The Talbot Odyssey

by Nelson DeMille

  Abrams took his finger off the picture, then glanced at Katherine.

  Van Dorn stood slowly and rubbed his heavy jowls. He looked at Katherine and saw that she knew and believed it. He turned back to Abrams and nodded several times before the words came out. “Yes. . . . Yes, by God.” He reached out and took Abrams’ Scotch from the desk and swallowed it in two gulps. He sat back in his seat.

  Abrams watched Van Dorn closely as his face went from pale to its normal florid color again. Abrams said, “There’s more. But I’m not going on until I get some answers.”

  Van Dorn stood again. “Look, Abrams, I’m most appreciative, but it’s not my policy to confide in field agents.”

  “Well, it’s not my policy to be one. I did a favor for a man I respect. I discovered something of immediate concern. I want to tell you what it is, but I want you first to tell me why I risked my life.”

  Van Dorn hesitated.

  Katherine said, “George, I’d like to know what the hell is going on!” She came toward him. “My father is next door, for God’s sake. People are dead—”

  Van Dorn held up his hand and lowered his head in thought, then said, “All right, I’ll tell you.”

  Abrams said, “Please tell it fast. I don’t think there’s much time left.”

  Van Dorn stared at him, then said, “I know. It’s very close. A matter of days or weeks—”

  “No. A matter of hours.”

  “What?”

  “Is there anyone in the government or military you can call?”

  Van Dorn nodded slowly. “Hours? How do you know?” He stared at Abrams, then said, “Understand, Abrams, that I can’t just cry wolf—a full alert cost tens of millions of dollars. . . . I won’t make a fool of myself. I need something other than the fact that you saw Henry Kimberly. I need something that will point to a final countdown. You tell me something like that, Abrams, and I’ll call . . . and then I’ll tell you what this is about.”

  Abrams replied, “Okay, here’s what sounds to me like a final countdown: The basement of your neighbor’s house is full of Russians, and they’re not there to change the fuse.”

  Van Dorn shot a quick look at Katherine, then came quickly around the desk. “Are you certain? Abrams, did you see them?”

  Abrams shook his head. “No, I didn’t see them. A little girl told me. A big girl confirmed it.” He explained briefly.

  When Abrams had finished, Van Dorn stayed motionless and silent, his head bowed. Abrams could see he was shaken. And why shouldn’t he be? thought Abrams. He has just heard what amounts to an air raid siren.

  Van Dorn reached for the telephone on his desk and dialed. He spoke into the receiver: “This is George Van Dorn. Identification phrase, ‘We went through fire and through water.’ Let me speak to Pegasus, please.” Van Dorn waited, then said, “Well, locate him and have him call me at home. Condition Omega. Yes.” He hung up and glanced at his watch. “Pegasus will never be more than ten minutes from a message.”

  Abrams wondered who Pegasus was and where he was, but knew better than to ask. He said, “O’Brien once indicated to me that the threat is not nuclear war, and may not be chemical or biological either. That rules out three modern Horsemen of the Apocalypse, and ought to be a comforting thought. But knowing the capacity we have of developing new ways to destroy ourselves, somehow I’m not comforted.”

  Van Dorn nodded. “There is a fourth horseman.” He took a cigar and bit off the tip. “Have either of you heard of EMP—electromagnetic pulse?”

  Abrams nodded cautiously. “Some journalists call it the Doomsday Pulse.”

  Katherine added, “It has something to do with a nuclear explosion in space.”

  Van Dorn replied, “Yes, it does. But the threat itself is not nuclear. Those people hiding in the basement next door are hiding from us, not the nuclear blast. The blast, when it comes, if it comes, will be somewhere over Omaha at an HOB—height of burst—of about three hundred miles. There will be no mushroom cloud, no shock waves, no heat, no radiation, and none of the physical destruction associated with a thermonuclear detonation. There will only be a flash of light in the sky, then . . .”

  “Then what?” asked Katherine.

  “Then, to paraphrase Lord Grey, the lights will go out all over North America. And I don’t think we will see them lit again in our lifetime.”

