lot of information briefed in the past thirty minutes. It had been like trying to drink from a firehose. Army Colonel Allan Vinderman sat quietly drinking from that hose, listening, and refilling the coffee cups for the Chiefs. All the while, he continued to make mental note of the unbelievable events that were being predicted by this Task Force. How they had managed to reach the conclusions they had seemed almost impossible to Vinderman.
“And you believe they will launch tomorrow with an astronaut or cosmonaut crew to the International Space Station?” the Chairman continued. “Sounds like goddamned science fiction.”
“Yes, sir.” The CIA analyst nodded but then defended their position. “It is the best intelligence from multiple sources and means that we have, sir. It matches the records from the dead, likely unwitting, complicit CIA analyst Phillip Watkins. It matches the location and most likely scenario for moving the nukes out of Russia into the Black Sea. And this matches rocketry that has been accomplished in the past by private endeavors.”
“To what end?” USSF General Kimberly Hastings asked. “Why do they need the ISS again?”
“Well, General, we believe they have either gained access to a highly classified study, or figured it out on their own—maybe a bit of both, no matter which. The concept is to detonate the six nukes at altitudes of over thirty kilometers at strategic locations around the globe. The resulting EMP will devastate the power and communications grids of the civilized world.”
“The ISS, Dr. Banks?”
“Yes, ma’am, that is the best LEO platform to set up basecamp and launch the reentry vehicles from. It could have been done through automation but that would require much higher fidelity and complicated systems. This is simpler, cheaper, and faster to have dumb reentry rockets pointed in the right direction by hand and fired at the right times by hand. The target error and timing are easy enough for that. They only need to hit a spot somewhere within the size of, say, Texas, between twenty and eighty kilometers above the surface. No extreme high tech needed for that. But they do need an orbital platform to do that from.”
“I see.”
“Frank, what does your gut tell you?” US Marine Corps General Alton Cole asked the marine lieutenant colonel. It was clear that there was history between the two men.
“Sir, the Task Force is full of very smart and good people. I trust them. This is the assessment across every service member on the team, the CIA, the Missiles and Space Intelligence Center, the NSA, and the FBI. I am behind our assessments a hundred percent,” Lieutenant Colonel Alvarez replied. “Sir, there’s little time. We need to determine a rapid response plan.”
“Thank you, Frank. That’s good enough for me. We’ll get back to you on the plan once we brief the president. And somebody needs to get in touch with the NASA administrator ASAP.”
“We need to get the SecDef and the DNI over here. Then we’ll need to brief the White House. The Secret Service will want to move the president immediately. All of this has to happen simultaneously, and yesterday.” Galveston turned and looked over behind him. “Colonel Vinderman.”
“Sir!” Vinderman responded immediately, stepping from the shadows.
“Colonel! We need to contact the right people as fast as possible, understood?” Galveston ordered.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Get the National Security Advisor on the horn ASAP.”
“Yes, sir.”
* * *
It had taken Vinderman about ten minutes to get through the switchboard and reach the White House National Security Advisor’s liaison. Apparently, the NSA was in a meeting and had asked not to be disturbed. Her assistant took the information and promised to get her in touch with the Joint Chiefs immediately. This emergency took precedence.
That had taken another seven minutes before the call had been patched through securely and between the White House and the Joint Chiefs. It would have taken longer to actually travel across the river and meet in person, so it was still the most efficient means to get the information in the right hands. Vinderman handed off the NSA to the Chiefs and from there he had his orders. He had to notify the “right people.” Those had been the Chairman’s orders.
Once he was certain that the White House call was put into place and the Chiefs would take it from there, Army Colonel Vinderman had a few minutes to himself to make good on the rest of his orders. He didn’t need a break. He had work to do. Very important work to do. He rushed across the open court and to his office and grabbed his coat. He made his way out the security gate to the outside lockers and pulled his cell phone and his sunglasses from it and then put the key back in the lock and left the door to the little gray metal box open. He passed through the turnstiles and stepped out into the open air outside the security perimeter of the Pentagon by a matter of meters. He walked to the end of the covered walkway and then across to the parking lot as if he were just taking a stroll.
Once he stepped off the sidewalk curb onto the parking lot, he was clear of any spoofing systems looking for spurious electromagnetic emissions. Vinderman placed his sunglasses on. They adhered to the magnetic implants behind his ears and he could hear the ding-dong of them making contact. The virtual screen opened and he could see his desktop. He quickly used the mental mouse and keyboard interface to open the instant message application, found the right contact, and then began to type out an encrypted message.
M,
They know! I don’t know how, but they know all of it. Response will be coming soon somehow. Unclear yet on that. The politics and poor diplomacy of your location is your best shield at the moment, but you have to go now. Better rush the timetable as fast as possible. They know about Sing and Ingersol, but still have no idea who is really behind it. Or why. Good luck. Reset the Reset!
A