It was nothing short of amazing to Egan. This was where Toby had killed the rancher and the guests. “No cops?”
“Long gone,” Rodriguez said. “How do you feel?”
“Like shit. How the hell did we get here?”
“It was part of the mission plan. We thought it was possible that something would go wrong, and that at least you and I would have to get out of the power plant through a storm water drain at the north side of the main building. It ran all the way beneath the fence, and from there we had to walk nearly two miles to where an ATV was waiting for us. From there it was just a matter of avoiding the Ellsworth team. But they were so busy mopping up inside that they didn’t think to check their perimeter. Arrogant bastards.”
“Why wasn’t I told?”
“No need if we’d taken Dr. Lipton or the general’s daughter.”
Egan lowered his head, a nearly infinite weariness coming over him. He’d failed once again, and there would be no other chances. No other missions. No payday.
“You were shot in the back and legs. Even so you managed to walk the two miles pretty much on your own.”
“How’d you know about the storm drain?”
“My boss briefed me.”
Egan really looked at Rodriguez. “How’d the ATV get out there?”
“One of our operators put it in place.”
“Operators,” Egan mumbled. “What’s next?”
“The aircraft will be waiting for us in Rapid City four hours from now, and our transportation should be here in less than an hour.”
Egan looked toward the open door. “You were talking to him on a radio?”
“Encrypted satellite phone.”
Egan nodded. He’d never really been in charge of this operation. It had been Rodriguez from the start. “Where are you taking me?”
“Cuba.”
It was not what Egan expected. “Havana?”
“Too many CIA there. We’re taking you to a military hospital in Camagüey, where your injuries will be tended to. It’s safer.”
“You’re not Mexican, you’re Cuban military?”
“Actually SEBIN. Venezuelan intelligence.”
Egan laughed, not a bray because it would have hurt too much, but a good laugh in any event. “Why bother stitching me up when you’re just going to shoot me?” The Beretta he’d carried in a shoulder holster strapped to his chest was gone. Rodriguez had thought of everything.
“We’re not done with you, Mr. Egan,” Rodriguez said without smiling. “One more mission, a personal one. Think of it as a vendetta.”
PART FOUR
CHECKMATE
Thirty Days Later
66
AT 4:00 P.M. sharp the president of the United States walked into the James S. Brady Press Briefing Room in the West Wing of the White House and took his place at the podium. Everyone in the packed auditorium got to their feet, and the president waved them back.
“Good afternoon,” he began.
The timing was perfect for the nightly news cycle that began at six eastern, giving the network reporters plenty of time to digest the bulky handout package that would be made available to them after the planned fifteen-minute briefing and file their stories.
That fact was not lost on the press corps, reinforced by the president’s press secretary, Tom Albert, who’d walked into the press corps’ workroom just down the hall from his office at noon to announce that the president would have something important to say.
“Have anything to do with Venezuela?” CBS asked.
“In a manner of speaking, yes. You’ll be getting backgrounders, after the president’s remarks, but I’m giving you a heads-up: this is a big one.”
“Lead story big?” ABC, who’d wandered in fifteen minutes earlier, asked.
“Bigger,” Albert said, and he walked back to the Oval Office where the president was talking to Nick Fenniger.
“What’s the early word?” Thompson asked.
“Bob Bradley mentioned Venezuela as you thought he would.” Bradley had been given some one-on-one with the president just after lunch, for an update on the situation with the recalled ambassadors.
“What’d you tell him?” Fenniger asked.
“I promised them it would be big, and they’d be getting a comprehensive package. And Diane Sawyer wanted to know if this was lead story stuff. I told her bigger.”
“We got their attention,” Fenniger said.
“That we did,” Albert said, and standing now along the wall with the other staffers he waited for the president’s bombshell to come, half wondering if the bulk of the press corps, and even the nation, would immediately grasp the significance of what they were being told.
“Six years ago a group of scientists came to the White House to bring me a warning of something extremely serious that was on our immediate horizon, but one that they felt had a solution,” the president said. “It concerned the emissions of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere not only by the United States, but by other industrialized nations, especially by China because of her size and increasing energy needs.”
Whatever the press corps had expected, this sort of an Al Gore environmental warning was not it. The science on the global warming issue was still not 100 percent; a number of highly respected scientists, among them astronomers, argued that climate changes, just like on Earth, were taking place on Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn. And it wasn’t because of carbon dioxide emissions, but because of fluctuations in the sun’s energy output, which had been growing over the past half century. But the overwhelming scientific evidence still put the blame for increased CO2 emissions at mankinds doorstep.
Many of those same scientists were now arguing that there was an unexpected decrease in sunspot activity that hadn’t occurred for four hundred years, which had caused what had been called the Little Ice Age in Europe. So it was very possible that within the next few years temperatures around the Earth—and the entire solar system—would be going down.
Everyone agreed that the situation was a mess. But it wasn’t what the president was going to say to them.