  No one spoke for some time, then Abrams said, “Is this some sort of electrical phenomenon? Like a lightning storm?”

  Van Dorn nodded. “Yes. It’s very complex; a bit of technological arcana, first discovered in the early 1960s during our last high-altitude nuclear tests. Discovered, unfortunately, by the Russians at about the same time.”

  Van Dorn lit his cigar, then said, “What apparently happens is this: When a nuclear device is exploded high above the atmosphere, earthbound gamma rays released from the explosion hit air molecules and create something called Compton electrons. Those electrons undergo a turning motion around the earth’s magnetic field lines and emit an electromagnetic pulse. Every electrical and electronic device in the country, including that digital watch you’re wearing, Abrams, will act as a lightning rod for this pulse. There will be virtually nothing left that works, including nuclear power plants, jet engines, auto and truck engines, diesels and home furnaces.” Van Dorn paused, then said, “It’s difficult, isn’t it, to even imagine the magnitude of the catastrophe.” He looked at his telephone, as though underscoring the point.

  No one said anything, then Abrams spoke softly. “I assume there’s some protection against this?”

  Van Dorn replied, “Our friends next door apparently tested their EMP protection devices with lightning, and I suppose the bastards think they’re fairly well covered. However, no one will know for sure unless there’s an actual EMP storm.”

  Katherine asked, “What about the military?”

  Van Dorn replied, “They’ve belatedly identified the danger, but what they’ve done to harden the vital systems is too little and too late. Only one of the four presidential flying command posts, for instance, is EMP-proof.”

  Van Dorn ran his finger through the gold scrapings on his desk. “This, by the way, conducts the EMP and keeps it from passing through the spaces around the windows and doors.”

  Abrams thought, The scientific equivalent of garlic or wolfbane. He said, “And vacuum tubes?”

  Van Dorn drew on his cigar. “That’s another irony. The old-type vacuum tubes are about ten million times more resistant to EMP than the fragile integrated solid state circuits that have replaced them.”

  Van Dorn paused thoughtfully, then said, “The Soviets may not have learned about EMP before we did, but they damned sure acted on it sooner. Do you remember the Russian Foxbat, the MiG-25 that was flown to Japan in 1976 by a Russian defector? It was thought to be the world’s most advanced fighter plane. American technicians took it apart and found most of the aircraft was state-of-the-art technology. But the electronics closest to the fuselage skin were based on vacuum tubes. At first the American technicians were amazed at such primitive electronics. But as they dug deeper down into the aircraft, they discovered that the Soviets indeed possessed advanced solid-state technology. So why the vacuum tubes? Well, now we know. The electronics closest to the exterior of the aircraft that would pick up the EMP were purposely dependent on vacuum tubes. This was the first hard evidence we had that they took EMP seriously. The Israelis made similar findings on captured Russian-made equipment. We should assume that most of the Soviet arsenal is designed with EMP in mind.”

  Abrams said, “Apparently their house next door is designed to weather the storm as well. I suppose they’ll use the place as a command and control center after the EMP attack.”

  Van Dorn nodded.

  Katherine said, “Is this house . . . ?”

  Van Dorn shook his head. “No, and I don’t have a bomb shelter, either. I don’t plan for disasters, I prevent them.”

  Abrams thought a moment, then looked a
t Van Dorn. “Your close physical proximity to them must make them a little nervous. . . . Is it possible they have something special planned for this house?”

  Van Dorn replied, “I’m fairly certain they do.” He nodded to himself, then added, “I have something special planned for them, too, and it’s not my usual light-and-sound show. It is instead a rather unneighborly gate-crashing.” He smiled in a way that Abrams thought was both mischievous and sinister. Van Dorn added, “The larger issues of world politics pale beside the petty squabbles of feuding neighbors. If I’m to end my days on this planet, I’m going to take a good number of those bastards with me.”

  54

  Van Dorn did not expand on his views of how to deal with unfriendly neighbors, and Abrams did not probe. The study was silent enough to hear the clock ticking on the mantel. They could also hear the muffled sounds of Van Dorn’s guests as they made the obligatory “oohs” and “ahhs” as the pyrotechnic display heated up. Katherine, Abrams noticed, looked sad but not dispirited, as if she’d lost a tennis set but not yet the match.

  Van Dorn regarded Abrams for some time, then said, “We sent you in there only to confirm some of our suspicions. We didn’t expect you to have a chat with Henry Kimberly, or to discover that their people did not take their buses back to Manhattan. Fine job.”

  Abrams acknowledged the compliment with a short nod, and said, “I would guess that the events of the past few days or weeks—which you and your friends precipitated—have spooked them. Perhaps pushed them into action.”

  Van Dorn studied the tip of his burning cigar, then said, “Yes, the final irony. We stampeded them into action. Perhaps before they were completely ready.”

  Abrams observed, “It doesn’t appear that we’re completely ready either.”

  “Well . . . we are warned.”

  Katherine said, “Isn’t it possible, George, that this is only a drill? A test to see if they can hide their people in Glen Cove without detection?”

  Van Dorn shook his head. “On the contrary. They would not normally have to hide anyone. They would simply coordinate the EMP storm with their usual weekend in Glen Cove. We’ve always known that the Russians would prefer to schedule a thermonuclear war or EMP attack on a holiday weekend. Their people in Washington and San Francisco would also be at country places, and American response to Red Alerts, no matter what anyone tells you, is two to three minutes slower on the weekend. For instance, Pegasus has not called back, and it’s been”—he glanced at his watch—“twelve minutes.” He looked at Katherine. “No, I wish I could believe it was a drill, but the fact that they’ve hidden those people here in Glen Cove on a night when they should all be back in Manhattan means to me that tonight is the night. Mr. Abrams is right.”

  Katherine nodded.

  Abrams said, “I’m wondering why the Russians went to so much trouble in making their house resistant to EMP. Why not just shut off the master switch and pull all the plugs a few minutes before the EMP storm?”

  Van Dorn replied, “No one is certain that cutting off the power will completely safeguard electrical components. But even if it were true, the Russians won’t pull their main switch, because the FBI monitors their electrical usage and would be on the horn to the President within five seconds.”

  Abrams’ eyes moved around the room, as though he were taking in all the electrical components.

  Van Dorn seemed to know what he was thinking. “Yes, life would be very different. We would freeze to death in the dark.” He looked at his desk. “Even my pocket calculator would give up the ghost.”

  Abrams said, “We seem to have no defense—but could we at least retaliate?”

  Van Dorn began to reply, then the phone rang and he picked it up. “Van Dorn. Yes.” He repeated his identification phrase, listened a moment, then said, “Well, where the hell is he? No, I will not give you the information. Is Unicorn there? Centaur? I repeat, this is a Condition Omega.” Van Dorn nodded several times as he listened. “All right. Fine. I’m still here. Have one of them call me.” He hung up and looked at Abrams and Katherine. “Pegasus is inexplicably unavailable. Unicorn or Centaur will call back soon. In the meantime, they’ve accepted my analysis of the situation as an Omega alert, and things are moving.”

  Katherine’s head suddenly turned toward the bay window behind Van Dorn, and her eyes widened.

  Van Dorn looked quickly over his shoulder. “What is it?”

  She drew a deep breath, then spoke. “I . . . I thought . . . It must have been heat lightning.”

  Van Dorn licked his lips, then said, “Well, the lights are still on, so it must have been. But that’s probably what it will look like. . . . Bad luck to have heat lightning tonight of all nights, isn’t it?”

  Abrams replied, “I’m not certain if it’s bad luck or a cosmic joke.”

  Katherine added, “Whatever, it’s damned unnerving.”

  Van Dorn cleared his throat. “There’s not much more I can do right now. The question on the floor concerned retaliation, and that is a complex question. Could we? Would we? Should we?”

  Katherine said, “What do you mean, should we?”

  Van Dorn replied, “It’s a moral question. The President will have to be convinced that it was the Russians who caused the EMP storm. And he will have to decide if a crippled nuclear response will serve any purpose other than inviting a massive Soviet counterstrike.”

  Katherine nodded slowly. “I understand. . . .”