“But more than that, their warning concerned our increasing dependence on foreign oil. Except for our navy, the bulk of our military forces run on gasoline or diesel fuel. And the aircraft aboard our eleven carriers depend on fossil fuels. Which could under the right circumstances place us in the untenable position of scaling back operations when we most need to defend ourselves without the launching of nuclear missiles.”
The press briefing room was deathly still. Thompson was speaking about the situation with Venezuela, which seemed to be at a breaking point, and the lead question hanging in the air was if the president was hinting at hostilities in our own hemisphere.
“We have enough gas and oil still in the ground in North America to supply all of our needs projected for at least a hundred years out, providing we wean ourselves from gas- and diesel-powered transportation within the next twenty-five years. Sooner if at all possible.
“Ford, Chrysler, and GM have assured me that the goal could be met though it would cost in the tens of billions of dollars with no guarantee that Americans would buy all-electric cars and trucks. And that it would depend on a nationwide network of charging stations. Which brings us to the solution presented to me six years ago.”
The president paused, and Albert watched the faces of the people in the room, and he would have taken odds that most of them were holding their breath.
“The production of electricity from a reliable resource that we have in such abundance within the borders of the continental United States that our energy needs projected four centuries into the future could be met cleanly and cheaply.
“Electricity produced in such abundance that the cost per kilowatt would be far less than from any other source including solar, hydro, wind, and especially nuclear, because of the huge investments required to design, build, and then bring them online.
“The answer is coal, but used in a unique way that
would require no mining, no hilltop removal, no transportation, no burning, no flue ash to contend with, and especially minimal carbon dioxide emissions into the air, and with, in fact, almost no pollutants whatsoever.”
Fantasy. Albert could almost see the word written in the journalists’ notebooks, on their lips as they whispered to one another. The president held up his hand for silence.
“It was why six years ago I directed that a top secret effort was to be made to solve the problem of clean coal, which would ultimately win our war on energy dependence from foreign resources, much the same as President Roosevelt directed that an atomic bomb be built to end the war in Europe and in the Pacific. His was the Manhattan District Project, with the lab and test site in New Mexico. Mine is the Dakota Initiative with its laboratory and remote test site in the Badlands of western North Dakota.
“The Second World War effort as well as ours was classified top secret—Roosevelt’s because he did not want our enemies to know what we were doing for fear of spurring the efforts of their own nuclear scientists. And the Dakota Initiative because we have been warned repeatedly by members of the OPEC nations that should we make any real and concentrated effort to become a foreign oil independent state there would be consequences. We were warned to make the transition from gasoline-powered cars and trucks to hybrids, and finally to all-electric over the long haul. Fifty years. The financial imbalances, otherwise, would do a great and lasting harm to the entire world.
“I disagreed. And I am happy to announce this afternoon, that the efforts of the Initiative, and in particular of Dr. Whitney Lipton, who has been the lead scientist on the project, have paid off. A crucial, final experiment that took place twenty-four days ago has been a complete success.
“A borehole, using the same techniques as an oil-exploration project, was drilled one thousand feet into the heart of the Billings Vein. A mixture of microbes was injected into the seam, and a device smaller than a compact microwave oven, which was able to speak to those microbes in a language that directs a quorum-sensing mechanism, was also lowered into the seam where it sent out a signal for the tiny creatures to begin eating the coal, the by-product of which was pure methane gas.”
Something similar had been tried in Wyoming and elsewhere with the same results: the injected microbes converted coal to methane, but the process could not be sustained, especially for any industrial capacities.
“Similar experiments have taken place elsewhere with poor results. The breakthrough came when Dr. Lipton was able to decipher the quorum-sensing language and work out a way in which to tell a very specific combination of microbes—some seven or eight hundred different types—not only to eat and digest the coal, but to continue to reproduce rather than die off.
“Electricity is being produced, cleanly and cheaply from an abundant resource. I have ordered Dr. Robert Benson, the director of the Office of Science and Technology, to offer this technology to any nation that wants it, starting with China.”
The president pointed to Bob Bradley, who got to his feet.
“What effect will this have on our already strained relations with Venezuela? And as a follow-up, how soon will coal mining be shut down and what effect will that have on our already high unemployment?”
“That’s actually three questions, Bob. For the first I can’t give you a direct answer until I speak with Mr. Chávez on the telephone, something I’ll do before the end of the week. And for the mining question, there will definitely be some disruptions, but the new technologies will bring with them new jobs.”
Several of the journalists raised their hands, but Thompson went on.
“Understand that this was something that had to be done sooner rather than later, for our survival. Possibly even the survival of the planet, if you believe the half of the environmental scientists who’ve been warning us about carbon dioxide loads in the atmosphere. Or if you believe the 10 percent who are on the other side of the fence, supplying cheap, abundant electricity can have nothing but a positive effect on our economy in ways that may surprise us all.” The president pointed at Diane Sawyer, who got to her feet.
“Thank you, Mr. President,” she said. “Will Dr. Lipton be speaking here today?”
“No. She asked to remain in North Dakota to do follow-up work with the data that’s been and is currently being collected. But she has agreed to conduct a press conference at the Initiative at noon tomorrow.”
Other hands were raised, but the president said thanks and left the room.
Albert took his place at the podium. “There’ll be no further follow-up questions at this time, but there are extensive briefing packages, which include the entire six-year history of the Initiative, as well as backgrounders on each of the principal scientists, for you in the workroom next door.”
“You’re talking about the ELF installation southwest of Dickinson, right?” the AP reporter asked as everyone was getting up and starting for the door.
“We wanted to keep it under wraps, for the reasons the president gave.”
“There’s been some trouble down there, Tom. Casualties. Anything to do with opposition to the project?”
Albert had half expected that question as well. “There were in fact two incidents, both of them unfortunate, but both nothing more than industrial accidents, which are a part of just about any innovation. There were accidents on the Manhattan District Project, and certainly with the space shuttle program.”
“A reliable source in Caracas told us that Chávez had ordered his intelligence agency to do a full court press on us. Care to comment?”
“Nope,” Albert said. “For that one you’re going to have to talk to President Chávez himself.”
67
COMING THROUGH BELFIELD again and south on 85 toward the turnoff to the Initiative was almost surreal to Osborne, because in the super-bright cloudless morning everything seemed normal. Cars were parked on Donald Street and along Second and Third Avenues Northeast, people were out and about, life went on, but the effects on the town from what had happened here last month would last for a long time.
“I don’t even have to ask what you’re thinking,” Ashley, seated beside him, said. “Gives me the willies, too.”
“It’s over,” Osborne said, though he had to wonder.
“Egan’s still out there, and that nutcase is capable of just about anything.”
Osborne had hit him with at least one shot, and after the confusion had begun to die down they’d found blood spoor leading to a storm drain. But no body. It was likely that he had somehow made it as far as the Badlands Ranch, and almost certainly with someone’s help; SEBIN’s help, but from there he’d vanished. “The Bureau will track him down, he’s number one on the list.”
“Come on, Nate,” Ashley said.
Osborne glanced at her. “What?”
“He could be in Caracas by now.”
“Then he’d be out of our hair, and in any event he’d never get even close to the Initiative again. There’s military all over the place.”
“He was uniformed as a one star last time,” Ashley said. “Didn’t have any problems getting through the gate. Maybe this time he’ll come back as a journalist. The doors are going to be wide open starting at noon.”
Osborne had thought the same thing, and it was one of the reasons he’d agreed to drive down to the press briefing and tour with her. Whitney had also called after the president’s announcement yesterday to ask if he’d be there for the event. And the Initiative was still in his county, his responsibility.
“You and I are the only ones who saw him twice,” Ashley said. “We’d be the first to recognize him if he showed up. Provided you don’t mind being seen associating with a suspected spy.”
Osborne glanced at her again. She was grinning. “Anything yet from your dad?”
“No, apparently the idea came from some bright kid at the Bureau, but that still leaves the problem of who’s ratting us to the Venezuelans, and he’s pretty sure now that it’s s
omeone on his staff.”
“That has to be hard for him.”
“He told the president that as soon as Donna Marie was up and running, he’s retiring for good.”
They slowed for the turnoff around ten and after last night’s light snow they could see that someone had already come this way. More than one vehicle. “Early birds,” Osborne said, and Ashley was uptight again, her lips compressed.
“I just hope that they’re on the ball down there. The first time was practically an all-out bloodbath. Wasn’t for you and Jim Cameron it would have been, and so would the others.”
“He was a good man, but if he had any fault it was his lack of cynicism. He was too trusting.”
They passed the spot where Ashley had been tied to the fence to freeze to death, the wreckage of the helicopter about fifty yards down the hill. Seagram had been another good man, and his wife had taken his death very hard. Osborne had stayed with her through an entire day.
“Such a waste,” Ashley said dreamily. “And for what? It wasn’t just insanity.”
“Money.”
“Same thing.”
Tens and hundreds of billions, maybe much more, Osborne wanted to suggest. But she was right because entire countries stood to lose the major source of their income. Saudi Arabia would be hard-pressed to find another resource that would come even close to matching their oil revenue. And yet the royal family there, and the ruling elites of just about all the major oil-producing nations had come to realize in the past ten or twenty years that the end was in sight. Oil had become far too precious to waste on transportation. They would have to learn to husband what was left. But it had not even begun to happen yet. And with the explosion of cars in China the pressure on oil reserves would bring the entire structure into its endgame. Exploration, pumping, shipping, and refining were drawing down, and there was nothing anyone could do about it except switch to an all-electric economy. Electricity produced, for the near term at least, by what was left of our fossil fuels—coal—until solar and wind and ocean current generators could become practical on a commercial scale.
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