  Abrams asked, “How is the nuclear device that will cause an EMP storm going to be delivered? I assume any missile trajectory out of Russia will be instantly spotted.”

  Van Dorn stubbed out his cigar. “That’s the question. We don’t know. But we do know that a Soviet submarine off the coast of California can launch a missile that will explode over the center of the United States, at the required altitude to cause an EMP storm—flight time three to four minutes. Before a submarine launch was even confirmed, it would be too late to act. The command, control, and communications network—the glue that holds our entire nuclear program together—will be gone. Once that’s gone, that’s it. As one Air Force general said, the winner of the next war will be the side with the last two working radios.”

  Abrams walked to the large bay window and gazed across the crowded lawn, past the striped tent and the tables, beyond the glare of the party lights, to where the edge of the sweeping lawn met the expanse of night sky. A sizable rocket rose from the depths of the waterless swimming pool, its fiery plume brilliant against the black sky, then exploded in a dazzling shower of golden particles. He turned from the window and said, “In effect, our own advanced technology—our microchips, computers, and transistors on which we’re so dependent—leave us vulnerable. If we unleashed a retaliatory electromagnetic storm over the Soviet Union, the consequences to them would not be as cataclysmic.”

  “That’s correct,” answered Van Dorn. “This is one of those cases where primitiveness is a distinct advantage. You can’t burn out a country’s microchips and computers if they don’t have any. And if they do but they’re not dependent on them, they’re not as vulnerable as we are.”

  Van Dorn picked up his pocket calculator and looked at it, then said, “Every civilization has its Achilles’ heel. If we introduced a rice blight into China and wiped out their crop, they would suffer mass starvation. If they did the same thing to us, no one would notice much. Do you see? Do you understand why we’re on the threshold of extinction?”

  Abrams nodded.

  Van Dorn looked at Katherine. “In mortal combat, it’s not only the Achilles’ heel we look for, we also need the right weapon to deal the death blow.” Van Dorn walked around his desk. “Sometimes the right weapon is EMP. Sometimes it is rice blight.” He opened the top drawer of his desk. “But if it’s a werewolf you’re after”—he set something on the desk top and took his hand away—“it’s a silver bullet you need.”

  Katherine and Abrams stared at the gleaming .45-caliber bullet, sitt
ing upright like a miniature missile ready for launch. Van Dorn said, “No, it’s not O’Brien’s. I have my own. There is one more. Because there were three Talbots.”

  Katherine’s eyes moved from the bullet to Van Dorn’s face. “Three . . . ?”

  “Yes. In fact, your father had the third bullet.”

  Katherine did not reply.

  Van Dorn said softly, “But I think this is the one with his name on it, Kate. Would you have any objections if I used it?”

  Katherine hesitated only a moment, then shook her head.

  Van Dorn nodded, then scooped the bullet into his hand and dropped it in his trouser pocket. He said, “No matter what happens tonight—a national disaster or a miracle of survival—Henry Kimberly will die. We can discuss how later.”

  Abrams stared at Van Dorn’s profile, noticing for the first time the hard angular features that were not so apparent from the front. The man may look like an old basset hound, he thought, but somewhere under the aging flesh there lurked a more ravening beast.

  The silence in the room was broken by the ringing phone. Van Dorn picked it up and went through the identification procedure. He listened, nodding as he made a few notes. He said, “You must understand that one of the men with the President this weekend, James Allerton, is most probably a Soviet agent.” Van Dorn listened a second, then snapped, “Yes, damn it, the James Allerton. How fucking many are there who would be at Camp David with the President? Yes, all right. But I still need to speak to one of the three.” He listened, then replied, “All right—I have hard evidence pointing to an EMP attack—tonight. Get it cranked up, Colonel. Yes. Fine.” He hung up and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “Well, now you know about Allerton if you hadn’t already suspected.” He glanced at Katherine.

  She shook her head. “My God . . . this is too much. . . .”

  Abrams said, “Who is the third?”

  Van Dorn shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t even know if he’s still alive. But if the Russians wind up in the White House, I suppose we’ll find out.”